Threadbare Gypsy Soul
Title: Threadbare Gypsy Soul (22/?)
Rating: NC-17 over all (PG-13 most chapters)
Pairing: Dom/Billy
Warnings: Sequel to BTS, AU, angst. In this universe, Dom is a NYC social worker. The nature of his work may be a touchy subject for some people.
Feedback: is loved.
Summary: It’s human nature to bury our secrets. The fear lies in digging them up.
Chapter Notes: Check, mate or draw.
A/N: Long chapter is loooong.
Monday, December 25th, Christmas Day
Dom wove in and out of dreams, the images in his head pleasant and random as he clung to them and fought the light blooming before his eyelids. Eventually though, warmth trickled up along his limbs, crawled down his spine, pooling, becoming solid and hot and immensely pleasurable, undulating with a slow, steady, unrelenting rhythm. He took a deep breath and groaned heavily.
A low laugh erupted by his jaw, lips pressing over his own as the heavy rolling ecstasy continued without missing a beat. “Shh, Dommeh. You’ve got to be so quiet now.”
All at once, Dom slammed into full consciousness, acutely aware of Billy’s hand tight on his prick, of the morning sunshine streaming through the window, glinting fire in Billy’s hair, burnishing his skin, the lazy motion of his wrist quickening to match Dom’s now thundering heartbeat. Dom gasped as Billy’s mouth left his and laid a stinging nip on his chin, a hot stripe of his tongue down to his chest, and with an utterly wicked last glance, he disappeared beneath the sheets. A moment or two later, Dom flung one hand up to grip the headboard and crammed the other in his mouth to stifle half-formed pleas and curses and shouts from echoing off the walls.
“I can’t believe you did that,” he panted when Billy emerged from the under the covers, licking his lips and looking tremendously satisfied with himself, to flop down beside him. “In my parents’ house!”
“Oh, don’t pretend you haven’t done it before. With them in the next room over.”
“Have you?”
“No. But there’s a first time for everything.”
Dom laughed and sprawled over the mattress. It certainly wasn’t the first time Billy had woke him up right on the verge of orgasm, but he had to admit the threat of being caught had ratcheted the intensity up like crazy. “Felt like I was fourteen again.”
“Merry Christmas,” Billy draped himself half over Dom lazily. “Didn’t even make a mess.” His own erection was a heavy pulse against Dom’s hip through boxers, but Billy merely settled in his normal place and Dom melted into a sated doze with him.
It seemed only a second later that a sudden loud pounding at the door of their room had him jumping a mile, startled awake for the second time and yanking the blankets up to his chin. Billy was similarly wild-eyed, with a hand across Dom’s torso, as if to fling him out of harm’s way.
“Wakey wakey, lovebugs!”
The bedroom door flew open to the muffled scolding of Dom’s mother somewhere deeper in the house, Matt yelling back down the hall in answer, “What? I did knock!”
He turned back, leaning casually against the doorjamb with a knowing grin. “Well, well, well, I see the spirit of giving has already begun. You know you could spend all day in here, and Mum and Dad wouldn’t dare come near this door.”
Dom relaxed back into the pillows, though he could feel his cheeks and ears burning, “And yet, here you are.”
“Mum’s making waffles,” Matt informed them, leaning a bit back out in the hall and raising his voice fiendishly so his words would be heard throughout the house, “You might have to shower together to get some before they’re all gone.”
Billy leaned back into the crook of Dom’s arm, “You know, that might not be a bad idea. We can’t miss out on waffles.”
“Right, up and up, Happy Gay Christmas to all,” Matt found a pair jeans on the floor and flung them at them, and then slammed the door behind himself.
Billy giggled, rolling atop Dom to prop on his elbows and gaze happily at him. “Your brother’s riot, trying to out us to the whole neighborhood. Maybe I didn’t need to keep you quiet after all.”
“I’m sure he’s taken out an ad in the local paper by now,” Dom grumbled sleepily, pushing his hands up into the warmth beneath the back of Billy’s t-shirt, his thoughts stuck and lingering on a little hitch in their afterglow conversation. “When was your first time, Bills?”
The glow on Billy’s face flickered for a fraction of a second before he dipped his head, dropping tiny, mute kisses just to the side of Dom’s nose. “In the detention.”
He pulled back just enough to run his fingers along Dom’s parted lips, though he wouldn’t meet Dom’s eyes. He exhaled and pillowed his head on Dom’s shoulder, speaking quietly. “Not like you’d think. I held my own in there. You had to, or you hooked up with someone who could. And I was little, you know, a short kid. The type the bigger ones singled out from the off.”
Dom brushed his hand through Billy’s scalp, “And you showed them otherwise, I bet.”
“Aye,” Billy answered, though there wasn’t any pride behind it. “I had a few of the lads that got beat on the most behind me within a week or two, had myself a proper little gang. One of them was my first.” He paused, his eyebrows coming together. “I don’t remember his name. I… I hurt him, the first time. Scared me.” He propped himself up again, “I didn’t ever bottom myself until much later.”
“It hurts everyone the first time,” Dom commented.
“It didn’t for me,” Billy pretended to be intrigued by the pattern of freckles along Dom’s neck and shoulder, his little mouth curling in his silence.
Dom swatted his arse playfully, “Tell me then, you cunt. You don’t get to drop a hint like that and then go all covert.”
“All right, all right!” Billy laughed, “It was sometime after Gavin died. When I first came to London, but before I met Bean. I was busking outside a café in Piccadilly for a couple of days. This bloke was there, both days. Sat outside drinking espressos, writing on a notepad and watching me. All day.”
Dom gave a little snort, “That’s creepy.”
“It wasn’t, though. I liked it,” Billy gave a half-bashful grin, “I liked him watching me sing.”
Dom smiled, remembering how Billy liked having him in his audience. He arched a sly brow, “He was good looking.”
Billy blushed, “He was very good looking. Movie star good looking. Older guy, maybe forty or so, back then. American ex-pat, said he was a writer. And he had that… that cowboy sort of rugged thing going on. Anyway, he took me back to his flat and cooked for me and wooed me into bed and…” Billy paused and shifted his weight on Dom, arousal reawakening after their little nap, “…showed me a few things I’d never known before. I stayed with him for a few days.”
Dom grinned, imagining Billy romanced by some faceless stranger in the same ways he’d swept Dom off his feet. Sliding his hands down to Billy arse under the waistband of his boxers, he waggled his brows. “I should find this guy and thank him.”
