Men, Mountains and Molehills 1/? (multiple)
Title: Men, Mountains, and Molehills
Author: Phentalon
Pairing: Billy/? Billy/?? Dom/? Dom/?? (it’s only a secret at the very start of this chapter, I’m not going to cryptic and annoying ^.^)
Summary: Billy and Dom are rent boys in London, haunted by the death of their mentor Sean, and they are only just getting back into the swing of life when someone turns it all upside down.
Rating: R
Word Count: 2,211
Feedback: Pretty please with Domlijah flavoured porn and chocolate on top! If I get zero feedback I probably wont bother finishing ^^; so if you like it just a tiny comment? =3
“Dom!” Billy was sat on the living room floor, a strange candle by his foot. It was almost round, globs bumping through at random, and things like beer tops and train tickets embedded. There was a deep sunken centre from many lights. “Dom, for fucks sake!”
“Ok, ok don’t lose your blob.” Dom hopped into the small, grubby room, pulling jeans up and buttoning them. He sobered at the sight of the candle, and sat medatively. Billy looked at the scratched face of the clock. Eleven fifty eight. Close enough. He struck a match, lit the candle and stared into the small flame. For many minutes he didn’t move, just thought of Sean. He loathed it when people called him his ‘pimp’, his dead pimp. It sickened him; the reality sickened him. Sean had been his saviour, his mentor and his friend. The friend who’d been knifed by a customer in a back alley a year ago.
He glanced up at Dom. He knew Dom wanted to cry, he knew his chest was cramping from the effort of not. He should hate Dom, really. He had stolen Sean away, and made Billy’s last words of him ones of anger. Because Sean broke his own rule with Dom. Sean never shagged his boys, that was it. He would test them out, give them a teaching hand, but other then that, he never did. Billy always liked to think that if that rule didn’t exist, Sean would have had him. God knows he would have let him. That one night when Billy ran back to the flat, near hysterical after a punter had got a little rough with him, and Sean had hugged him like no man should another, and Billy had kissed him. And regretted it every day since, even after the phone call from the hospital, and the trip to the morgue that Billy remembers nothing of.
He had sat in the living room, cigarette trailing from his hand, staring callously into space while Dom sobbed and screamed into the floor of his room. Billy had never shed a single tear. That tap only had an on switch, no off. Sean had taken that off switch into the ground with his cold body. But Billy sat for ten long minutes, staring into the flame and thinking of Sean. How good he’d always been to him, the only time they’d shagged, when he first rescued Billy from that rainy shop doorway. How one man had managed to be an entire family to him.
Then he blew out the candle, and went back to his life. Him and Dom got ready, and they left. Since the murder Dom had not gone to the street with Billy, he had been too terrified. But he had come to Billy the night before and announced that a year was long enough, and it went back to normal. Billy looked forward to not being the only moneymaker any more.
They had been sitting on their corner for about a half hour when a rather nice Jaguar pulled up. The window went down and Billy sauntered over, thumbs in the top of his jeans, like Sean had taught him. That was almost the first trick he learnt; thumbs in jeans and fingers straight down, it draws attention to, well, Billy had been a shy young bloke at the time, and had been mortified at the thought. How times change.
Billy peered in. Wow. They didn’t get hot very often, hot people didn’t generally need to hire their sex. But this piece of work, with the muscular jaw lightly dusted with stubble and shoulder length dark hair, would defiantly not require an imagination during sex. And the big hands round the steering wheel were promising.
“What can I do you for?”
“Is that a pun?” American then. Billy thought about that for a second, and laughed.
“Unintentionally.”
“Then I’ll let you off. Have any friends available?” Billy turned and whistled at Dom,
who hopped off the wall and came over. The driver looked them up and down briefly.
“How much?”
“Hour or night?”
“Night.”
“Three hundred. Each.” The man raised a ‘you’ve got to be joking’ eyebrow. “Going rate.”
“And anyone else on the street would say the same?”
“Apart from the ones riddled with herpes.”
“In you get then.” He unlocked the doors, more then a hint of amusement playing at his voice. Billy got gracefully in the front, Dom sliding in the backseat. He ran his hands over the leather.
“Nice.” The man smiled at Dom through the rear-view mirror.
“You boys got names?”
“Billy.” He looked at their client under his eyelids, the second trick he learnt. Then trick three; if he doesn’t tell you his name he doesn’t want you to know so don’t ask. Dom cleared his throat and looked away.
