A True Gentleman
Title: A True Gentleman (12/?)
Pairing: Dom/Billy
Rating: PG-NC17
Warnings: AU, angst, art geekery
Summary: Uni fic.
A/N: Long chapter is looooong. And I wonder how many of you know me well enough by now that when there's a kitchen sink involved...
When Dom walked into Mort’s classroom on Monday morning, Orlando and Elijah were already there. “Where were you?” Lij accused.
“I had to run over to Wenham’s and turn in the stuff for the show,” he explained, dropping into his seat and nodding to Mort, already settled at the back of the class, as it was Billy’s day to lecture. He’d finished matting Dom’s photos the previous day, very nicely, actually. It was the first time he’d gotten work back from a framer that didn’t have at least one dinged corner, or a fingerprint that wasn’t his own marring his work.
“Always leaving it right down to the wire, you jackass,” Elijah punched him on the thigh.
“You ought to be happy, Kitten, there’s one of you in there,” Dom fired back, scrubbing his head to go with the pet name, which Elijah jerked away from as usual, “If that one wins some sort of prize-”
Dom’s words fizzled off mid-sentence as Billy thumped his rucksack and briefcase on the desk in front of Dom’s and peeled off his ubiquitous blazer. He was not, however, wearing his ubiquitous khakis, or a sweater vest. He was instead wearing the jeans Dom had fixated on at the frame shop, with a wide, well worn, brown leather belt, and a dark blue button-down shirt.
“Wow,” Elijah leered, “What’s the occasion?”
“Must have got one of those brand new donations in at the Goodwill,” Orlando leaned over to stage-whisper.
Billy ignored this, not looking at any of them as he cleared his throat and went to pull the slide projector into position. Dom sat back, wondering what brought this on, but couldn’t bring himself to join into their ribbing. It was too much of a surprise how much a fairly small change of wardrobe pulled Billy out of nerdy and set him firmly into the bloody gorgeous category. There were still hints of it: the over-all tidiness, the cuffs of the sleeves tugged down and buttoned at the wrists, the creases that were maybe not expertly pressed, but clear enough, the collar buttoned up almost all the way. Dom would unbutton at least one more, if not two or three. Or maybe all of them, push the halves apart to get his hands around that slim waist and built shoulders…
A finger jabbed him hard in the side, bringing him back to Elijah beside him with a raised brow and big shit-eating grin on his face, which instantly brought a flush to Dom’s ears. He exhaled, fussing with his notebook and pencil, hands searching for something to do as he surreptitiously watched Billy tug a corner of his shirt out of his jeans, use it wipe his glasses, and then tuck the tail back in, his neat, narrow hand disappearing beneath worn leather and denim… Fuck, he thought, heat exploding under his own trousers.
The class settled, and Billy crossed to switch off half of the room’s lights so the slides would show, though it meant he intended to talk more than flip slides today. “So, I thought I’d leave off lecturing on the modern architecture chapter in your text, just because it has decent examples and all you have to do to see some of them is go outside in any city you happen to be in,” Billy started off, and Dom sat up a bit, surprised and more than delighted; he’d got more than enough of the crap in this chapter from his father his whole life. Billy went on, “Although, if you look at your syllabus, you still have to read it and turn in the essay questions at the end by your next class, so don’t get too excited about it.”
Dom twirled his pencil in his fingers, deaf to Orlando and Elijah’s whispers beside him and watching Billy bend over in those jeans to retrieve a few sheets of his notes that had slid to the floor.
“So,” Billy stood back up, pushing up his glasses and glancing at the papers before he set them on the podium and looked up over the heads of the class. “Something we never discussed, since we’re basically up to the Modern Era that is continuing today, is how art continues to be a respectable career.”
There was a pause as the class shifted and squirmed under the idea of a whole class of discussion with Mr. Boyd, the TA who hating lecturing and seemed to hate discussion even more.
“I mean, it isn’t quite the same, is it? Few people today get to apprentice under Masters the likes of Da Vinci or Caravaggio, or spend forty years of life painting the ceilings of cathedrals and castles for royalty, yeah?
“But it does still happen. There’s a painter by the name of Rupert Alexander who has regularly been commissioned by the British Royal Family. He’s painted the Queen, Prince Charles, Prince William-” a few of the girls in the class giggled, and Dom smirked. Even Billy rolled his eyes and gave the loudest of the girls a little smile-“Now, I bet you don’t know this: Alexander is the youngest artist to paint the Royal Family in over three centuries. He was just twenty-three the first time they commissioned him. How many of you in this class are ‘round that age?”
Most of the class raised their hands, including Dom and his mates.
“Can you imagine that, now?” Billy opened his arms in wide gesture, “Imagine you’re fresh out of school-which some of you will be in a couple of months-and now you’re at Buckingham Palace with bonnie Prince William sitting for a portrait, by you, that people hundreds of years from now are going to see,” he stepped forward to pick up the book from the desk of the girl who had giggled, “in a textbook, like this one. Well, probably not like this one, it’ll be one of those trekkie Kindle sort of things.”
Several people laughed at that, and Billy gave a twee grin that made Dom’s heart squeeze as he went back to the podium.
“So,” Billy shifted his notes around, “Let’s see how many of you know any of today’s successful artists by name. Hmm? Just call them out if you know any.”
Orlando took the bait, “Depends on what you consider successful, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” Billy pointed at him, “Absolutely, it does. That’s actually a better question to start with. What defines artistic success today?”
“Making money,” someone called out. “Gallery showings. Not little stuff, but big exhibitions,” said another. “Both!”
“All of those are good points,” Billy nodded, “Exhibitions. Selling your work. Selling your work to people who will pay exorbitant amounts of money for it. What about getting a wall in a museum?” he asked, “That sort of thing merits an invitation, or the museum itself invests the cash to buy your piece. Right? So, give me names. Most successful artists still living or who’ve lived within your lifetimes. You can base it on money or galleries or museum interest or whatever.”
The class went quiet for a bit before someone tentatively answered, “Jasper Johns.”
Billy pointed to the speaker, then went to the white board to write the name down. “Yes. There’s an artist who sells pieces for millions. Who else?”
“Lucien Freud.”
Billy wrote that one down with a smile, “Very good, Vanessa. Lucien Freud. One of his paintings sold for a record thirty-three million dollars, and that was before he died last year. Others?”
“Thomas Kincade?” one girl said, and the room collectively groaned. Billy laughed and wrinkled his nose. “Sadly, yes. Even if you don’t like his stuff, you have to admit, the man has been successful. Marketing is a powerful thing, remember that. Anyone else?”
“Louise Bourgeois.”
“Yes!” Billy fired back with excitement, “Definitely her. You all ought to have seen photos of her spider-themed Maman, even if you didn’t know who made it. Bourgeois’ art is intensely personal, and some people have even given her the moniker as the mother of the Confessional Movement, even though one could argue it’s not really a movement at all and all art is confessional of sorts. Any others?”
“Anselm Kiefer,” Dom offered, trying to toss one out he didn’t think Billy might know.