“I don’t remember his name either,” Billy pressed back in close to trace the freckles with his mouth, his hips starting up a slow, barely there rhythm against Dom’s.
“Why didn’t you stay with him?” Dom asked. “Longer, I mean.”
Abruptly, Billy rolled off him and swung his legs over the side of the bed, running a hand through his hair.
“Hey, I’m s-“
Billy put a hand back to still him. “It’s okay, Dommeh,” he interrupted, patting Dom’s arm before standing up and picking through their luggage for a new pair of shorts. “Your mum made waffles.” And he left the room, quietly shutting the door.
Dom heard the shower start shortly after and sighed grumpily, knowing he’d once again pushed Billy to the brink of something uncomfortable without meaning to.
By the time Billy was at the sink shaving and Dom had taken a quick turn in the shower, they fell back into themselves, jostling in front of the mirror and even fencing with their toothbrushes before dressing and finally presenting themselves for breakfast.
Matt groused, “Decided to join everyone else for the holidays, then? Are you sure we’re not interrupting?”
“Enough, Mattie,” Aureen shushed, getting up to pour more batter into the waffle iron. They lingered over the food, taking second helpings and eating slowly just to irritate Matt, who was sorting the presents under the tree into piles for each person. “Hurry up!”
Finally, they all sat down around the living room and Matt distributed the gifts.
“Go on, go first,” Austin ruffled his eldest’s hair as he took his seat. Matt tore into his gifts with glee. His favorite was a set of leather biking gloves from his father, who said little but obviously approved of the motorbike more than he let on.
His parents took their turns, their gifts small and sentimental. Dom had given his mother a pair of earrings and his father a tie, which felt predictable and stupid, though he really had no idea what else to give someone he’d not spoken to for years. Matt had given his parents bottles of wine from the Austrian vineyard where he’d worked, which somehow seemed more personable.
Then it was Billy’s turn. He had only one present beside him, and that he eyed nervously.
“That one is yours, Billy, from Austin and I.” Aureen pressed it on him. Dom suspected everyone in the room knew that his dad had no real hand in the Christmas shopping, so really Billy’s present from his mother. Dom had never managed to give her any hints.
“You didn’t have to…” he started, but she wouldn’t have it. “Don’t go saying that now, it’s Christmas, everyone gets something. Go on.” She wrung her hands a bit nervously. “I never know what to get new company, you know, they feel like such typical things.”
Billy unwrapped the package, lifting the lid from the box and sheets of tissue. Inside was a woolen scarf of red, green and a touch of blue, soft and thick as it cascaded over his lap.
“It’s from a shop up in Camden, they ship in a lot of things from up north there,” she babbled, “They told me those are your colours, I’m sorry I had to ask.”
Billy draped it around his neck and smiled at her, “It’s lovely, thank you.”
“Well, it’s cold in New York, and I just thought…”
“Mum, shut up,” Matt rolled his eyes.
“There’s, erm… another.” She pointed inside the box, where another small narrow box was wrapped in the same paper. As Billy opened it, Dom leaned over to see that it was a beautiful pewter kilt pin, shaped like a dagger with a neat Celtic knot at the hilt.
“This is too much,” Billy said, shaking his head. “And I… I don’t know what to do with it.”
“I do,” Dom grinned fiendishly.
“No, Dom,” Billy warned, but Dom waved him off. “I’m getting you into a kilt one of these days, Bills. Deal with it.”
“You can wear one to the wedding,” Matt quipped.
“My turn,” Dom said, pretending to select one of his own gifts.
“But didn’t Dom get you a present?” Matt asked loudly, as Dom knew he would, “I never figured him to be a diamonds sort of guy, but-“
“Shush, Matthew, don’t be such a pain in the arse,” Aureen glowered mockingly at her older son.
Meanwhile, Billy glowered at Dom, who had pulled a small, unwrapped but innocuous cardboard box from where he’d stashed it under the sofa cushions when Billy wasn’t looking.
“We agreed, no presents,” Billy reminded him sternly.
“We did,” Dom nodded, “This isn’t a present, see? No wrapping paper. It’s a practical thing, something you needed.” He pushed the box into Billy’s hands. “It cost all of three dollars, Bills, just open it.”
Billy looked doubtfully at him but slowly opened the lid to the box. His eyes darted back up to Dom’s before pulling out the contents, a set of postcards, each with a photo of different world landmark.
“You don’t like email, so I figured you needed something to write to people on,” Dom sat back, smiling. “I, erm, I used one up though, so it’s not quite one hundred count.”
Billy flipped through the set, finding the card that showed a picture of Mount Ruapahu in New Zealand, on which Dom had drawn a heart with a little boat at the center.
Billy grinned down at the postcard and pulled him into a hug for appearances sake, but his real gratitude was something that passed between them without being spoken, in the way Billy’s hands continued to shuffle through the cards, pausing on certain pictures and places.
Dom set to opening his own gifts. Matt had given him an enormous extravagantly wrapped box of condoms, which was good for a laugh, though the bottles of wine made up for it. His mother gave him a scarf similar to Billy’s, though in stripes navy blue and grey, as well as shirts and other usuals she thought he didn’t have enough of.
Presents done with, Aureen began collecting the wads of wrapping paper littering the floor. Billy was admiring Matt’s new gloves while Austin got up and went to the dining room, returning a minute later with the ship in a bottle that had sat in the curio. He held it out to Dom with little ceremony.
Dom looked blankly at the ship and at his dad, taking it a little warily.
Austin shrugged, gesturing to the bottle again, “It’s yours, anyway, take it home with you.”
Dom held it awkwardly, the little Cutty Sark sailing on its epoxy waves with three perfect upright masts of sails, inside a cider jug. He was acutely aware that everyone had paused to watch and felt color rise to his face. All he could think was that they’d have to ship it back home and what a hassle that would be. He wanted to hand it back and defiantly say he didn’t want it, but what fell out of his mouth was a muttered, “Thank you.”
Austin nodded and then stood there looking bewildered before he reached for the packet of fags in his breast pocket and left the room, down the hall to the garage.
“Well, that’s something,” Aureen huffed, stuffing more paper into the bin.
The rest of the holiday progressed quietly. Dom’s mum got started cooking the elaborate Christmas dinner she had planned. Billy volunteered to polish the good silverware, to much ribbing from Matt. He and Dom set up the chessboard again, ready for another round of strategic and psychological warfare.
On their sixth game, they’d both collected an equal number of each other's pieces from the board. Dom moved his bishop. “Check.”
“That’s not Check.”
“Is so Check, look, man.”