“Dominic. Or, Dom.” Billy sighed wearily. Dom clearly wasn’t quite back in the swing of things, which was a shame, since this guy looked rich. He might look for them next time, if he had a next time, and if Dom didn’t piss up too badly.
They drove for about ten minutes, in the Edgware-ish area (Billy didn’t like paying too close attention, there was something creepy about walking past a house in the harsh light of day and knowing he’d been fucked in it) and stopped at a largish but surprisingly industrial tower block.
“Looks like you spent more on your car then you did on your flat.” Billy grinned.
“What can I say, I like cars. This way.” And he led them around back to the big yellow frame of a lift.
As it hummed upwards Dom looked nervous and Billy decided he’d have to lump it; stand on his two feet for a change. He’d carried him on his back for a year and now it was his turn.
“Wo-o-ow.” Dom stared upwards at the huge studio they were in. It was strangely beautiful; in a thoroughly industrial kind of way. Shadows of pigeons feet patted across the dim glassy roof high above their heads, crossed with steel beams. Whilst down below it was a riot of colour and chaos, palettes of paint abandoned of table, canvases lying on the floor and standing against the walls or in frames. Long cloths hung drying from crude clotheslines across the room; embedded with paint and ink spatters and small objects.
The man let them look, and Billy looked closely at a yellowish piece, a tree faded deep into the background as if the canvas was thirty feet deep. A sun strained through the branches and patterns and shapes clashed mutedly behind the colour.
“You like that?” He jumped; their customer was behind him, he hadn’t heard him approach on what were now bare feet.
“Yes, a lot.” And it was true, he liked the solitude and the depth, it looked like if someone wanted to sit at the roots of the tree it would take them a lifetime to get there.
“Why?” Billy’s brow furrowed.
“What?” The man stepped up beside him and touched the edge of the canvas.
“People never know why they like art; like or dislike are such a vague spectrum of feelings, you don’t even need to be looking to have one of them.” He said this more to himself then Billy but his attention was rapt nonetheless. Something about his man demanded a respect he didn’t seem to want.
“Because…” Billy thought. “It’s sad, and dead, and alone, but it’s under a façade of false happiness. It thinks, because it’s a piece of art that it has to be pretty. Like a girl thinks she has to make herself up to be pretty. But it’s also something to hide behind.” He blushed; he hadn’t meant to speak for so long.
The man said nothing, but slipped his arms around Billy’s waist and kissed his neck. He let his head drop back onto his shoulder, an expert at fakery, but for real would always be easier. Not that he had for real often. Unless he closed his eyes and thought of Sean, but doing that stung.
He started fondling the man’s crotch, other hand slipped under his shirt and running his fingers over his abdomen. He was vaguely aware of Dom’s hands as well, picking at buttons.
“My name’s Viggo.” That surprised Billy, not just the exotic quality of the name but that he said it at all.
Then his shirt was grabbed and both he and Dom was pulled over to a low bed that sat amongst the easels, a blanket on the floor of this artists forest.
Viggo clicked his fingers once and the light went out.
“Always handy.” Dom grinned as he pulled off his shirt.
“Shut up.” Said Viggo, letting Billy undo his suit trousers. He held in an irritable sigh at Dom’s hurt expression. Billy took hold of him casually in his boxers.
“What do you want us to do?” He had put on the standard sultry tone.
“Nothing.” His was low and gravely, grating the gloom. “Let me do whatever I want.” That was a dangerous request, because with people who paid for it anything meant anything. But there were two of them and both had a penknife in the cast off shoes.
“Sure.” Dom replied first, to Billy’s surprise. A paint stained box was pulled from just under the bed and contained condoms and lube. Viggo applied both to himself, not the ritual some made of it, and took hold of Dom. Pushing himself between his legs, he hissed in Dom’s ear, “Suck him.”
So Billy knelt obediently in front of a horizontal Dom, who lowered his mouth to his dick, sucking him swiftly to hardness. A slight bite on the sensitive flesh told him Viggo was fucking Dom and when he looked up, sure enough Viggo had his hips up against Dom’s raised arse and had his head back, fingers gripping Dom.
The sight of Viggo’s tense torso, starting to shine slightly with the beginnings of exertion sweat was enough for Billy. It had become default not to enjoy sex, but it was not as if he was enjoying Dom sucking him; he could have been wanking and imagining this supple, muscled body fucking some anonymous boy. So he allowed himself to stare at Viggo fucking Dom, while Viggo in turn stared at Dom sucking on Billy.
