REPOST: untitled (billy/dom/viggo)

[girl_tarte]

Who: Billy/Dom (Viggo - Trust us on this)
What: Threesomeish Porn with very little plot. Seriously. Very little.
Where: Billy’s abode,
Why: Why not?
When: Probably during filming. Suspend your disbelief - it helps.
How: Because Tarteaucitron and I are insane, that’s how.

Disclaimer? You Bet.

NB: tigged with algernon_mouse. originally posted by mouse.



Billy picks the phone up three times before he manages to dial, and then he hangs up when it finally starts ringing.

Dom is laughing at him from the couch. "All you have to do is ring him up and say you're James Bond, and does he fancy a snog. Simple as that."

"Pete's gonna fire me."

"Nah. He'll think it's funny. C'mon. Don't be such a big girl’s blouse. Ring him."

“All right, all right, give me a chance, I’ll do it.” Billy makes little batting movements with his hands. “Just remind me what’s coming off for this one.”

Dom looks down at himself. “Erm, trousers. I think that’s got to be next.” He looks back up and winks. “That’s got to be some kind of incentive, eh Billy Bills?”

Billy rolls his eyes in the jerky and deliberate way of a person who knows they have the day off tomorrow and has been up all night with a bottle and a half of Scotch.

He dials again. One ring, two, three. On the fourth it’s answered. Billy clears his throat.

“Hello, hello? Ah! Hello,” he says, stamping his foot on the floor, eyes screwed up in a mixture of mental pain and suppressed laughter. “Now, I know thish ish a bit out of the blue. Your agent shaid I ought to shpeak to you pershonally. My name’sh Sean -”

“I know who you are,” says the tinny American voice on the other end abruptly.

“Oh good, good. I have a little proposhition for you.”

There is a pause. Dom and Billy glance at each other. Dom’s balled fists are jammed into his grinning mouth and his eyes are canyons.

Finally the receiver pipes up again. “Oh… my… god…”

Billy slams the phone down.

"No, no, no, no..." Dom says laughing. "That was terrible and you know it! In fact, that was so bad, I think I’ll have to put my shirt back on."

Billy groans and tips back the last of his drink. "All right. You. Viggo. And you have to make him have phone sex with you."

"Psh. That's nothing. We did that last night."

Billy's face drops. "You did not."

"Did too," Dom confirms. "And he loves it when you talk dirty to him."

“You are full of shit,” says Billy. “Just for that, I’m gonna make you do it. And I’m gonna listen in the bedroom.” He prods a finger into the air in front of Dom.

“Be my guest,” says Dom suavely. “Whatever floats your boat, but this is definitely pants-level.” He picks up the phone and dials.

Billy scuttles for his bedroom, overshooting slightly and smacking into the doorframe. He throws himself over to the far side of the double bed, and snatches up the receiver in time to hear Dom say:

“Hey Vig. It’s me, did I wake you?”

There is a snuffly sound at the other end, and a rustling crinkling that could easily be bedclothes. There is a yawn. Billy smirks cynically, balancing the phone between ear and shoulder to reach under the bed for his slippers. He lost his socks two rounds back. Then comes Viggo’s drawl.

“Not had enough yet?”

Billy jerks and the telephone pings from its holding place to land with an almighty clatter on the wooden floor.

"Sorry," Dom says smoothly, "dropped the phone." Viggo laughs quietly, and Billy can hear the shift of blankets again (Viggo) and the quiet slide of Dom's back against the couch. "And besides," Dom laughs, "it's just that I'm a young lad. I don't need the same recovery time as you, old timer."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah," Dom voice comes grinning through the feed. "Wish you were here though." Billy's shocked by the gravel sound of Dom's voice so low against his ear. And shocked again by the honesty there. Suddenly he's not so sure he should be here with his ear pressed up against the phone.

"Mmm? And why should I be there? Don't you have Billy to play with?"

"Not the same, and you know it."

Billy swallows hard.

“I’ve been drinking,” Dom continues in a low voice.

“How much?” There’s more than sleep in Viggo’s voice now, there’s a tautness, an expectation.

“Enough.”

“Then tell me.” This is honeyed, almost a sigh. Billy hears someone shift again, the creaking of a plastic receiver. Billy is utterly still.

