yiling matriarch (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
marginalia) wrote2003-11-16 11:13 am
marginalia) wrote2003-11-16 11:13 am
Entry tags:
fic: bronze star heart. billy/dom
title: bronze star heart
archive: .: marginalia :.
notes: for the monaboyd flashfic challenge. written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
andrealyn. this is not the story she requested, but this is the story the boys told me this week. i'm going to spank them soundly try it again after i get some sleep. i hope it will do in the meantime :) title from jeffrey foucault's awesome tune "secretariat". thanks to dorrie6 for dealing with my angst.
They were the best of friends, of course. It was instantaneous; as if all the nervous energy they had spent awaiting the start of this shoot had gone on ahead and tied them together. Of course, the whole Fellowship had bonded marvelously, but they were different. They were a unit. People said their names as if they were one person. By the time the shoot actually began they were finishing each other's sentences. By the time they introduced Elijah to Tig they didn't need to use words at all.
It was a perfect fit.
It was not enough.
.:.
Sometimes Billy wondered if he had always been this slow at unraveling himself or if it was just a function of the unending sleepless fog. He never got enough sleep, never, and he dreamt through feet and ears and truck rides that jangled his nerves to the next location. He awoke as Pippin, frightened and growing. Frightened of growing and that was the real world.
After the day's shooting and before the inevitable night out, he went home, showered Pippin away, attempted to peel glue from his ears, and fell back into the dream. Billy wasn't even sure why he was going out anymore. Dom told him to go, that's all, and dream Billy had no will of his own.
When he arrived the club was more crowded than usual. It must have been a Friday night. He had lost track of the days. He heard Elijah's giggle, piercing the crowd, and followed it to their table. Bean was back in New Zealand for end-of-filming pickups, and it was like the early days to see him there, sleepy-eyed and smiling. Billy slid in next to him and gave him a quick one-armed hug.
Dom wasn't at the table, and Billy felt a twinge of something he'd rather not define, but then he sensed Dom, vibrating pure energy behind him. "Dance with me now, Boyd, you sexy bastard? Or get a drink first?"
"A drink would be wise," Billy muttered, pushing past him and fleeing towards the safety of the bar. By the time he got back to the table, Dom was dancing with a brunette who had a good two inches on him. Billy winced, tried to focus on his drink, tried to focus on anything that wasn't Dom and the way he fucking moved out there. Bean and Brett had fallen into conversation, so Billy distracted himself with Elijah's increasing drunkenness until he couldn't take it anymore and excused himself for the night.
He was just out the door when Dom caught up with him, tugging at his wrist. His fingerprints burned and sparked on Billy's skin. But he couldn't have seen it, Billy knew. It wasn't real. It was just Billy inevitably losing his mind.
"I'm fine, Dom. Just tired." Billy counted on the shadows to hide his eyes. "I'm tired," he repeated.
Dom nodded, and Billy turned towards his car. When he pulled out, he looked back at Dom slumped against the doorframe, hands jammed in the pockets of faded jeans.
Once home, Billy crawled into bed, pulling up the blankets, shivering and welcoming the weight. He burrowed into the pillow and longed for a dreamless night.
.:.
The club is empty, partially lit, pale light and soft shadows. Dom is swaying slowly in the center of the floor, to music only he can hear. His back is towards the door, and the pull of the shirt across his shoulders makes Billy's chest ache. Billy stands just inside the door, debating whether or not to enter.
Dom turns, still with the music, smiles a drowsy smile, and suddenly Billy is standing right in front of him.
"Hey," he says.
"Hey, yourself," Dom responds, half in Elijah's accent. He tilts his head for a moment and just -looks- at Billy. Soft. Then piercing. Then decisive. And it is wholly unsurprising when he leans in and kisses Billy gently. When Billy sighs and opens his mouth to him. When Dom runs his palms, fire, against Billy's strong back.
When Billy melts.
.:.
Dom's flight out was the next day, but he joined Billy at the airport anyway. "Got to protect you from those raving fangirls," he said.
Their knuckles brushed together, magnets in the stale airport air, and the spark was sudden and fierce. Billy backed away.
"Bills?" Dom asked softly.
"I have to go. I'm going to miss my flight."
The set of Dom's shoulders was an accusation, but Billy pushed it from his mind as he boarded the plane.
.:.
Orlando called him every week, but he didn't get to the point until Mexico.