Billy turned around and met his eyes, before he added the name to the board. “Yes, Dom. Which should go to show you all there are new movements in art all the time. Kiefer’s been associated with Neo-Expressionism, New Symbolism, and Surrealism. If you aren’t writing these down, you should be, and look them up when you get home.”
Putting down the marker, he went back to the podium, trying to wipe the remnants of it off his skin. “Alright, what about artists who don’t do much in the way of big exhibitions? They might not be making millions or hanging in museums, but their artwork is still their bread and butter, it still pays the bills.”
He leaned his elbows on the podium as no one answered. “What about illustrators of movie posters? Not the quick, slapped together photoshopped shite, but the old fashioned, hand drawn and painted posters. I’d wager that even if none of you know Drew Struzan by name, every single one of you recognizes his work.” He clicked on the slide projector through the famous posters from Star Wars, ET, Indiana Jones, and Harry Potter, getting nods and murmurs from everyone.
“Come to that, what about comic book artists?” Billy continued, “And concept artists for all those Playstation games you lot like, eh? People who illustrate book covers and children’s books, mat painters for big Hollywood films, even tattooists. All of this falls into the realm of visual art as a career.”
Billy looked around at the faces in the room, “Most of you in the room are artists in some form or another, whether what you do is paint, or draw, or sculpt, or take photographs,” his gaze flicked towards Dom and quickly away, “or something else altogether. Maybe some of you have already sold commissions over the internet, or got yourselves a little gallery spot on Newbury like our own Prof Mort here. Everybody starts somewhere, right?” The class giggled and Mort waved from the back of the room, “So, even though people like Lucien Freud and Anselm Keifer and even Thomas fecking Kincade are making a mint off of paintings and have well-earned the right to hang in galleries and museums and framing shops around the world, never discount the artwork that you see every single day, all around you. Because all of it has merit.”
Billy’s lecture stood out and pulsed in Dom’s head through the rest of the day, so when he caught up with him coming out of the Holyoke that afternoon, he was still struck at this new side of him, in those clothes and this different attitude. It helped that the weather had finally broken over Cambridge and the bright sun and blue sky was making him squint as the snow and ice ran in puddles around them.
“Hey,” Dom jogged up to him. Billy nodded acknowledgement, striding along with a small smile on his face.
“Something’s different with you, man,” Dom tried to coax more of that smile out.
Billy nodded again, scuffing his shoes as they waited at a crosswalk. “My proposal date came through.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” Billy grinned up at him, “Got the email this morning. ‘S down for the end of April.”
Dom slapped him on the arm excitedly, “That’s fucking great! That’s… we should celebrate or something. Get a beer. Fuck that, let’s get a whiskey.”
But Billy shook his head anxiously, even as he kept smiling. “Nooo. I’ve work, Dom. Anyway, all it means is that I’ve got a lot of shite to get done between now and then. I don’t have time to celebrate.”
“Well, we should do something,” Dom prodded, “Let’s get some food at least. We’ll pick something up and bring it back to yours. I’ll buy.”
“Yeah, alright,” Billy acquiesced, and Dom grinned wide, clapped his shoulder again turned toward the student parking. “See, you’ll have your Doctorate before you know it.”
“So, that was an interesting lecture this morning,” Dom said, now settled into Billy’s tiny living room with big, messy sandwiches and packets of crisps between them, rucksacks and studying forgotten in favor of food. He started on the second half of his sandwich, chewed and swallowed his bite before he finished his thought, “You even had the lads paying attention.”
Billy snorted, picking through his crisps and nodding, “Yeah. Surprised me too.”
“I didn’t think you would’ve known Kiefer.”
“I know Kiefer, Dom.” Billy shook his head with a smile, wiping his mouth. “I did an article on him for Art Review magazine, about five years back. Did one on Bourgeois, too, the next year.”
Dom took that in, finishing his sandwich, and setting his empty plate on the coffee table. “I saw Kiefer’s exhibition at the Guggenheim Bilbao a few years ago, on holiday with my parents. My dad kept trying to pull me to the building itself, to look at the fucking bracing joints in the ceiling.”
Billy wadded his napkin in his hands and spread it back out, separating it carefully at the fold. “Christ, I’d love to see the Guggenheim,” he murmured with longing. He stood up, taking his and Dom’s plates and the rubbish into the kitchen. Dom followed him after a moment, picking up on Billy’s yearning and riding it with his own. Leaning against the opposite worktop, he watched Billy’s shoulders shift under the dark blue shirt as he rinsed their dishes, straying down to his perk little arse under loose, comfortable denim.
“You finally took my advice, I see.”
“Hmm?”
“Your clothes.”
Billy set the second plate in the draining board and dried his hands, turning to face him and looking down at his clothes, both sheepish and pleased. “Yeah? I haven’t had a way to get down to the laundermat this week, so. I never wear this shirt. My sister gave it to me for Christmas and it doesn’t go with anything else I have.”
“It doesn’t have to,” Dom grinned, taking the opportunity to look Billy up and down. He pushed off the counter and approached hesitantly. “Here, let me see something.”
He took Billy’s left arm, unbuttoned the cuff and rolled it up to just below his elbow, and did the same with the other. He considered tugging the tail out loose, but that would cover up the belt that accented his slender little hips so well. Instead, he reached up on the premise of straightening the collar. When Billy allowed this, he pulled open that second button, exposing just a little gingery chest hair. He’d probably be pushing his luck if he went for a third.
Billy’s eyes remained on his face throughout, searching his features, and Dom met them again with a smile, stepping back to look at the overall picture he’d made. “You look good.”
They stood staring at each other, the air nearly crackling between them with wariness and possibilities and confusion. Dom’s heart thumped a rhythm against his ribcage. In any other situation, with any other person, he would have made his intentions clear and snogged him already, but he was just unsure of everything with this man. He swallowed that notion and licked his lips, dropping his eyes to the chipped linoleum.
“Right, well. I guess we should get to work, then,” Billy’s feet shuffled awkwardly back, and then to one side, toward the living room.
Fuck that, Dom abruptly changed his mind, tired of all this tiptoeing, and caught Billy by the arm to reel him back.
He made a surprised noise as Dom spun him, pressing him against the counter, wrapping his arms around that warm, slender little waist as he sucked that gorgeous bottom lip into his mouth. Billy gasped, his lips parting, and Dom slipped his tongue between them lightly, not too much, suddenly afraid of freaking Billy out again.
Billy’s hands finally rose from their stunned flailing and lit on Dom’s shoulders, then his head, first grasping Dom’s ears and then wrapping his arms around Dom’s neck, his mouth opening on a moan. Dom’s breath exploded from him, unaware he’d been holding it, and pounced back on Billy’s mouth, their tongues twining, bodies pressed together from mouth to knee, wanting Billy to feel that he’d been maintaining a steady stiff nearly since he’d had walked into class this morning.
“Dom, God,” Billy breathed, tearing his mouth from Dom’s for air. Dom took advantage and kissed his way along Billy’s jaw to his ear, nibbling, thrilled at the way Billy’s breath hitched and he writhed beneath Dom’s hands. Dom grinned against skin, giggling at the absurdity of all this. “You look really fucking good, Bills,” he rasped in Billy’s ear.
