Men. Mountains, and Molehills 5/?
Title: Men, Mountains, and Molehills
Author: Phentalon
Pairing: Billy/Sean B Billy/Viggo Dom/Sean B Dom/Viggo
Summary: Billy and Dom are rent boys in London, haunted by the death of their mentor Sean, and they are only just getting back into the swing of life when someone turns it all upside down.
Rating: Generally R for language and smutty setting.
Feedback: Pretty please with Domlijah flavoured porn and chocolate on top! If I get zero feedback I wont bother finishing, so if you like it just a tiny comment?
Chapter Summary: 5: Flashback Billy makes a mistake with Sean and his shell begins to form. Present Billy finds out some things about Viggo.
Billy stood on the doorstep and started to cry. He had lost his keys as he fled and no one had answered the door. They were dry sobs of fear, as the adrenaline of his escape drained and left a hollow shakiness. This was bound to happen sooner or later, but he had been so unprepared, and so stupid. One moment it had been a blowjob in an alley then the big man was grabbing his hair and forcing him and throwing him against the wall, tugging his clothes, cold hands on his skin, teeth invading his lips… then he came to his senses and shoved for all he was worth and ran, blindly until he was many streets away and had to find his way back to the flat.
“Billy?” He jumped and found Sean standing behind him on the steps. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing… just… someone… doesn’t matter…” He mumbled at his feet, feeling a fool.
“You’re soaking, how long you been out here?”
“I lost my key.”
“Oh…” Sean could see Billy’s hands were shaking, and noses, not eyes go red in the cold. “Well, come on.”
Sean made him a cup of tea while he got changed, and now he sat on the sofa letting the steam warm his face.
“Bills.” Sean sat down in a no-nonsense way. “It won’t happen often. That’s probably why I never really brought it up, it slips the mind after months have gone by. Here.” He put down a silver penknife on the table. “I’ve got more then one. I recommend keeping it in your shoe.”
“Ok…” This job involved keeping a knife in your trainer. It was stupid and naïve but he didn’t remember Sean mentioning that when he approached him in Soho. He had a sudden intense wave of feeling in way over his head, so he dropped it into his hands.
“Billy?”
“It’s been so long, I was all in the swing of it… now it feels like day one again.”
“I know. But now, all the ‘day ones’ are gone, isn’t that a comfort?” He sat nearer to Billy, a hand on his shoulder.
“Not really… things happen, things that don’t have a day one because they kill you.”
“Come on Billy don’t think that way.” He pulled him into a hug. “We both know you can take good care of yourself, and you got away without much incident tonight didn’t you? Now you know the warning signs.”
“I guess.” He let his chin rest on Sean’s shoulder and his insides felt slightly unstable. “You’re so smart and eloquent, how did this happen to you?”
“How did it happen to you?” Of course he knew, it was rhetorical. “None of us should be here but we make the best of it.”
“The best of it?” He pulled back to look at Sean and was hit by a wave of daring. “Well, I wouldn’t have met you I suppose.” Sean smiled warmly.
“Exactly.” Then Billy kissed him. Lightly, but the hands gripping his collar screamed ‘take care of me’.
Sean felt his whole life pivoted around this moment. There was a whole parallel universe somewhere that sprawled out from this choice, like that bad Paltrow movie with the guy that reminded him strongly of Billy, which could have moved him so far away from the reality which ensued that what happened may never have. He may not have been in that alleyway. Or even this country.
After the three or four seconds that would haunt them both for their rest of their days, he pushed Billy gently away by the shoulders.
“We can’t…”
“But you want to?” Hope welled in Billy’s voice.
“What I want doesn’t come into it Billy, you know I never go with anyone I… bring into this.
“Why?” Billy’s small hands fall by his sides.
“I told you, it makes it so hard. It’s so much emotional strain, it is safer not to start.”
“It’s not that hard, either you want something and take it or you don’t and you… make excuses.”
“Excuses? I told you I don’t long before… this, had ever occurred to me!”
“And when did it occur to you? Thirty seconds ago?”
“Billy I’m not discussing this with you. You are a good friend and what I say will only hurt you.”
“Oh right of course!” Billy stood with a humourless, slightly hysterical little laugh. “See, excuses! What, you think you’re going to break my heart? Don’t fucking flatter yourself!” Face burning in hurt and humiliation, he fled the room.
~*~
A week or two went by. Dom avoided Billy and Billy brooded still. He went to work; he came home and wrote in his notebooks until the small hours, drinking gin and smoking too much pot, as he did when he sunk into this black, constant mood.
He could feel the weight of what he refused to face pressing down on all side. He fought and fought and held it away from his heart with all his might, and it left him like this. A hollow nothing full of insults and defence. He spent so much time pushing everything away that it left almost nothing. At the end of the day, he protected nothing.
‘I walk the halls of my empty castle. I pour boiling oil to the gates, and scald the monotone knights. I sit by my worn tapestries and ancient silvers and wonder why. I wonder where I am, I wonder who will appreciate this untouched beauty, this inhuman splendour. I see them through a slit, shining armour burnished, they turn away for less taxing conquests. I wither within.’
He was distracted from his writing at two am one night by a rustle and glanced up to see a newspaper being pushed under his door. What was the little shit up to now?
When he was sure Dom had gone he picked it up. It was The London Paper and he scanned the boring cover in confusion before he saw a box that read ‘US playboy of the art world makes big splash in London - page 4’.
He flipped to it and saw a photo of Viggo with some big-titted blonde on his arm, coming out of a club, and below a photo of a gallery with some paintings he recognised. The article read ‘US artist Viggo Mortensen, 50-’ Billy’s brow creased, no way was he fifty! ‘left a great impression on London art critics when his paintings, as part of the newest Tate Modern exhibition, went on show last week. Critics are calling his work ‘haunting’, ‘melodic’, and ‘the most striking expression of emotion through pure colour to be seen by an artist in years.’ And our representatives who attended the opening have to agree.
However the artist’s personal life has left a few raised eyebrows. How could such an apparent ‘genius’ (pictured right with Sara Burnrite, who has just signed a contract with popular boys magazine Nuts) find satisfaction in the Playboy Bunnies and page-three girls of London’s nightlife? Sources say he goes through one meaningless relationship after another, and in this female reporters opinion this makes for either a highly troubled or very shallow man. For a shallow man to be responsible for the work pictured left leaves me at least feeling very cheated. This exhibition will be on display at the Tate Modern, Southbank, until the 19th of February.’
Bitch. Billy threw down the paper in disgust. He suddenly wanted to see Viggo again. He took a deep breath. This motivation for some reason linked to a need to apologise to Dom. He put on his coat.
“Sorry.” He grunted at Dom who was watching TV on the sofa, as he picked his keys up off the coffee table.
“That’s ok. You sulking proves you’re thinking about what I said.” He kept his eyes on the TV, changing channel as he spoke, hiding the meaningfulness of this under an off-hand attitude. Billy deflected it as quickly as a steroid-pumped tennis player nonetheless.
“There’s not a lot of thinking involved in smoking joints.” Dom’s face fell.
Author: Phentalon
Pairing: Billy/Sean B Billy/Viggo Dom/Sean B Dom/Viggo
Summary: Billy and Dom are rent boys in London, haunted by the death of their mentor Sean, and they are only just getting back into the swing of life when someone turns it all upside down.
Rating: Generally R for language and smutty setting.
Feedback: Pretty please with Domlijah flavoured porn and chocolate on top! If I get zero feedback I wont bother finishing, so if you like it just a tiny comment?
Chapter Summary: 5: Flashback Billy makes a mistake with Sean and his shell begins to form. Present Billy finds out some things about Viggo.
Billy stood on the doorstep and started to cry. He had lost his keys as he fled and no one had answered the door. They were dry sobs of fear, as the adrenaline of his escape drained and left a hollow shakiness. This was bound to happen sooner or later, but he had been so unprepared, and so stupid. One moment it had been a blowjob in an alley then the big man was grabbing his hair and forcing him and throwing him against the wall, tugging his clothes, cold hands on his skin, teeth invading his lips… then he came to his senses and shoved for all he was worth and ran, blindly until he was many streets away and had to find his way back to the flat.
“Billy?” He jumped and found Sean standing behind him on the steps. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing… just… someone… doesn’t matter…” He mumbled at his feet, feeling a fool.
“You’re soaking, how long you been out here?”
“I lost my key.”
“Oh…” Sean could see Billy’s hands were shaking, and noses, not eyes go red in the cold. “Well, come on.”
Sean made him a cup of tea while he got changed, and now he sat on the sofa letting the steam warm his face.
“Bills.” Sean sat down in a no-nonsense way. “It won’t happen often. That’s probably why I never really brought it up, it slips the mind after months have gone by. Here.” He put down a silver penknife on the table. “I’ve got more then one. I recommend keeping it in your shoe.”
“Ok…” This job involved keeping a knife in your trainer. It was stupid and naïve but he didn’t remember Sean mentioning that when he approached him in Soho. He had a sudden intense wave of feeling in way over his head, so he dropped it into his hands.
“Billy?”
“It’s been so long, I was all in the swing of it… now it feels like day one again.”
“I know. But now, all the ‘day ones’ are gone, isn’t that a comfort?” He sat nearer to Billy, a hand on his shoulder.
“Not really… things happen, things that don’t have a day one because they kill you.”
“Come on Billy don’t think that way.” He pulled him into a hug. “We both know you can take good care of yourself, and you got away without much incident tonight didn’t you? Now you know the warning signs.”
“I guess.” He let his chin rest on Sean’s shoulder and his insides felt slightly unstable. “You’re so smart and eloquent, how did this happen to you?”
“How did it happen to you?” Of course he knew, it was rhetorical. “None of us should be here but we make the best of it.”
“The best of it?” He pulled back to look at Sean and was hit by a wave of daring. “Well, I wouldn’t have met you I suppose.” Sean smiled warmly.
“Exactly.” Then Billy kissed him. Lightly, but the hands gripping his collar screamed ‘take care of me’.
Sean felt his whole life pivoted around this moment. There was a whole parallel universe somewhere that sprawled out from this choice, like that bad Paltrow movie with the guy that reminded him strongly of Billy, which could have moved him so far away from the reality which ensued that what happened may never have. He may not have been in that alleyway. Or even this country.
After the three or four seconds that would haunt them both for their rest of their days, he pushed Billy gently away by the shoulders.
“We can’t…”
“But you want to?” Hope welled in Billy’s voice.
“What I want doesn’t come into it Billy, you know I never go with anyone I… bring into this.
“Why?” Billy’s small hands fall by his sides.
“I told you, it makes it so hard. It’s so much emotional strain, it is safer not to start.”
“It’s not that hard, either you want something and take it or you don’t and you… make excuses.”
“Excuses? I told you I don’t long before… this, had ever occurred to me!”
“And when did it occur to you? Thirty seconds ago?”
“Billy I’m not discussing this with you. You are a good friend and what I say will only hurt you.”
“Oh right of course!” Billy stood with a humourless, slightly hysterical little laugh. “See, excuses! What, you think you’re going to break my heart? Don’t fucking flatter yourself!” Face burning in hurt and humiliation, he fled the room.
~*~
A week or two went by. Dom avoided Billy and Billy brooded still. He went to work; he came home and wrote in his notebooks until the small hours, drinking gin and smoking too much pot, as he did when he sunk into this black, constant mood.
He could feel the weight of what he refused to face pressing down on all side. He fought and fought and held it away from his heart with all his might, and it left him like this. A hollow nothing full of insults and defence. He spent so much time pushing everything away that it left almost nothing. At the end of the day, he protected nothing.
‘I walk the halls of my empty castle. I pour boiling oil to the gates, and scald the monotone knights. I sit by my worn tapestries and ancient silvers and wonder why. I wonder where I am, I wonder who will appreciate this untouched beauty, this inhuman splendour. I see them through a slit, shining armour burnished, they turn away for less taxing conquests. I wither within.’
He was distracted from his writing at two am one night by a rustle and glanced up to see a newspaper being pushed under his door. What was the little shit up to now?
When he was sure Dom had gone he picked it up. It was The London Paper and he scanned the boring cover in confusion before he saw a box that read ‘US playboy of the art world makes big splash in London - page 4’.
He flipped to it and saw a photo of Viggo with some big-titted blonde on his arm, coming out of a club, and below a photo of a gallery with some paintings he recognised. The article read ‘US artist Viggo Mortensen, 50-’ Billy’s brow creased, no way was he fifty! ‘left a great impression on London art critics when his paintings, as part of the newest Tate Modern exhibition, went on show last week. Critics are calling his work ‘haunting’, ‘melodic’, and ‘the most striking expression of emotion through pure colour to be seen by an artist in years.’ And our representatives who attended the opening have to agree.
However the artist’s personal life has left a few raised eyebrows. How could such an apparent ‘genius’ (pictured right with Sara Burnrite, who has just signed a contract with popular boys magazine Nuts) find satisfaction in the Playboy Bunnies and page-three girls of London’s nightlife? Sources say he goes through one meaningless relationship after another, and in this female reporters opinion this makes for either a highly troubled or very shallow man. For a shallow man to be responsible for the work pictured left leaves me at least feeling very cheated. This exhibition will be on display at the Tate Modern, Southbank, until the 19th of February.’
Bitch. Billy threw down the paper in disgust. He suddenly wanted to see Viggo again. He took a deep breath. This motivation for some reason linked to a need to apologise to Dom. He put on his coat.
“Sorry.” He grunted at Dom who was watching TV on the sofa, as he picked his keys up off the coffee table.
“That’s ok. You sulking proves you’re thinking about what I said.” He kept his eyes on the TV, changing channel as he spoke, hiding the meaningfulness of this under an off-hand attitude. Billy deflected it as quickly as a steroid-pumped tennis player nonetheless.
“There’s not a lot of thinking involved in smoking joints.” Dom’s face fell.