three canon shots
It was suggested that I crosspost these little blurbs from my journal into here, so. :)
Past
Billy moves about a third of his possessions from the flat he'd shared with Lena to a new one across town in the course of an afternoon. The rest can stay, tangled with Lena's things the way everything about Billy has been tangled with Lena for the last two years, and as far as Billy is concerned she can throw them down the chute and be done with every piece of clothing, every book and every photograph the moment she realizes he won't return for them. Several times last night they'd fought and fucked and fought again, pulling anger from the air it seemed sometimes just to keep at it until there was nothing left to say or do, no inch of skin or space left unharmed. Twice she'd said he was never going to find anyone like her again; twice he'd loudly thanked the fucking saints for it. Three times he'd said he was leaving; three times she said he'd be back. Just before they'd slept she'd said the words one last time, and Billy had nodded into the crook of her neck Yes, but just once more.
And not for you, Billy tells the walls now in lieu of telling her, and closes not the first of too many doors.
Present
The morning after the evening of Valentine's Day. Billy gets through two Panadol and one plain, midgrade cigarette out on the porch before he remembers he has the better tobacco and proper papers inside the house, in the little box under the table. He comes in out of the February air just as Dominic's getting ready to step into it from the front door, and they smile in passing but don't speak. While Dominic physically runs himself right out of his shoes over the next few hours, Billy plans to metaphorically walk back into his own, as soon as he finishes off this one last, sweeter-smelling and absurdly satisfying nicotined work of art. It's while he's rolling it that he thinks again of last night, and notices Dominic's cuff back inside the box, tucked there at some point this morning by Dominic while Billy wasn't looking. Billy's several drags in before he takes the cuff out of the box and leans back in the cushions, playing with the leather and brushing his fingers against the scores and notches he'd cut inside. It takes disturbingly little time for him to get hard just thinking about the stories this circle of leather could tell, and Billy leaves the cigarette to die in the bowl on the table as his hands find better things to do. It's not like him to just bring himself off on the couch like some lazy fuck, but last night had been about denying himself; this morning he wouldn't dream of limiting himself in any way. Billy comes messily and with an intensity he wouldn't expect, considering the circumstances, and several minutes later moves gingerly into the shower, just leaning against the tiles and imagining them covered first by Dominic's handprints and then his own. When Dominic returns from his run, he finds Billy hunched over essays but with the smallest of smiles on his face.
Future
Billy has two different insurance reports and one from the fire department, too. All three are meant to reassure him that the fire that burnt down his little house in Baskerville was the result of ancient wiring and a shoddy, unstable roof, not of an abandoned cigarette or embers he'd thought dormant suddenly roaring back to life in his fireplace. He likes to break out all the paperwork in the evenings now, spreading the pages out on the embarrassingly small desk he's using in the embarrassingly small room he's occupying in the residence halls while he looks for somewhere else to live. The terminology, the codes, the numbers and losses estimated and judgments of physical damage done all fascinate him and would do so even if he weren't in such desperate need of distraction, but now-well, now Billy recognizes what he's doing and hates it but can't seem to stop. Concentrating on the destruction of his home, on the loss of foundation and fortress, keeps Billy from concentrating on the destruction and loss of other things less physical and worlds more painful.
It's been a month since the fire and ten weeks since Dominic left. Billy falls asleep some evenings still at that embarrassingly small desk, coldly content someone that there can't possibly be anything left of his life to burn down now.
Past
Billy moves about a third of his possessions from the flat he'd shared with Lena to a new one across town in the course of an afternoon. The rest can stay, tangled with Lena's things the way everything about Billy has been tangled with Lena for the last two years, and as far as Billy is concerned she can throw them down the chute and be done with every piece of clothing, every book and every photograph the moment she realizes he won't return for them. Several times last night they'd fought and fucked and fought again, pulling anger from the air it seemed sometimes just to keep at it until there was nothing left to say or do, no inch of skin or space left unharmed. Twice she'd said he was never going to find anyone like her again; twice he'd loudly thanked the fucking saints for it. Three times he'd said he was leaving; three times she said he'd be back. Just before they'd slept she'd said the words one last time, and Billy had nodded into the crook of her neck Yes, but just once more.
And not for you, Billy tells the walls now in lieu of telling her, and closes not the first of too many doors.
Present
The morning after the evening of Valentine's Day. Billy gets through two Panadol and one plain, midgrade cigarette out on the porch before he remembers he has the better tobacco and proper papers inside the house, in the little box under the table. He comes in out of the February air just as Dominic's getting ready to step into it from the front door, and they smile in passing but don't speak. While Dominic physically runs himself right out of his shoes over the next few hours, Billy plans to metaphorically walk back into his own, as soon as he finishes off this one last, sweeter-smelling and absurdly satisfying nicotined work of art. It's while he's rolling it that he thinks again of last night, and notices Dominic's cuff back inside the box, tucked there at some point this morning by Dominic while Billy wasn't looking. Billy's several drags in before he takes the cuff out of the box and leans back in the cushions, playing with the leather and brushing his fingers against the scores and notches he'd cut inside. It takes disturbingly little time for him to get hard just thinking about the stories this circle of leather could tell, and Billy leaves the cigarette to die in the bowl on the table as his hands find better things to do. It's not like him to just bring himself off on the couch like some lazy fuck, but last night had been about denying himself; this morning he wouldn't dream of limiting himself in any way. Billy comes messily and with an intensity he wouldn't expect, considering the circumstances, and several minutes later moves gingerly into the shower, just leaning against the tiles and imagining them covered first by Dominic's handprints and then his own. When Dominic returns from his run, he finds Billy hunched over essays but with the smallest of smiles on his face.
Future
Billy has two different insurance reports and one from the fire department, too. All three are meant to reassure him that the fire that burnt down his little house in Baskerville was the result of ancient wiring and a shoddy, unstable roof, not of an abandoned cigarette or embers he'd thought dormant suddenly roaring back to life in his fireplace. He likes to break out all the paperwork in the evenings now, spreading the pages out on the embarrassingly small desk he's using in the embarrassingly small room he's occupying in the residence halls while he looks for somewhere else to live. The terminology, the codes, the numbers and losses estimated and judgments of physical damage done all fascinate him and would do so even if he weren't in such desperate need of distraction, but now-well, now Billy recognizes what he's doing and hates it but can't seem to stop. Concentrating on the destruction of his home, on the loss of foundation and fortress, keeps Billy from concentrating on the destruction and loss of other things less physical and worlds more painful.
It's been a month since the fire and ten weeks since Dominic left. Billy falls asleep some evenings still at that embarrassingly small desk, coldly content someone that there can't possibly be anything left of his life to burn down now.