“He’s got my shirt off. He tried for my trousers.”

What?

“Did you let him?”

“No, not yet.”

“He wants to fuck you.”

Billy would jump if he had any muscle response left. He feels boneless, helpless. He can no longer feel the bed under his thighs or the receiver in his hand. His face is numb, a mask of shock.

“What do you want?”

Another pause. There is no sound of breathing. Blood thumps in Billy’s temples.

“I want you to let him.”

Billy doesn’t need to worry about Dom’s trousers any more because he’s pretty sure that his heart has thudded to a stop in the middle of his chest. He knuckles the phone tighter against his ear and wills himself to breath in slow, deep, even breaths.

“Yeah?” Dom’s smiling against the receiver. Billy can feel it curling through the wire and blushing warm against his cheek. “Let Billy fuck me? Let him bend me over the arm of the couch here and just have his way with me? Do you think he’s a talker, Vig?”

“Nah,” Viggo says conversationally, “I don’t think our Billy’s a talker. Besides, no one can get a word in edgewise with your filthy yap.” Viggo sighs, groans low into the phone and says, “I bet he’ll fuck you slowly. I think by the time he’s ready to come, he’ll have you begging for it.”

“...Mmm...” Dom’s quiet for a minute, and Billy grinds himself down onto the bed a little in the silence.

“So mind your manners, hobbit.”

“Oh, I’ll be nice to him. I’ll make him very happy,” mutters Dom.

Billy is pink. A seam of toxic heat is coiling in his chest. His hand pushes down reflexively against the hardness in his lap.

“That’s my good hobbit. Where’s Billy now?”

“In the bedroom. I think he’s passed out.”

“No.” Viggo’s fluent now, in command. “No, he’s not asleep. He’s thinking about you. He’s touching himself.”

Billy’s hand jerks out of his lap, and he holds it fisted at his shoulder, while he peers fearfully round the room. No. No one can see him. No one’s even looking. This is Dom and Viggo playing. A verbal game of tag, where Dom and Viggo lose their clothes and Billy is just the watcher in the wardrobe.

But Dom. Dom is breathing deep and Billy can hear the distorted rustle in his ear, and a squeaking sound that could be the leather of the sofa. Billy’s hand moves back down, an involuntary answer to the twitching ache in his groin.

“I want to go and find him. I want to push my cock against his mouth, and wipe that sweet little smile off his face.”

Distantly Billy hears Viggo’s quiet chuckle. Billy is rubbing now against the swelling in his jeans, eyes tight shut and head twitching back and forth a little, and he really believes he might come. His breathing is rough and surely audible. Suddenly he stops. There is a prickling in the back of his scalp, his short hair standing and twitching like iron filings under a magnet. His eyes open and he turns slowly.

Dom is in the doorway.

“Billy,” Viggo breathes his name audibly, it’s practically sing-song, and Billy feels his breath hitch deep in his chest. He’d drop the phone for sure if it weren’t his only grip on reality. Dom crosses the floor in three quiet strides to stand in front of Billy.

“I’m in the bedroom, Vig.” Dom’s voice is like gravel in Billy’s ear and now it’s in stereo. “I think you just scored two points because our little Billy’s got his hand down his pants. I wish you could see him. He’s panting, and he’s got a lovely pink stain on his cheeks … he’s definitely hard.”

Dom traces one finger over the skin of Billy’s bottom lip, and then presses in. “Wanna fuck your mouth so bad, Bill.”

“…Dom…”

“Yeah, Vig?” Dom is staring hard at Billy, and Billy feels as though he’s being crushed under the weight of it.

Dom draws his finger out of Billy’s mouth, slowly, pushing on the crease of Billy’s tongue, then runs it teasingly along Billy’s bottom lip again, wet now, slack. He puts the finger to his own mouth and tastes just the tip, curling the end of his long tongue around it caressingly.

“Dom.” Billy’s mouth makes the word, but the sound they both hear comes from Viggo. “Go on. His mouth.”

“His mouth is so hot. It’s gonna pull me in. He’s gonna wrap his strong little tongue round me. He’s gonna suck on me like I’m a stick of fucking Blackpool rock. Oh Vig,” says Dom, with a low laugh, “you were wrong. He’s going to be the one begging.” Dom’s pulling his trousers down from his hips, one-handed, suspiciously skilful.

