Remix of Dani: The One Part
Title: The One Part
Author: eff_reality
Original story: Beautiful Lie by escribo
Pairing: Dom/Ali; Dom/Billy; Billy/Ali
Rating: R
Summary: Dom and Ali seek answers in each other.
Warnings: Het. Het a-plenty, I'm afraid.
Pre-reveal Notes: Thanks to escribo for providing such an incredible story to remix. You probably have a very specific idea of how this particular scene went "off-screen." This is just my take on it. :)
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred, or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
All men lie. Some are just better at it.
Of all the tidbits her mother's given her over the years, this is the one that sticks with Ali the most. Well, it's the one that's been most applicable to her own life, anyway, especially lately, and it's the one that beats in her head like a mantra tonight.
Ali is not the love of Billy's life. She knows this.
But he is hers.
And if a steaming pile of good-intentioned motherly advice and years of listening to friends "less fortunate in love" bitch and moan didn't manage to crush every single romantic ideal she'd had, well, that sure did.
When Ali'd reached a certain age, long before she met Billy, she'd been forced to adopt that universal female fear of The Other Woman (or Women, as the case may be). She'd learned of The Moment, the moment a woman realizes her own devotion is not returned. She'd lived it countless times vicariously through friends and even family, that abject horror of knowing that all the plucking, the dying, the behaving has been for nothing, and no matter how much you act like a fairytale princess sometimes the story just doesn't cooperate.
She'd been sure she had skirted all that, stupidly sure.
If only she were contending with another woman.
**
Ali's Moment wasn't one so much as a crescendo of many, but if she had to, she supposes she could zero in on a single turning point.
It was around Christmas, almost two years ago. Dom had been making the rounds in the UK and called early one afternoon to warn them of his impending descent and to make up that guest room if you know what's good for you, Boyd. He'd descended as promised, and Ali'd stuffed both of them to the gills, Jack as well, and gracefully receded into the background. Dom had done the dishes for about twenty seconds before she'd literally smacked his hands away from the serving spoons and ordered him upstairs to get settled. Yes, ma'am. Billy'd wrapped his arms around her from behind--always so comforting--and kissed her on the back of her neck. Thanks, love.
She'd been elbow deep in soapy water when she'd realized that Billy had never brought the clean linens upstairs to the guest room.
When she'd reached the top of the stairs, she'd had you forgetful bastard on the tip of her tongue, but it quickly got stopped up and stuffed back down her throat.
They'd just been talking quietly at the end of the hallway, innocuous boys' conversation, but even from where Ali'd been standing (especially from where she'd been standing) she could see how close they were. And then there was Billy's hand, Billy's hand on Dom's hip, which wouldn't have attracted her attention much except it'd found skin, sought that skin just underneath the hem of Dom's shirt, and Dom's laughter went all soft and not-quite-there. She'd tightened her grip on the fresh bedsheets, her eyes locked on Billy's fingers, that thumb she loved moving back and forth in that easy, comfortable way that was also meant to entice, and for a split second she'd gotten a flash of Billy's thumb between her thighs. And then it was over, seemingly before it began, really, and that's how she'd known that it was only a small indication of all the touches that had come before it, a tiny aftershock in the wake of years of touches.
That had been a turning point, because it was only after that that she'd started actively looking for these moments, and trying to ignore that thing in Billy's eyes that she hadn't known was missing whenever he looked at her.
**
She comes to him because there's no way that it would happen the other way around, even if Dom were legitimately in love with her--which is not the case.
In all the years they've known each other, they've rarely been alone, and looking at Dom now, standing on the other side of the threshold, Ali thinks she may know why. It's not animosity; it never would be. No, there's something strange and pitiful that permeates the air between them, a sad sort of connection, and perhaps it's why they get on so well. They both know what it's like to not quite fully have him.
Dom gets to share Billy's soul. Ali gets to share Billy's life.
They lock eyes and try to come to a tacit consensus on who's worse off, to no avail.
"Can we talk, Dom?"
He looks so guilty, and she suddenly wants to hit him. Does he have to be so terrible at hiding things?
"Sure."
She sits on the edge of the bed and he shuts the door, hovering with anxious hands. She's silent for a full minute, contemplating whether or not she should tell him to turn the lock, and whether or not she should bother going through with this at all. It's the image of her small fingers touching those same linens from two years ago that helps her find her voice. "I know."
"...What d'you mean?"
She's purposely cryptic, either in an effort to make him uncomfortable or to stall, she's not sure which. "I know."