“Fuck,” Billy hissed, then propelled him backwards to pin him against the sink, his hands plucking and shoving at his shirt, rucking it up under his armpits until Dom instinctively raised his arms to let Billy whip it off over his head. “Fuck,” he repeated, his hands roving all over his warm naked skin.
Dom huffed a breathless laugh, “Ah, I dunno if you’re ready for that.”
Billy’s sharp little teeth nipped his jaw, his tongue smoothing over the bites as his fingers found and then twisted a nipple hard enough to get Dom to bark out a shocked noise. “Dom, I want… I need to just… please.”
“Jesus,” Dom gasped, his head reeling, and then he was being yanked out of the kitchen and pushed through the door to the tiny bedroom, Billy’s bedroom that was strictly off limits in all the times he’d been here.
He didn’t get much of a chance to take in his surroundings as Billy shoved him down on the bed and climbed on top of him, diving onto his mouth again like a starving man. His hands were everywhere, his breath coming fast and heavy, his wicked little mouth all fury and desperation.
Dom finally managed to break off and held Billy back a bit, “Jesus, slow down, Bills, you’re… this is…” he laughed breathlessly again. “You’re moving a bit fast for a first timer.”
Billy sat back on Dom’s thighs, breathing hard and giving a laugh himself, “Shite, Dominic, I might be new at this, but I’m no fucking prude, alright? You think I don’t toss off to the same internet porn as you? I want to get off, you want to, this is a fine plan, don’t you think?”
Dom sat up, sliding his hands around Billy’s waist, “Alright, but just… let’s slow it down a little, you know? I just… I don’t want to be the prick you regret.”
“You’re already the prick I regret,” Billy grinned, his eyes dropped to Dom’s mouth again. “You’re a fucking tease. I just… I need a little… I want to get off, and it doesn’t have to mean anything.”
“I know, but…”
“Jesus fucking Christ, do you never shut up?” Billy grabbed the back of his head and kissed him hard. “You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?”
Dom grinned, pleased as hell, dropping his voice low, “I can drive you even crazier, if you let me.” His hands slid down, tugging the tails of the shirt out, weaseling under them to find warm skin over Billy’s hips, letting his thumbs dip beneath the waist of his jeans and rub matching circles on either side. “Feels good, yeah?”
Billy’s eyes dropped closed and he gave a throaty, affirmative groan.
Dom darted in for another taste of Billy’s beestung lips, then started plucking open the rest of the buttons he’d held back on in the kitchen, watching as the dark fabric parted to pale skin and lovely chest hair, everything he’d imagined in class earlier, not too much or too little. Billy’s hands roamed up and down over Dom’s chest, leaving only to pull his arms free of the sleeves. Dom drew his own hands up those surprisingly large biceps and shoulders, their breath mingling as he stole another kiss and had a startling moment of clarity that this was really happening, he had Billy’s body under his hands and his taste on his lips.
Billy was a little thing under his clothes, every bit compact and stronger than he had any right to be, pushing Dom back down flat on the bed. His neat little fingers dove for the button fly of Dom’s jeans, tugging them open one at a time. Dom leaned up on his elbows to watch Billy discover him with hooded eyes.
“Figures you’d go commando, Dominic, I should have known,” Billy snickered, the smile leaving his face as Dom’s cock came into view. He stared hungrily at it, tugging Dom’s jeans down to his thighs as he inhaled, nostrils flaring at the scent of him.
“Well, if I knew we were going to have a little romp, I would have gone shopping special for an Argyll thong. But I wasn’t getting my hopes up,” Dom said cheekily.
Billy arched his eyebrows at him and dropped down onto an elbow by Dom’s hip, his hand smoothing all around Dom’s cock, curiously brushing through the neatly trimmed hair before sliding his whole warm hand onto the length of the shaft, up to circle the head and down to palm and lift Dom’s balls.
Dom felt himself pulse at how eager Billy was to just dive right into this, and a bead of fluid welled up at the slit, the head red and his foreskin tight below it. But when Billy thumbed the moisture away and then brought it to his mouth to taste with no hesitation whatsoever, Dom couldn’t help but clench his teeth and moan.
Billy pulled off his glasses and darted a dark look up at him as he held them out for Dom to set aside on the table. Without any further encouragement he leaned down and curled his pointy little tongue down around Dom’s cock, searching for more of that taste.
“Ngh,” Dom dropped one hand down to comb his fingers though Billy’s hair while he watched Billy lick him up and down, curl a hand round his length and take the head between his petal soft lips and suck. He plunged down on him, too far, gagging himself, the first sign in any of this that Billy might be inexperienced. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried again.
Dom gasped at the feeling, but tugged lightly on Billy’s hair, “You don’t have to, man, it’s good enough with your… your mouth on me,” he breathed, “It’s good.”
Billy glanced up, pressing the flat of his tongue on the head and letting his hand move at the base, his lips closing around him to apply a little suction.
“Yeah, Bills. Just like that,” Dom rumbled, consciously stilling his hips. “Feels fucking fantastic.”
Billy alternately tongued and sucked for some minutes before pulling back and nibbling with his lips back down Dom’s length to his balls, burying his nose and mouthing the soft skin.
Dom hung his head back and moaned, feeling Billy’s tongue curling around and lifting each ball, his hot breath pooling around them. He wriggled and tried to push his jeans farther off, wanting to free his legs so he could spread them wide.
Billy took the hint and sat up, tugging them the rest of the way off. When Dom was naked, he elbowed his way backward onto the pillows and let his knees fall apart, reaching down to give his prick a lazy tug.
“You too,” Dom gestured to Billy’s jeans, “Let me see you.”
“Fuck, Dom,” Billy stared at his hand, watching him wank, looking thoroughly flushed with red cheeks and down his chest, beginning to sweat. He quickly undid and whipped off his belt without taking his eyes away. He pushed out of his jeans and boxers, dropping them off the side of the bed before taking hold of himself and squeezing.
“Come up here,” Dom invited, moving over to give Billy some space, still pulling on his cock as Billy kneed up the bed to lie next to him. Side by side, they watched each other touch themselves, taking mental notes, in Dom’s case. Billy liked a tighter grip on himself and kept most of the pressure just under the head, while Dom preferred a lighter, fuller stroke.
After a fair amount of teasing, Dom let go of himself, rolled over and straddled Billy with a mischievous grin, “My turn.”
He caught a little flicker of fear on Billy’s face as he let go of his prick and dropped his hands to Dom’s thighs. Dom braced on all fours and dropped down to kiss him, slow and languid, pulling back to see unbelievably green eyes glossy and dark. “M’not gonna roger you, Bills, but just let me…” he grinned, dropping his voice to a low purr, “Let me drive you a bit crazy, yeah?”
“Too late for that.”