There is a muffled grunt from the telephone, then a pause. “What will he say?”

“Nothing. He won’t say a word.”

Dom is naked from shoulder to knees. And he’s right, Billy is begging with every sinew and fibre.

It's all gotten maddeningly out of control and Billy can feel the whole room rocking with want. Or maybe that's just him as he watches Dom kick his leg free of his trousers. Dom catches his eye and grins openly at him before he cups the back of Billy's head and pulls him forward.

It's not a gentle kiss that Dom lands on Billy's mouth. It's hard, and open and Billy can feel his cock flinch. Dom is like a tidal wave, and Billy's getting sucked under by the current.

"Dom." It's just a tiny whisper that's escaped from Billy's lips, and Dom has caught it with his tongue and pressed it back into Billy’s mouth again. Billy groans low in the back of his throat.

"Fuck," Viggo grinds out harshly. Dom grins again, listening to Viggo. "Fuck him."

"And what if I don't want to be fucked?" Billy sounds suspiciously like Pippin, and Dom laughs.

"Shut it," Dom growls and stamps another wet kiss over Billy's gaping mouth. His fingers are already tugging at the hem of Billy's shirt and Billy doesn't resist the pull of it.

Billy’s grip on the telephone has loosened, and it’s beginning to slip from his ear. Dom pulls the shirt roughly over Billy’s head so that it snags on chin, nose and ears, and once again the receiver goes flying.

Dom reaches to pick up the phone and slams it back against Billy’s face, crushing the fragile spiral of his ear.

“You wanted to listen,” Dom hisses, his mouth centimetres from the other side of Billy’s face, the harsh burst of breath on Billy’s cheek mingled with a little spray of saliva.

Viggo is laughing hard. “Of course you want it, Billy. I’ve seen what you’re seeing. He’s a beautiful little fucker isn’t he? Such a beautiful cock.”

Billy stares, wordless, slack-jawed. Dom’s free hand is now wrapped around the base of his own cock, stroking gently.

“He’s going to fuck you till you forget everything but the feeling of that cock, the taste of it.” Viggo’s words are beginning to sound uneven, bursting distorted and painful into Billy’s ear.

Billy’s gasps a little, “hhhh”, and dazed and coaxed by the sight of Dom and the sound of Viggo, his own will falling away, he begins to fumble with his fly.

"There," Dom says softly, "there you go." Billy can feel Dom watching him closely, he can hear Viggo's breath practically hot in his ear. He licks his lips, his tongue snaking wetly across the bow of his mouth, and suddenly feels, under Dom's steady gaze, like prey trapped in sharp talons. Billy feels like he can't get loose and worse, he doesn't want to. In fact, he just wants to be turned over and used until he's wrung dry. Billy blots it all out as he leans forward.

He's being agonizingly slow, and he knows it. It's the power shift. Something in the back of Billy's brain quips that good things come to those who wait, and it's about time young Monaghan learned patience. Cocky little fucker.

There is a hissing noise coming from above him as Dom's cock slides over the flat of Billy's tongue and Billy can't help but grin. The angle’s odd, and Billy can't put a finger on the taste either. He can however put a finger on the shake that's begun in Dom's thigh, and that would be Billy's tongue running the hard length of him.

"Jesus, Viggo," Dom says roughly.

Billy looks up. Dom’s head is thrown back, but amazingly he is still clinging to that telephone receiver. Shit. Billy wonders how many times Dom’s done this.

He slides his tongue forward so that it lies all along the underside of Dom’s cock, then closes his mouth carefully, sucking a little.

“Jesus fuck! Mouth-” gasps Dom. His hand jerks forwards to Billy’s shoulder and pushes down hard, fingertips prodding into the muscle like tines of a fork.

There’s no sound now from Viggo apart from his breathing. To Billy it’s all white noise. It’s the disorientating rustle of a swimmer with ears full of seawater. Dom’s cock jerks against his palate and Billy struggles for breath, drowning again, panicking a little.