Matt looked, and looked some more. His fingers hovered over his remaining rook and pawn and even his king, before withdrawing them and looking some more, all random facts and distractions silenced.
“Mate in two moves,” Austin’s voice came from the doorway, where he’d been silently watching for some time, “Well done, Dom.”
“Gah,” Matt growled irritably, moving his rook the only way he could, and then spared Dom his last move by knocking his own king flat in defeat.
Dom swept up the pieces smugly, exchanging a bright smile with Billy while Matt stalked out to the living room and sulkily flipped on the telly. His dad inclined his head from the doorway, some sort of acknowledgement before he turned to join Matt for the evening news.
Settling the pieces into their felt case, Dom held the white marble bishop for a moment. He had a weird sense of déjà vu, something to do with chess pieces, white marble and black obsidian just like these, and a flash of a third, jade army. He grasped for what it meant, but the odd thought flitted away as if it had never been.
He spent the remainder of the afternoon helping his mother prepare salads and sauces and puddings. As the sun went down and the tree sparkled with lights, they steadily consumed all the day’s work until empty bowls and desiccated plates covered the table.
“I won’t have to eat again for a year, Mum,” Matt groaned, pushing back from the table before everyone else, though he’d inhaled several helpings of just about everything.
“Oh good, then you can manage the dishes,” Aureen said primly, “Seeing as you didn’t help make the supper.”
“Billy didn’t help either,” Matt fired back.
“Ah, see here?” Billy winked across at him, holding up a sparkling salad fork that hadn’t been used, tilting it to capture the light, “See how it shines? Watch and learn, lad. Choose your battles, and you don’t get stuck with the dirty work.”
“But I’m your own blood, Mum, your firstborn!” Matt grumbled, grabbing for a wine glass, “And I brought the alcohol!”
“Mmm, and somehow I like it better knowing you worked for it,” Aureen sat back with her glass and took a sip. “Hop to. The dishes aren’t going to wash themselves.”
“We could always write him out of the will,” Austin put in.
“Geez, the welcome we get, eh? Dom? Back me up here,” Matt rounded on him.
“You’re on your own, man,” he picked up a dish scraped nearly clean, “Here you are. Make sure you use the scrubby thing, the potatoes were pretty starchy.”
Everyone laughed. Austin as well, his booming laugh louder than all others. He grinned around, sated and happy, his eyes lingering on Dom and for a few moments seemed to bypass whatever disagreements they had.
“Well, that’s me done in. Excellent dinner.” He stood up and pressed a kiss to his wife’s cheek, with a quiet, “Happy Christmas,” and then left, down the hallway to the garage for his after supper cigarette.
Dom dawdled over the last of his pudding. Matt continued to moan about the state of the dishes until Aureen got up to be sure he was washing up properly. He could feel their eyes on him, felt Billy’s hand rub his knee beneath the table briefly, as if to soften the expectation of reconciliation.
Dom’s mind was a tidal wave of conflict, unsure what to think. Well done, Dom. It repeated in his head like a recording, along with the words of the schoolgirls from yesterday, ringing with some old fatherly pride Dom remembered from childhood, and yet there was also the disparaging ache of how Austin had spoken to Billy so condescendingly and otherwise not at all, how he felt the need to take Dom aside and remind him not to be who he was in church. The ship in the bottle sat in the guest room along with wine and other gifts that would not fit in their luggage and would have to be mailed back to New York - the ship Austin had succeeded in building where Dom had failed.
He followed the hallway back out to the garage, still without a fucking clue what needed to be said to put things right.
Austin leaned against the back of the car as before, the ember of his smoke glowing in the dark. Dom stopped by the tool shelf and looked out at the neighborhood. Cars lined the street, Christmas lights reflecting in their paint. The air was cold and wet, wisps of fog floating amongst ornamental shrubs and flowerbeds.
“I would have got more than a tie,” he spoke the first words that came to him, and even then he wanted to bite them back.
Austin shrugged and tapped his ash, “Can never have enough ties.”
They studied each other, Dom again taking in the oddness of how old his dad looked, the streaks of grey in his hair and beard, the little gut he’d gained, the casual set of his hands, very like Dom’s own, not gnarled or spotted at all, but still somehow older.
His father looked steadily back, as if Dom’s vicious demand from the first night still rang off the walls. Dom wondered what it was he saw, and if he felt the same removed awkwardness. He looked away, out to the street, embarrassed without knowing why.
“You had a mate when you were a boy,” His father suddenly asked, “Cullin. Do you remember?”
“Of course I remember,” Dom answered, more snappishly then he meant to. He looked back and gave his father a shrug to soften it.
Austin nodded, taking another pull off the cigarette. “He was a bright kid. I remember him debating with teachers until they didn’t know who was on the right end of things. Bit of a smart-arse.”
“You didn’t like him.”
“I didn’t dislike him,” Austin answered promptly. “But I worried about his influence on you.”
“He didn’t make me gay, if that’s the influence you were worried about,” Dom looked up brazenly, clenching his jaw. When he dad merely gazed back, neither confirming nor denying the statement, he looked away, breathing slowly to hold his anger in check. He didn’t want to give his father the satisfaction of getting a rise out of him this time.
Austin spoke with the indifferent patience of a teacher. “You were very close.”
Dom nodded slowly. He’d never really defined what Cullin had been to him in the course of knowing each other. Even now, he didn’t think of him the way he thought of Billy, or of Sean. Their relationship had been a sort of intense and necessary connection, nothing more or less, and when it had been broken, something in him that was difficult to define had been lost.
An owl called in the distance somewhere in the open land to the southwest. The wind rustled the bare trees, clicking branches together in the quiet. Christmas music could be heard from inside a neighboring home. Dom turned to call it a stalemate and leave. He didn’t want to keep bickering over matters that would never be settled between them.
Austin crushed out his smoke and crossed his arms, shaking his head. “I made mistakes with you boys. I didn’t teach you the right things.”
Dom sighed irritably, turning back. “You taught me plenty.”
“No, I didn’t make myself clear, I didn’t teach you-”
“I have to disagree, Mr. Monaghan.”
Dom turned back to the drive to see Billy slowly rounding the garage wall from the front entry, one hand tucked in his pocket and the other holding a beer.
“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, Dommeh. Just came out for some air.” His voice was quiet and apologetic to Dom, then rose to one of politic assurance to his father. “But I can’t let you go on thinking you’ve not raised a fine son, sir.”
Austin surveyed Billy with doubt in his eyes and words held on his tongue.