Dom kissed his mouth again, tasting himself there, then on the chin and down his neck, laying a sharp nip on the point of a collarbone. He trailed his tongue down between pectorals and under, along the line of the muscle, teasing up into a spiral until he reached a hardened nipple and sucked it into his mouth, loving the gasp that fell from Billy’s mouth. He teased the nub until Billy wriggled, torn between pushing into the assault of tongue and shrinking away from teeth, then he moved to the other and gave it the same treatment.
Leaving off, he kissed and tongued down Billy’s belly, cataloguing how while Billy wasn’t exactly toned, his stomach was flat and reasonably firm, the light covering of gingery hair a soft, sexy addition that just fit perfectly. Billy wore thirty well, that was for sure, no awkward angles or underdeveloped bits, he was all masculinity in a perfect little package, and the fact that he knew exactly what he wanted didn’t go unnoticed either. As Dom sucked at the skin just above Billy’s navel, he felt a hand drop to his head and urge him lower.
Dom gave a gravelly chuckle, arching a brow at Billy’s completely lust addled face. “Impatient little git.”
“Oh, suck my cock, Dominic,” Billy spat, grinning at the joke and added, “Please.”
“Since you asked so nicely,” Dom smiled wickedly, and ran the flat of his wide tongue over the full musky length that throbbed on Billy’s stomach. Billy let out a surprised noise, and Dom slurped him into his mouth.
He went for a slow, easy, pulsing suck, swirling his tongue round the head of Billy’s cock each time, gently holding Billy’s hips but allowing him to pump a bit. He was fairly sure Billy had no idea he was doing it, the way he was moaning and writhing, his head turning from side to side, his eyes closed and mouth open and gasping. It was funny to think he never had this done to him before, and yet the thought did wonders for Dom’s ego. He knew he was good at this, he’d been told as much by plenty of guys, and he could tell he was pushing Billy headlong into oblivion. Saliva was thick in his mouth with Billy’s taste, and he swallowed, watching the way the movement of his mouth made Billy shudder all over. He laughed through his nose, relaxed his throat and dove, taking Billy all the way down until his nose pressed into Billy’s damp pubes. He could only manage this for a second or two, but it had Billy shouting and grabbing Dom by the ears. Feeling Billy’s balls tighten up beneath his chin, Dom sat up, straddled Billy’s thighs and took him in his hand, stroking him off tight and fast.
Billy’s hand came down and joined with his own, guiding the rhythm and course with desperate intent until with a high-pitched sob he came, thick and white shooting up from his cock to fall on his clenching stomach muscles, then sluggishly pumping three, four more times over their combined knuckles.
“Yeah, Bills, fucking gorgeous,” Dom growled, leaving Billy to hold himself while he knelt over him and thrust hard into his own fist, panting and reaching down with his other hand to grab his balls, pressing hard behind them with the tips of his fingers. Five or six good strokes and he grunted release from deep in his chest, come reaching as far as Billy’s throat as he watched it fall and get caught in the hair.
When it was over, he dropped to hold his weight on his mostly clean hand, letting the other press and rub their combined come into Billy’s skin, before he dipped down to taste the salt and musk of it together over a nipple. Billy groaned between panting breaths, palming the back of his head and pulling him up to search out the taste in Dom’s mouth.
They broke apart and Dom finally rolled off to sprawl next to him on the little bed, blissed out.
After dozing for a bit, Dom hitched up on an elbow. Billy was awake, still lying where he had been and studying the stained ceiling, come drying on his stomach. Pushing himself up, Dom climbed over him, pausing to drop a kiss on Billy’s cheek and whispered, “Don’t get up.”
He strode naked into the bathroom, turning on the water to warm while he searched the cupboard for a washcloth, but finding only a few hand towels. Wetting one, he cleaned himself off and rinsed the cloth again before coming back to the bedroom and sat on the edge of the mattress, wiping the mess from Billy’s skin while he lay there looking back at Dom.
“I didn’t think it would be with you,” Billy said, and if it weren’t for his soft, almost shameful tone and the fact that he lay there and allowed himself to be mopped up, Dom might have been a little insulted. But he had already seen the self-doubt and regret building in Billy’s face, he’d been here before with more than a few people.
“I know,” he answered, tossing the towel towards the hamper and stroking his hand down one of Billy’s intriguing arms, “But it was nice, right?”
Billy’s eyes searched over his face before dropping away and looking to the fading light from the window, a half smile curling his mouth as he whispered, like a secret, “Aye, I guess it was.”
Dom smiled, wanting to stretch out again, wanting to talk and kiss and explore this, but knowing he couldn’t, wouldn’t be allowed. With a sigh, he plucked his jeans from the floor, gesturing to the time on the alarm clock, “You have to go to work soon.”
“Shite,” Billy sighed, sitting up and openly staring as Dom stepped back into his jeans and buttoned up the fly, his face unreadable. Dom paused, waiting to see if Billy would say something. He could imagine plenty of things Billy would say: that this shouldn’t have happened, that it didn’t mean anything, or maybe they shouldn’t keep studying together at all if this is what it came to.
But all Billy did was clear his throat and mutter, “I ought to shower,” before he stood and left the room, the sound of the water starting to beat down on fiberglass leaving Dom alone.
Dom sighed, searching the carpet for his shirt before he remembered Billy had pulled it off of him in the kitchen. Billy’s bedroom was fairly stark, only furnished with the bed, pushed against one wall to make a little more of the small space between it and the closet. There was one end table, clustered with a reading lamp, clock radio and a couple of art books, and little else in the room besides a small space heater. The bed itself wasn’t more than a full mattress with no boxspring, simply propped up on plywood and cinderblocks to keep it off the cold floor. He shivered in the drafty air, now that the fire of all this was leaving his skin.
He went to retrieve his shirt and pulled it on, hearing the telltale sound of Billy blocking out the water, imagining him lifting his arms to push back wet hair, those surprising biceps bunching up. He never would have thought that the moments after living out a fantasy lay with someone he was wild about would still leave him confused and pining like a blouse. He found his shoes and sat on the sofa mopping his face with his hands, the heady scent of Billy still on his fingers, sparking his nerves all over again.
Had it been a mistake? Billy had been clear, it didn’t mean anything. Dom knew how that worked, that had been his modus operandi for pretty much all of his time at university, since none of the guys he crushed on returned his sentiments. Everyone got off and remained mates, and it didn’t mean anything.
But on Dom’s end, it did.
Billy was out of the shower and back in the bedroom within minutes, eventually appearing in Morton’s black slacks and white shirt with that velcro bow tie in his fingers, narrow and clean, that had skated over Dom’s balls and the insides of his thighs not a few minutes before…
They moved awkwardly around each other, Dom zipping his coat and shouldering his bag as Billy shrugged into his blazer, pocketing his phone and locking up as they left. They didn’t speak as Dom navigated across the river and through the city streets to the steakhouse and pulled into the curb.
Billy pushed the car door open and turned to him, the way he always did to thank him for the ride, their eyes meeting for the first time since they were in a bed together, naked and writhing. All the moisture in the air crystallized between them as the temperature dropped with the sun, freezing the moment like a photograph of a thousand things left unsaid.