Dom moans, syllabic, inarticulate, and Billy tastes the bittersalt seeping from his cock. He sucks harder, reaching for himself, stroking hard, imagining Viggo doing the same, bedclothes cast off, limbs spread, no one to see.

“Oh… oh god,” Dom gulps, choking, his efficient physiology a little off-kilter. He begins to grunt rhythmically, thrusting forwards.

The white noise ceases. “Stop! Enough!” Viggo’s voice.

Dom stalls and tries to ease backwards, but Billy is pursing hard, trapping him in warm sucking wetness. Dom pushes with the heel of his hand against Billy’s forehead and pulls out, separating them with a wet snapping sound, and staggering backwards a couple of paces.

They look at each other, hot and glazed. Billy half wishes they were alone.

“Now,” says Viggo. “Fuck him now.”

“Fucking Hell,” Billy whispers. He’s fumbling with the zip of his trousers when Dom’s hands cover his own. Dom’s fingers are shaking and Billy lifts his head up to stare at Dom with wide, shocked eyes. Dom has pinned the phone between his shoulder and ear, and Billy smiles at him with a sense of unsteadiness.

It’s vertigo, Billy’s brain insists. Madness, it counters. Shut up, Billy thinks, both of you.

Dom’s fingers trace a slow line downwards from Billy’s sternum, and Billy wants to curl into the touch. He gasps audibly when Dom’s hand slips past the open waistband of his jeans, cupping him roughly.

“You wanna fuck him, Dom?” Viggo breathes. “You wanna break him, Dom?”

Dom nods, staring hard at Billy. He steps forward, closes the gap, and catches Billy’s mouth again. Billy tips his head back, opens for the assault of Dom’s tongue against his own. It’s a drunken kiss, only Billy’s painfully sober now.

“…Fuck him…” Viggo whispers.

Dom’s fingers are digging painfully into the back of Billy’s head, and he’s dropped the receiver down to his chest. His mouth is pressed tightly against Billy’s ear, and Billy winces at the scrape of stubble there.

“Do you want to do this?” Dom asks urgently. “You have to say you want this.”

Billy’s mouth, so wet and welcoming a second ago, is suddenly like the fucking Sahara, and there is a hard bunching of muscle at the back of his throat. He swallows ineffectually. His larynx has shut up shop and he can only produce a whisper.

“You ask now?”

Dom’s face is almost too close to focus on, two blue-black eyes dissolving into one, but Billy can see the hunger, plain as day, and a hint of constraint, uncertainty.

“It’s a bit fucking late for informed consent.”

Uncertainty blossoms into outright confusion, and Dom steps back, pulling his hand slowly from Billy’s trousers. The hand holding the phone slips limply to his side. Billy looks at him in amazement for a second. The receiver in his own hand is silent. Dom waits, Viggo waits.

Billy’s face creases into a sly grin. He shoves his jeans to his knees and kicks his way out of them. Dom steps back towards him, mouth open, eyes darkening. He grabs Billy’s phone from his hand and lays it on the bed.

It’s Billy who grasps the back of Dom’s neck and pulls him in, one hand around Dom’s waist holding them tight together, thigh to thigh, groin to groin. He can feel Dom shaking a little, but they kiss gently for a moment, toothless, tongues licking, coaxing. Billy feels the hot sweet flutter in his belly, and the urgent pulse of blood in his cock, and has to kiss harder, sucking, stabbing with his tongue, pushing his hips forward. His hand slips to Dom’s arse, fingers pressing into the cleft between his buttocks. Dom shudders and whimpers a little as they collapse heavily onto the bedspread.

Tinny protests rise from the neglected phone by Billy’s head. He can hear Viggo’s voice, slightly muffled against the sheets, but he can’t focus on anything other than Dom’s hand working against him. He draws in a sharp breath as fingers slip over the sensitive skin behind his balls. His lungs are burning, and it feels like he’s running a race against Dom’s palm.

“…Dom…” Billy gasps.

Dom’s fingers are slick. Billy’s not really sure when that happened, but they are working against the tight circle of Billy’s arse.

“Dom.”

“Just breath out,” Dom’s voice sounds chocked up with silt and a glazed look has slipped over his face. Billy vaguely registers the slack way his mouth is hanging open. He takes an unsteady breath in, holds it against the press of Dom’s fingers, and then lets it out in one shaky whisper.