"He doesn't work without you, Billy," Orlando said finally, unnaturally blunt. "I don't know how you can cut yourself off like that. But he can't do it. He's falling apart in LA. And he's not going to tell you."
Billy could imagine Orlando at the other end of the phone, frighteningly earnest, gripping the receiver with one hand and running the other through the tangle of curls. He wonders for a moment why he never tried to pull Orlando, who probably would have been willing. He supposes Dom did, though.
Dom.
"I didn't cut myself off," Billy answered slowly, deliberately. "Our lives changed, that's all. That's what people do, they change."
"Not you and Dom." Orlando was stubborn. And what could it hurt, Billy wondered. Two days and Dom would be gone and Orlando could find something new to nag him about.
.:.
When he called Dom, he agreed so fast Billy suspected Orlando-interference. He came two weeks later, on a rare free weekend for Billy, and wanted to experience everything - the surfing, the music, the food. They were in a mad spin and Billy decided it was better that way, the faster the ride the less time to think, the fewer chances to touch, the higher probability that he would survive this weekend only slightly tarnished.
But he thought he saw Dom watching him sometimes, watching him salty and sunned on the beach, watching him lose himself in color and music.
Watching him.
And he wondered.
.:.
Dom asked him for one dance, bowing dramatically and pulling him out onto the crowded floor. Billy hummed to himself, careful, watching Dom's face and controlling his reactions.
Dom's hand brushed the curls where they caught at the collar of Billy's shirt. Billy forgot to breathe.
.:.
Billy thought he must still be dreaming. Dom was in his room. He couldn't see him, lying on his stomach with his face turned away from the door, but he could feel him. He could always feel him. Dom edged closer to the bed, pulled back the covers, and slid into the bed. Half on top of Billy. Warmth. Comforting weight. Billy sighed. "Dom," he started to ask, but couldn't be bothered to form words.
Dom curled around him. "Are you ready, Billy? Are you ready to know what I want? Because I need to tell you. I want to know what you sound like. I want to know what you're dreaming that makes you look like that. I want to make you look like that. I want to make you sound like that. I want to go forward to not needing words. I want."
Billy pushed up, pushed Dom off, pushed him onto his back, hovered above him, pushing his knee -there-. Dom hissed, low. "I want, too, Dom," Billy said. "I want." But Dom didn't let him finish, pulling him in, pulling him down, kissing him first soft, then nudging, Billy opening to him, exploring, tasting, demanding, possessing.
.:.
They were the best of friends, of course.
archive: .: marginalia :.
notes: for the monaboyd flashfic challenge. written for
andrealyn. this is not the story she requested, but this is the story the boys told me this week. i'm going to dorrie6 for dealing with my angst.They were the best of friends, of course. It was instantaneous; as if all the nervous energy they had spent awaiting the start of this shoot had gone on ahead and tied them together. Of course, the whole Fellowship had bonded marvelously, but they were different. They were a unit. People said their names as if they were one person. By the time the shoot actually began they were finishing each other's sentences. By the time they introduced Elijah to Tig they didn't need to use words at all.
It was a perfect fit.
It was not enough.
.:.
Sometimes Billy wondered if he had always been this slow at unraveling himself or if it was just a function of the unending sleepless fog. He never got enough sleep, never, and he dreamt through feet and ears and truck rides that jangled his nerves to the next location. He awoke as Pippin, frightened and growing. Frightened of growing and that was the real world.
After the day's shooting and before the inevitable night out, he went home, showered Pippin away, attempted to peel glue from his ears, and fell back into the dream. Billy wasn't even sure why he was going out anymore. Dom told him to go, that's all, and dream Billy had no will of his own.
When he arrived the club was more crowded than usual. It must have been a Friday night. He had lost track of the days. He heard Elijah's giggle, piercing the crowd, and followed it to their table. Bean was back in New Zealand for end-of-filming pickups, and it was like the early days to see him there, sleepy-eyed and smiling. Billy slid in next to him and gave him a quick one-armed hug.
Dom wasn't at the table, and Billy felt a twinge of something he'd rather not define, but then he sensed Dom, vibrating pure energy behind him. "Dance with me now, Boyd, you sexy bastard? Or get a drink first?"
"A drink would be wise," Billy muttered, pushing past him and fleeing towards the safety of the bar. By the time he got back to the table, Dom was dancing with a brunette who had a good two inches on him. Billy winced, tried to focus on his drink, tried to focus on anything that wasn't Dom and the way he fucking moved out there. Bean and Brett had fallen into conversation, so Billy distracted himself with Elijah's increasing drunkenness until he couldn't take it anymore and excused himself for the night.