“My gran once took me aside when I was a lad, ‘bout thirteen or so,” he turned a paint can on the shelf as if reading the contents, with a short airy huff of laughter, “She told me: When I court a girl, I must be polite to her father, call him ‘sir’, declare my intentions and seek his blessing.”
Billy looked to Austin pointedly, waiting for some reaction for several moments. He didn’t get one.
“My parents tried to teach me these things you mention,” Billy continued, his voice low and fond.
“Bills,” Dom broke in, wanting to intervene, to keep Billy’s family matters separate.
“No, Dom,” Billy silenced him and continued on, “They did nothing but work twelve hours a day to keep us up, come home and feed and clothe us, make us happy, though we’d no money for extras.
“And I resented them. Dad, Mum, Gran, and anyone else who brought us to be what we were, poor factory trash from Cranhill. I hated them for it. I picked fights and skived off school for attention. I thought I was better than all of it. I was a smart arse, and when I needed them most, they were gone, and I was far too pissed off at the world to listen anymore. So I ran and I fought and I let other people pick me up when I was down, until I outstayed my welcome, and then I ran again, and again. I’m a self-centered coward, I don’t deny that. I’ve never done anything if it didn’t serve my best interests.
“At least, not until your lad walked onto my boat,” Billy continued, reaching to brush a bit of lint from Dom’s sleeve. “Taught me a thing or two.
“Dominic knows what’s right better than most,” Billy went on. “He’s all the things most people ought to be but aren’t, just because they can’t be arsed. He spends day and night worrying over kids that aren’t his, just because someone taught him to be selfless and forgiving, to give himself to those who may not even want to listen to what he has to teach them.
“I’m thirty-eight years old, and I didn’t learn any of those things until he showed them to me. And he keeps on with it too, never mind I don’t deserve it. He makes me want to be worth the effort,” Billy looked between the both of them, then settled back on Austin, his eyes soft, but his expression serious, “So, I’d say your son is more a man than I will ever be. I’d say you taught him well.”
“As for my gran’s advice, somehow I don’t think it would work out the way the old bird thought, so I’ll just make myself clear. I’m not running anymore. And all due respect, sir, I don’t need your blessing on that. Your approval wouldn’t change a thing on my end. Although for Dom’s sake, it might be nice.”
And with a last soft look at Dom, he turned and walked out to the street, standing on the curb by the motorbike, tilting the bottle up to his lips.
“He thinks very highly of you,” his dad said after awhile, his voice cradling a note of surprise.
“He doesn’t give himself any credit,” Dom returned as he stared after Billy’s shape in the dark silhouetted by colored lights. He was stunned at how much Billy attributed to him, when he had accomplished so much of it on his own. “He’s the best person I’ve ever known.”
Why he was telling his father of all people this, Dom could not comprehend, but Austin said nothing for or against it. He looked up, the skies above Hounslow silent for once as the airport was closed for the holiday. Billy had braved not one, but two long flights for him, had stayed with him no matter how many times Dom had screwed up in the strange span of this affair, four months, twelve days, and counting. Billy had stuck it out, and even spoke of him like a poet to the one person Dom could not prove himself to. Perhaps Billy wasn’t crap with words after all.
“I love him,” Dom said simply, “You don’t have to understand. All you have to do is let us be.”
He left his father there in the garage and made his way out to the sidewalk. Billy passed the beer to him and Dom finished off the bottle. A group emerged from a nearby house, the doorway bright as they exchanged goodbyes with their hosts and herded three boys, all clutching favorite gifts towards a minivan. Billy watched, fingering the fringe on his new scarf. “Your mum spent too much on this.”
“Maybe,” Dom replied, “It’s not like I could stop her doing it, though.”
“Now I know where you get it from,” Billy gave half a smile that faded just as quickly. “I’m sorry, Dom.”
“For what?”
“Just…” Billy sighed, wrapping his arms around himself in the chill. “I’m not used to this. Family.”
Dom nodded. Billy had endured the last few days gracefully, had done his damnedest not to bend under pressure, but at some point it had to get overwhelming. His speech to Austin had been given with careful control, but Dom had sensed the pent-up exasperation beneath the words.
“You asked me, this morning, why I didn’t stay with the writer,” Billy’s eyebrows furrowed, his voice dropping as if to himself, “What was his name?” After a moment he shook his head, giving up, “I’m good at forgetting things I don’t want to remember.”
Dom chanced the question again. “Why didn’t you stay?”
Billy watched the minivan pull away until its taillights turned off the street. “Because I felt something that scared the shite of me, and I didn’t want to face it back then. I didn’t want to face it the second time it came round either, but you didn’t really give me a choice.” He met Dom’s eyes, “You caught me when I had nowhere to run.”
Dom took a last step closer, gathering him into an embrace. Billy didn’t resist, looking back with that quiet intensity, unnerving and electric and so incredibly beautiful that Dom couldn’t find words. Here was a man who believed so fiercely that he had a choice in everything he did, revealing that perhaps fate had a little play in things after all. He could only take that face in his hands, press a soft kiss to his forehead before resting his own against it and breathing the same cold, hanging air. To say I love you after everything Billy had said and done seemed meaningless. It wasn’t big enough. Nothing was.
“I want to go to Scotland, Dom.”
Dom pulled back on a gasp, staring back at him in complete disbelief.
Billy drew a worn piece of paper from his back pocket, unfolding it so Dom could see. It was Maggie’s letter, its edges dingy from being opened and creased time and time again. It had sat under Billy’s picture frame in their flat since it had arrived weeks ago, and unbeknownst to Dom, Billy had brought it with him, like a talisman he simply couldn’t leave behind.
“You said - I doubt you remember it, but - that morning you made Not-Cinnamon buns, you said maybe we could go. I thought, day after Boxing Day, the trains will be packed, but I’ve got enough saved for a couple of tickets-”
Dom kissed him right out there on the street, not caring whether his father or anyone else could see. Never in a million years had he expected this, and when he drew back, Billy blinked at him with the softest quirk to his lips, his thumb wiping a little wet trail from Dom’s cheek.
“What’s this, my Dom?” he whispered soothingly, “You’re not the crying sort.”
“No… no,” Dom sniffled through a shaky laugh. “Just…. Are you sure?”
“No. M’not sure.” Billy’s face reflected his fears, even as his hands smoothed up and down Dom’s back. “I need you to make me sure.”
Dom traced the lines of doubt on Billy’s face. “I think it’s time you went home, then.”
Billy locked his arms around him and held tightly, “You’re my home.”