“…Oh-” Billy says.

Dom’s fingers are curling against him, and he’s somehow managed to wedge the phone back between the curve of his shoulder and ear.

“Vig,” Dom says, and Billy can hear shake his voice, “he’s so fucking tight.”

Billy fumbles for the phone and drags it back against his face in time to hear Viggo’s soft, laughing groan as Dom drives his fingers deeper. A low whistle of air huffs across Billy’s lips and he can hear it echo back against his own ear. Billy closes his eyes, and loses himself in the feel of Dom and the slow glowing burn building deep in his spine.

“Bill. Billy, look at me.” Dom’s fingers ghost over his prostate before slipping away again. “I want to see you.” Billy’s breath catches in the back of his throat, and he forces his eyes back open.

Dom’s face is bent with concentration. His fingers are curling slickly around the back of Billy’s knees as he draws him closer. “Jesus, Bill,” he is murmuring in a low voice, “oh, fuck.”

Whatever words Billy once knew are gone; whatever thoughts he’d once formed are lost, wrapped up in the feeling of Dom’s blunt cock spreading him open.

“Billy… Billy.”

Billy brings his eyes into focus on Dom’s face, but it’s not Dom who’s talking.

“Billy, what are you feeling? What is he doing?” Viggo’s voice is a little desperate, the words chasing each other out.

“I… ah…” But after a few gentle easy thrusts Dom has pushed deep inside Billy, his head dropped with a knock against Billy’s collarbone, and what Billy’s feeling is a white-raw burning as if someone were pulling at his insides, filling him and choking him. There’s a heavy pressure in his chest and his throat, and a buzzing in his head. The noise drowns out the words in Billy’s head, and he can only mumble and stutter.

Dom’s head is up again and he staring, a fierce glitter, into Billy’s eyes. Dom’s words have evaporated too, but he is grunting, vocalizing like a weightlifter with each lunge of his cock.

“Does it hurt, Billy? Is it too much? But it’s so fucking sweet, isn’t it?”

And then, as if Viggo has conjured it up with the static rasp of his voice, there is a deep driving sweetness mingling with the hot ache and Billy whines weakly and twists his hips against Dom.

“Billy, touch yourself. Look up and touch yourself.”

Billy’s hand goes obediently to his cock, which is jumping impatiently on his stomach. He squeezes it hard and it seems to give a little sob of relief in his hand, wetness seeping onto his thumb. He looks up hazily at a blur of blue eyes and stubble, moving his hand in time to the crackling blast of breaths in his ear.

A brief access of voice, and on the tail end of a breath he wheezes out, “Viggo.”

Dom’s fingertips are worrying a spot along the blue vein of Billy’s hipbone and Billy concentrates on the feel of them there; concentrates on Dom's desperate push and pull and the harsh ragged sound in his ear. Billy grunts, pressing his head back hard into the mattress.

If he could find the breath he’d tell Viggo that Dom fucks like a God. He’d use every pornographic adjective he could lay his tongue on, he'd -

...fuck... (low hiss, sharp breath, the deep draw)

Billy's eyes fly wide open and for five long seconds he thinks that maybe his heart has stopped beating. Or maybe it's that he's found himself in some alternative universe and someone's hit the pause button on the remote control of life. And since fucking when did his inner monologue start sounding like 'Lij on meth?

"Bill." Dom's lips are moving, but it's Viggo groaning deep in his ear that has Billy speechless. Viggo huffing wet against his ear and talking him out of his fucking mind.

"Fucks like a God doesn't he?" Viggo is moaning, and past the roar of blood in his ears, Billy can faintly hear the slick slide of Viggo stroking himself. Billy nods and arches himself against Dom's cock, trying in vain to impale himself deeper but Dom is teasingly far away.

"Bill," Dom says again and Billy drags his gaze upwards as Dom grips him tightly and presses forward with slow purpose. Dom's fingers slip forward and he covers Billy's hand with his own, working Billy's cock in a slow deep rhythm that matches the rocking of his hips.

Dom’s thumb teases over the head of Billy’s cock. Dom’s cock teases over Billy’s prostate. Viggo’s breath hitches. Billy comes.

His stomach is sliding, plunging downwards and he’s clutching wildly at shoulder then thigh, fingers like talons. His head lifts from the mattress and butts against bony jaw, eyes squeezed shut. The walls rush in on him like he’s still whisky-drunk and he’s not even sure any more who it is on top of him, driving into him, gasping his name close to his ear, just audible above the rushing, pounding roar of pleasure.

His orgasm splits through him in savage jolts and he’s coming hard into two fists bunched around his cock. He can feel his voice vibrating in his chest, breath forced from his lungs - he’s shouting out, but the sound is muffled, mingling with the distant cracked cries that erupt from the plastic receiver below him on the bed.

Finally the sharp edge of orgasm fans out into a heavy throbbing sweetness and Billy’s rigid muscles begin to loosen. His head flops back a little, his eyes open, low-lidded and misty, and, yes, it’s Dom who’s staring back down at him, brow furrowed, wide blue-black eyes lasering through sweaty blond fringe. For a few moments they are still, Billy clinging limply, his rough cries softened to small sobbing gulps. Their hands are sticky, glued together. Dom unpeels his hand shakily and presses it back against Billy’s hip. Billy can feel Dom’s cock pulse angrily inside him.

“Fuck…” Billy swallows hard. His voice is reedy and weak. “Fuck…”

“Billy-” Dom’s voice is effortful and abrupt. He’s shaking. “Gonna come-” Then his eyelids drop and he’s crushing Billy against him, and Billy’s heart squeezes in a hot rush of excitement.

“Come then,” Billy says gruffly, for Dom’s ears alone; leave Viggo to his own devices. Billy arches up to meet him, tips his hips and grinds against Dom’s erratic thrust. He’s watching Dom’s face intently, the quicksilver flash of something Billy can’t name, and then tightly knitted eyebrows drawn low over his eyes.

Dom is grunting, sucking in on his lip, and burrowing deep into Billy when Billy feels it slip; feels their friendship slide broadside into something else.

Informed consent? Bullshit, Billy thinks.

“…Dom…” Billy says, reaching up and letting his fingers write the taut edges of Dom’s face. Dom pushes deep one last time, and stands semi-hunched on the edge of his orgasm. “Dom,” Billy says again. Billy doesn’t recognize the sound of his own voice, thick and uneven, in the shadows of his room. He winds his hand past the edge of Dom’s face, curling his fingers around the damp base of Dom’s skull, and pulls him forward into a loose kiss.

It’s a slow kiss: tired, spent and half asleep. Billy finds himself curling into it until Dom breaks away feeling blindly over the mattress beside him with one hand.

“Vig?” Billy asks, then finds himself nodding as Dom scores the phone from the mess of sheets. Billy ignores the tightness that’s fighting to find a spot in his chest.

“Vig?” Dom says, then nothing. He’s listening, watching Billy with serious eyes and Billy catches the slight nod of his head. He watches as Dom pulls back the phone, squinting in the murky darkness, trying to thumb it off.

Billy wants to ask, ‘What? What’d he say?’ when Dom finally hangs up. But now that they’re alone, he doesn’t want Viggo back. There is just Dom’s arm, warm and heavy, finding its way over Billy and Dom’s chest curving against his back. It’s only on the edge of sleep that it dawns on Billy, and he snickers.

“…mmm…” Dom mutters into the bunched-up pillow under his head, dragging Billy closer.

“…lost my trousers, and you didn’t even have phone sex with Viggo…tosser.”

“Eh,” Dom yawns, “just a wind-up anyway. Viggo fancies the Elf.”

“Wasn’t,” Billy counters after a moment of silence.

“Wasn’t what?” Dom’s voice is heavy with sleep, and he yawns again.

“A wind-up,” Billy says quietly.

“No,” Dom says finally, “…no, it wasn’t.”

“Dom…” Billy keeps tight hold of his diaphragm and lets the deep-drawn breath slide slowly and evenly out, “We’re--”

“Yeah,” Dom mumbles, a whisper of breath ghosting over Billy’s shoulder. “We’re okay. Day off. Sleep.”

Billy smiles quietly at the back and forth glide of Dom’s palm over the knuckles of his hand.
They are okay.