Billy felt Viggo’s pace increase because it jolted Dom’s mouth around him, but that felt good. He could feel both of them coming to climax at the same time, both inside Dom, but he knew how Dom hated having to swallow cum, so as he came close he forced himself to wrench back, bringing himself to climax with a few jerks of his hand.
Viggo was still finishing up with Dom when Billy fell back on the bed, and just caught it;
“Uhh… Sean…” Dom’s face, near to his, was screwed up in ecstasy, whispering the words in gasped breaths.
There was panting silence for a moment while they all lay still, Billy looking at Dom steadily until he noticed, but when he did he carefully looked away, colouring. Arsehole.
But Viggo, who clearly wasn’t done yet, distracted him. He moved to lie over Billy and coaxingly turned him on his side with one large hand, moving it to a thigh to slide the top leg away and bent. On his knees, Viggo moved fluidly over one leg, the other draped around his hip.
There was the brief rip and slippery rustle of the condom being out on, and he pushed the head inside. Billy tensed all through, gripping the sheet, and Viggo began to push harder, obviously aware of what he had reduced Billy to. The familiar blind burn took Bill and he gripped his own cock as he felt Viggo lift his legs apart with a searing palm to get better access, fucking deeper into him.
As he forced himself to zone out, as he always did, the vision of Viggo arching his sweating back, tan chest tight and heaving, shot through him and it took only a second of weakness to remember that it was that vision who was putting his hard erection into him now and he was lost.
Panting and gasping and crying out, Dom beside them and staring, masturbating languidly, Billy was gone in the sensation he hadn’t had for more years then he wanted to count. Viggo went to the hilt inside him, drawing out very slightly, sucking the breath from Billy’s lungs with him, then plunging back inside, all in the space of half a second as he fucked Billy fast.
Faking he may have not been but Billy still knew what drove them to distraction. Basically showing that everything they did drove you to distraction. Even if it didn’t naturally. So his habit was making itself know in the form of just the right writhe that would push them that millimetre deeper, the small cry that told them they were doing it the way no other man on the planet could possibly do.
It may have been cynical, but as he panted and came, Viggo emptying himself inside him, Billy really did not care.
((So ? was Sean and ?? was Viggo. Complicated isn’t it XD))
Author: Phentalon
Pairing: Billy/? Billy/?? Dom/? Dom/?? (it’s only a secret at the very start of this chapter, I’m not going to cryptic and annoying ^.^)
Summary: Billy and Dom are rent boys in London, haunted by the death of their mentor Sean, and they are only just getting back into the swing of life when someone turns it all upside down.
Rating: R
Word Count: 2,211
Feedback: Pretty please with Domlijah flavoured porn and chocolate on top! If I get zero feedback I probably wont bother finishing ^^; so if you like it just a tiny comment? =3
“Dom!” Billy was sat on the living room floor, a strange candle by his foot. It was almost round, globs bumping through at random, and things like beer tops and train tickets embedded. There was a deep sunken centre from many lights. “Dom, for fucks sake!”
“Ok, ok don’t lose your blob.” Dom hopped into the small, grubby room, pulling jeans up and buttoning them. He sobered at the sight of the candle, and sat medatively. Billy looked at the scratched face of the clock. Eleven fifty eight. Close enough. He struck a match, lit the candle and stared into the small flame. For many minutes he didn’t move, just thought of Sean. He loathed it when people called him his ‘pimp’, his dead pimp. It sickened him; the reality sickened him. Sean had been his saviour, his mentor and his friend. The friend who’d been knifed by a customer in a back alley a year ago.
He glanced up at Dom. He knew Dom wanted to cry, he knew his chest was cramping from the effort of not. He should hate Dom, really. He had stolen Sean away, and made Billy’s last words of him ones of anger. Because Sean broke his own rule with Dom. Sean never shagged his boys, that was it. He would test them out, give them a teaching hand, but other then that, he never did. Billy always liked to think that if that rule didn’t exist, Sean would have had him. God knows he would have let him. That one night when Billy ran back to the flat, near hysterical after a punter had got a little rough with him, and Sean had hugged him like no man should another, and Billy had kissed him. And regretted it every day since, even after the phone call from the hospital, and the trip to the morgue that Billy remembers nothing of.
