Happy Accidents, Billy/Dom, PG-13
Title: Happy Accidents
Author: valerienne
Pairing: Billy/Dom, hints of Billy/Ali, Dom/Elijah, Dom/Evi
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4,365
Notes: Based on Dom’s photographic exhibition, Happy Accidents. There’s an interview at StarDom in which Dom talks about it, and I want to tell you I squeeed so hard - this fic was 85% written when I read that interview, and yet it fits very well indeed :) Also, the knitted cacti are real - I saw them in Glasgow’s Gallery of Modern Art a few weeks ago. Wriiten for monaboyd_month.
“She came to see the exhibition,” says Dom, and kicks the nice white cube placed in the middle of the gallery for the casual visitor, “She came to the opening.”
“Well, that was nice of her,” says Billy, cautiously, reserving judgement in the face of an uncertain Dom. “Wanting to support you, and all that.”
“Yeah, I suppose.”
They walk some more. It’s not that big a gallery, thinks Billy, and they’ve been circling it for some time. Concentric circles, spiralling in. He’s not sure if that says something profound about Dom’s state of mind. The wood of the floor has a natural grain, light and fresh, Billy hopes Dom likes it. He’s been staring at it for some time.
“Come on,” says Billy, “Talk me through this lot then. You know me. My idea of culture is a couple of knitted cacti down the Gallery of Modern Art.”
Dom glares at him then, from under heavy brows. Billy knows he’s playing the fool, that it’s somewhat the point. And he knows that Dom knows it - Billy’s just not sure if Dom is willing to be cajoled.
He stops, and perforce, Dom has to stop with him. Billy glances at the nearest photo. Jorge stares back at him from between two trees.
“Tell me about it,” says Billy, simply, and as ever, as always, Dom does.
***
Banyan Garcia Banyan
“For fuck’s sake, is the shot still not set up yet?” Naveen swears, and throws a bottle of water into the air. Dom watches it land, luckily nowhere near the cameras, and shares a secret grin with Jorge. Naveen is always the most impatient, the most antsy. He always takes off and parties the hardest during their breaks. It’s a wonder he hasn’t caused more trouble - Dom’s grateful he never got on with Michelle, or he might have been arrested with her instead of Cynthia. And lets face it, Dom would miss Naveen a whole lot more than he’s ever missed Michelle.
“Look, Damon’s shot may not be set up yet, but mine is - ever-ready, like the battery, that’s me,” says Dom, and grins at Naveen, knowing he’ll get the reference, knowing that it’ll help. Jorge rolls his eyes.
“You’re the bloody energiser bunny all right,” says Naveen, but he sprawls on the grass, waits for Dom to take his shot. The camera makes a silent statement that Dom likes, because his friends hold still for it, for him, and it’s a kind of power. They take him seriously. Sometimes on this show, he really fucking needs that.
Jorge messes about for the camera, and Dom ends up having to direct him. That feels good too - idly he speculates about the possibilities of real directing, but he needs an ‘in’, and he doesn’t know if he has the patience. It’s difficult making it, too - Dom remembers that Astin had problems, and he’s Hollywood family.
He gets Jorge to stand between two aerial prop roots, like two great tree trunks themselves. Dom gets him to stare between them, and Jorge sticks out his tongue. Dom snaps him before and afterwards, desperately hoping his hands don’t shake, since he’s laughing, can’t help himself, Jorge’s funny, ok?
And that’s when Evi steals her hands around his waist, fingers cool on the strip of skin above his jeans. He turns in the circle of her arms and he’s looking right into her eyes. He loves that, being the same height. She takes his breath, just outright steals it, like she’s punched him in the gut.
Naveen and Jorge stop laughing. Dom doesn’t pause to wonder why. He doesn’t need to, all he can see is Evi. She’s smiling. He doesn’t need to look anywhere else ever again.
***
“Why isn’t she here, Dom?” Billy asks, looking around, “Why didn’t you photograph her?”
Dom waves his hands, those beautiful expressive hands, and Billy notices he’s still wearing nail varnish. That he’s still writing on his hands. But he can’t quite read what…
“I’ve got hundreds of photos of her, you idiot, but how would it look? We’ve never even officially acknowledged we’re seeing each other, never mind plastering her mug all over my exhibition.”
Dom’s still nervous, Billy thinks, and he’s not sure why.
“What did she say?” he asks, “Did she expect to see herself? Was she disappointed?”
Dom looks shifty, and Billy would still be wondering, if he hadn’t realised that they had paused in front of another photo.
“Oh, she’s here, all right, Bill. In a way, at least.”
***
Life in the Undergrowth
“What are you saying? Evi? What the fuck are you saying?”
He can’t believe he’s hearing this, he can’t process…
Evi shifts herself on his couch, on his rented couch that goes back to the rental company tomorrow. The same day Dom is scheduled to fly back to LA, to start looking for work, to help publicise his own character’s demise, to smile and smile, and through it all, know that he’s supported. That he has a fiancée and a life planned, and that all the bullshit is just that. Bullshit.
“Look, Dom,” says Evi, and she’s picked up his hand, she’s running her fingers over his, tracing the knuckles, his scribbles, like as she’s always done at odd moments. “I just think you need to be focused right now. I think that you need to be looking forward, not back. You don’t need to be tied down right now.”
Dom looks at her, he can see tears in her eyes. He realises he can’t tell if they’re real or fake. He thought he knew everything - absolutely everything - about her, and he can’t tell. Not now. Not after this.
“I just think, that we should take some space. Get our heads sorted. Do you understand?” Evi’s staring at him with huge hazel eyes.
She’s still beautiful, Dom thinks, with a kind of hiccup. The kind of spasm that puts your heart in your throat. She’s still so fucking beautiful. He can’t speak, and that’s unusual enough. He just shakes his head, silent and numb. There’ll be some trauma later, he can tell, but for now... he’ll take a break. Take a break from more than Evi.
“I’m really sorry,” says Evi, and Dom gets a glimmer that this she means, at least. There’s even a trace of humour. He expects he’ll even sympathise, at some point.
“I just don’t think I’m any good at marriage.”
***
“Well, that’s subtle,” says Billy, laying on the sarcasm as thickly as he can.
Dom has the grace to look embarrassed, and Billy thinks, yeah, right.
“Hey, everyone knows I love nature shots - all the creepy-crawlies. No-one will know. No-one will notice.”
“Except Evi and all your mates. Possibly your family too.”
Dom kicks the innocent white cube again, but not as hard. Billy’s glad he’s less angry. After all, it’s not as though Dom’s been acting like a real bunny-boiler. Billy would have done more than had a sharp word or two, if he really thought Dom was off the rails. He’s just hurting. But trust Dom to put up what he really feels publicly on photo-board and card four feet across. Billy has a funny, over-whelming urge to slap him upside the head anyway, just affectionately, you understand. But he doesn’t. His fingers itch. He suddenly remembers the feel of Dom’s skin, his ridiculously soft hair, sticking up in a cowlick. It’s like an overwhelming sensory impression, a bit like these photos. It leaves his mouth dry.
Dom doesn’t wear eyeliner any more, Billy thinks, all of a sudden. He never thought he’d miss it. Weird.
***
Improving Perfection
“For god’s sake, can you cut out the wailing,” moans Sean, as he stands helpfully on one leg, allowing more access for the glue brush.
Billy glances up from his paper, and watches Sean try to glare ineffectually at Dom. It’s 5.30 in the morning, and Dom hasn’t been to bed. Sean is blinking and bleary, after an early night, but he’s still not used to their schedule yet, and that makes Billy smile. You would think, having a small child, that Seanie would be the first to handle it, first to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Although it might have something to do with the music.
Elijah’s swaying slightly and nodding his head to the dulcet tones of the Verve. It could be worse, Billy reckons, but he doubts Sean thinks of it that way. Sean confided to him one day, quietly, that it all sounds alike to him. Billy had laughed, and Sean had looked affronted, but it’s not like Billy’s got any sympathy. Billy likes the Verve. But he hasn’t told Dom or Lij either.
Dom himself is still buzzing, Billy can tell. He’ll probably crash later, between takes; they’ll curl up together on a pile of extra’s costumes probably, or even back in their trailers, if Dom has the energy to stagger that far. It occurs to Billy that he doesn’t have to include himself in that pictured scenario, but it hadn’t even crossed his mind that he wouldn’t be there. A wave of fondness tightens his chest. Bloody ridiculous man, getting to him this way.
That’s when Dom glances over and catches his eye. He’s smiling, with such a glint, such a wicked, evil twinkle... Billy catches his breath. Dom’s still got eyeliner on, from the night before, from that new club - what’s its name? - and he looks... Like sin, thinks Billy. Like he’s fucking edible. Mussed, and rumpled, and debauched. Bloody hell.
Billy’s still coming to terms with that particular little revelation when Sally, the make-up girl, leans forward and swipes Dom clean again. Like she’s wiping it all away, leaving only the fresh-baked, butter-wouldn’t-melt hobbit - young and fresh and innocent. That’s so far from the truth that Billy can only stare, and Dom looks quizzical, as though Billy’s done something odd.
Billy smiles, weakly, and returns to his paper, feeling his world tip. He can’t be having such revelations at 5.30 in the morning. This isn’t happening, that’s all. But he knows he won’t forget, not really. Dom’s always there, and he’s not going to let Billy forget. And really? Billy doesn’t want to forget - he wants to know what he should do about it, except, not really, because he already knows.
***
“God, you can see all my wrinkles in that one,” says Billy, staring more closely. “And that girl’s going to have my eye out in a minute.”
“And such lovely eyes they are too,” Dom laughs, and slings his arm around Billy’s neck. Billy shivers, because the gallery is cool, all white and cream, and empty, because this is a private viewing. Very private, Billy thinks, and then winces inside, because they’re this private because he thought he needed to cheer Dom up, and here he is, depressing himself instead. It’s funny what memories are like. Looking at a picture of himself in the make-up chair, but instead remembering Dom, back in the day…
“Show me something else, Dom, ok? Not me, this time,” says Billy, restless all of a sudden.
And there must be something in his voice, because Dom pulls away, and looks at him a little strangely. Billy can’t help that - he’s never enjoyed looking at himself, not in any of his films, or on the telly. Dom should know that.
“Sure,” Dom says, subdued, but not angry, not any more. Puzzled, maybe. That’s a victory, thinks Billy.
“What about this? Billy?”
***
Penrith Firepit
“Fucking hell, it’s cold out here,” says Elijah, as he wraps his mittoned hands around a mug of something hot. Coffee, probably. He drinks tea but only the fancy Chinese varieties, which Dom doesn’t blame him for, but takes the piss out of anyway. Not so easy to get from the local Spar either, since that’s all you get in the middle of Nowhere, Cumbria.
Elijah’s breath is steaming in the air, and his nose is red with chill. Dom’s in a lightish coat, and it’s bracing, he’ll give him that, but Dom has a reputation to keep up, after all. He’s the one who grew up in Manchester, in the North, with its miserable winters and only slightly better summers. Billy’s the only one that’s allowed to say any different, given he has everyone else beat with childhood tales from a Glaswegian council estate - but Dom refuses to become any sort of southern jessie, now that Orlando’s not here. He’s going to conveniently forget the inches of snowfall Cedar Rapids gets every year, and anyway, Elijah plays up to it. Dom reckons LA’s turned him soft.
