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fellowshippers2002-10-24 06:44 pm
viva-gloria.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2002-10-24 06:44 pm
FIC: Mint-Flavoured (BB/DM, PG13, 1/1)
TITLE: Mint-Flavoured
AUTHOR: Gloria Mundi
PAIRING: BB/DM
RATING: PG13
SUMMARY: In which Dom glows and Billy tastes: a typical night at the pub.
FEEDBACK: Yes please
DISCLAIMER: A work of fiction: I made it up.
ARCHIVE: List archives, Imagin'd Glories, BTF only please
AUTHOR NOTES: Happy birthday to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
zarah5, who takes the writing seriously even while she's having fun with the subjects. Many thanks to lazulus for beta.
There's a fuzzy amber aura around Dominic. Probably it has always been there. Dom is haloed at the bar. The other patrons are shadowy.
When Dom comes back to the booth, he brings the light with him. He brings two glasses of single malt as well.
Billy grins at him. "Got to piss. Won't be long." He slides along the cracked leather seat. Dom doesn't step back quickly enough, and Billy's shoulder knocks against his arm. "Watch it!" But the drinks are unspoilt and Dom's still smiling.
It's a long piss, because there's so much beer to get rid of, much more than he’d usually drink in a single evening. Eventually Billy zips himself up and eyes the condom machine. He fumbles in his pocket for a couple of pound coins, but there are only pennies and silver left.
"You wouldn't believe the flavours they have!" he announces once he's back in the booth.
"You what?" says Dom, grinning. He's leaning back, legs outstretched under the table, feet knocking against Billy's. "Flavours of what?"
"Condoms, of course. What else would they be selling in the gents? And they come in flavours! Mint! Chocolate! Lager!"
Lager-flavoured condoms are undeniably funny.
"You're pissed, Boyd," Dom declares. His face is still red with laughter.
"I am not!" Billy sits back and crosses his arms. "I am merely ... merry."
"No, I'm Merry."
They laugh again, but this bout winds down more quickly, with just the two of them sharing a joke meant for four.
Billy looks down at the scratched, graffiti'd table and takes a sip of his Scotch. He licks his dry lips.
The silence stretches.
"Let's go home," Dom says, downing the rest of his drink.
"No, let's –"
"You've had enough to drink." Dom leans forward, elbows propped on the table between them. Light glows in the long hollow of his forearm, making the hairs look blonder than they are. "I've got some more Scotch at home, anyway."
"Which one?"
Dom shrugs.
"Doesn't matter," says Billy. He ferrets around in his pocket again, but there are still no pound coins there.
Outside, it's a blustery autumn night. Raindrops sparkle in the streetlights and bead on Dom's eyelashes. He keeps looking over at Billy as they walk, and he doesn't stop smiling. The muscles in Billy's cheeks are stretched tight with his grin. The rain is cool on his cracked lips.
"When Elijah was here," Dom begins. This is the first time that Dom has mentioned Elijah since he picked Billy up from the station at lunchtime.
"Go on," Billy manages. "I meant to ask how that all went."
"Well, y'know," says Dom, looking away.
"No, I –" Billy's fist clenches in his pocket. "What were you going to say?"
"Oh, just that when Lij was here back in July, we never actually made it to the pub. It's good to have a mate who'd rather go down the local than some poncy wine bar."
Billy can feel his smile coming back. "Bloody Yanks. No idea."
The rain starts again and they run the last hundred yards or so. Dom is panting as he unlocks the door.
"Make yourself comfortable," he tells Billy, grinning. "I'll just put some music on."
"Let's see about this Scotch of yours, then," says Billy, kicking off his shoes and settling himself at one end of the sofa.
Music starts to play quietly. It's mellow late-night music, maybe that Icelandic band Billy can never remember the name of. Dom is simply leaning against the wall by the stereo, looking at him. Perhaps he didn’t hear Billy. Billy smiles and raises his eyebrows, and Dom says, "yeah, sure. Just a moment.”
