Ficlet: Call (DM/BB, G)
Title: Call
Author: Jamie
Pairing: Dom/Billy
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Don't know or own, more's the pity.
Summary: Here's the problem: Dom hasn't heard from Billy in three days.
Author's Notes: So, this was originally started for the 12th lotrpschallenge, but there was a word limit on that, and this just kept on going. And when I went to cut some, I ended up adding more. Sometimes, I'm just way too verbose.
Here’s the problem: Dom hasn’t heard from Billy in three days. Not on Monday, not on Tuesday, and certainly not on Wednesday, when he carried the phone in his pocket for twelve hours straight, just waiting for it to ring-sure that it would, even though it didn’t.
It’s not normal, this silence from Billy, it’s not right, and by the time Thursday dawns, gray light pale on the horizon, Dom, quite frankly, is worried. As soon as he wakes, he eyes the phone on his nightstand, thinking to call again, then converts the time difference and decides, *no*.
No, because Dom’s called twice now and it’s Billy’s turn, where turns have never before been important, never something that he’s spent much time thinking about.
Instead, he leaves the phone where it is. He gets out of bed, goes to take his shower, and he walks to the kitchen straight away after, towel wrapped around his waist to protect his sensitive bits from the work he’s about to do at the stove. He vows that today, this day, he will not sit by the phone. He will not stare at it. He will go about his life, because *he has* a life to go about. He does. Post-*Rings* world and all that.
It’s hard, though. It’s as if his phone has been replaced with a magnet, and it’s pulling at him, pulling, pulling him towards the bedroom. It’s as if it’s become some sort of drug, because whenever he thinks about it, his fingers twitch and the very skin of his palm starts to itch.
And, okay, so maybe the problem isn’t that Billy hasn’t called in three days. Maybe it’s what Dom said to him during their last phone call, the one that fateful Sunday. Because Dom, bless his flapping tongue, was exhausted, and it’d been so long since he’d even thought about censoring himself around Billy that the words just sort of… slipped out. ‘Specially since Dom could turn into a jealous idiot at the drop of a pin, apparently.
He maybe had a right, though, when the random girls at the random pubs that Billy went to were seeing more of Billy than he was. When *they* could invite Billy back to their flats for a night of "entertainment" and he couldn’t even invite him over for a drink.
According to Billy, though, he hadn’t accepted the girl’s offer that Sunday-or was it Saturday? Monday?-his excuse being that he needed to get back to his house and call Dom.
Makes it sound as if we’re embroiled in a long distance relationship, doesn’t it, Dommie, he said, or something along those lines. He was joking, of course, but Dom, damn his jealous (tired) tongue, replied with something like, Maybe we are. Maybe we should be.
"*What*?" Billy asked, laughing, after a moment’s pause. "Have you been imbibing, Dom? On a Sunday?"
That was Dom’s way out, of course. Drunk, he could say. Talking crazy-like. But he didn’t.
"No," he said. "Seriously. You and me, mate. Maybe we should acknowledge what the rest of the world has been telling us for years. Maybe we’re not meant to be hetero life-mates, or whatever it was that we said we were. Maybe we’re meant to be *life*-mates in all senses of the words."
He’d thought it often enough, and he was sure that Billy had too. They’d just never acknowledged it, because it was dangerous to get involved with cast members, especially on something as grand as the trilogy.
Billy was silent for a bit after that, and though Dom doesn’t like to admit it, the rest of the (short) conversation had been stilted.
And Dom hasn’t heard from him since.
He’s standing in his kitchen, staring in the direction of his bedroom, when the knock on the door comes. He jumps slightly, puts his hands to the towel around his waist and unconsciously tightens it before he goes to see who’s at the door.
…And Billy is standing on the other side of the door, shifting nervously, and before Dom can say a word, he says, "Did you mean it, Dom? Did you mean what you said?"
Dom nods. He doesn’t have to ask what Billy’s talking about, and Billy leans over to kiss him, just a tentative touching of lips, a test, and it’s everything that Dom had ever imagined it might be.
Dom’s smiling when he pulls back, widely and stupidly, and he hooks an arm around Billy’s neck to lead him into the apartment as he says, "Why didn’t you call?"