“Then I’ve an inkling to head north.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Rating: NC-17 over all (PG-13 most chapters)
Pairing: Dom/Billy
Warnings: Sequel to BTS, AU, angst. In this universe, Dom is a NYC social worker. The nature of his work may be a touchy subject for some people.
Feedback: is loved.
Summary: It’s human nature to bury our secrets. The fear lies in digging them up.
Chapter Notes: Check, mate or draw.
A/N: Long chapter is loooong.
Monday, December 25th, Christmas Day
Dom wove in and out of dreams, the images in his head pleasant and random as he clung to them and fought the light blooming before his eyelids. Eventually though, warmth trickled up along his limbs, crawled down his spine, pooling, becoming solid and hot and immensely pleasurable, undulating with a slow, steady, unrelenting rhythm. He took a deep breath and groaned heavily.
A low laugh erupted by his jaw, lips pressing over his own as the heavy rolling ecstasy continued without missing a beat. “Shh, Dommeh. You’ve got to be so quiet now.”
All at once, Dom slammed into full consciousness, acutely aware of Billy’s hand tight on his prick, of the morning sunshine streaming through the window, glinting fire in Billy’s hair, burnishing his skin, the lazy motion of his wrist quickening to match Dom’s now thundering heartbeat. Dom gasped as Billy’s mouth left his and laid a stinging nip on his chin, a hot stripe of his tongue down to his chest, and with an utterly wicked last glance, he disappeared beneath the sheets. A moment or two later, Dom flung one hand up to grip the headboard and crammed the other in his mouth to stifle half-formed pleas and curses and shouts from echoing off the walls.
“I can’t believe you did that,” he panted when Billy emerged from the under the covers, licking his lips and looking tremendously satisfied with himself, to flop down beside him. “In my parents’ house!”
“Oh, don’t pretend you haven’t done it before. With them in the next room over.”
“Have you?”
“No. But there’s a first time for everything.”
Dom laughed and sprawled over the mattress. It certainly wasn’t the first time Billy had woke him up right on the verge of orgasm, but he had to admit the threat of being caught had ratcheted the intensity up like crazy. “Felt like I was fourteen again.”
“Merry Christmas,” Billy draped himself half over Dom lazily. “Didn’t even make a mess.” His own erection was a heavy pulse against Dom’s hip through boxers, but Billy merely settled in his normal place and Dom melted into a sated doze with him.
It seemed only a second later that a sudden loud pounding at the door of their room had him jumping a mile, startled awake for the second time and yanking the blankets up to his chin. Billy was similarly wild-eyed, with a hand across Dom’s torso, as if to fling him out of harm’s way.
“Wakey wakey, lovebugs!”
The bedroom door flew open to the muffled scolding of Dom’s mother somewhere deeper in the house, Matt yelling back down the hall in answer, “What? I did knock!”
He turned back, leaning casually against the doorjamb with a knowing grin. “Well, well, well, I see the spirit of giving has already begun. You know you could spend all day in here, and Mum and Dad wouldn’t dare come near this door.”
Dom relaxed back into the pillows, though he could feel his cheeks and ears burning, “And yet, here you are.”
“Mum’s making waffles,” Matt informed them, leaning a bit back out in the hall and raising his voice fiendishly so his words would be heard throughout the house, “You might have to shower together to get some before they’re all gone.”
Billy leaned back into the crook of Dom’s arm, “You know, that might not be a bad idea. We can’t miss out on waffles.”
“Right, up and up, Happy Gay Christmas to all,” Matt found a pair jeans on the floor and flung them at them, and then slammed the door behind himself.
Billy giggled, rolling atop Dom to prop on his elbows and gaze happily at him. “Your brother’s riot, trying to out us to the whole neighborhood. Maybe I didn’t need to keep you quiet after all.”
“I’m sure he’s taken out an ad in the local paper by now,” Dom grumbled sleepily, pushing his hands up into the warmth beneath the back of Billy’s t-shirt, his thoughts stuck and lingering on a little hitch in their afterglow conversation. “When was your first time, Bills?”
The glow on Billy’s face flickered for a fraction of a second before he dipped his head, dropping tiny, mute kisses just to the side of Dom’s nose. “In the detention.”
He pulled back just enough to run his fingers along Dom’s parted lips, though he wouldn’t meet Dom’s eyes. He exhaled and pillowed his head on Dom’s shoulder, speaking quietly. “Not like you’d think. I held my own in there. You had to, or you hooked up with someone who could. And I was little, you know, a short kid. The type the bigger ones singled out from the off.”
Dom brushed his hand through Billy’s scalp, “And you showed them otherwise, I bet.”
“Aye,” Billy answered, though there wasn’t any pride behind it. “I had a few of the lads that got beat on the most behind me within a week or two, had myself a proper little gang. One of them was my first.” He paused, his eyebrows coming together. “I don’t remember his name. I… I hurt him, the first time. Scared me.” He propped himself up again, “I didn’t ever bottom myself until much later.”
“It hurts everyone the first time,” Dom commented.
“It didn’t for me,” Billy pretended to be intrigued by the pattern of freckles along Dom’s neck and shoulder, his little mouth curling in his silence.
Dom swatted his arse playfully, “Tell me then, you cunt. You don’t get to drop a hint like that and then go all covert.”
“All right, all right!” Billy laughed, “It was sometime after Gavin died. When I first came to London, but before I met Bean. I was busking outside a café in Piccadilly for a couple of days. This bloke was there, both days. Sat outside drinking espressos, writing on a notepad and watching me. All day.”
Dom gave a little snort, “That’s creepy.”
“It wasn’t, though. I liked it,” Billy gave a half-bashful grin, “I liked him watching me sing.”
Dom smiled, remembering how Billy liked having him in his audience. He arched a sly brow, “He was good looking.”
Billy blushed, “He was very good looking. Movie star good looking. Older guy, maybe forty or so, back then. American ex-pat, said he was a writer. And he had that… that cowboy sort of rugged thing going on. Anyway, he took me back to his flat and cooked for me and wooed me into bed and…” Billy paused and shifted his weight on Dom, arousal reawakening after their little nap, “…showed me a few things I’d never known before. I stayed with him for a few days.”
Dom grinned, imagining Billy romanced by some faceless stranger in the same ways he’d swept Dom off his feet. Sliding his hands down to Billy arse under the waistband of his boxers, he waggled his brows. “I should find this guy and thank him.”
“I don’t remember his name either,” Billy pressed back in close to trace the freckles with his mouth, his hips starting up a slow, barely there rhythm against Dom’s.