He had sat in the living room, cigarette trailing from his hand, staring callously into space while Dom sobbed and screamed into the floor of his room. Billy had never shed a single tear. That tap only had an on switch, no off. Sean had taken that off switch into the ground with his cold body. But Billy sat for ten long minutes, staring into the flame and thinking of Sean. How good he’d always been to him, the only time they’d shagged, when he first rescued Billy from that rainy shop doorway. How one man had managed to be an entire family to him.
Then he blew out the candle, and went back to his life. Him and Dom got ready, and they left. Since the murder Dom had not gone to the street with Billy, he had been too terrified. But he had come to Billy the night before and announced that a year was long enough, and it went back to normal. Billy looked forward to not being the only moneymaker any more.
They had been sitting on their corner for about a half hour when a rather nice Jaguar pulled up. The window went down and Billy sauntered over, thumbs in the top of his jeans, like Sean had taught him. That was almost the first trick he learnt; thumbs in jeans and fingers straight down, it draws attention to, well, Billy had been a shy young bloke at the time, and had been mortified at the thought. How times change.
Billy peered in. Wow. They didn’t get hot very often, hot people didn’t generally need to hire their sex. But this piece of work, with the muscular jaw lightly dusted with stubble and shoulder length dark hair, would defiantly not require an imagination during sex. And the big hands round the steering wheel were promising.
“What can I do you for?”
“Is that a pun?” American then. Billy thought about that for a second, and laughed.
“Unintentionally.”
“Then I’ll let you off. Have any friends available?” Billy turned and whistled at Dom,
who hopped off the wall and came over. The driver looked them up and down briefly.
“How much?”
“Hour or night?”
“Night.”
“Three hundred. Each.” The man raised a ‘you’ve got to be joking’ eyebrow. “Going rate.”
“And anyone else on the street would say the same?”
“Apart from the ones riddled with herpes.”
“In you get then.” He unlocked the doors, more then a hint of amusement playing at his voice. Billy got gracefully in the front, Dom sliding in the backseat. He ran his hands over the leather.
“Nice.” The man smiled at Dom through the rear-view mirror.
“You boys got names?”
“Billy.” He looked at their client under his eyelids, the second trick he learnt. Then trick three; if he doesn’t tell you his name he doesn’t want you to know so don’t ask. Dom cleared his throat and looked away.
“Dominic. Or, Dom.” Billy sighed wearily. Dom clearly wasn’t quite back in the swing of things, which was a shame, since this guy looked rich. He might look for them next time, if he had a next time, and if Dom didn’t piss up too badly.
They drove for about ten minutes, in the Edgware-ish area (Billy didn’t like paying too close attention, there was something creepy about walking past a house in the harsh light of day and knowing he’d been fucked in it) and stopped at a largish but surprisingly industrial tower block.
“Looks like you spent more on your car then you did on your flat.” Billy grinned.
“What can I say, I like cars. This way.” And he led them around back to the big yellow frame of a lift.
As it hummed upwards Dom looked nervous and Billy decided he’d have to lump it; stand on his two feet for a change. He’d carried him on his back for a year and now it was his turn.
“Wo-o-ow.” Dom stared upwards at the huge studio they were in. It was strangely beautiful; in a thoroughly industrial kind of way. Shadows of pigeons feet patted across the dim glassy roof high above their heads, crossed with steel beams. Whilst down below it was a riot of colour and chaos, palettes of paint abandoned of table, canvases lying on the floor and standing against the walls or in frames. Long cloths hung drying from crude clotheslines across the room; embedded with paint and ink spatters and small objects.
The man let them look, and Billy looked closely at a yellowish piece, a tree faded deep into the background as if the canvas was thirty feet deep. A sun strained through the branches and patterns and shapes clashed mutedly behind the colour.
“You like that?” He jumped; their customer was behind him, he hadn’t heard him approach on what were now bare feet.
“Yes, a lot.” And it was true, he liked the solitude and the depth, it looked like if someone wanted to sit at the roots of the tree it would take them a lifetime to get there.
“Why?” Billy’s brow furrowed.
“What?” The man stepped up beside him and touched the edge of the canvas.
“People never know why they like art; like or dislike are such a vague spectrum of feelings, you don’t even need to be looking to have one of them.” He said this more to himself then Billy but his attention was rapt nonetheless. Something about his man demanded a respect he didn’t seem to want.
“Because…” Billy thought. “It’s sad, and dead, and alone, but it’s under a façade of false happiness. It thinks, because it’s a piece of art that it has to be pretty. Like a girl thinks she has to make herself up to be pretty. But it’s also something to hide behind.” He blushed; he hadn’t meant to speak for so long.