Author: Jamie
Pairing: Dom/Billy
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Don't know or own, more's the pity.
Summary: Here's the problem: Dom hasn't heard from Billy in three days.
Author's Notes: So, this was originally started for the 12th lotrpschallenge, but there was a word limit on that, and this just kept on going. And when I went to cut some, I ended up adding more. Sometimes, I'm just way too verbose.
Here’s the problem: Dom hasn’t heard from Billy in three days. Not on Monday, not on Tuesday, and certainly not on Wednesday, when he carried the phone in his pocket for twelve hours straight, just waiting for it to ring-sure that it would, even though it didn’t.
It’s not normal, this silence from Billy, it’s not right, and by the time Thursday dawns, gray light pale on the horizon, Dom, quite frankly, is worried. As soon as he wakes, he eyes the phone on his nightstand, thinking to call again, then converts the time difference and decides, *no*.
No, because Dom’s called twice now and it’s Billy’s turn, where turns have never before been important, never something that he’s spent much time thinking about.
Instead, he leaves the phone where it is. He gets out of bed, goes to take his shower, and he walks to the kitchen straight away after, towel wrapped around his waist to protect his sensitive bits from the work he’s about to do at the stove. He vows that today, this day, he will not sit by the phone. He will not stare at it. He will go about his life, because *he has* a life to go about. He does. Post-*Rings* world and all that.
It’s hard, though. It’s as if his phone has been replaced with a magnet, and it’s pulling at him, pulling, pulling him towards the bedroom. It’s as if it’s become some sort of drug, because whenever he thinks about it, his fingers twitch and the very skin of his palm starts to itch.
And, okay, so maybe the problem isn’t that Billy hasn’t called in three days. Maybe it’s what Dom said to him during their last phone call, the one that fateful Sunday. Because Dom, bless his flapping tongue, was exhausted, and it’d been so long since he’d even thought about censoring himself around Billy that the words just sort of… slipped out. ‘Specially since Dom could turn into a jealous idiot at the drop of a pin, apparently.
He maybe had a right, though, when the random girls at the random pubs that Billy went to were seeing more of Billy than he was. When *they* could invite Billy back to their flats for a night of "entertainment" and he couldn’t even invite him over for a drink.
According to Billy, though, he hadn’t accepted the girl’s offer that Sunday-or was it Saturday? Monday?-his excuse being that he needed to get back to his house and call Dom.
Makes it sound as if we’re embroiled in a long distance relationship, doesn’t it, Dommie, he said, or something along those lines. He was joking, of course, but Dom, damn his jealous (tired) tongue, replied with something like, Maybe we are. Maybe we should be.
"*What*?" Billy asked, laughing, after a moment’s pause. "Have you been imbibing, Dom? On a Sunday?"
That was Dom’s way out, of course. Drunk, he could say. Talking crazy-like. But he didn’t.
"No," he said. "Seriously. You and me, mate. Maybe we should acknowledge what the rest of the world has been telling us for years. Maybe we’re not meant to be hetero life-mates, or whatever it was that we said we were. Maybe we’re meant to be *life*-mates in all senses of the words."
He’d thought it often enough, and he was sure that Billy had too. They’d just never acknowledged it, because it was dangerous to get involved with cast members, especially on something as grand as the trilogy.
Billy was silent for a bit after that, and though Dom doesn’t like to admit it, the rest of the (short) conversation had been stilted.
And Dom hasn’t heard from him since.
He’s standing in his kitchen, staring in the direction of his bedroom, when the knock on the door comes. He jumps slightly, puts his hands to the towel around his waist and unconsciously tightens it before he goes to see who’s at the door.
…And Billy is standing on the other side of the door, shifting nervously, and before Dom can say a word, he says, "Did you mean it, Dom? Did you mean what you said?"
Dom nods. He doesn’t have to ask what Billy’s talking about, and Billy leans over to kiss him, just a tentative touching of lips, a test, and it’s everything that Dom had ever imagined it might be.
Dom’s smiling when he pulls back, widely and stupidly, and he hooks an arm around Billy’s neck to lead him into the apartment as he says, "Why didn’t you call?"