Dom crosses his arms and looks back toward the door, hiding his face, and she knows he understands. Another full minute of silence, then: "I'm sorry."
"No," she dismisses. "That's not what I wanted. That's not what I want." She pats the empty space next to her, and he tentatively fills it. "I'm not mad. Not at you, anyway." It's not the truth, but it should be, and that's all that matters here. "I, ehm." His eyes drop to her mouth, and she covers his hand with hers. "I want to know what it's like."
**
As she leans in, she realizes that Dom is frozen, and she stops about two inches from his mouth.
"I can't do this," he explains, but it doesn't sound like he's talking to her at all. "This is..."
The sharp temptation in his eyes is all the motivation she needs to proceed. "You're curious about us, aren't you?" She isn't fooling either of them; they both know she's not doing this for his benefit at all. There's a much more selfish reason at play here, and Dom's the missing piece: knowing him like this will fill that mostly blank space reserved for what it's like between them, to be the molecules between their mouths, their hands, their skin.
He shuts his eyes and nods quietly, waiting, and she obliges, shifting forward the rest of the way and resolutely pressing her mouth to his. She keep her eyes half-open, watching his foreign lips open and close and his throat tremble. She shifts again so her body is turned completely toward his and presses one hand into his thigh, the other into the mattress behind him, essentially trapping him. He's tentative at first, and clearly more frightened this is happening than she is, but once Ali pushes her tongue into his mouth, his breathing starts to go quick and heavy, and she moans in surprise when his fingers clutch at the hair at the back of her head.
That it's good, actually good, is what surprises her the most. Not that she expected it to be notgood--she's not too blind to see Dom's appeal. It's just that it's not meant for her, this here, her body knows that, and it chants notBillyat every point of contact. He's only a few blocks down at a friend's, but she already misses his pretty, clever mouth working at her neck like it knows what it needs better than the person attached to it.
She clenches her eyes and breathes, "Do you like the way he tastes?" Dom nods and whimpers (she feels it more than sees it), and of course he does, how could he not? "Can you taste him now? On me?" she wonders, suddenly feeling that familiar stab of possessiveness. You are just a visitor here. Remember that, Dom.
He lets out a sharp, affirmative Mminto her mouth and moves to stand between her thighs, urging her onto the mattress with his front, more from sense memory than spontaneous urge.
"It's stronger here," she insists, fumbling with the button of her jeans.
**
Dom immediately pulls back and stands straight and dumb at the foot of the bed once he realizes what she's doing. Time seems to stop altogether, and even though he can't look her in the eye (or in the hands, for that matter), a telepathic exchange somehow takes place. It's understood that sex is out of the question, but something carnal needs to happen here.
He licks his lips, so he gets it, but he doesn't make a move to undress her further. She's instantly self-conscious, spread out like this, and thinking of the kind of women--girls--Dom's been with in recent years, those Hollywood things with their long shiny hair and their tanned skin and their sinews. A flash of Evangeline on the day she first met her hovers like a hologram at the ceiling, smiling her big fat smile and extending her industrial arm.
Ali bends her legs a bit at the knee, letting them fall toward each other, remembering what she'd said to Dom afterward: She's very sweet. And very pretty. But don't you need more than that?
"You know," he breaks the silence, "I think the world of you. I always have. That's why I never--"
"Stop. Just..."
"Okay."
**
It takes Ali some time to get comfortable, well, as comfortable as she's going to get here. She somehow convinces herself that this is okay, that what she's doing isn't horribly immoral, that she's not cheating on the father of her child with his best friend. Although, whoÕs being cheated when you're not the one either man wants?
When Dom's tongue plunges inside of her, she arches her back more gracefully than she has in years, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. He is instantly voracious, clutching at her just above her knees and making her jerk and tremble with the rapidity of his lashes. She wonders what exactly he's thinking. Or imagining.
Her eyes roll back and her head follows suit as she tumbles closer and closer, embarrassingly quicker than she ever has with Billy (he likes to tease). She thinks that element of strangeness must have something to do with it, that this is the first man other than him to put his mouth and his hands to her in almost a decade. She thinks of her dreams and fantasies as an adolescent, those first thoughts of marriage and motherhood, and how different her life is from what she thought it would be, and what it's now about to become. A tear finds its way past her nose, and she comes without a sound.
Dom continues to work at her until she digs her fingers into his shoulder to stop him. He raises his head and wipes his mouth with the heel of his hand, his face shifting from alarm to disgust to triumph. She smiles back at him, grateful.