The man said nothing, but slipped his arms around Billy’s waist and kissed his neck. He let his head drop back onto his shoulder, an expert at fakery, but for real would always be easier. Not that he had for real often. Unless he closed his eyes and thought of Sean, but doing that stung.
He started fondling the man’s crotch, other hand slipped under his shirt and running his fingers over his abdomen. He was vaguely aware of Dom’s hands as well, picking at buttons.
“My name’s Viggo.” That surprised Billy, not just the exotic quality of the name but that he said it at all.
Then his shirt was grabbed and both he and Dom was pulled over to a low bed that sat amongst the easels, a blanket on the floor of this artists forest.
Viggo clicked his fingers once and the light went out.
“Always handy.” Dom grinned as he pulled off his shirt.
“Shut up.” Said Viggo, letting Billy undo his suit trousers. He held in an irritable sigh at Dom’s hurt expression. Billy took hold of him casually in his boxers.
“What do you want us to do?” He had put on the standard sultry tone.
“Nothing.” His was low and gravely, grating the gloom. “Let me do whatever I want.” That was a dangerous request, because with people who paid for it anything meant anything. But there were two of them and both had a penknife in the cast off shoes.
“Sure.” Dom replied first, to Billy’s surprise. A paint stained box was pulled from just under the bed and contained condoms and lube. Viggo applied both to himself, not the ritual some made of it, and took hold of Dom. Pushing himself between his legs, he hissed in Dom’s ear, “Suck him.”
So Billy knelt obediently in front of a horizontal Dom, who lowered his mouth to his dick, sucking him swiftly to hardness. A slight bite on the sensitive flesh told him Viggo was fucking Dom and when he looked up, sure enough Viggo had his hips up against Dom’s raised arse and had his head back, fingers gripping Dom.
The sight of Viggo’s tense torso, starting to shine slightly with the beginnings of exertion sweat was enough for Billy. It had become default not to enjoy sex, but it was not as if he was enjoying Dom sucking him; he could have been wanking and imagining this supple, muscled body fucking some anonymous boy. So he allowed himself to stare at Viggo fucking Dom, while Viggo in turn stared at Dom sucking on Billy.
Billy felt Viggo’s pace increase because it jolted Dom’s mouth around him, but that felt good. He could feel both of them coming to climax at the same time, both inside Dom, but he knew how Dom hated having to swallow cum, so as he came close he forced himself to wrench back, bringing himself to climax with a few jerks of his hand.
Viggo was still finishing up with Dom when Billy fell back on the bed, and just caught it;
“Uhh… Sean…” Dom’s face, near to his, was screwed up in ecstasy, whispering the words in gasped breaths.
There was panting silence for a moment while they all lay still, Billy looking at Dom steadily until he noticed, but when he did he carefully looked away, colouring. Arsehole.
But Viggo, who clearly wasn’t done yet, distracted him. He moved to lie over Billy and coaxingly turned him on his side with one large hand, moving it to a thigh to slide the top leg away and bent. On his knees, Viggo moved fluidly over one leg, the other draped around his hip.
There was the brief rip and slippery rustle of the condom being out on, and he pushed the head inside. Billy tensed all through, gripping the sheet, and Viggo began to push harder, obviously aware of what he had reduced Billy to. The familiar blind burn took Bill and he gripped his own cock as he felt Viggo lift his legs apart with a searing palm to get better access, fucking deeper into him.
As he forced himself to zone out, as he always did, the vision of Viggo arching his sweating back, tan chest tight and heaving, shot through him and it took only a second of weakness to remember that it was that vision who was putting his hard erection into him now and he was lost.
Panting and gasping and crying out, Dom beside them and staring, masturbating languidly, Billy was gone in the sensation he hadn’t had for more years then he wanted to count. Viggo went to the hilt inside him, drawing out very slightly, sucking the breath from Billy’s lungs with him, then plunging back inside, all in the space of half a second as he fucked Billy fast.
Faking he may have not been but Billy still knew what drove them to distraction. Basically showing that everything they did drove you to distraction. Even if it didn’t naturally. So his habit was making itself know in the form of just the right writhe that would push them that millimetre deeper, the small cry that told them they were doing it the way no other man on the planet could possibly do.
It may have been cynical, but as he panted and came, Viggo emptying himself inside him, Billy really did not care.
((So ? was Sean and ?? was Viggo. Complicated isn’t it XD))