Dom returns from the kitchen with two tumblers and a passable bottle of twelve-year-old Cardhu. He sits down at the other end of the sofa and pours whisky for them both. The pupils of his eyes are huge, despite the glow that's still coming off him.
"Cheers!" says Dom.
"Slainte," says Billy, still grinning. He keeps on looking at Dom as he sips the Cardhu.
Dom takes his shoes off and curls his feet under him. His socks are different shades of faded black. His toes touch Billy's knee. Billy doesn’t flinch, and Dom doesn’t move his foot.
"I never did tell you what happened with Elwood, did I?" Dom says eventually, slopping more Scotch into their glasses. He is intent on making Billy's drink level with his own, and he doesn't look up when Billy shakes his head.
"Hang on," says Billy abruptly. "Let me take a piss, if it’s going to be a long story." He’s up off the couch and out of the room before Dom can reply.
Billy's bladder is not particularly full, since he hasn't drunk very much in terms of volume since his last trip to the gents. He heads for the bathroom and locks the door behind him.
His reflection is a little wild-eyed, a little flushed (Dom hasn't even kissed him yet), a little dishevelled. His lips are dry where he's been licking them nervously. 'Should've asked Dom for some lipsalve', he chides himself. 'Nothing loaded about lipsalve.'
He opens the bathroom cabinet. Aftershave (Billy tells himself to remember the name), supermarket own-brand deodorant, hair gel ... something wrapped up in a plastic bag. Could be lipsalve, thinks Billy, resolutely ignoring the logo showing through the thin plastic. He opens the bag.
It's a box of condoms - a box of twelve condoms, in fact. Ambitious? Optimistic? Anyway. Twelve extra-strong, non-flavoured, non-coloured condoms, with the seal on the cellophane intact.
Billy grins wider than ever, enough to crack his sore lips. He wraps the condoms up again and puts them back on the shelf. There's a green tube of Lipsyl there at the back, and he slicks his lips with that. He shuts the cupboard, flushes the toilet, and checks his reflection again. He smiles.
Something rustles under his bare foot. It's a scrap of paper. Billy stoops and picks it up, holding on to the sink as the sudden motion sends a wave of dizziness through him. It's only the receipt for the condoms, and he's about to chuck it in the bin when he notices that it's dated three months ago, at the beginning of July.
At least Dom’s little tale isn’t going to be as difficult to listen to, now that Billy knows how it all turned out in the end.
He screws the receipt up into a tiny, tiny ball and shoves it deep into his pocket. His lips taste minty from the Lipsyl. He can see just how the conversation will go from here.
"I borrowed some Lipsyl," he’ll confess to Dom. "Hope you don’t mind."
Dom won’t mind. Somewhere in the next half-dozen sentences, he’ll say "all the better to kiss you with." Or maybe Billy will say that, or something like it. The exact words won't matter.
And Billy, or Dom, will smile and lean closer.
"I’ve got some condoms," Dom will say at last, when they’re hot and sweaty and half-undressed.
And Billy will kiss him again, because otherwise he might be drunk enough to say, "I know."
He looks in the mirror, checking his smile, and goes back out to where Dom is waiting supine on the sofa, with his glow and his smile and his dark, dark eyes. With his packet of condoms that he bought so that he could have sex with someone else.
"Actually," says Billy, dropping into the armchair by the stereo, "I'm not feeling too bright, Dommie. Maybe I should just crash."
"Billy? Don't ... It's Elijah, isn't it?" Dom sits up and leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped, eyebrows raised. "It's not like that," he goes on. "We ... It's not ..." He reaches for his drink, eyes not leaving Billy's. "There was nothing between us," Dom says at last. "Nothing."
Billy bites his lip. The taste of 'I know' (which he isn't drunk enough to say) is like mint.
He washes it away with whisky and smiles at Dom.
-end-
AUTHOR: Gloria Mundi
PAIRING: BB/DM
RATING: PG13
SUMMARY: In which Dom glows and Billy tastes: a typical night at the pub.
FEEDBACK: Yes please
DISCLAIMER: A work of fiction: I made it up.
ARCHIVE: List archives, Imagin'd Glories, BTF only please
AUTHOR NOTES: Happy birthday to
zarah5, who takes the writing seriously even while she's having fun with the subjects. Many thanks to lazulus for beta.There's a fuzzy amber aura around Dominic. Probably it has always been there. Dom is haloed at the bar. The other patrons are shadowy.
When Dom comes back to the booth, he brings the light with him. He brings two glasses of single malt as well.
Billy grins at him. "Got to piss. Won't be long." He slides along the cracked leather seat. Dom doesn't step back quickly enough, and Billy's shoulder knocks against his arm. "Watch it!" But the drinks are unspoilt and Dom's still smiling.
It's a long piss, because there's so much beer to get rid of, much more than he’d usually drink in a single evening. Eventually Billy zips himself up and eyes the condom machine. He fumbles in his pocket for a couple of pound coins, but there are only pennies and silver left.
"You wouldn't believe the flavours they have!" he announces once he's back in the booth.
"You what?" says Dom, grinning. He's leaning back, legs outstretched under the table, feet knocking against Billy's. "Flavours of what?"
"Condoms, of course. What else would they be selling in the gents? And they come in flavours! Mint! Chocolate! Lager!"
Lager-flavoured condoms are undeniably funny.
"You're pissed, Boyd," Dom declares. His face is still red with laughter.
"I am not!" Billy sits back and crosses his arms. "I am merely ... merry."
"No, I'm Merry."
They laugh again, but this bout winds down more quickly, with just the two of them sharing a joke meant for four.
Billy looks down at the scratched, graffiti'd table and takes a sip of his Scotch. He licks his dry lips.
The silence stretches.
"Let's go home," Dom says, downing the rest of his drink.
"No, let's –"
"You've had enough to drink." Dom leans forward, elbows propped on the table between them. Light glows in the long hollow of his forearm, making the hairs look blonder than they are. "I've got some more Scotch at home, anyway."
"Which one?"
Dom shrugs.
"Doesn't matter," says Billy. He ferrets around in his pocket again, but there are still no pound coins there.
Outside, it's a blustery autumn night. Raindrops sparkle in the streetlights and bead on Dom's eyelashes. He keeps looking over at Billy as they walk, and he doesn't stop smiling. The muscles in Billy's cheeks are stretched tight with his grin. The rain is cool on his cracked lips.
"When Elijah was here," Dom begins. This is the first time that Dom has mentioned Elijah since he picked Billy up from the station at lunchtime.
"Go on," Billy manages. "I meant to ask how that all went."
"Well, y'know," says Dom, looking away.
"No, I –" Billy's fist clenches in his pocket. "What were you going to say?"
"Oh, just that when Lij was here back in July, we never actually made it to the pub. It's good to have a mate who'd rather go down the local than some poncy wine bar."
Billy can feel his smile coming back. "Bloody Yanks. No idea."
The rain starts again and they run the last hundred yards or so. Dom is panting as he unlocks the door.
"Make yourself comfortable," he tells Billy, grinning. "I'll just put some music on."
"Let's see about this Scotch of yours, then," says Billy, kicking off his shoes and settling himself at one end of the sofa.
Music starts to play quietly. It's mellow late-night music, maybe that Icelandic band Billy can never remember the name of. Dom is simply leaning against the wall by the stereo, looking at him. Perhaps he didn’t hear Billy. Billy smiles and raises his eyebrows, and Dom says, "yeah, sure. Just a moment.”
Dom returns from the kitchen with two tumblers and a passable bottle of twelve-year-old Cardhu. He sits down at the other end of the sofa and pours whisky for them both. The pupils of his eyes are huge, despite the glow that's still coming off him.
"Cheers!" says Dom.
"Slainte," says Billy, still grinning. He keeps on looking at Dom as he sips the Cardhu.
Dom takes his shoes off and curls his feet under him. His socks are different shades of faded black. His toes touch Billy's knee. Billy doesn’t flinch, and Dom doesn’t move his foot.
"I never did tell you what happened with Elwood, did I?" Dom says eventually, slopping more Scotch into their glasses. He is intent on making Billy's drink level with his own, and he doesn't look up when Billy shakes his head.
"Hang on," says Billy abruptly. "Let me take a piss, if it’s going to be a long story." He’s up off the couch and out of the room before Dom can reply.
Billy's bladder is not particularly full, since he hasn't drunk very much in terms of volume since his last trip to the gents. He heads for the bathroom and locks the door behind him.
His reflection is a little wild-eyed, a little flushed (Dom hasn't even kissed him yet), a little dishevelled. His lips are dry where he's been licking them nervously. 'Should've asked Dom for some lipsalve', he chides himself. 'Nothing loaded about lipsalve.'
He opens the bathroom cabinet. Aftershave (Billy tells himself to remember the name), supermarket own-brand deodorant, hair gel ... something wrapped up in a plastic bag. Could be lipsalve, thinks Billy, resolutely ignoring the logo showing through the thin plastic. He opens the bag.
It's a box of condoms - a box of twelve condoms, in fact. Ambitious? Optimistic? Anyway. Twelve extra-strong, non-flavoured, non-coloured condoms, with the seal on the cellophane intact.
Billy grins wider than ever, enough to crack his sore lips. He wraps the condoms up again and puts them back on the shelf. There's a green tube of Lipsyl there at the back, and he slicks his lips with that. He shuts the cupboard, flushes the toilet, and checks his reflection again. He smiles.
Something rustles under his bare foot. It's a scrap of paper. Billy stoops and picks it up, holding on to the sink as the sudden motion sends a wave of dizziness through him. It's only the receipt for the condoms, and he's about to chuck it in the bin when he notices that it's dated three months ago, at the beginning of July.
At least Dom’s little tale isn’t going to be as difficult to listen to, now that Billy knows how it all turned out in the end.
He screws the receipt up into a tiny, tiny ball and shoves it deep into his pocket. His lips taste minty from the Lipsyl. He can see just how the conversation will go from here.
"I borrowed some Lipsyl," he’ll confess to Dom. "Hope you don’t mind."
Dom won’t mind. Somewhere in the next half-dozen sentences, he’ll say "all the better to kiss you with." Or maybe Billy will say that, or something like it. The exact words won't matter.
And Billy, or Dom, will smile and lean closer.
"I’ve got some condoms," Dom will say at last, when they’re hot and sweaty and half-undressed.
And Billy will kiss him again, because otherwise he might be drunk enough to say, "I know."
He looks in the mirror, checking his smile, and goes back out to where Dom is waiting supine on the sofa, with his glow and his smile and his dark, dark eyes. With his packet of condoms that he bought so that he could have sex with someone else.
"Actually," says Billy, dropping into the armchair by the stereo, "I'm not feeling too bright, Dommie. Maybe I should just crash."
"Billy? Don't ... It's Elijah, isn't it?" Dom sits up and leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped, eyebrows raised. "It's not like that," he goes on. "We ... It's not ..." He reaches for his drink, eyes not leaving Billy's. "There was nothing between us," Dom says at last. "Nothing."
Billy bites his lip. The taste of 'I know' (which he isn't drunk enough to say) is like mint.
He washes it away with whisky and smiles at Dom.
-end-
no subject
I loved how subtly Dom and Elijah's "non-relationship" was brought up, how even Billy's rejection of the possibility of something with Dom was more hinted at than spelled out. I thought it was very.... uh... human, for lack of a better word. Something I could relate to.
no subject