And then Billy was gone, the car door slamming behind him.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Pairing: Dom/Billy
Rating: PG-NC17
Warnings: AU, angst, art geekery
Summary: Uni fic.
A/N: Long chapter is looooong. And I wonder how many of you know me well enough by now that when there's a kitchen sink involved...
When Dom walked into Mort’s classroom on Monday morning, Orlando and Elijah were already there. “Where were you?” Lij accused.
“I had to run over to Wenham’s and turn in the stuff for the show,” he explained, dropping into his seat and nodding to Mort, already settled at the back of the class, as it was Billy’s day to lecture. He’d finished matting Dom’s photos the previous day, very nicely, actually. It was the first time he’d gotten work back from a framer that didn’t have at least one dinged corner, or a fingerprint that wasn’t his own marring his work.
“Always leaving it right down to the wire, you jackass,” Elijah punched him on the thigh.
“You ought to be happy, Kitten, there’s one of you in there,” Dom fired back, scrubbing his head to go with the pet name, which Elijah jerked away from as usual, “If that one wins some sort of prize-”
Dom’s words fizzled off mid-sentence as Billy thumped his rucksack and briefcase on the desk in front of Dom’s and peeled off his ubiquitous blazer. He was not, however, wearing his ubiquitous khakis, or a sweater vest. He was instead wearing the jeans Dom had fixated on at the frame shop, with a wide, well worn, brown leather belt, and a dark blue button-down shirt.
“Wow,” Elijah leered, “What’s the occasion?”
“Must have got one of those brand new donations in at the Goodwill,” Orlando leaned over to stage-whisper.
Billy ignored this, not looking at any of them as he cleared his throat and went to pull the slide projector into position. Dom sat back, wondering what brought this on, but couldn’t bring himself to join into their ribbing. It was too much of a surprise how much a fairly small change of wardrobe pulled Billy out of nerdy and set him firmly into the bloody gorgeous category. There were still hints of it: the over-all tidiness, the cuffs of the sleeves tugged down and buttoned at the wrists, the creases that were maybe not expertly pressed, but clear enough, the collar buttoned up almost all the way. Dom would unbutton at least one more, if not two or three. Or maybe all of them, push the halves apart to get his hands around that slim waist and built shoulders…
A finger jabbed him hard in the side, bringing him back to Elijah beside him with a raised brow and big shit-eating grin on his face, which instantly brought a flush to Dom’s ears. He exhaled, fussing with his notebook and pencil, hands searching for something to do as he surreptitiously watched Billy tug a corner of his shirt out of his jeans, use it wipe his glasses, and then tuck the tail back in, his neat, narrow hand disappearing beneath worn leather and denim… Fuck, he thought, heat exploding under his own trousers.
The class settled, and Billy crossed to switch off half of the room’s lights so the slides would show, though it meant he intended to talk more than flip slides today. “So, I thought I’d leave off lecturing on the modern architecture chapter in your text, just because it has decent examples and all you have to do to see some of them is go outside in any city you happen to be in,” Billy started off, and Dom sat up a bit, surprised and more than delighted; he’d got more than enough of the crap in this chapter from his father his whole life. Billy went on, “Although, if you look at your syllabus, you still have to read it and turn in the essay questions at the end by your next class, so don’t get too excited about it.”
Dom twirled his pencil in his fingers, deaf to Orlando and Elijah’s whispers beside him and watching Billy bend over in those jeans to retrieve a few sheets of his notes that had slid to the floor.
“So,” Billy stood back up, pushing up his glasses and glancing at the papers before he set them on the podium and looked up over the heads of the class. “Something we never discussed, since we’re basically up to the Modern Era that is continuing today, is how art continues to be a respectable career.”
There was a pause as the class shifted and squirmed under the idea of a whole class of discussion with Mr. Boyd, the TA who hating lecturing and seemed to hate discussion even more.
“I mean, it isn’t quite the same, is it? Few people today get to apprentice under Masters the likes of Da Vinci or Caravaggio, or spend forty years of life painting the ceilings of cathedrals and castles for royalty, yeah?
“But it does still happen. There’s a painter by the name of Rupert Alexander who has regularly been commissioned by the British Royal Family. He’s painted the Queen, Prince Charles, Prince William-” a few of the girls in the class giggled, and Dom smirked. Even Billy rolled his eyes and gave the loudest of the girls a little smile-“Now, I bet you don’t know this: Alexander is the youngest artist to paint the Royal Family in over three centuries. He was just twenty-three the first time they commissioned him. How many of you in this class are ‘round that age?”
Most of the class raised their hands, including Dom and his mates.
“Can you imagine that, now?” Billy opened his arms in wide gesture, “Imagine you’re fresh out of school-which some of you will be in a couple of months-and now you’re at Buckingham Palace with bonnie Prince William sitting for a portrait, by you, that people hundreds of years from now are going to see,” he stepped forward to pick up the book from the desk of the girl who had giggled, “in a textbook, like this one. Well, probably not like this one, it’ll be one of those trekkie Kindle sort of things.”
Several people laughed at that, and Billy gave a twee grin that made Dom’s heart squeeze as he went back to the podium.
“So,” Billy shifted his notes around, “Let’s see how many of you know any of today’s successful artists by name. Hmm? Just call them out if you know any.”
Orlando took the bait, “Depends on what you consider successful, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” Billy pointed at him, “Absolutely, it does. That’s actually a better question to start with. What defines artistic success today?”
“Making money,” someone called out. “Gallery showings. Not little stuff, but big exhibitions,” said another. “Both!”
“All of those are good points,” Billy nodded, “Exhibitions. Selling your work. Selling your work to people who will pay exorbitant amounts of money for it. What about getting a wall in a museum?” he asked, “That sort of thing merits an invitation, or the museum itself invests the cash to buy your piece. Right? So, give me names. Most successful artists still living or who’ve lived within your lifetimes. You can base it on money or galleries or museum interest or whatever.”
The class went quiet for a bit before someone tentatively answered, “Jasper Johns.”
Billy pointed to the speaker, then went to the white board to write the name down. “Yes. There’s an artist who sells pieces for millions. Who else?”
“Lucien Freud.”
Billy wrote that one down with a smile, “Very good, Vanessa. Lucien Freud. One of his paintings sold for a record thirty-three million dollars, and that was before he died last year. Others?”
“Thomas Kincade?” one girl said, and the room collectively groaned. Billy laughed and wrinkled his nose. “Sadly, yes. Even if you don’t like his stuff, you have to admit, the man has been successful. Marketing is a powerful thing, remember that. Anyone else?”
“Louise Bourgeois.”
“Yes!” Billy fired back with excitement, “Definitely her. You all ought to have seen photos of her spider-themed Maman, even if you didn’t know who made it. Bourgeois’ art is intensely personal, and some people have even given her the moniker as the mother of the Confessional Movement, even though one could argue it’s not really a movement at all and all art is confessional of sorts. Any others?”
“Anselm Kiefer,” Dom offered, trying to toss one out he didn’t think Billy might know.