“Why didn’t you stay with him?” Dom asked. “Longer, I mean.”
Abruptly, Billy rolled off him and swung his legs over the side of the bed, running a hand through his hair.
“Hey, I’m s-“
Billy put a hand back to still him. “It’s okay, Dommeh,” he interrupted, patting Dom’s arm before standing up and picking through their luggage for a new pair of shorts. “Your mum made waffles.” And he left the room, quietly shutting the door.
Dom heard the shower start shortly after and sighed grumpily, knowing he’d once again pushed Billy to the brink of something uncomfortable without meaning to.
By the time Billy was at the sink shaving and Dom had taken a quick turn in the shower, they fell back into themselves, jostling in front of the mirror and even fencing with their toothbrushes before dressing and finally presenting themselves for breakfast.
Matt groused, “Decided to join everyone else for the holidays, then? Are you sure we’re not interrupting?”
“Enough, Mattie,” Aureen shushed, getting up to pour more batter into the waffle iron. They lingered over the food, taking second helpings and eating slowly just to irritate Matt, who was sorting the presents under the tree into piles for each person. “Hurry up!”
Finally, they all sat down around the living room and Matt distributed the gifts.
“Go on, go first,” Austin ruffled his eldest’s hair as he took his seat. Matt tore into his gifts with glee. His favorite was a set of leather biking gloves from his father, who said little but obviously approved of the motorbike more than he let on.
His parents took their turns, their gifts small and sentimental. Dom had given his mother a pair of earrings and his father a tie, which felt predictable and stupid, though he really had no idea what else to give someone he’d not spoken to for years. Matt had given his parents bottles of wine from the Austrian vineyard where he’d worked, which somehow seemed more personable.
Then it was Billy’s turn. He had only one present beside him, and that he eyed nervously.
“That one is yours, Billy, from Austin and I.” Aureen pressed it on him. Dom suspected everyone in the room knew that his dad had no real hand in the Christmas shopping, so really Billy’s present from his mother. Dom had never managed to give her any hints.
“You didn’t have to…” he started, but she wouldn’t have it. “Don’t go saying that now, it’s Christmas, everyone gets something. Go on.” She wrung her hands a bit nervously. “I never know what to get new company, you know, they feel like such typical things.”
Billy unwrapped the package, lifting the lid from the box and sheets of tissue. Inside was a woolen scarf of red, green and a touch of blue, soft and thick as it cascaded over his lap.
“It’s from a shop up in Camden, they ship in a lot of things from up north there,” she babbled, “They told me those are your colours, I’m sorry I had to ask.”
Billy draped it around his neck and smiled at her, “It’s lovely, thank you.”
“Well, it’s cold in New York, and I just thought…”
“Mum, shut up,” Matt rolled his eyes.
“There’s, erm… another.” She pointed inside the box, where another small narrow box was wrapped in the same paper. As Billy opened it, Dom leaned over to see that it was a beautiful pewter kilt pin, shaped like a dagger with a neat Celtic knot at the hilt.
“This is too much,” Billy said, shaking his head. “And I… I don’t know what to do with it.”
“I do,” Dom grinned fiendishly.
“No, Dom,” Billy warned, but Dom waved him off. “I’m getting you into a kilt one of these days, Bills. Deal with it.”
“You can wear one to the wedding,” Matt quipped.
“My turn,” Dom said, pretending to select one of his own gifts.
“But didn’t Dom get you a present?” Matt asked loudly, as Dom knew he would, “I never figured him to be a diamonds sort of guy, but-“
“Shush, Matthew, don’t be such a pain in the arse,” Aureen glowered mockingly at her older son.
Meanwhile, Billy glowered at Dom, who had pulled a small, unwrapped but innocuous cardboard box from where he’d stashed it under the sofa cushions when Billy wasn’t looking.
“We agreed, no presents,” Billy reminded him sternly.
“We did,” Dom nodded, “This isn’t a present, see? No wrapping paper. It’s a practical thing, something you needed.” He pushed the box into Billy’s hands. “It cost all of three dollars, Bills, just open it.”
Billy looked doubtfully at him but slowly opened the lid to the box. His eyes darted back up to Dom’s before pulling out the contents, a set of postcards, each with a photo of different world landmark.
“You don’t like email, so I figured you needed something to write to people on,” Dom sat back, smiling. “I, erm, I used one up though, so it’s not quite one hundred count.”
Billy flipped through the set, finding the card that showed a picture of Mount Ruapahu in New Zealand, on which Dom had drawn a heart with a little boat at the center.
Billy grinned down at the postcard and pulled him into a hug for appearances sake, but his real gratitude was something that passed between them without being spoken, in the way Billy’s hands continued to shuffle through the cards, pausing on certain pictures and places.
Dom set to opening his own gifts. Matt had given him an enormous extravagantly wrapped box of condoms, which was good for a laugh, though the bottles of wine made up for it. His mother gave him a scarf similar to Billy’s, though in stripes navy blue and grey, as well as shirts and other usuals she thought he didn’t have enough of.
Presents done with, Aureen began collecting the wads of wrapping paper littering the floor. Billy was admiring Matt’s new gloves while Austin got up and went to the dining room, returning a minute later with the ship in a bottle that had sat in the curio. He held it out to Dom with little ceremony.
Dom looked blankly at the ship and at his dad, taking it a little warily.
Austin shrugged, gesturing to the bottle again, “It’s yours, anyway, take it home with you.”
Dom held it awkwardly, the little Cutty Sark sailing on its epoxy waves with three perfect upright masts of sails, inside a cider jug. He was acutely aware that everyone had paused to watch and felt color rise to his face. All he could think was that they’d have to ship it back home and what a hassle that would be. He wanted to hand it back and defiantly say he didn’t want it, but what fell out of his mouth was a muttered, “Thank you.”
Austin nodded and then stood there looking bewildered before he reached for the packet of fags in his breast pocket and left the room, down the hall to the garage.
“Well, that’s something,” Aureen huffed, stuffing more paper into the bin.
The rest of the holiday progressed quietly. Dom’s mum got started cooking the elaborate Christmas dinner she had planned. Billy volunteered to polish the good silverware, to much ribbing from Matt. He and Dom set up the chessboard again, ready for another round of strategic and psychological warfare.
On their sixth game, they’d both collected an equal number of each other's pieces from the board. Dom moved his bishop. “Check.”
“That’s not Check.”
“Is so Check, look, man.”