Still, it doesn’t stop him from helping out, while helping himself too, so he grabs Elijah, who lets out a squeak as his coffee nearly spills, and drags him into a full body hug. Arms wrapped tight around his middle, nose and chin buried in his hair. That’s got to be warmer. One of Elijah’s scarves must be woollen though, because Dom finds his nose immediately begins to itch, but it’s a small price to pay. He’s got anti-histamines, anyway. He always does.
It’s all worth it when Elijah relaxes back against him with a tiny sigh. Dom can smell the slight citrus-y smell of Lij’s shampoo, and the ever-present hint of cigarette smoke. He wonders briefly when he began to find that actually erotic.
“Hey, you weren’t so cold earlier when he were out shooting the helpless birds,” Dom whispers in Lij’s ear, and Elijah wriggles a bit, in denial.
“You know I didn’t hit anything,” says Elijah, anxious, and Dom, who’s enjoying the wriggling in a vaguely abstract way, muffled as they are, nods, just so he can feel the tufts of dark hair poking out from under Lij’s cap brush against his cheek. Soppy, that’s what he’s become.
“And what about me?” asks a quiet voice from behind Dom’s shoulder. Dom wants to jump away form Elijah, but suppresses the urge. After all, he doesn’t have to. It’s not like they’re a secret or anything.
“You don’t mind that I’m the crack shot of this team, do you? I bagged three, remember?” says Billy, with a funny edge. Elijah laughs, while Dom turns his head a little to look at him.
“It’s good someone can bring home the bacon. Or, in this case, the pheasant,” says Dom, smiling, because there’s something about Billy tonight. Just. Something.
Billy’s got a beer in his hand, and abruptly Dom wants it. He can almost taste it now. Bugger it - he’s the only one without a drink, that can’t be right. And he doesn’t want Billy feeling left out - that’s not what these few days are about at all. So there are many reasons - good and sensible reasons - why he reaches out and reels Billy into their hug.
Elijah goes mmph, as they bundle themselves together on the porch. Now Dom has a clutch of Billy’s fleece, and he could turn his head and have a nose full of Billy’s hair as well, if he wants. He’s warmer now, a lot warmer, sandwiched between the two of them, and it feels right. He’s lost count of the times he and Billy have curled up together on set, and off. Dom misses it. He still has Lij, but. It’s not the same.
“A fire,” says Billy, suddenly. “That’s what we need. I think I saw a firepit round the back. And there’s plenty of split logs.”
“Oh, we’re hot enough,” says Dom, with a leer, and Billy stares at him sidelong.
“But toasted marshmallows are good too,” says Dom, hurriedly, because somehow he has a feeling he’s put his foot in it.
He ends up building the fire extra high and extra hot, as recompense for something he only just realises he’s missed completely.
***
“That was a great fire - a great holiday,” says Dom, happily, staring at the wild smear of reds and oranges and yellows, “We really needed that break after all the press junketing.” Billy nods, helplessly, because what else can he do? He’s cheering Dom up, he can tell. That was the purpose. That was the whole fucking point of tonight.
Dom still has his hand on Billy’s shoulder. Reminding Billy of Dom’s - barely - superior height, probably. That would be typical of the arrogant fucker. Billy can feel something growing, something expanding in his chest. It feels as though as fast as Dom has lost his anger, his upset, Billy has been gaining it - like there’s some screwed up karmic balance in the world. He wants to kick the bloody white cubes himself now.
Dom’s hand is very warm in the cool gallery. It’s almost hot on the skin of Billy’s neck. Like they all were in front of that fire. Billy can still see it so clearly in his mind’s eye - which is more than you can tell from Dom’s photo.
“That reminds me,” says Dom, and tugs at Billy. Grabs his elbow and fucking steers him, still with his other hand on his shoulder. Billy’s going to say something, he is, he’s going to…
“Look, do you remember? A year later. You took this one. And I didn’t think, I should have asked you - is it ok?” Dom swings him round, all earnest blue eyes and quick blunt fingers. Typical. But he means it, of course he does. Dom always means it - he’s always sorry. Well, so is Billy.
***
Berlin Underground
“Fuck, Dom, we’ve got to be at the premiere in two hours,” Billy shouts over the sound of horns, as he runs behind Dom, who’s threading a dangerous path through on-coming traffic. Traffic going the wrong way, thinks Billy, as he throws himself out of the path of a speeding taxi. “This is mad!”
Dom is giggling like an idiot, and Billy swings for him as soon as they reach the pavement - a sweeping great cautionary slap, that Dom ducks, before dashing off again.
“Come on, dance like a butterfly, sting like a bee, remember? You can do better than that!” Dom shouts, and is poised to run again when Billy grabs his coat.
“No - it’s time to get back. I’ve seen enough of Berlin to last me a lifetime,” says Billy and knows he’s sounding grumpy, like an old man. It’s not something he’s proud of, but the endless press circuit is getting to him, he’s feeling worn and pulled out of shape. It’s not a novelty any more, not after three years, if it ever really was - he can’t remember. And Dom acting like the giddy school-boy he was when he was last in Germany is not helping in the fucking slightest.
Billy pulls Dom close to him, holding his arms, not intending to let him slip away again, and realises that he’s almost vibrating with tension, that he’s hot. It’s weird - it’s icy right now, enough to freeze your knackers off. Yet Billy can feel the muscles jumping under Dom’s skin, like he’s at a club, or a gig. He might think Dom has taken something, except that’s not really his style. A bit of blow, yes, but not a lot more. Not usually.
Still holding on, Billy contemplates the options. He could hail a taxi, but Dom might take it into his head to jump out, or something else equally insane. He could ring New Line’s tour people, but that might get them in trouble. Or…
Or he could spin and walk them both down the steps of the nearest underground station. It’s a contained environment, away from all the traffic, away from yet another bar, it seems the best of a bad set of choices. It seems that Dom isn’t trying to get away any more either. That’s something.
Billy buys them both a ticket, still with his arm linked through Dom’s, and Dom’s grinning and trying out his half-remembered German. Billy smiles a lot and shrugs, hopes it’s enough. He gets a smile in return and a subtle eye-roll. His face aches from all the smiling. He’s going to kill Dom later.
The platform is blissfully empty, the previous train having just left, and Billy’s leaning on Dom’s shoulders. He’s stopped twitching, at least, and Billy becomes conscious of the smell of the wheat beer Dom’s been drinking, and the texture of the heavy denim under his fingers. He rolls his own eyes , knowing Dom can’t see him. What an eejit - that’s Billy, but at least he knows it. A nice girl back home, that he’s started seeing quite a bit, and still. Still Dom can do this to him.
Dom’s calmed down enough that Billy recognises that the renewed twitching he’s feeling is the beginning of shivers and he wants to pull Dom in. Reel him into a proper hug like they’ve all become used to over the years, bury his nose in Dom’s hair for a change. It’s almost a visceral urge, a fucking temptation that he really wants to give in to. But this time. He can’t. He just can’t.
Instead, Billy pushes Dom away, and Dom turns and looks at him, with his head a little on one side. Billy holds his breath wondering what he’s going to say, knowing that it’ll break the moment, that there really isn’t a moment anyway, that it’s all in Billy’s head. That he’s being an eejit, remember?
Instead Dom doesn’t say anything. He just takes off his jacket, and holds it out wordlessly to Billy. There’s a scream of metal in the distance, the screech of brakes - another train is on its way. Billy takes the jacket, and it bumps his legs, because one pocket’s much heavier than the other, and Billy remembers that Dom was waving a camera around earlier. It’s not even a conscious thought. It’s something to do with the way Dom’s staring, probably. That’s it. But Billy takes the camera out, throws Dom’s jacket over his arm and snaps a quick shot. As easy as that.
Dom blinks at Billy, as he finishes putting on the jumper that was tied around his waist, pulling it down over his head, wrapping his scarf around and around. He looks serious now, a complete change of mood. Typical Dom. The train pulls into the station and Billy casually hands Dom back his jacket, the camera returned to its pocket, one frozen moment in time the richer.
Billy’s obviously catching Dom’s madness. That must be it. Or he’s watched Brief Encounter once too often. Or that he’s watched it at all.
***
Typical. Typical Dom. Billy stares at Dom in the photo, then swings his head to look at the real thing. In the photo Dom is staring at him with one eye - it was open wide and shining blue in the half-light of the station, he remembers, but in the picture everything is grey, all the shades of black and white. Billy didn’t even know that was the setting Dom had been using. It’s like Dom was looking at more than just the camera and Billy wants to ask him what it was he really saw. He supposes that’s why Dom put it in the show.
Billy had wanted to cheer Dom up, he’d intended to be his mate, to sort him out, like he has so many times before, like that time in Mexico, and he’d thought it was going to be easy. Except it’s never been that easy. Not really. And the show reminds him of all the things they are, everything that they’ve been to each other, not just the easy things. And that’s where Billy’s anger wells up from, he reckons, in huge great unsuspected quantities.
Billy looks at Dom again, and he doesn’t know what Dom sees, but Dom looks away. Can’t even hold his fucking gaze. But only for a second, before he appears to focus on something in the distance, and it seems to give him strength. Or something. Like Dom ever knows what he really wants. Like the useless shite has ever needed courage or anything else to face him. Like…
Dom leans forward, and he kisses him. As simply and as sweetly as that. Dom’s lips are warm, and his slight stubble catches on Billy’s cheek. Billy gasps slightly in shock and the mouthful of air he inhales is Dom flavoured. It’s a simple thing but Billy can’t seem to hold himself up on his own two legs. He has to clutch onto Dom for support. He has to kiss him again to be sure. To make sure. This time Dom slides his tongue into Billy’s mouth a very little and Billy opens wider, tasting and hungry. Just to make sure. He has to make sure.
They part just as softly, but there’s a simmering heat that promises the future will be anything but soft. Billy holds onto Dom, rests his forehead on Dom’s shoulder, listens to the rumble of Dom’s voice.
“I called the show ‘Happy Accidents’, ok? And I hadn’t realised until now that it could mean a fuck of a lot of things. But whatever else you think you know about me - from this show, from everything, Bills - I want you to remember this. There are more photos of you in this exhibition than anyone or anything else. And I hadn’t even realised that until now. How about that for a happy accident?”
Billy wants to say, what took you so long? He wants to say, is it too late? He wants to say, I don’t care. Instead, he tightens his grip, feeling Dom shift beneath his hands, but not letting go. This is their own private viewing, and Billy thinks he’s been shown more than most. More than he’d ever expected.
“What made you decide, Dom? What made you change the way things were?” asks Billy, suddenly, wanting to know. And Dom huffs, like the question was inevitable, like he’s full of bullshit, like it should be obvious, but he does, he swings him round again, like a bloody weathervane, and then he points…
“Oh”, says Billy, sighing, “Ok. All right.”
***
Must be Love
Author: valerienne
Pairing: Billy/Dom, hints of Billy/Ali, Dom/Elijah, Dom/Evi
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4,365
Notes: Based on Dom’s photographic exhibition, Happy Accidents. There’s an interview at StarDom in which Dom talks about it, and I want to tell you I squeeed so hard - this fic was 85% written when I read that interview, and yet it fits very well indeed :) Also, the knitted cacti are real - I saw them in Glasgow’s Gallery of Modern Art a few weeks ago. Wriiten for monaboyd_month.
“She came to see the exhibition,” says Dom, and kicks the nice white cube placed in the middle of the gallery for the casual visitor, “She came to the opening.”
“Well, that was nice of her,” says Billy, cautiously, reserving judgement in the face of an uncertain Dom. “Wanting to support you, and all that.”
“Yeah, I suppose.”
They walk some more. It’s not that big a gallery, thinks Billy, and they’ve been circling it for some time. Concentric circles, spiralling in. He’s not sure if that says something profound about Dom’s state of mind. The wood of the floor has a natural grain, light and fresh, Billy hopes Dom likes it. He’s been staring at it for some time.
“Come on,” says Billy, “Talk me through this lot then. You know me. My idea of culture is a couple of knitted cacti down the Gallery of Modern Art.”
Dom glares at him then, from under heavy brows. Billy knows he’s playing the fool, that it’s somewhat the point. And he knows that Dom knows it - Billy’s just not sure if Dom is willing to be cajoled.
He stops, and perforce, Dom has to stop with him. Billy glances at the nearest photo. Jorge stares back at him from between two trees.
“Tell me about it,” says Billy, simply, and as ever, as always, Dom does.
***
Banyan Garcia Banyan
“For fuck’s sake, is the shot still not set up yet?” Naveen swears, and throws a bottle of water into the air. Dom watches it land, luckily nowhere near the cameras, and shares a secret grin with Jorge. Naveen is always the most impatient, the most antsy. He always takes off and parties the hardest during their breaks. It’s a wonder he hasn’t caused more trouble - Dom’s grateful he never got on with Michelle, or he might have been arrested with her instead of Cynthia. And lets face it, Dom would miss Naveen a whole lot more than he’s ever missed Michelle.
“Look, Damon’s shot may not be set up yet, but mine is - ever-ready, like the battery, that’s me,” says Dom, and grins at Naveen, knowing he’ll get the reference, knowing that it’ll help. Jorge rolls his eyes.
“You’re the bloody energiser bunny all right,” says Naveen, but he sprawls on the grass, waits for Dom to take his shot. The camera makes a silent statement that Dom likes, because his friends hold still for it, for him, and it’s a kind of power. They take him seriously. Sometimes on this show, he really fucking needs that.
Jorge messes about for the camera, and Dom ends up having to direct him. That feels good too - idly he speculates about the possibilities of real directing, but he needs an ‘in’, and he doesn’t know if he has the patience. It’s difficult making it, too - Dom remembers that Astin had problems, and he’s Hollywood family.
He gets Jorge to stand between two aerial prop roots, like two great tree trunks themselves. Dom gets him to stare between them, and Jorge sticks out his tongue. Dom snaps him before and afterwards, desperately hoping his hands don’t shake, since he’s laughing, can’t help himself, Jorge’s funny, ok?
And that’s when Evi steals her hands around his waist, fingers cool on the strip of skin above his jeans. He turns in the circle of her arms and he’s looking right into her eyes. He loves that, being the same height. She takes his breath, just outright steals it, like she’s punched him in the gut.
Naveen and Jorge stop laughing. Dom doesn’t pause to wonder why. He doesn’t need to, all he can see is Evi. She’s smiling. He doesn’t need to look anywhere else ever again.
***
“Why isn’t she here, Dom?” Billy asks, looking around, “Why didn’t you photograph her?”
Dom waves his hands, those beautiful expressive hands, and Billy notices he’s still wearing nail varnish. That he’s still writing on his hands. But he can’t quite read what…
“I’ve got hundreds of photos of her, you idiot, but how would it look? We’ve never even officially acknowledged we’re seeing each other, never mind plastering her mug all over my exhibition.”
Dom’s still nervous, Billy thinks, and he’s not sure why.
“What did she say?” he asks, “Did she expect to see herself? Was she disappointed?”
Dom looks shifty, and Billy would still be wondering, if he hadn’t realised that they had paused in front of another photo.
“Oh, she’s here, all right, Bill. In a way, at least.”
***
Life in the Undergrowth
“What are you saying? Evi? What the fuck are you saying?”
He can’t believe he’s hearing this, he can’t process…
Evi shifts herself on his couch, on his rented couch that goes back to the rental company tomorrow. The same day Dom is scheduled to fly back to LA, to start looking for work, to help publicise his own character’s demise, to smile and smile, and through it all, know that he’s supported. That he has a fiancée and a life planned, and that all the bullshit is just that. Bullshit.
“Look, Dom,” says Evi, and she’s picked up his hand, she’s running her fingers over his, tracing the knuckles, his scribbles, like as she’s always done at odd moments. “I just think you need to be focused right now. I think that you need to be looking forward, not back. You don’t need to be tied down right now.”
Dom looks at her, he can see tears in her eyes. He realises he can’t tell if they’re real or fake. He thought he knew everything - absolutely everything - about her, and he can’t tell. Not now. Not after this.
“I just think, that we should take some space. Get our heads sorted. Do you understand?” Evi’s staring at him with huge hazel eyes.
She’s still beautiful, Dom thinks, with a kind of hiccup. The kind of spasm that puts your heart in your throat. She’s still so fucking beautiful. He can’t speak, and that’s unusual enough. He just shakes his head, silent and numb. There’ll be some trauma later, he can tell, but for now... he’ll take a break. Take a break from more than Evi.
“I’m really sorry,” says Evi, and Dom gets a glimmer that this she means, at least. There’s even a trace of humour. He expects he’ll even sympathise, at some point.
“I just don’t think I’m any good at marriage.”
***
“Well, that’s subtle,” says Billy, laying on the sarcasm as thickly as he can.
Dom has the grace to look embarrassed, and Billy thinks, yeah, right.
“Hey, everyone knows I love nature shots - all the creepy-crawlies. No-one will know. No-one will notice.”
“Except Evi and all your mates. Possibly your family too.”
Dom kicks the innocent white cube again, but not as hard. Billy’s glad he’s less angry. After all, it’s not as though Dom’s been acting like a real bunny-boiler. Billy would have done more than had a sharp word or two, if he really thought Dom was off the rails. He’s just hurting. But trust Dom to put up what he really feels publicly on photo-board and card four feet across. Billy has a funny, over-whelming urge to slap him upside the head anyway, just affectionately, you understand. But he doesn’t. His fingers itch. He suddenly remembers the feel of Dom’s skin, his ridiculously soft hair, sticking up in a cowlick. It’s like an overwhelming sensory impression, a bit like these photos. It leaves his mouth dry.
Dom doesn’t wear eyeliner any more, Billy thinks, all of a sudden. He never thought he’d miss it. Weird.
***
Improving Perfection
“For god’s sake, can you cut out the wailing,” moans Sean, as he stands helpfully on one leg, allowing more access for the glue brush.
Billy glances up from his paper, and watches Sean try to glare ineffectually at Dom. It’s 5.30 in the morning, and Dom hasn’t been to bed. Sean is blinking and bleary, after an early night, but he’s still not used to their schedule yet, and that makes Billy smile. You would think, having a small child, that Seanie would be the first to handle it, first to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Although it might have something to do with the music.
Elijah’s swaying slightly and nodding his head to the dulcet tones of the Verve. It could be worse, Billy reckons, but he doubts Sean thinks of it that way. Sean confided to him one day, quietly, that it all sounds alike to him. Billy had laughed, and Sean had looked affronted, but it’s not like Billy’s got any sympathy. Billy likes the Verve. But he hasn’t told Dom or Lij either.
Dom himself is still buzzing, Billy can tell. He’ll probably crash later, between takes; they’ll curl up together on a pile of extra’s costumes probably, or even back in their trailers, if Dom has the energy to stagger that far. It occurs to Billy that he doesn’t have to include himself in that pictured scenario, but it hadn’t even crossed his mind that he wouldn’t be there. A wave of fondness tightens his chest. Bloody ridiculous man, getting to him this way.
That’s when Dom glances over and catches his eye. He’s smiling, with such a glint, such a wicked, evil twinkle... Billy catches his breath. Dom’s still got eyeliner on, from the night before, from that new club - what’s its name? - and he looks... Like sin, thinks Billy. Like he’s fucking edible. Mussed, and rumpled, and debauched. Bloody hell.
Billy’s still coming to terms with that particular little revelation when Sally, the make-up girl, leans forward and swipes Dom clean again. Like she’s wiping it all away, leaving only the fresh-baked, butter-wouldn’t-melt hobbit - young and fresh and innocent. That’s so far from the truth that Billy can only stare, and Dom looks quizzical, as though Billy’s done something odd.
Billy smiles, weakly, and returns to his paper, feeling his world tip. He can’t be having such revelations at 5.30 in the morning. This isn’t happening, that’s all. But he knows he won’t forget, not really. Dom’s always there, and he’s not going to let Billy forget. And really? Billy doesn’t want to forget - he wants to know what he should do about it, except, not really, because he already knows.
***
“God, you can see all my wrinkles in that one,” says Billy, staring more closely. “And that girl’s going to have my eye out in a minute.”
“And such lovely eyes they are too,” Dom laughs, and slings his arm around Billy’s neck. Billy shivers, because the gallery is cool, all white and cream, and empty, because this is a private viewing. Very private, Billy thinks, and then winces inside, because they’re this private because he thought he needed to cheer Dom up, and here he is, depressing himself instead. It’s funny what memories are like. Looking at a picture of himself in the make-up chair, but instead remembering Dom, back in the day…
“Show me something else, Dom, ok? Not me, this time,” says Billy, restless all of a sudden.
And there must be something in his voice, because Dom pulls away, and looks at him a little strangely. Billy can’t help that - he’s never enjoyed looking at himself, not in any of his films, or on the telly. Dom should know that.
“Sure,” Dom says, subdued, but not angry, not any more. Puzzled, maybe. That’s a victory, thinks Billy.
“What about this? Billy?”
***
Penrith Firepit
“Fucking hell, it’s cold out here,” says Elijah, as he wraps his mittoned hands around a mug of something hot. Coffee, probably. He drinks tea but only the fancy Chinese varieties, which Dom doesn’t blame him for, but takes the piss out of anyway. Not so easy to get from the local Spar either, since that’s all you get in the middle of Nowhere, Cumbria.
Elijah’s breath is steaming in the air, and his nose is red with chill. Dom’s in a lightish coat, and it’s bracing, he’ll give him that, but Dom has a reputation to keep up, after all. He’s the one who grew up in Manchester, in the North, with its miserable winters and only slightly better summers. Billy’s the only one that’s allowed to say any different, given he has everyone else beat with childhood tales from a Glaswegian council estate - but Dom refuses to become any sort of southern jessie, now that Orlando’s not here. He’s going to conveniently forget the inches of snowfall Cedar Rapids gets every year, and anyway, Elijah plays up to it. Dom reckons LA’s turned him soft.
Still, it doesn’t stop him from helping out, while helping himself too, so he grabs Elijah, who lets out a squeak as his coffee nearly spills, and drags him into a full body hug. Arms wrapped tight around his middle, nose and chin buried in his hair. That’s got to be warmer. One of Elijah’s scarves must be woollen though, because Dom finds his nose immediately begins to itch, but it’s a small price to pay. He’s got anti-histamines, anyway. He always does.
It’s all worth it when Elijah relaxes back against him with a tiny sigh. Dom can smell the slight citrus-y smell of Lij’s shampoo, and the ever-present hint of cigarette smoke. He wonders briefly when he began to find that actually erotic.
“Hey, you weren’t so cold earlier when he were out shooting the helpless birds,” Dom whispers in Lij’s ear, and Elijah wriggles a bit, in denial.
“You know I didn’t hit anything,” says Elijah, anxious, and Dom, who’s enjoying the wriggling in a vaguely abstract way, muffled as they are, nods, just so he can feel the tufts of dark hair poking out from under Lij’s cap brush against his cheek. Soppy, that’s what he’s become.
“And what about me?” asks a quiet voice from behind Dom’s shoulder. Dom wants to jump away form Elijah, but suppresses the urge. After all, he doesn’t have to. It’s not like they’re a secret or anything.
“You don’t mind that I’m the crack shot of this team, do you? I bagged three, remember?” says Billy, with a funny edge. Elijah laughs, while Dom turns his head a little to look at him.
“It’s good someone can bring home the bacon. Or, in this case, the pheasant,” says Dom, smiling, because there’s something about Billy tonight. Just. Something.
Billy’s got a beer in his hand, and abruptly Dom wants it. He can almost taste it now. Bugger it - he’s the only one without a drink, that can’t be right. And he doesn’t want Billy feeling left out - that’s not what these few days are about at all. So there are many reasons - good and sensible reasons - why he reaches out and reels Billy into their hug.
Elijah goes mmph, as they bundle themselves together on the porch. Now Dom has a clutch of Billy’s fleece, and he could turn his head and have a nose full of Billy’s hair as well, if he wants. He’s warmer now, a lot warmer, sandwiched between the two of them, and it feels right. He’s lost count of the times he and Billy have curled up together on set, and off. Dom misses it. He still has Lij, but. It’s not the same.
“A fire,” says Billy, suddenly. “That’s what we need. I think I saw a firepit round the back. And there’s plenty of split logs.”
“Oh, we’re hot enough,” says Dom, with a leer, and Billy stares at him sidelong.
“But toasted marshmallows are good too,” says Dom, hurriedly, because somehow he has a feeling he’s put his foot in it.
He ends up building the fire extra high and extra hot, as recompense for something he only just realises he’s missed completely.
***
“That was a great fire - a great holiday,” says Dom, happily, staring at the wild smear of reds and oranges and yellows, “We really needed that break after all the press junketing.” Billy nods, helplessly, because what else can he do? He’s cheering Dom up, he can tell. That was the purpose. That was the whole fucking point of tonight.
Dom still has his hand on Billy’s shoulder. Reminding Billy of Dom’s - barely - superior height, probably. That would be typical of the arrogant fucker. Billy can feel something growing, something expanding in his chest. It feels as though as fast as Dom has lost his anger, his upset, Billy has been gaining it - like there’s some screwed up karmic balance in the world. He wants to kick the bloody white cubes himself now.
Dom’s hand is very warm in the cool gallery. It’s almost hot on the skin of Billy’s neck. Like they all were in front of that fire. Billy can still see it so clearly in his mind’s eye - which is more than you can tell from Dom’s photo.
“That reminds me,” says Dom, and tugs at Billy. Grabs his elbow and fucking steers him, still with his other hand on his shoulder. Billy’s going to say something, he is, he’s going to…
“Look, do you remember? A year later. You took this one. And I didn’t think, I should have asked you - is it ok?” Dom swings him round, all earnest blue eyes and quick blunt fingers. Typical. But he means it, of course he does. Dom always means it - he’s always sorry. Well, so is Billy.
***
Berlin Underground
“Fuck, Dom, we’ve got to be at the premiere in two hours,” Billy shouts over the sound of horns, as he runs behind Dom, who’s threading a dangerous path through on-coming traffic. Traffic going the wrong way, thinks Billy, as he throws himself out of the path of a speeding taxi. “This is mad!”
Dom is giggling like an idiot, and Billy swings for him as soon as they reach the pavement - a sweeping great cautionary slap, that Dom ducks, before dashing off again.
“Come on, dance like a butterfly, sting like a bee, remember? You can do better than that!” Dom shouts, and is poised to run again when Billy grabs his coat.
“No - it’s time to get back. I’ve seen enough of Berlin to last me a lifetime,” says Billy and knows he’s sounding grumpy, like an old man. It’s not something he’s proud of, but the endless press circuit is getting to him, he’s feeling worn and pulled out of shape. It’s not a novelty any more, not after three years, if it ever really was - he can’t remember. And Dom acting like the giddy school-boy he was when he was last in Germany is not helping in the fucking slightest.
Billy pulls Dom close to him, holding his arms, not intending to let him slip away again, and realises that he’s almost vibrating with tension, that he’s hot. It’s weird - it’s icy right now, enough to freeze your knackers off. Yet Billy can feel the muscles jumping under Dom’s skin, like he’s at a club, or a gig. He might think Dom has taken something, except that’s not really his style. A bit of blow, yes, but not a lot more. Not usually.
Still holding on, Billy contemplates the options. He could hail a taxi, but Dom might take it into his head to jump out, or something else equally insane. He could ring New Line’s tour people, but that might get them in trouble. Or…
Or he could spin and walk them both down the steps of the nearest underground station. It’s a contained environment, away from all the traffic, away from yet another bar, it seems the best of a bad set of choices. It seems that Dom isn’t trying to get away any more either. That’s something.
Billy buys them both a ticket, still with his arm linked through Dom’s, and Dom’s grinning and trying out his half-remembered German. Billy smiles a lot and shrugs, hopes it’s enough. He gets a smile in return and a subtle eye-roll. His face aches from all the smiling. He’s going to kill Dom later.
The platform is blissfully empty, the previous train having just left, and Billy’s leaning on Dom’s shoulders. He’s stopped twitching, at least, and Billy becomes conscious of the smell of the wheat beer Dom’s been drinking, and the texture of the heavy denim under his fingers. He rolls his own eyes , knowing Dom can’t see him. What an eejit - that’s Billy, but at least he knows it. A nice girl back home, that he’s started seeing quite a bit, and still. Still Dom can do this to him.
Dom’s calmed down enough that Billy recognises that the renewed twitching he’s feeling is the beginning of shivers and he wants to pull Dom in. Reel him into a proper hug like they’ve all become used to over the years, bury his nose in Dom’s hair for a change. It’s almost a visceral urge, a fucking temptation that he really wants to give in to. But this time. He can’t. He just can’t.
Instead, Billy pushes Dom away, and Dom turns and looks at him, with his head a little on one side. Billy holds his breath wondering what he’s going to say, knowing that it’ll break the moment, that there really isn’t a moment anyway, that it’s all in Billy’s head. That he’s being an eejit, remember?
Instead Dom doesn’t say anything. He just takes off his jacket, and holds it out wordlessly to Billy. There’s a scream of metal in the distance, the screech of brakes - another train is on its way. Billy takes the jacket, and it bumps his legs, because one pocket’s much heavier than the other, and Billy remembers that Dom was waving a camera around earlier. It’s not even a conscious thought. It’s something to do with the way Dom’s staring, probably. That’s it. But Billy takes the camera out, throws Dom’s jacket over his arm and snaps a quick shot. As easy as that.
Dom blinks at Billy, as he finishes putting on the jumper that was tied around his waist, pulling it down over his head, wrapping his scarf around and around. He looks serious now, a complete change of mood. Typical Dom. The train pulls into the station and Billy casually hands Dom back his jacket, the camera returned to its pocket, one frozen moment in time the richer.
Billy’s obviously catching Dom’s madness. That must be it. Or he’s watched Brief Encounter once too often. Or that he’s watched it at all.
***
Typical. Typical Dom. Billy stares at Dom in the photo, then swings his head to look at the real thing. In the photo Dom is staring at him with one eye - it was open wide and shining blue in the half-light of the station, he remembers, but in the picture everything is grey, all the shades of black and white. Billy didn’t even know that was the setting Dom had been using. It’s like Dom was looking at more than just the camera and Billy wants to ask him what it was he really saw. He supposes that’s why Dom put it in the show.
Billy had wanted to cheer Dom up, he’d intended to be his mate, to sort him out, like he has so many times before, like that time in Mexico, and he’d thought it was going to be easy. Except it’s never been that easy. Not really. And the show reminds him of all the things they are, everything that they’ve been to each other, not just the easy things. And that’s where Billy’s anger wells up from, he reckons, in huge great unsuspected quantities.
Billy looks at Dom again, and he doesn’t know what Dom sees, but Dom looks away. Can’t even hold his fucking gaze. But only for a second, before he appears to focus on something in the distance, and it seems to give him strength. Or something. Like Dom ever knows what he really wants. Like the useless shite has ever needed courage or anything else to face him. Like…
Dom leans forward, and he kisses him. As simply and as sweetly as that. Dom’s lips are warm, and his slight stubble catches on Billy’s cheek. Billy gasps slightly in shock and the mouthful of air he inhales is Dom flavoured. It’s a simple thing but Billy can’t seem to hold himself up on his own two legs. He has to clutch onto Dom for support. He has to kiss him again to be sure. To make sure. This time Dom slides his tongue into Billy’s mouth a very little and Billy opens wider, tasting and hungry. Just to make sure. He has to make sure.
They part just as softly, but there’s a simmering heat that promises the future will be anything but soft. Billy holds onto Dom, rests his forehead on Dom’s shoulder, listens to the rumble of Dom’s voice.
“I called the show ‘Happy Accidents’, ok? And I hadn’t realised until now that it could mean a fuck of a lot of things. But whatever else you think you know about me - from this show, from everything, Bills - I want you to remember this. There are more photos of you in this exhibition than anyone or anything else. And I hadn’t even realised that until now. How about that for a happy accident?”
Billy wants to say, what took you so long? He wants to say, is it too late? He wants to say, I don’t care. Instead, he tightens his grip, feeling Dom shift beneath his hands, but not letting go. This is their own private viewing, and Billy thinks he’s been shown more than most. More than he’d ever expected.
“What made you decide, Dom? What made you change the way things were?” asks Billy, suddenly, wanting to know. And Dom huffs, like the question was inevitable, like he’s full of bullshit, like it should be obvious, but he does, he swings him round again, like a bloody weathervane, and then he points…
“Oh”, says Billy, sighing, “Ok. All right.”
***
Must be Love