Billy turned around and met his eyes, before he added the name to the board. “Yes, Dom. Which should go to show you all there are new movements in art all the time. Kiefer’s been associated with Neo-Expressionism, New Symbolism, and Surrealism. If you aren’t writing these down, you should be, and look them up when you get home.”
Putting down the marker, he went back to the podium, trying to wipe the remnants of it off his skin. “Alright, what about artists who don’t do much in the way of big exhibitions? They might not be making millions or hanging in museums, but their artwork is still their bread and butter, it still pays the bills.”
He leaned his elbows on the podium as no one answered. “What about illustrators of movie posters? Not the quick, slapped together photoshopped shite, but the old fashioned, hand drawn and painted posters. I’d wager that even if none of you know Drew Struzan by name, every single one of you recognizes his work.” He clicked on the slide projector through the famous posters from Star Wars, ET, Indiana Jones, and Harry Potter, getting nods and murmurs from everyone.
“Come to that, what about comic book artists?” Billy continued, “And concept artists for all those Playstation games you lot like, eh? People who illustrate book covers and children’s books, mat painters for big Hollywood films, even tattooists. All of this falls into the realm of visual art as a career.”
Billy looked around at the faces in the room, “Most of you in the room are artists in some form or another, whether what you do is paint, or draw, or sculpt, or take photographs,” his gaze flicked towards Dom and quickly away, “or something else altogether. Maybe some of you have already sold commissions over the internet, or got yourselves a little gallery spot on Newbury like our own Prof Mort here. Everybody starts somewhere, right?” The class giggled and Mort waved from the back of the room, “So, even though people like Lucien Freud and Anselm Keifer and even Thomas fecking Kincade are making a mint off of paintings and have well-earned the right to hang in galleries and museums and framing shops around the world, never discount the artwork that you see every single day, all around you. Because all of it has merit.”
Billy’s lecture stood out and pulsed in Dom’s head through the rest of the day, so when he caught up with him coming out of the Holyoke that afternoon, he was still struck at this new side of him, in those clothes and this different attitude. It helped that the weather had finally broken over Cambridge and the bright sun and blue sky was making him squint as the snow and ice ran in puddles around them.
“Hey,” Dom jogged up to him. Billy nodded acknowledgement, striding along with a small smile on his face.
“Something’s different with you, man,” Dom tried to coax more of that smile out.
Billy nodded again, scuffing his shoes as they waited at a crosswalk. “My proposal date came through.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” Billy grinned up at him, “Got the email this morning. ‘S down for the end of April.”
Dom slapped him on the arm excitedly, “That’s fucking great! That’s… we should celebrate or something. Get a beer. Fuck that, let’s get a whiskey.”
But Billy shook his head anxiously, even as he kept smiling. “Nooo. I’ve work, Dom. Anyway, all it means is that I’ve got a lot of shite to get done between now and then. I don’t have time to celebrate.”
“Well, we should do something,” Dom prodded, “Let’s get some food at least. We’ll pick something up and bring it back to yours. I’ll buy.”
“Yeah, alright,” Billy acquiesced, and Dom grinned wide, clapped his shoulder again turned toward the student parking. “See, you’ll have your Doctorate before you know it.”
“So, that was an interesting lecture this morning,” Dom said, now settled into Billy’s tiny living room with big, messy sandwiches and packets of crisps between them, rucksacks and studying forgotten in favor of food. He started on the second half of his sandwich, chewed and swallowed his bite before he finished his thought, “You even had the lads paying attention.”
Billy snorted, picking through his crisps and nodding, “Yeah. Surprised me too.”
“I didn’t think you would’ve known Kiefer.”
“I know Kiefer, Dom.” Billy shook his head with a smile, wiping his mouth. “I did an article on him for Art Review magazine, about five years back. Did one on Bourgeois, too, the next year.”
Dom took that in, finishing his sandwich, and setting his empty plate on the coffee table. “I saw Kiefer’s exhibition at the Guggenheim Bilbao a few years ago, on holiday with my parents. My dad kept trying to pull me to the building itself, to look at the fucking bracing joints in the ceiling.”
Billy wadded his napkin in his hands and spread it back out, separating it carefully at the fold. “Christ, I’d love to see the Guggenheim,” he murmured with longing. He stood up, taking his and Dom’s plates and the rubbish into the kitchen. Dom followed him after a moment, picking up on Billy’s yearning and riding it with his own. Leaning against the opposite worktop, he watched Billy’s shoulders shift under the dark blue shirt as he rinsed their dishes, straying down to his perk little arse under loose, comfortable denim.
“You finally took my advice, I see.”
“Hmm?”
“Your clothes.”
Billy set the second plate in the draining board and dried his hands, turning to face him and looking down at his clothes, both sheepish and pleased. “Yeah? I haven’t had a way to get down to the laundermat this week, so. I never wear this shirt. My sister gave it to me for Christmas and it doesn’t go with anything else I have.”
“It doesn’t have to,” Dom grinned, taking the opportunity to look Billy up and down. He pushed off the counter and approached hesitantly. “Here, let me see something.”
He took Billy’s left arm, unbuttoned the cuff and rolled it up to just below his elbow, and did the same with the other. He considered tugging the tail out loose, but that would cover up the belt that accented his slender little hips so well. Instead, he reached up on the premise of straightening the collar. When Billy allowed this, he pulled open that second button, exposing just a little gingery chest hair. He’d probably be pushing his luck if he went for a third.
Billy’s eyes remained on his face throughout, searching his features, and Dom met them again with a smile, stepping back to look at the overall picture he’d made. “You look good.”
They stood staring at each other, the air nearly crackling between them with wariness and possibilities and confusion. Dom’s heart thumped a rhythm against his ribcage. In any other situation, with any other person, he would have made his intentions clear and snogged him already, but he was just unsure of everything with this man. He swallowed that notion and licked his lips, dropping his eyes to the chipped linoleum.
“Right, well. I guess we should get to work, then,” Billy’s feet shuffled awkwardly back, and then to one side, toward the living room.
Fuck that, Dom abruptly changed his mind, tired of all this tiptoeing, and caught Billy by the arm to reel him back.
He made a surprised noise as Dom spun him, pressing him against the counter, wrapping his arms around that warm, slender little waist as he sucked that gorgeous bottom lip into his mouth. Billy gasped, his lips parting, and Dom slipped his tongue between them lightly, not too much, suddenly afraid of freaking Billy out again.
Billy’s hands finally rose from their stunned flailing and lit on Dom’s shoulders, then his head, first grasping Dom’s ears and then wrapping his arms around Dom’s neck, his mouth opening on a moan. Dom’s breath exploded from him, unaware he’d been holding it, and pounced back on Billy’s mouth, their tongues twining, bodies pressed together from mouth to knee, wanting Billy to feel that he’d been maintaining a steady stiff nearly since he’d had walked into class this morning.
“Dom, God,” Billy breathed, tearing his mouth from Dom’s for air. Dom took advantage and kissed his way along Billy’s jaw to his ear, nibbling, thrilled at the way Billy’s breath hitched and he writhed beneath Dom’s hands. Dom grinned against skin, giggling at the absurdity of all this. “You look really fucking good, Bills,” he rasped in Billy’s ear.