Matt looked, and looked some more. His fingers hovered over his remaining rook and pawn and even his king, before withdrawing them and looking some more, all random facts and distractions silenced.
“Mate in two moves,” Austin’s voice came from the doorway, where he’d been silently watching for some time, “Well done, Dom.”
“Gah,” Matt growled irritably, moving his rook the only way he could, and then spared Dom his last move by knocking his own king flat in defeat.
Dom swept up the pieces smugly, exchanging a bright smile with Billy while Matt stalked out to the living room and sulkily flipped on the telly. His dad inclined his head from the doorway, some sort of acknowledgement before he turned to join Matt for the evening news.
Settling the pieces into their felt case, Dom held the white marble bishop for a moment. He had a weird sense of déjà vu, something to do with chess pieces, white marble and black obsidian just like these, and a flash of a third, jade army. He grasped for what it meant, but the odd thought flitted away as if it had never been.
He spent the remainder of the afternoon helping his mother prepare salads and sauces and puddings. As the sun went down and the tree sparkled with lights, they steadily consumed all the day’s work until empty bowls and desiccated plates covered the table.
“I won’t have to eat again for a year, Mum,” Matt groaned, pushing back from the table before everyone else, though he’d inhaled several helpings of just about everything.
“Oh good, then you can manage the dishes,” Aureen said primly, “Seeing as you didn’t help make the supper.”
“Billy didn’t help either,” Matt fired back.
“Ah, see here?” Billy winked across at him, holding up a sparkling salad fork that hadn’t been used, tilting it to capture the light, “See how it shines? Watch and learn, lad. Choose your battles, and you don’t get stuck with the dirty work.”
“But I’m your own blood, Mum, your firstborn!” Matt grumbled, grabbing for a wine glass, “And I brought the alcohol!”
“Mmm, and somehow I like it better knowing you worked for it,” Aureen sat back with her glass and took a sip. “Hop to. The dishes aren’t going to wash themselves.”
“We could always write him out of the will,” Austin put in.
“Geez, the welcome we get, eh? Dom? Back me up here,” Matt rounded on him.
“You’re on your own, man,” he picked up a dish scraped nearly clean, “Here you are. Make sure you use the scrubby thing, the potatoes were pretty starchy.”
Everyone laughed. Austin as well, his booming laugh louder than all others. He grinned around, sated and happy, his eyes lingering on Dom and for a few moments seemed to bypass whatever disagreements they had.
“Well, that’s me done in. Excellent dinner.” He stood up and pressed a kiss to his wife’s cheek, with a quiet, “Happy Christmas,” and then left, down the hallway to the garage for his after supper cigarette.
Dom dawdled over the last of his pudding. Matt continued to moan about the state of the dishes until Aureen got up to be sure he was washing up properly. He could feel their eyes on him, felt Billy’s hand rub his knee beneath the table briefly, as if to soften the expectation of reconciliation.
Dom’s mind was a tidal wave of conflict, unsure what to think. Well done, Dom. It repeated in his head like a recording, along with the words of the schoolgirls from yesterday, ringing with some old fatherly pride Dom remembered from childhood, and yet there was also the disparaging ache of how Austin had spoken to Billy so condescendingly and otherwise not at all, how he felt the need to take Dom aside and remind him not to be who he was in church. The ship in the bottle sat in the guest room along with wine and other gifts that would not fit in their luggage and would have to be mailed back to New York - the ship Austin had succeeded in building where Dom had failed.
He followed the hallway back out to the garage, still without a fucking clue what needed to be said to put things right.
Austin leaned against the back of the car as before, the ember of his smoke glowing in the dark. Dom stopped by the tool shelf and looked out at the neighborhood. Cars lined the street, Christmas lights reflecting in their paint. The air was cold and wet, wisps of fog floating amongst ornamental shrubs and flowerbeds.
“I would have got more than a tie,” he spoke the first words that came to him, and even then he wanted to bite them back.
Austin shrugged and tapped his ash, “Can never have enough ties.”
They studied each other, Dom again taking in the oddness of how old his dad looked, the streaks of grey in his hair and beard, the little gut he’d gained, the casual set of his hands, very like Dom’s own, not gnarled or spotted at all, but still somehow older.
His father looked steadily back, as if Dom’s vicious demand from the first night still rang off the walls. Dom wondered what it was he saw, and if he felt the same removed awkwardness. He looked away, out to the street, embarrassed without knowing why.
“You had a mate when you were a boy,” His father suddenly asked, “Cullin. Do you remember?”
“Of course I remember,” Dom answered, more snappishly then he meant to. He looked back and gave his father a shrug to soften it.
Austin nodded, taking another pull off the cigarette. “He was a bright kid. I remember him debating with teachers until they didn’t know who was on the right end of things. Bit of a smart-arse.”
“You didn’t like him.”
“I didn’t dislike him,” Austin answered promptly. “But I worried about his influence on you.”
“He didn’t make me gay, if that’s the influence you were worried about,” Dom looked up brazenly, clenching his jaw. When he dad merely gazed back, neither confirming nor denying the statement, he looked away, breathing slowly to hold his anger in check. He didn’t want to give his father the satisfaction of getting a rise out of him this time.
Austin spoke with the indifferent patience of a teacher. “You were very close.”
Dom nodded slowly. He’d never really defined what Cullin had been to him in the course of knowing each other. Even now, he didn’t think of him the way he thought of Billy, or of Sean. Their relationship had been a sort of intense and necessary connection, nothing more or less, and when it had been broken, something in him that was difficult to define had been lost.
An owl called in the distance somewhere in the open land to the southwest. The wind rustled the bare trees, clicking branches together in the quiet. Christmas music could be heard from inside a neighboring home. Dom turned to call it a stalemate and leave. He didn’t want to keep bickering over matters that would never be settled between them.
Austin crushed out his smoke and crossed his arms, shaking his head. “I made mistakes with you boys. I didn’t teach you the right things.”
Dom sighed irritably, turning back. “You taught me plenty.”
“No, I didn’t make myself clear, I didn’t teach you-”
“I have to disagree, Mr. Monaghan.”
Dom turned back to the drive to see Billy slowly rounding the garage wall from the front entry, one hand tucked in his pocket and the other holding a beer.
“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, Dommeh. Just came out for some air.” His voice was quiet and apologetic to Dom, then rose to one of politic assurance to his father. “But I can’t let you go on thinking you’ve not raised a fine son, sir.”
Austin surveyed Billy with doubt in his eyes and words held on his tongue.
“My gran once took me aside when I was a lad, ‘bout thirteen or so,” he turned a paint can on the shelf as if reading the contents, with a short airy huff of laughter, “She told me: When I court a girl, I must be polite to her father, call him ‘sir’, declare my intentions and seek his blessing.”
Billy looked to Austin pointedly, waiting for some reaction for several moments. He didn’t get one.
“My parents tried to teach me these things you mention,” Billy continued, his voice low and fond.
“Bills,” Dom broke in, wanting to intervene, to keep Billy’s family matters separate.
“No, Dom,” Billy silenced him and continued on, “They did nothing but work twelve hours a day to keep us up, come home and feed and clothe us, make us happy, though we’d no money for extras.
“And I resented them. Dad, Mum, Gran, and anyone else who brought us to be what we were, poor factory trash from Cranhill. I hated them for it. I picked fights and skived off school for attention. I thought I was better than all of it. I was a smart arse, and when I needed them most, they were gone, and I was far too pissed off at the world to listen anymore. So I ran and I fought and I let other people pick me up when I was down, until I outstayed my welcome, and then I ran again, and again. I’m a self-centered coward, I don’t deny that. I’ve never done anything if it didn’t serve my best interests.
“At least, not until your lad walked onto my boat,” Billy continued, reaching to brush a bit of lint from Dom’s sleeve. “Taught me a thing or two.
“Dominic knows what’s right better than most,” Billy went on. “He’s all the things most people ought to be but aren’t, just because they can’t be arsed. He spends day and night worrying over kids that aren’t his, just because someone taught him to be selfless and forgiving, to give himself to those who may not even want to listen to what he has to teach them.
“I’m thirty-eight years old, and I didn’t learn any of those things until he showed them to me. And he keeps on with it too, never mind I don’t deserve it. He makes me want to be worth the effort,” Billy looked between the both of them, then settled back on Austin, his eyes soft, but his expression serious, “So, I’d say your son is more a man than I will ever be. I’d say you taught him well.”
“As for my gran’s advice, somehow I don’t think it would work out the way the old bird thought, so I’ll just make myself clear. I’m not running anymore. And all due respect, sir, I don’t need your blessing on that. Your approval wouldn’t change a thing on my end. Although for Dom’s sake, it might be nice.”
And with a last soft look at Dom, he turned and walked out to the street, standing on the curb by the motorbike, tilting the bottle up to his lips.
“He thinks very highly of you,” his dad said after awhile, his voice cradling a note of surprise.
“He doesn’t give himself any credit,” Dom returned as he stared after Billy’s shape in the dark silhouetted by colored lights. He was stunned at how much Billy attributed to him, when he had accomplished so much of it on his own. “He’s the best person I’ve ever known.”
Why he was telling his father of all people this, Dom could not comprehend, but Austin said nothing for or against it. He looked up, the skies above Hounslow silent for once as the airport was closed for the holiday. Billy had braved not one, but two long flights for him, had stayed with him no matter how many times Dom had screwed up in the strange span of this affair, four months, twelve days, and counting. Billy had stuck it out, and even spoke of him like a poet to the one person Dom could not prove himself to. Perhaps Billy wasn’t crap with words after all.
“I love him,” Dom said simply, “You don’t have to understand. All you have to do is let us be.”
He left his father there in the garage and made his way out to the sidewalk. Billy passed the beer to him and Dom finished off the bottle. A group emerged from a nearby house, the doorway bright as they exchanged goodbyes with their hosts and herded three boys, all clutching favorite gifts towards a minivan. Billy watched, fingering the fringe on his new scarf. “Your mum spent too much on this.”
“Maybe,” Dom replied, “It’s not like I could stop her doing it, though.”
“Now I know where you get it from,” Billy gave half a smile that faded just as quickly. “I’m sorry, Dom.”
“For what?”
“Just…” Billy sighed, wrapping his arms around himself in the chill. “I’m not used to this. Family.”
Dom nodded. Billy had endured the last few days gracefully, had done his damnedest not to bend under pressure, but at some point it had to get overwhelming. His speech to Austin had been given with careful control, but Dom had sensed the pent-up exasperation beneath the words.
“You asked me, this morning, why I didn’t stay with the writer,” Billy’s eyebrows furrowed, his voice dropping as if to himself, “What was his name?” After a moment he shook his head, giving up, “I’m good at forgetting things I don’t want to remember.”
Dom chanced the question again. “Why didn’t you stay?”
Billy watched the minivan pull away until its taillights turned off the street. “Because I felt something that scared the shite of me, and I didn’t want to face it back then. I didn’t want to face it the second time it came round either, but you didn’t really give me a choice.” He met Dom’s eyes, “You caught me when I had nowhere to run.”
Dom took a last step closer, gathering him into an embrace. Billy didn’t resist, looking back with that quiet intensity, unnerving and electric and so incredibly beautiful that Dom couldn’t find words. Here was a man who believed so fiercely that he had a choice in everything he did, revealing that perhaps fate had a little play in things after all. He could only take that face in his hands, press a soft kiss to his forehead before resting his own against it and breathing the same cold, hanging air. To say I love you after everything Billy had said and done seemed meaningless. It wasn’t big enough. Nothing was.
“I want to go to Scotland, Dom.”
Dom pulled back on a gasp, staring back at him in complete disbelief.
Billy drew a worn piece of paper from his back pocket, unfolding it so Dom could see. It was Maggie’s letter, its edges dingy from being opened and creased time and time again. It had sat under Billy’s picture frame in their flat since it had arrived weeks ago, and unbeknownst to Dom, Billy had brought it with him, like a talisman he simply couldn’t leave behind.
“You said - I doubt you remember it, but - that morning you made Not-Cinnamon buns, you said maybe we could go. I thought, day after Boxing Day, the trains will be packed, but I’ve got enough saved for a couple of tickets-”
Dom kissed him right out there on the street, not caring whether his father or anyone else could see. Never in a million years had he expected this, and when he drew back, Billy blinked at him with the softest quirk to his lips, his thumb wiping a little wet trail from Dom’s cheek.
“What’s this, my Dom?” he whispered soothingly, “You’re not the crying sort.”
“No… no,” Dom sniffled through a shaky laugh. “Just…. Are you sure?”
“No. M’not sure.” Billy’s face reflected his fears, even as his hands smoothed up and down Dom’s back. “I need you to make me sure.”
Dom traced the lines of doubt on Billy’s face. “I think it’s time you went home, then.”
Billy locked his arms around him and held tightly, “You’re my home.”
“Then I’ve an inkling to head north.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE