Subtlety: LotR RPS, DM/BB
Title: Subtlety
Author: Kate
Fandom: LotRPS
Pairing: DM/BB
Rating: PG-13
Summary: In which Dom tries to reach, and "could" is not the same as "do".
Disclaimer: Complete and utter fiction.
Notes: Written for the Contrelamontre challenge for smell, written in about forty-five minutes. I had a lot of trouble narrowing down my ideas, and it probably shows, but I loved the challenge too much to pass it by.
Dom had wanted to kiss him then and there, during the thirty silent seconds of retrieving their coats from the laundry room in the dark, air still and velvet around them like a curtain. He would replay it sometimes in his head when he was drunk or bored, or just in need of something to distract him. Dom and Billy had hardly looked at each other, had simply fished their coats off the hook to get ready, but it was the familiarity that made Dom want to do it, the pure comfort in knowing that they didn’t have to speak or make excuses.
He could have slid the door closed with his foot and nimbly stepped around in front of Billy, hands taking hold of his collar or maybe his shoulders. He could have kissed him thoroughly and soundly, feel the body against him melt into him. Counted to ten in his mind and then stepped away, wiping the back of his mouth and grinning, already halfway out the door. He could have kissed him and no-one would have seen or noticed or bothered, no nagging itch in the back of his mind afraid of being caught, no excuses they would have to make. Could have kissed him, and he would have been able to capture how he smells: soap and freshness and the slight, tangy salt of his skin. Tiny things that hid on Billy, waiting for Dom to find them and search them out. Make them his own perhaps, memorize it like he would memorize the slope of his back if he only had the chance.
But there had been no kiss, of course. Billy had just turned away and fiddled with the buttons on his coat for a moment, then he had finished putting it on and the smell was gone, replaced with wood-smoke and heavy wool.
"Could" is not the same as "do".
Even still, Dom holds this memory like a secret caught in cupped hands, something he must keep in for fear of it breaking loose and flying away, leaving him with nothing but a scent of something that might have been.
*
He smells like soap and fresh and sweetness, something Dom would want to bury his face into. Elusive, strong enough to take him by surprise in a crowded room, but subtle. It seems secretive, something meant for him alone, as ridiculous as that sounds. And Dom will never admit to standing next to Billy closer than he should, just to catch his scent.
It sneaks up on him at odd times, like here in the back seat, their fingertips close to brushing but never quite making it. Their hands are splayed out to their sides and resting on the free seat in between them, Dom’s hand resting on the spare seat-belt. The cold metal of the buckle touches his thumb, and he wonders if that would be a good enough excuse to slide his hand even more to the side, just enough to touch Billy’s hand. The smell of his skin seems to hover at the edges of his fingers, lingering and just beyond his reach, yet obtainable, if he only brought up the nerve to try. He could lean inwards and casually rest his head on Billy’s thin shoulder, pivot his head so that his nose touched his neck, so that he could breathe him in.
The smell of burning rubber suddenly permeates the car, thin and shifty, insinuating itself under the windows and through the gaps in the doors. It’s strong, especially in conjunction with the almost-there mildness of Billy, enough to make his eyes water. The road ahead is blocked off for construction, and police officers with orange light sticks redirect their car as they repave the road. Dom can see the hot tar through the window; can smell it invading in waves, unwanted and almost sickening, joined by the sting of gasoline. Dom wishes for it to dissipate, to be overpowered by Billy-smell, clean and soothing, but it never happens.
It’s the smoke that lingers, and Billy’s smell is gone. Something always gets in the way.
*
Later that night, Dom is cornered by arms hooking up around his neck, his cheek brushing smooth cotton as Billy pulls him closer. Twin, woozy smiles, a bit unsteady but too drunk to care, the concept of personal space all but failing when Dom places a hand on Billy’s waist. And suddenly, there is no more “could”, only “can” and “do”, and it’s so easy to let Billy nuzzle him with smirking, bleary eyes. Billy smells like hot and spice, all subtlety gone, and it's as harsh and different as the gasoline and the tar. Dom finds himself wishing for the other Billy, the one who wouldn’t press and tease with shameless taunting. Dom wouldn’t call it entirely unwanted, but it’s as different from what he really wants as hot tar on a mild day, too shocking and brash. As far from his perfect almost-memory as they could possibly get, and this is all wrong. This is not sweet and silent, not something just beyond his reach that he wants to grasp out for.
Billy’s sleeve smells like smoke and alcohol when he brings an arm up to touch his cheek, and Dom has to turn his head away.
Author: Kate
Fandom: LotRPS
Pairing: DM/BB
Rating: PG-13
Summary: In which Dom tries to reach, and "could" is not the same as "do".
Disclaimer: Complete and utter fiction.
Notes: Written for the Contrelamontre challenge for smell, written in about forty-five minutes. I had a lot of trouble narrowing down my ideas, and it probably shows, but I loved the challenge too much to pass it by.
Dom had wanted to kiss him then and there, during the thirty silent seconds of retrieving their coats from the laundry room in the dark, air still and velvet around them like a curtain. He would replay it sometimes in his head when he was drunk or bored, or just in need of something to distract him. Dom and Billy had hardly looked at each other, had simply fished their coats off the hook to get ready, but it was the familiarity that made Dom want to do it, the pure comfort in knowing that they didn’t have to speak or make excuses.
He could have slid the door closed with his foot and nimbly stepped around in front of Billy, hands taking hold of his collar or maybe his shoulders. He could have kissed him thoroughly and soundly, feel the body against him melt into him. Counted to ten in his mind and then stepped away, wiping the back of his mouth and grinning, already halfway out the door. He could have kissed him and no-one would have seen or noticed or bothered, no nagging itch in the back of his mind afraid of being caught, no excuses they would have to make. Could have kissed him, and he would have been able to capture how he smells: soap and freshness and the slight, tangy salt of his skin. Tiny things that hid on Billy, waiting for Dom to find them and search them out. Make them his own perhaps, memorize it like he would memorize the slope of his back if he only had the chance.
But there had been no kiss, of course. Billy had just turned away and fiddled with the buttons on his coat for a moment, then he had finished putting it on and the smell was gone, replaced with wood-smoke and heavy wool.
"Could" is not the same as "do".
Even still, Dom holds this memory like a secret caught in cupped hands, something he must keep in for fear of it breaking loose and flying away, leaving him with nothing but a scent of something that might have been.
*
He smells like soap and fresh and sweetness, something Dom would want to bury his face into. Elusive, strong enough to take him by surprise in a crowded room, but subtle. It seems secretive, something meant for him alone, as ridiculous as that sounds. And Dom will never admit to standing next to Billy closer than he should, just to catch his scent.
It sneaks up on him at odd times, like here in the back seat, their fingertips close to brushing but never quite making it. Their hands are splayed out to their sides and resting on the free seat in between them, Dom’s hand resting on the spare seat-belt. The cold metal of the buckle touches his thumb, and he wonders if that would be a good enough excuse to slide his hand even more to the side, just enough to touch Billy’s hand. The smell of his skin seems to hover at the edges of his fingers, lingering and just beyond his reach, yet obtainable, if he only brought up the nerve to try. He could lean inwards and casually rest his head on Billy’s thin shoulder, pivot his head so that his nose touched his neck, so that he could breathe him in.
The smell of burning rubber suddenly permeates the car, thin and shifty, insinuating itself under the windows and through the gaps in the doors. It’s strong, especially in conjunction with the almost-there mildness of Billy, enough to make his eyes water. The road ahead is blocked off for construction, and police officers with orange light sticks redirect their car as they repave the road. Dom can see the hot tar through the window; can smell it invading in waves, unwanted and almost sickening, joined by the sting of gasoline. Dom wishes for it to dissipate, to be overpowered by Billy-smell, clean and soothing, but it never happens.
It’s the smoke that lingers, and Billy’s smell is gone. Something always gets in the way.
*
Later that night, Dom is cornered by arms hooking up around his neck, his cheek brushing smooth cotton as Billy pulls him closer. Twin, woozy smiles, a bit unsteady but too drunk to care, the concept of personal space all but failing when Dom places a hand on Billy’s waist. And suddenly, there is no more “could”, only “can” and “do”, and it’s so easy to let Billy nuzzle him with smirking, bleary eyes. Billy smells like hot and spice, all subtlety gone, and it's as harsh and different as the gasoline and the tar. Dom finds himself wishing for the other Billy, the one who wouldn’t press and tease with shameless taunting. Dom wouldn’t call it entirely unwanted, but it’s as different from what he really wants as hot tar on a mild day, too shocking and brash. As far from his perfect almost-memory as they could possibly get, and this is all wrong. This is not sweet and silent, not something just beyond his reach that he wants to grasp out for.
Billy’s sleeve smells like smoke and alcohol when he brings an arm up to touch his cheek, and Dom has to turn his head away.