“Fuck,” Billy hissed, then propelled him backwards to pin him against the sink, his hands plucking and shoving at his shirt, rucking it up under his armpits until Dom instinctively raised his arms to let Billy whip it off over his head. “Fuck,” he repeated, his hands roving all over his warm naked skin.
Dom huffed a breathless laugh, “Ah, I dunno if you’re ready for that.”
Billy’s sharp little teeth nipped his jaw, his tongue smoothing over the bites as his fingers found and then twisted a nipple hard enough to get Dom to bark out a shocked noise. “Dom, I want… I need to just… please.”
“Jesus,” Dom gasped, his head reeling, and then he was being yanked out of the kitchen and pushed through the door to the tiny bedroom, Billy’s bedroom that was strictly off limits in all the times he’d been here.
He didn’t get much of a chance to take in his surroundings as Billy shoved him down on the bed and climbed on top of him, diving onto his mouth again like a starving man. His hands were everywhere, his breath coming fast and heavy, his wicked little mouth all fury and desperation.
Dom finally managed to break off and held Billy back a bit, “Jesus, slow down, Bills, you’re… this is…” he laughed breathlessly again. “You’re moving a bit fast for a first timer.”
Billy sat back on Dom’s thighs, breathing hard and giving a laugh himself, “Shite, Dominic, I might be new at this, but I’m no fucking prude, alright? You think I don’t toss off to the same internet porn as you? I want to get off, you want to, this is a fine plan, don’t you think?”
Dom sat up, sliding his hands around Billy’s waist, “Alright, but just… let’s slow it down a little, you know? I just… I don’t want to be the prick you regret.”
“You’re already the prick I regret,” Billy grinned, his eyes dropped to Dom’s mouth again. “You’re a fucking tease. I just… I need a little… I want to get off, and it doesn’t have to mean anything.”
“I know, but…”
“Jesus fucking Christ, do you never shut up?” Billy grabbed the back of his head and kissed him hard. “You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?”
Dom grinned, pleased as hell, dropping his voice low, “I can drive you even crazier, if you let me.” His hands slid down, tugging the tails of the shirt out, weaseling under them to find warm skin over Billy’s hips, letting his thumbs dip beneath the waist of his jeans and rub matching circles on either side. “Feels good, yeah?”
Billy’s eyes dropped closed and he gave a throaty, affirmative groan.
Dom darted in for another taste of Billy’s beestung lips, then started plucking open the rest of the buttons he’d held back on in the kitchen, watching as the dark fabric parted to pale skin and lovely chest hair, everything he’d imagined in class earlier, not too much or too little. Billy’s hands roamed up and down over Dom’s chest, leaving only to pull his arms free of the sleeves. Dom drew his own hands up those surprisingly large biceps and shoulders, their breath mingling as he stole another kiss and had a startling moment of clarity that this was really happening, he had Billy’s body under his hands and his taste on his lips.
Billy was a little thing under his clothes, every bit compact and stronger than he had any right to be, pushing Dom back down flat on the bed. His neat little fingers dove for the button fly of Dom’s jeans, tugging them open one at a time. Dom leaned up on his elbows to watch Billy discover him with hooded eyes.
“Figures you’d go commando, Dominic, I should have known,” Billy snickered, the smile leaving his face as Dom’s cock came into view. He stared hungrily at it, tugging Dom’s jeans down to his thighs as he inhaled, nostrils flaring at the scent of him.
“Well, if I knew we were going to have a little romp, I would have gone shopping special for an Argyll thong. But I wasn’t getting my hopes up,” Dom said cheekily.
Billy arched his eyebrows at him and dropped down onto an elbow by Dom’s hip, his hand smoothing all around Dom’s cock, curiously brushing through the neatly trimmed hair before sliding his whole warm hand onto the length of the shaft, up to circle the head and down to palm and lift Dom’s balls.
Dom felt himself pulse at how eager Billy was to just dive right into this, and a bead of fluid welled up at the slit, the head red and his foreskin tight below it. But when Billy thumbed the moisture away and then brought it to his mouth to taste with no hesitation whatsoever, Dom couldn’t help but clench his teeth and moan.
Billy pulled off his glasses and darted a dark look up at him as he held them out for Dom to set aside on the table. Without any further encouragement he leaned down and curled his pointy little tongue down around Dom’s cock, searching for more of that taste.
“Ngh,” Dom dropped one hand down to comb his fingers though Billy’s hair while he watched Billy lick him up and down, curl a hand round his length and take the head between his petal soft lips and suck. He plunged down on him, too far, gagging himself, the first sign in any of this that Billy might be inexperienced. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried again.
Dom gasped at the feeling, but tugged lightly on Billy’s hair, “You don’t have to, man, it’s good enough with your… your mouth on me,” he breathed, “It’s good.”
Billy glanced up, pressing the flat of his tongue on the head and letting his hand move at the base, his lips closing around him to apply a little suction.
“Yeah, Bills. Just like that,” Dom rumbled, consciously stilling his hips. “Feels fucking fantastic.”
Billy alternately tongued and sucked for some minutes before pulling back and nibbling with his lips back down Dom’s length to his balls, burying his nose and mouthing the soft skin.
Dom hung his head back and moaned, feeling Billy’s tongue curling around and lifting each ball, his hot breath pooling around them. He wriggled and tried to push his jeans farther off, wanting to free his legs so he could spread them wide.
Billy took the hint and sat up, tugging them the rest of the way off. When Dom was naked, he elbowed his way backward onto the pillows and let his knees fall apart, reaching down to give his prick a lazy tug.
“You too,” Dom gestured to Billy’s jeans, “Let me see you.”
“Fuck, Dom,” Billy stared at his hand, watching him wank, looking thoroughly flushed with red cheeks and down his chest, beginning to sweat. He quickly undid and whipped off his belt without taking his eyes away. He pushed out of his jeans and boxers, dropping them off the side of the bed before taking hold of himself and squeezing.
“Come up here,” Dom invited, moving over to give Billy some space, still pulling on his cock as Billy kneed up the bed to lie next to him. Side by side, they watched each other touch themselves, taking mental notes, in Dom’s case. Billy liked a tighter grip on himself and kept most of the pressure just under the head, while Dom preferred a lighter, fuller stroke.
After a fair amount of teasing, Dom let go of himself, rolled over and straddled Billy with a mischievous grin, “My turn.”
He caught a little flicker of fear on Billy’s face as he let go of his prick and dropped his hands to Dom’s thighs. Dom braced on all fours and dropped down to kiss him, slow and languid, pulling back to see unbelievably green eyes glossy and dark. “M’not gonna roger you, Bills, but just let me…” he grinned, dropping his voice to a low purr, “Let me drive you a bit crazy, yeah?”
“Too late for that.”
