(no subject)
Title: Torpescence
Pairing: Dom/Billy, Dom/Viggo, Dom/Evie or Monaboyd, Viggodom, Monalilly if you prefer!
Summary: The answers to life's questions are not to be found at the bottom of a whiskey bottle.
Rating: PG-13 (ish).
Disclaimer: Not real.
Beta: The always wonderful and ever patient philomel *hugs* Thank you!
Warnings: Angst, alcohol & nicotine abuse, (very) brief mention of s/D, some rude words.
Notes: This *points at fic* has been kicking my arse for weeks now and if I rewrite it anymore I am going to go insane, thus I post...
There was little noise. Just the sharp inhale and drawn out exhale as cigarette after cigarette was burned down to the filter. Smoke wreathed the room, rising ever upwards to stain the ceiling with nicotine yellow, dispersing slowly, only to be replaced as another matched sparked and the noise of breath began again.
Dom sat on a sofa in the centre of the room, a low table in front of him scattered with pictures. His body slumped over, heavy with defeat. His hands covering his eyes as if the smiling faces in the pictures could deal out a mortal blow if he looked in their direction.
He shifted, one hand leaving its point of defence and searching blindly for the bottle of whiskey waiting nearby, pictures fluttering to the ground as he felt along the tables length. Finally retrieving his prize he fell back into the sofa’s soft embrace and raised the bottle to his lips gulping at its numbing contents hungrily, surprised to find so little left; unaware as he was of how much time had passed. With the whiskey all gone and not enough will left inside of him to fetch more he lay himself down and sank into a deep sleep, curled on his side, limbs drawn in, a knot of a man holding himself tight as there was no one else there to do it.
Deep tho his slumber was it was not dreamless. His sleeping mind was as full of the images on the table as it had been whilst he was awake. Like spectres come to haunt him, they flashed through his thoughts: a slide show projected onto his mind’s eye. Swirling and spinning and then gradually blinking out from existence until only three remained.
There was Billy pulling a face for the camera; broad grin plastered across his features, playing the fool for the fool behind the lens. Another showed Evangeline; the shy smile on her face reflected in her eyes, which held a secret promise only there for the photographer to see. The third contained an image of Viggo, his smile feral and intense, his eyes drilling into the cameras lens to seek out the meat of the soul behind. The pictures captured the very essence of each of his lovers.
Viggo moulded his body with ropes and chains; stole his sight and cloaked his senses until all that was left was a raw open need to feel. With every tug on his hair, with every bite on his skin, with every hard thrust of his dick, Viggo taught him more about desire and honesty than a myriad of self-help books ever could and, for that, he was grateful. He had never seen in himself the need to be controlled, but Viggo had sensed it straight away and had revealed it to him with the simple command: “On your knees”. At those three words, he had fallen. Not just to the floor, but into a place where only one thing could reach: sensation. All that mattered was the sound of Viggo’s voice; the feel of Viggo’s hands on his fevered skin; Viggo’s mouthtongueteethcock teasing him, taunting him, pushing him, demanding that he moanpleadbeg until he was sure he could take no more. In those moments he lived to hear Viggo’s mouth utter the now sacred word “Come” and to see the white light explode behind his shuttered eyes - the world ceasing to be for a brief moment until he came back to earth, cradled in strong arms like a mewling infant, safe in the knowledge of another lesson well learnt. Viggo challenged him with words as well as actions. He spoke of art and beauty, of politics and rage. Viggo’s words held him in their thrall; he absorbed them into his soul and he could feel himself grow richer, stronger with ever sentence, his sum becoming more.
With Evie it was softer, less angular. The difference between a man and a woman. He spent hours worshipping her, travelling the length and breadth of her body, mapping every inch with his lips and tongue, using the lessons that Viggo taught him about giving pleasure to another as best he could. He loved to trace the curve of her breasts with his mouth before dipping down to taste her, drinking in the very essence of her before burying himself deep inside, stroking her from within in long slow beats as he watched emotions flash across her face. He held back as long as he could because he never wanted these moments to end. But end they always did. To be replaced by soft lips caressing his as words of devotion fell from his mouth, her beauty stealing his breath away once more. Evie listened when he spoke; laughed when he told tales of friendship and adventure, cried for him when he talked of loneliness and despair. She thirsted for stories from his past and he was happy to quench her desire, delighted that someone so beautiful could be interested in him.
Billy’s lips always wore a smile. Even when their mouths were crushed hard together as hands clawed at clothing, each desperate for a sensation not felt in months. He revelled in the feel of Billy’s skin against his own, the easy familiarity of the rhythm they fell into reminding him of long New Zealand nights spent in each others arms, and days longer still filled with mutual support. There was an equality of give and take between Billy and he. Neither of them denied the other what he needed and neither gave less than the other took. Between them they spoke a language of their own: a code of words that only they could decipher. It served to solidify their bond. Even when it crackled across long distance phone lines its power could not fade.
Each one of his lovers knew about the other two. In fact, he was sure that Viggo and Billy spoke of him when alone together. He sensed the other in each man more and more often now. Perhaps they slept together too: Billy learning about control from Viggo whilst teaching about laughter in return.
Dom wakened with a start. The image of Viggo and Billy together burned crisp in his mind. The idea both arousing and terrifying at the same time. What if it was true? What if they found more pleasure in each other than they found separately in him? Without looking, he reached out for a cigarette, his hand shaking slightly as he did so. The pack was not where he had left it. Instead, in its place, stood a glass of water, and beside that, two painkillers.
“You’ll be needing those Dommie”
Billy’s voice shocked Dom as it broke the silence in the room. He looked up and, sure enough, there was Billy, seated across the table. Dom laughed to himself, now his mind was conjuring up ghosts when he was awake! He knew that Billy was not really there, he couldn’t be, he was filming, unable to get away to visit.
“What’s so funny Dom?” DreamBilly spoke again, a hint of annoyance in his tone
Dom thought it only polite to answer his spectral visitor: “I’m laughing because I’m hallucinating Bills, that’s all, no need to get upset.”
“Hallucinating? Really?” DreamBilly’s voice was softer now, the irritation gone: “Tell me then what it is you see.”
Dom sighed. Trust his mind to create an illusion that was so demanding.
“I can see you, Bills, and I can see a glass of water and some aspirin. Clearly my brain is trying to tell me something.”
“What do you think it’s trying to tell you?”
Dom rolled his eyes. This was by far the most inquisitive hallucination he had ever known. He considered his options. If he answered, it would probably lead to further questions. If he refused, maybe it would fade away and leave him be. Decision made, he lay back down on the sofa and closed his eyes once more.
“I asked you a question Dom, aren’t you going to answer me?”
DreamBilly sounded closer now. Dom opened his eyes and, sure enough, his visitor was perched on the table next to him. If he reached out his hand he would be able to touch him. Only, DreamBilly was an illusion and thus could not be touched. Dom sighed. Clearly keeping quiet had not worked: “Ok, ok. If it will shut you up. I’m pissed and I’m gonna feel like crap in the morning so..” Dom waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the water and painkillers as he spoke. “And you are here to annoy me as..” Dom’s speech faltered as he tried to focus his eyes on DreamBilly, a smile briefly showing on his face as the reason for his visitor’s presence became clear: “..as you always look after me.”
“Aye, that I do, Dommie, that I do. Now tell me why you drank so much.”
DreamBilly was getting on his nerves now. Sighing in frustration once more, Dom pulled one of the sofa’s cushions over his face in an attempt to ignore the question. It did no good; he could feel DreamBilly sitting there. Waiting for an answer: “It’s simple. I’m drunk because I am going to die alone; bereft of company. Sad. Old. Dead. Alone. Happy now?”
Silence descended on the room. Then, just as Dom thought he was on his own once more, DreamBilly spoke again, his voice softer now and tinged with sadness: “Why would you think that Dom?”
Dom’s threw the cushion to one side and sat up, glaring at the man sitting in front of him. Moving directly in front of Billy he spat his answer out, his words tumbling forth, a stream of bitterness and self-loathing: “Why? Why not? Who would want to be with me? Who would want to be with someone who can’t admit what he wants, who he wants? Why would anyone put up with a man like me? I’m a waste of space. I can’t tell the one person I love how I feel, so, I just carry on screwing around with peoples feelings instead. You wanna know why I do it?”
Dom’s hands were clutching at Billy’s clothes, pulling him in close so that their faces were virtually touching, his voice having dropped to a whisper as he did so. His drink blurred mind failing to register that, if he could touch Billy, he was not an illusion.
“I’m a coward Billy, a fucking coward. What if the person I love doesn’t love me? I couldn’t handle that. It’s easier this way, pretending I don’t care, it’s just that sometimes it all gets to be too much and I don’t want to pretend anymore and I..” Dom’s words tailed off, his hands relaxed their grip on Billy’s shirt and he slumped down once more, his anger spent.
Billy’s mind was in turmoil. He longed to know who it was that Dom loved, but knew that it was wrong to ask him now, drunk and convinced that he was talking to a figment of his imagination as Dom was. And what if he did ask the question and the answer was not what he wanted to hear? What if Dom answered with Viggo’s name or Evie’s? Billy had waited so long to know if Dom felt as he did and, now that he was close to finding out, he was terrified. His filming finished, he had called Dom only to hear mutterings about death and people leaving echoing down the phone line. He had broken every driving law in existence to get to Dom’s house to find him passed out on the sofa, empty bottle of whiskey on the floor, ashtrays overflowing and hundreds of pictures scattered around the room. After cursing Dom’s name in every language he knew, he fetched water and tablets and settled in to wait for him to wake. He kept watch whilst Dom slept, following the changing emotions on the man’s face that reflected his troubled dreams and rising occasionally to soothe him when a nightmare took hold. Anger dissipating as he waited, to be replaced by worry over what had caused the one he loved to be in so much pain. Dom’s disbelief in his reality had given him a way to find out the answers to his questions, but now it felt wrong to continue the charade. And yet, he needed to know.
Dropping his head down so that he was looking at the floor and speaking in a voice so quiet it was hardly there he asked: “Who do you love Dom?
Silence.
Then a hand reached up and gently lifted his chin so that he was looking into Dom’s eyes. Eyes that were no longer clouded by sleep and whiskey. Eyes that held the mix of hope and fear to be found in Billy’s own. Eyes fixed directly onto his and that seemed to be searching his very being for an answer to a question in the mind behind them.
Moments passed that seemed like hours to both men until Dom moved closer still, his lips brushing softly against Billy’s, breathing the answer to his question directly into Billy’s soul:
“You Billy. I love you.”
Pairing: Dom/Billy, Dom/Viggo, Dom/Evie or Monaboyd, Viggodom, Monalilly if you prefer!
Summary: The answers to life's questions are not to be found at the bottom of a whiskey bottle.
Rating: PG-13 (ish).
Disclaimer: Not real.
Beta: The always wonderful and ever patient philomel *hugs* Thank you!
Warnings: Angst, alcohol & nicotine abuse, (very) brief mention of s/D, some rude words.
Notes: This *points at fic* has been kicking my arse for weeks now and if I rewrite it anymore I am going to go insane, thus I post...
There was little noise. Just the sharp inhale and drawn out exhale as cigarette after cigarette was burned down to the filter. Smoke wreathed the room, rising ever upwards to stain the ceiling with nicotine yellow, dispersing slowly, only to be replaced as another matched sparked and the noise of breath began again.
Dom sat on a sofa in the centre of the room, a low table in front of him scattered with pictures. His body slumped over, heavy with defeat. His hands covering his eyes as if the smiling faces in the pictures could deal out a mortal blow if he looked in their direction.
He shifted, one hand leaving its point of defence and searching blindly for the bottle of whiskey waiting nearby, pictures fluttering to the ground as he felt along the tables length. Finally retrieving his prize he fell back into the sofa’s soft embrace and raised the bottle to his lips gulping at its numbing contents hungrily, surprised to find so little left; unaware as he was of how much time had passed. With the whiskey all gone and not enough will left inside of him to fetch more he lay himself down and sank into a deep sleep, curled on his side, limbs drawn in, a knot of a man holding himself tight as there was no one else there to do it.
Deep tho his slumber was it was not dreamless. His sleeping mind was as full of the images on the table as it had been whilst he was awake. Like spectres come to haunt him, they flashed through his thoughts: a slide show projected onto his mind’s eye. Swirling and spinning and then gradually blinking out from existence until only three remained.
There was Billy pulling a face for the camera; broad grin plastered across his features, playing the fool for the fool behind the lens. Another showed Evangeline; the shy smile on her face reflected in her eyes, which held a secret promise only there for the photographer to see. The third contained an image of Viggo, his smile feral and intense, his eyes drilling into the cameras lens to seek out the meat of the soul behind. The pictures captured the very essence of each of his lovers.
Viggo moulded his body with ropes and chains; stole his sight and cloaked his senses until all that was left was a raw open need to feel. With every tug on his hair, with every bite on his skin, with every hard thrust of his dick, Viggo taught him more about desire and honesty than a myriad of self-help books ever could and, for that, he was grateful. He had never seen in himself the need to be controlled, but Viggo had sensed it straight away and had revealed it to him with the simple command: “On your knees”. At those three words, he had fallen. Not just to the floor, but into a place where only one thing could reach: sensation. All that mattered was the sound of Viggo’s voice; the feel of Viggo’s hands on his fevered skin; Viggo’s mouthtongueteethcock teasing him, taunting him, pushing him, demanding that he moanpleadbeg until he was sure he could take no more. In those moments he lived to hear Viggo’s mouth utter the now sacred word “Come” and to see the white light explode behind his shuttered eyes - the world ceasing to be for a brief moment until he came back to earth, cradled in strong arms like a mewling infant, safe in the knowledge of another lesson well learnt. Viggo challenged him with words as well as actions. He spoke of art and beauty, of politics and rage. Viggo’s words held him in their thrall; he absorbed them into his soul and he could feel himself grow richer, stronger with ever sentence, his sum becoming more.
With Evie it was softer, less angular. The difference between a man and a woman. He spent hours worshipping her, travelling the length and breadth of her body, mapping every inch with his lips and tongue, using the lessons that Viggo taught him about giving pleasure to another as best he could. He loved to trace the curve of her breasts with his mouth before dipping down to taste her, drinking in the very essence of her before burying himself deep inside, stroking her from within in long slow beats as he watched emotions flash across her face. He held back as long as he could because he never wanted these moments to end. But end they always did. To be replaced by soft lips caressing his as words of devotion fell from his mouth, her beauty stealing his breath away once more. Evie listened when he spoke; laughed when he told tales of friendship and adventure, cried for him when he talked of loneliness and despair. She thirsted for stories from his past and he was happy to quench her desire, delighted that someone so beautiful could be interested in him.
Billy’s lips always wore a smile. Even when their mouths were crushed hard together as hands clawed at clothing, each desperate for a sensation not felt in months. He revelled in the feel of Billy’s skin against his own, the easy familiarity of the rhythm they fell into reminding him of long New Zealand nights spent in each others arms, and days longer still filled with mutual support. There was an equality of give and take between Billy and he. Neither of them denied the other what he needed and neither gave less than the other took. Between them they spoke a language of their own: a code of words that only they could decipher. It served to solidify their bond. Even when it crackled across long distance phone lines its power could not fade.
Each one of his lovers knew about the other two. In fact, he was sure that Viggo and Billy spoke of him when alone together. He sensed the other in each man more and more often now. Perhaps they slept together too: Billy learning about control from Viggo whilst teaching about laughter in return.
Dom wakened with a start. The image of Viggo and Billy together burned crisp in his mind. The idea both arousing and terrifying at the same time. What if it was true? What if they found more pleasure in each other than they found separately in him? Without looking, he reached out for a cigarette, his hand shaking slightly as he did so. The pack was not where he had left it. Instead, in its place, stood a glass of water, and beside that, two painkillers.
“You’ll be needing those Dommie”
Billy’s voice shocked Dom as it broke the silence in the room. He looked up and, sure enough, there was Billy, seated across the table. Dom laughed to himself, now his mind was conjuring up ghosts when he was awake! He knew that Billy was not really there, he couldn’t be, he was filming, unable to get away to visit.
“What’s so funny Dom?” DreamBilly spoke again, a hint of annoyance in his tone
Dom thought it only polite to answer his spectral visitor: “I’m laughing because I’m hallucinating Bills, that’s all, no need to get upset.”
“Hallucinating? Really?” DreamBilly’s voice was softer now, the irritation gone: “Tell me then what it is you see.”
Dom sighed. Trust his mind to create an illusion that was so demanding.
“I can see you, Bills, and I can see a glass of water and some aspirin. Clearly my brain is trying to tell me something.”
“What do you think it’s trying to tell you?”
Dom rolled his eyes. This was by far the most inquisitive hallucination he had ever known. He considered his options. If he answered, it would probably lead to further questions. If he refused, maybe it would fade away and leave him be. Decision made, he lay back down on the sofa and closed his eyes once more.
“I asked you a question Dom, aren’t you going to answer me?”
DreamBilly sounded closer now. Dom opened his eyes and, sure enough, his visitor was perched on the table next to him. If he reached out his hand he would be able to touch him. Only, DreamBilly was an illusion and thus could not be touched. Dom sighed. Clearly keeping quiet had not worked: “Ok, ok. If it will shut you up. I’m pissed and I’m gonna feel like crap in the morning so..” Dom waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the water and painkillers as he spoke. “And you are here to annoy me as..” Dom’s speech faltered as he tried to focus his eyes on DreamBilly, a smile briefly showing on his face as the reason for his visitor’s presence became clear: “..as you always look after me.”
“Aye, that I do, Dommie, that I do. Now tell me why you drank so much.”
DreamBilly was getting on his nerves now. Sighing in frustration once more, Dom pulled one of the sofa’s cushions over his face in an attempt to ignore the question. It did no good; he could feel DreamBilly sitting there. Waiting for an answer: “It’s simple. I’m drunk because I am going to die alone; bereft of company. Sad. Old. Dead. Alone. Happy now?”
Silence descended on the room. Then, just as Dom thought he was on his own once more, DreamBilly spoke again, his voice softer now and tinged with sadness: “Why would you think that Dom?”
Dom’s threw the cushion to one side and sat up, glaring at the man sitting in front of him. Moving directly in front of Billy he spat his answer out, his words tumbling forth, a stream of bitterness and self-loathing: “Why? Why not? Who would want to be with me? Who would want to be with someone who can’t admit what he wants, who he wants? Why would anyone put up with a man like me? I’m a waste of space. I can’t tell the one person I love how I feel, so, I just carry on screwing around with peoples feelings instead. You wanna know why I do it?”
Dom’s hands were clutching at Billy’s clothes, pulling him in close so that their faces were virtually touching, his voice having dropped to a whisper as he did so. His drink blurred mind failing to register that, if he could touch Billy, he was not an illusion.
“I’m a coward Billy, a fucking coward. What if the person I love doesn’t love me? I couldn’t handle that. It’s easier this way, pretending I don’t care, it’s just that sometimes it all gets to be too much and I don’t want to pretend anymore and I..” Dom’s words tailed off, his hands relaxed their grip on Billy’s shirt and he slumped down once more, his anger spent.
Billy’s mind was in turmoil. He longed to know who it was that Dom loved, but knew that it was wrong to ask him now, drunk and convinced that he was talking to a figment of his imagination as Dom was. And what if he did ask the question and the answer was not what he wanted to hear? What if Dom answered with Viggo’s name or Evie’s? Billy had waited so long to know if Dom felt as he did and, now that he was close to finding out, he was terrified. His filming finished, he had called Dom only to hear mutterings about death and people leaving echoing down the phone line. He had broken every driving law in existence to get to Dom’s house to find him passed out on the sofa, empty bottle of whiskey on the floor, ashtrays overflowing and hundreds of pictures scattered around the room. After cursing Dom’s name in every language he knew, he fetched water and tablets and settled in to wait for him to wake. He kept watch whilst Dom slept, following the changing emotions on the man’s face that reflected his troubled dreams and rising occasionally to soothe him when a nightmare took hold. Anger dissipating as he waited, to be replaced by worry over what had caused the one he loved to be in so much pain. Dom’s disbelief in his reality had given him a way to find out the answers to his questions, but now it felt wrong to continue the charade. And yet, he needed to know.
Dropping his head down so that he was looking at the floor and speaking in a voice so quiet it was hardly there he asked: “Who do you love Dom?
Silence.
Then a hand reached up and gently lifted his chin so that he was looking into Dom’s eyes. Eyes that were no longer clouded by sleep and whiskey. Eyes that held the mix of hope and fear to be found in Billy’s own. Eyes fixed directly onto his and that seemed to be searching his very being for an answer to a question in the mind behind them.
Moments passed that seemed like hours to both men until Dom moved closer still, his lips brushing softly against Billy’s, breathing the answer to his question directly into Billy’s soul:
“You Billy. I love you.”