What happens in this room is the one part Billy can't control.
***
Author: eff_reality
Original story: Beautiful Lie by escribo
Pairing: Dom/Ali; Dom/Billy; Billy/Ali
Rating: R
Summary: Dom and Ali seek answers in each other.
Warnings: Het. Het a-plenty, I'm afraid.
Pre-reveal Notes: Thanks to escribo for providing such an incredible story to remix. You probably have a very specific idea of how this particular scene went "off-screen." This is just my take on it. :)
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred, or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
All men lie. Some are just better at it.
Of all the tidbits her mother's given her over the years, this is the one that sticks with Ali the most. Well, it's the one that's been most applicable to her own life, anyway, especially lately, and it's the one that beats in her head like a mantra tonight.
Ali is not the love of Billy's life. She knows this.
But he is hers.
And if a steaming pile of good-intentioned motherly advice and years of listening to friends "less fortunate in love" bitch and moan didn't manage to crush every single romantic ideal she'd had, well, that sure did.
When Ali'd reached a certain age, long before she met Billy, she'd been forced to adopt that universal female fear of The Other Woman (or Women, as the case may be). She'd learned of The Moment, the moment a woman realizes her own devotion is not returned. She'd lived it countless times vicariously through friends and even family, that abject horror of knowing that all the plucking, the dying, the behaving has been for nothing, and no matter how much you act like a fairytale princess sometimes the story just doesn't cooperate.
She'd been sure she had skirted all that, stupidly sure.
If only she were contending with another woman.
**
Ali's Moment wasn't one so much as a crescendo of many, but if she had to, she supposes she could zero in on a single turning point.
It was around Christmas, almost two years ago. Dom had been making the rounds in the UK and called early one afternoon to warn them of his impending descent and to make up that guest room if you know what's good for you, Boyd. He'd descended as promised, and Ali'd stuffed both of them to the gills, Jack as well, and gracefully receded into the background. Dom had done the dishes for about twenty seconds before she'd literally smacked his hands away from the serving spoons and ordered him upstairs to get settled. Yes, ma'am. Billy'd wrapped his arms around her from behind--always so comforting--and kissed her on the back of her neck. Thanks, love.
She'd been elbow deep in soapy water when she'd realized that Billy had never brought the clean linens upstairs to the guest room.
When she'd reached the top of the stairs, she'd had you forgetful bastard on the tip of her tongue, but it quickly got stopped up and stuffed back down her throat.
They'd just been talking quietly at the end of the hallway, innocuous boys' conversation, but even from where Ali'd been standing (especially from where she'd been standing) she could see how close they were. And then there was Billy's hand, Billy's hand on Dom's hip, which wouldn't have attracted her attention much except it'd found skin, sought that skin just underneath the hem of Dom's shirt, and Dom's laughter went all soft and not-quite-there. She'd tightened her grip on the fresh bedsheets, her eyes locked on Billy's fingers, that thumb she loved moving back and forth in that easy, comfortable way that was also meant to entice, and for a split second she'd gotten a flash of Billy's thumb between her thighs. And then it was over, seemingly before it began, really, and that's how she'd known that it was only a small indication of all the touches that had come before it, a tiny aftershock in the wake of years of touches.
That had been a turning point, because it was only after that that she'd started actively looking for these moments, and trying to ignore that thing in Billy's eyes that she hadn't known was missing whenever he looked at her.
**
She comes to him because there's no way that it would happen the other way around, even if Dom were legitimately in love with her--which is not the case.
In all the years they've known each other, they've rarely been alone, and looking at Dom now, standing on the other side of the threshold, Ali thinks she may know why. It's not animosity; it never would be. No, there's something strange and pitiful that permeates the air between them, a sad sort of connection, and perhaps it's why they get on so well. They both know what it's like to not quite fully have him.
Dom gets to share Billy's soul. Ali gets to share Billy's life.
They lock eyes and try to come to a tacit consensus on who's worse off, to no avail.
"Can we talk, Dom?"
He looks so guilty, and she suddenly wants to hit him. Does he have to be so terrible at hiding things?
"Sure."
She sits on the edge of the bed and he shuts the door, hovering with anxious hands. She's silent for a full minute, contemplating whether or not she should tell him to turn the lock, and whether or not she should bother going through with this at all. It's the image of her small fingers touching those same linens from two years ago that helps her find her voice. "I know."
"...What d'you mean?"
She's purposely cryptic, either in an effort to make him uncomfortable or to stall, she's not sure which. "I know."
Dom crosses his arms and looks back toward the door, hiding his face, and she knows he understands. Another full minute of silence, then: "I'm sorry."
"No," she dismisses. "That's not what I wanted. That's not what I want." She pats the empty space next to her, and he tentatively fills it. "I'm not mad. Not at you, anyway." It's not the truth, but it should be, and that's all that matters here. "I, ehm." His eyes drop to her mouth, and she covers his hand with hers. "I want to know what it's like."
**
As she leans in, she realizes that Dom is frozen, and she stops about two inches from his mouth.
"I can't do this," he explains, but it doesn't sound like he's talking to her at all. "This is..."
The sharp temptation in his eyes is all the motivation she needs to proceed. "You're curious about us, aren't you?" She isn't fooling either of them; they both know she's not doing this for his benefit at all. There's a much more selfish reason at play here, and Dom's the missing piece: knowing him like this will fill that mostly blank space reserved for what it's like between them, to be the molecules between their mouths, their hands, their skin.
He shuts his eyes and nods quietly, waiting, and she obliges, shifting forward the rest of the way and resolutely pressing her mouth to his. She keep her eyes half-open, watching his foreign lips open and close and his throat tremble. She shifts again so her body is turned completely toward his and presses one hand into his thigh, the other into the mattress behind him, essentially trapping him. He's tentative at first, and clearly more frightened this is happening than she is, but once Ali pushes her tongue into his mouth, his breathing starts to go quick and heavy, and she moans in surprise when his fingers clutch at the hair at the back of her head.
That it's good, actually good, is what surprises her the most. Not that she expected it to be notgood--she's not too blind to see Dom's appeal. It's just that it's not meant for her, this here, her body knows that, and it chants notBillyat every point of contact. He's only a few blocks down at a friend's, but she already misses his pretty, clever mouth working at her neck like it knows what it needs better than the person attached to it.
She clenches her eyes and breathes, "Do you like the way he tastes?" Dom nods and whimpers (she feels it more than sees it), and of course he does, how could he not? "Can you taste him now? On me?" she wonders, suddenly feeling that familiar stab of possessiveness. You are just a visitor here. Remember that, Dom.
He lets out a sharp, affirmative Mminto her mouth and moves to stand between her thighs, urging her onto the mattress with his front, more from sense memory than spontaneous urge.
"It's stronger here," she insists, fumbling with the button of her jeans.
**
Dom immediately pulls back and stands straight and dumb at the foot of the bed once he realizes what she's doing. Time seems to stop altogether, and even though he can't look her in the eye (or in the hands, for that matter), a telepathic exchange somehow takes place. It's understood that sex is out of the question, but something carnal needs to happen here.
He licks his lips, so he gets it, but he doesn't make a move to undress her further. She's instantly self-conscious, spread out like this, and thinking of the kind of women--girls--Dom's been with in recent years, those Hollywood things with their long shiny hair and their tanned skin and their sinews. A flash of Evangeline on the day she first met her hovers like a hologram at the ceiling, smiling her big fat smile and extending her industrial arm.
Ali bends her legs a bit at the knee, letting them fall toward each other, remembering what she'd said to Dom afterward: She's very sweet. And very pretty. But don't you need more than that?
"You know," he breaks the silence, "I think the world of you. I always have. That's why I never--"
"Stop. Just..."
"Okay."
**
It takes Ali some time to get comfortable, well, as comfortable as she's going to get here. She somehow convinces herself that this is okay, that what she's doing isn't horribly immoral, that she's not cheating on the father of her child with his best friend. Although, whoÕs being cheated when you're not the one either man wants?
When Dom's tongue plunges inside of her, she arches her back more gracefully than she has in years, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. He is instantly voracious, clutching at her just above her knees and making her jerk and tremble with the rapidity of his lashes. She wonders what exactly he's thinking. Or imagining.
Her eyes roll back and her head follows suit as she tumbles closer and closer, embarrassingly quicker than she ever has with Billy (he likes to tease). She thinks that element of strangeness must have something to do with it, that this is the first man other than him to put his mouth and his hands to her in almost a decade. She thinks of her dreams and fantasies as an adolescent, those first thoughts of marriage and motherhood, and how different her life is from what she thought it would be, and what it's now about to become. A tear finds its way past her nose, and she comes without a sound.
Dom continues to work at her until she digs her fingers into his shoulder to stop him. He raises his head and wipes his mouth with the heel of his hand, his face shifting from alarm to disgust to triumph. She smiles back at him, grateful.
What happens in this room is the one part Billy can't control.
***