He was just out the door when Dom caught up with him, tugging at his wrist. His fingerprints burned and sparked on Billy's skin. But he couldn't have seen it, Billy knew. It wasn't real. It was just Billy inevitably losing his mind.
"I'm fine, Dom. Just tired." Billy counted on the shadows to hide his eyes. "I'm tired," he repeated.
Dom nodded, and Billy turned towards his car. When he pulled out, he looked back at Dom slumped against the doorframe, hands jammed in the pockets of faded jeans.
Once home, Billy crawled into bed, pulling up the blankets, shivering and welcoming the weight. He burrowed into the pillow and longed for a dreamless night.
.:.
The club is empty, partially lit, pale light and soft shadows. Dom is swaying slowly in the center of the floor, to music only he can hear. His back is towards the door, and the pull of the shirt across his shoulders makes Billy's chest ache. Billy stands just inside the door, debating whether or not to enter.
Dom turns, still with the music, smiles a drowsy smile, and suddenly Billy is standing right in front of him.
"Hey," he says.
"Hey, yourself," Dom responds, half in Elijah's accent. He tilts his head for a moment and just -looks- at Billy. Soft. Then piercing. Then decisive. And it is wholly unsurprising when he leans in and kisses Billy gently. When Billy sighs and opens his mouth to him. When Dom runs his palms, fire, against Billy's strong back.
When Billy melts.
.:.
Dom's flight out was the next day, but he joined Billy at the airport anyway. "Got to protect you from those raving fangirls," he said.
Their knuckles brushed together, magnets in the stale airport air, and the spark was sudden and fierce. Billy backed away.
"Bills?" Dom asked softly.
"I have to go. I'm going to miss my flight."
The set of Dom's shoulders was an accusation, but Billy pushed it from his mind as he boarded the plane.
.:.
Orlando called him every week, but he didn't get to the point until Mexico.
"He doesn't work without you, Billy," Orlando said finally, unnaturally blunt. "I don't know how you can cut yourself off like that. But he can't do it. He's falling apart in LA. And he's not going to tell you."
Billy could imagine Orlando at the other end of the phone, frighteningly earnest, gripping the receiver with one hand and running the other through the tangle of curls. He wonders for a moment why he never tried to pull Orlando, who probably would have been willing. He supposes Dom did, though.
Dom.
"I didn't cut myself off," Billy answered slowly, deliberately. "Our lives changed, that's all. That's what people do, they change."
"Not you and Dom." Orlando was stubborn. And what could it hurt, Billy wondered. Two days and Dom would be gone and Orlando could find something new to nag him about.
.:.
When he called Dom, he agreed so fast Billy suspected Orlando-interference. He came two weeks later, on a rare free weekend for Billy, and wanted to experience everything - the surfing, the music, the food. They were in a mad spin and Billy decided it was better that way, the faster the ride the less time to think, the fewer chances to touch, the higher probability that he would survive this weekend only slightly tarnished.
But he thought he saw Dom watching him sometimes, watching him salty and sunned on the beach, watching him lose himself in color and music.
Watching him.
And he wondered.
.:.
Dom asked him for one dance, bowing dramatically and pulling him out onto the crowded floor. Billy hummed to himself, careful, watching Dom's face and controlling his reactions.
Dom's hand brushed the curls where they caught at the collar of Billy's shirt. Billy forgot to breathe.
.:.
Billy thought he must still be dreaming. Dom was in his room. He couldn't see him, lying on his stomach with his face turned away from the door, but he could feel him. He could always feel him. Dom edged closer to the bed, pulled back the covers, and slid into the bed. Half on top of Billy. Warmth. Comforting weight. Billy sighed. "Dom," he started to ask, but couldn't be bothered to form words.
Dom curled around him. "Are you ready, Billy? Are you ready to know what I want? Because I need to tell you. I want to know what you sound like. I want to know what you're dreaming that makes you look like that. I want to make you look like that. I want to make you sound like that. I want to go forward to not needing words. I want."
Billy pushed up, pushed Dom off, pushed him onto his back, hovered above him, pushing his knee -there-. Dom hissed, low. "I want, too, Dom," Billy said. "I want." But Dom didn't let him finish, pulling him in, pulling him down, kissing him first soft, then nudging, Billy opening to him, exploring, tasting, demanding, possessing.
.:.
They were the best of friends, of course.