Dom kissed his mouth again, tasting himself there, then on the chin and down his neck, laying a sharp nip on the point of a collarbone. He trailed his tongue down between pectorals and under, along the line of the muscle, teasing up into a spiral until he reached a hardened nipple and sucked it into his mouth, loving the gasp that fell from Billy’s mouth. He teased the nub until Billy wriggled, torn between pushing into the assault of tongue and shrinking away from teeth, then he moved to the other and gave it the same treatment.
Leaving off, he kissed and tongued down Billy’s belly, cataloguing how while Billy wasn’t exactly toned, his stomach was flat and reasonably firm, the light covering of gingery hair a soft, sexy addition that just fit perfectly. Billy wore thirty well, that was for sure, no awkward angles or underdeveloped bits, he was all masculinity in a perfect little package, and the fact that he knew exactly what he wanted didn’t go unnoticed either. As Dom sucked at the skin just above Billy’s navel, he felt a hand drop to his head and urge him lower.
Dom gave a gravelly chuckle, arching a brow at Billy’s completely lust addled face. “Impatient little git.”
“Oh, suck my cock, Dominic,” Billy spat, grinning at the joke and added, “Please.”
“Since you asked so nicely,” Dom smiled wickedly, and ran the flat of his wide tongue over the full musky length that throbbed on Billy’s stomach. Billy let out a surprised noise, and Dom slurped him into his mouth.
He went for a slow, easy, pulsing suck, swirling his tongue round the head of Billy’s cock each time, gently holding Billy’s hips but allowing him to pump a bit. He was fairly sure Billy had no idea he was doing it, the way he was moaning and writhing, his head turning from side to side, his eyes closed and mouth open and gasping. It was funny to think he never had this done to him before, and yet the thought did wonders for Dom’s ego. He knew he was good at this, he’d been told as much by plenty of guys, and he could tell he was pushing Billy headlong into oblivion. Saliva was thick in his mouth with Billy’s taste, and he swallowed, watching the way the movement of his mouth made Billy shudder all over. He laughed through his nose, relaxed his throat and dove, taking Billy all the way down until his nose pressed into Billy’s damp pubes. He could only manage this for a second or two, but it had Billy shouting and grabbing Dom by the ears. Feeling Billy’s balls tighten up beneath his chin, Dom sat up, straddled Billy’s thighs and took him in his hand, stroking him off tight and fast.
Billy’s hand came down and joined with his own, guiding the rhythm and course with desperate intent until with a high-pitched sob he came, thick and white shooting up from his cock to fall on his clenching stomach muscles, then sluggishly pumping three, four more times over their combined knuckles.
“Yeah, Bills, fucking gorgeous,” Dom growled, leaving Billy to hold himself while he knelt over him and thrust hard into his own fist, panting and reaching down with his other hand to grab his balls, pressing hard behind them with the tips of his fingers. Five or six good strokes and he grunted release from deep in his chest, come reaching as far as Billy’s throat as he watched it fall and get caught in the hair.
When it was over, he dropped to hold his weight on his mostly clean hand, letting the other press and rub their combined come into Billy’s skin, before he dipped down to taste the salt and musk of it together over a nipple. Billy groaned between panting breaths, palming the back of his head and pulling him up to search out the taste in Dom’s mouth.
They broke apart and Dom finally rolled off to sprawl next to him on the little bed, blissed out.
After dozing for a bit, Dom hitched up on an elbow. Billy was awake, still lying where he had been and studying the stained ceiling, come drying on his stomach. Pushing himself up, Dom climbed over him, pausing to drop a kiss on Billy’s cheek and whispered, “Don’t get up.”
He strode naked into the bathroom, turning on the water to warm while he searched the cupboard for a washcloth, but finding only a few hand towels. Wetting one, he cleaned himself off and rinsed the cloth again before coming back to the bedroom and sat on the edge of the mattress, wiping the mess from Billy’s skin while he lay there looking back at Dom.
“I didn’t think it would be with you,” Billy said, and if it weren’t for his soft, almost shameful tone and the fact that he lay there and allowed himself to be mopped up, Dom might have been a little insulted. But he had already seen the self-doubt and regret building in Billy’s face, he’d been here before with more than a few people.
“I know,” he answered, tossing the towel towards the hamper and stroking his hand down one of Billy’s intriguing arms, “But it was nice, right?”
Billy’s eyes searched over his face before dropping away and looking to the fading light from the window, a half smile curling his mouth as he whispered, like a secret, “Aye, I guess it was.”
Dom smiled, wanting to stretch out again, wanting to talk and kiss and explore this, but knowing he couldn’t, wouldn’t be allowed. With a sigh, he plucked his jeans from the floor, gesturing to the time on the alarm clock, “You have to go to work soon.”
“Shite,” Billy sighed, sitting up and openly staring as Dom stepped back into his jeans and buttoned up the fly, his face unreadable. Dom paused, waiting to see if Billy would say something. He could imagine plenty of things Billy would say: that this shouldn’t have happened, that it didn’t mean anything, or maybe they shouldn’t keep studying together at all if this is what it came to.
But all Billy did was clear his throat and mutter, “I ought to shower,” before he stood and left the room, the sound of the water starting to beat down on fiberglass leaving Dom alone.
Dom sighed, searching the carpet for his shirt before he remembered Billy had pulled it off of him in the kitchen. Billy’s bedroom was fairly stark, only furnished with the bed, pushed against one wall to make a little more of the small space between it and the closet. There was one end table, clustered with a reading lamp, clock radio and a couple of art books, and little else in the room besides a small space heater. The bed itself wasn’t more than a full mattress with no boxspring, simply propped up on plywood and cinderblocks to keep it off the cold floor. He shivered in the drafty air, now that the fire of all this was leaving his skin.
He went to retrieve his shirt and pulled it on, hearing the telltale sound of Billy blocking out the water, imagining him lifting his arms to push back wet hair, those surprising biceps bunching up. He never would have thought that the moments after living out a fantasy lay with someone he was wild about would still leave him confused and pining like a blouse. He found his shoes and sat on the sofa mopping his face with his hands, the heady scent of Billy still on his fingers, sparking his nerves all over again.
Had it been a mistake? Billy had been clear, it didn’t mean anything. Dom knew how that worked, that had been his modus operandi for pretty much all of his time at university, since none of the guys he crushed on returned his sentiments. Everyone got off and remained mates, and it didn’t mean anything.
But on Dom’s end, it did.
Billy was out of the shower and back in the bedroom within minutes, eventually appearing in Morton’s black slacks and white shirt with that velcro bow tie in his fingers, narrow and clean, that had skated over Dom’s balls and the insides of his thighs not a few minutes before…
They moved awkwardly around each other, Dom zipping his coat and shouldering his bag as Billy shrugged into his blazer, pocketing his phone and locking up as they left. They didn’t speak as Dom navigated across the river and through the city streets to the steakhouse and pulled into the curb.
Billy pushed the car door open and turned to him, the way he always did to thank him for the ride, their eyes meeting for the first time since they were in a bed together, naked and writhing. All the moisture in the air crystallized between them as the temperature dropped with the sun, freezing the moment like a photograph of a thousand things left unsaid.
And then Billy was gone, the car door slamming behind him.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN