Subversion
by Calico


For Wax and Rosa, for making me justify Billy's existence. Billeeee!



It was all so gay, Billy thought distractedly; so, so, so, so gay. Gayer than anything Ian suggested, with or without the wicked older-guy smirk. Gayer than Orlando's shirt with pale pink ruffle-y bits - which, admittedly, was starting to look like a classically snarky fuck you to the industry instead of a fasion crime, but still. It was the sort of shirt that definitely watched Judy Garland in its youth.

He was getting sidetracked, and it was a defence mechanism, and maybe he should be getting out of here instead. This was, after all, undeniably, gleefully not-het. Far too gay for Billy to want to stick around.

And that, he thought faintly, as Elijah's wrists trembled in Billy's hands, as Dom and Orlando licked each other's tongues in a fashion that was frankly outrageous, was the problem. He... didn't want to leave the room.

Dom's hands on his hips, earlier, that had felt weird rather than wrong - not that it should feel wrong, seeing as they were Merry and Pippin, had spent most of '99 touching and a hearty part of the following years as well, but still. It was a little queer that a touch so blatantly sexual hadn't made his skin want to crawl away.

Queer as fuck, actually. Queer as fuck.

Dom finished the kiss and started complaining about his back, and Billy felt faint. Didn't they realise they were in a gay orgy? Not that Billy had ever been in one, but he was pretty sure there was supposed to be more sweating and groaning than this, and less dallying around.

Not that Elijah wasn't doing enough sweating and groaning to make all their throats hurt, of course. For all Elijah was a brilliant actor, he didn't do the straight thing all that convincingly. He looked like he'd been professionally trained to whimper.

Billy ignored the little voice that said he didn't do the straight thing all that convincingly right now either, tried to pay attention instead. "How about," Dom was saying to Orlando, moving him round between Elijah's legs, "you settle in here, and we can let Billy have fourteen."

He kissed Orlando from behind, just his ear, and Billy watched Orlando's expression tighten happily even as his own blood ran cold. He had to have a turn? Couldn't he just... not have a turn. That had worked well for him so far.

"Because it's probably time we finished up on thirteen anyway," Dom added, "and Billy's been all left out."

Orlando moved his cheek against Elijah's cock, terrifyingly natural, then thoughtfully licked his stomach. "What'll you do?" he asked, and Dom laughed all soft, looking up at Billy with a syrupy little smile.

"Whatever Billy wants me to," he said.

Shite, Billy thought, fear gearing up in his pulse. Maybe his turn could be, they all have a wee sit-down and then skip off home?

He had the strangest feeling that that wouldn't go down too well. Orlando was kissing Elijah's stomach, dark mouth skating over the skin like blotting paper. He hardly seemed aware of Elijah's cock curving up past his face, hardly seemed to notice that Dom was hovering over his shoulder with eyes like a predator.

"Uh, guys," Billy said, hearing his voice loud over the quiet noises of air being abused by Elijah's mouth, "I don't think I can." He swallowed, then realised that might sound a little cryptic. "Take my turn," he amended.

There was a moment when he thought he maybe had only imagined speaking, because no one moved to say that that was fine and if he felt uncomfortable he should leave and the door was over there and maybe they should all stop this, actually. No one said any of that. Elijah kept on panting.

Orlando said, "Why not?" with his mouth still against Elijah's stomach. That, Billy thought faintly, must have buzzed. From the looks of Elijah: yes. Definite vibration down there.

Why not, Billy thought. Ugh. Got to say it. He cleared his throat, tried to look as composed as possible. "I'm straight," he said, with only the tiniest hesitation.

"Oh, 'sokay, man," Elijah moaned, "me too," and Billy wanted a camera. Er, to preserve the farcical nature of the moment, naturally. Not because he wanted to immortalise the curve of Orlando's pale cheek against Elijah's smooth, gleaming cock.

Dom was laughing, and for a sickening slide of a moment Billy thought he'd spoken aloud. "He's... not, really, is he?" Dom smirked, and Elijah kicked him hard in the face.

Accidentally, Billy realised, distractedly, in the slo-mo seconds that followed, as Orlando laughed and Viggo unwrapped Billy's hands from Elijah's wrists and gave him a light push in Dom's direction, as Dom scowled into his cupped palm and muttered curses at Elijah's swinging heels.

"You okay?" Billy demanded, drawing him to one side, trying to see if there was any blood. Not using this as excuse to touch Dom's face, because why would he want to do that.

"Straight-boy here fucking cracked me one right between the eyes," Dom muttered, screwing up his forehead.

"Maybe it's time we wrapped all this up," Billy heard himself suggest, trying to sound as reasonable as possible. "If there's actual injuries occurring, it's hardly a good sign--"

Dom was already shaking his head. "It's fine," he assured, and Billy felt his stomach do a flipflop of dread. Dread! Yes. Most definitely; no doubts about that.

"Are you sure you don't need a touch of ice?" Billy said, desperately, then swallowed as he realised Dom was peering at him through his fingers. Peering like a - like he'd been peering at Orlando, he realised, stomach doing the Dread thing again. Like hunger and demand.

"I'm fine," Dom drawled, straightening, letting his hand fall from his forehead onto - fuck - Billy's arm. "You're pretty fine yourself."

"Ouch," Billy grinned, quickly, grabbing onto the cheesiness and holding on for dear life, "that sort of talk can get you evicted from the House of Puns."

Dom flashed a smile, all teeth. "I suppose I'd better shut up, then," he said, and slipped his hand from Billy's elbow to the small of his back, tugged him deftly closer.

"No," Billy said quickly, telling his legs to wake up and start running. "No, um."

"Umm," Dom agreed silkily, his other hand touching the back of Billy's head, and his mouth got closer extremely fast as he leaned in, and Billy almost forgot that accelerating stubble was not his favourite view of the week.

"Oi," he protested instead, "no," and Dom's mouth came to a halt a good three millimetres from Billy's lower lip.

"No?" Dom said, breath all warm.

"Straight, remember?" Billy said desperately, trying to twist his mouth away. Away. Yes.

"Straight," Dom said flatly, backing off a little. Billy felt a little sigh go through his body and decided it was relief.

"Yes."

Dom bit his lip apologetically. "Billy," he said cautiously, "straight men don't help gay men pin naked men to tables to facilitate kinky cocksucking." There was a pause, then Dom added, like Billy had asked him something, "and yeah, the two-on-one, that's kinky."

"I know," Billy said sharply.

Dom looked at him shrewedly. "I should think you do," he said, "but a straight guy wouldn't, see. A straight guy would see cock and close his eyes."

"I closed my eyes," Billy lied, remembering in sensational panoramic the tilt of Dom's mouth against Elijah's cock, the flicker of Dom's tongue against Orlando's wet skin.

Dom was smirking at him. "I saw you and you were watching," he said, and Billy gritted his teeth.

"Well, everybody checks things like that out," he said, "It's just morbid curiosity. Everybody looks."

"Mmhm," Dom said, gaze fixed on something to the right of Billy's mouth. Billy swallowed. He knew that game. It was the game of make-them-paranoid; the game of make-that-area-really-sensitive. It wasn't going to work.

"They do," Billy insisted, clinging on to the fact that he could still remember the topic of conversation. See, he was fine. Just because Dom looked like he might lean back in any minute didn't mean Billy would end up wanting him to. Madness to even suggest it.

"And which everybody is this?" Dom said, lowering his mouth slowly and pressing it against the corner of Billy's mouth.

Billy froze. Bastard. "Stop that," he said. Total, absolute bastard. "Everybody everybody."

Dom chuckled, kissed his way to Billy's ear, then back. Billy started breathing hard. From panic, certainly. He felt quite scared, after all. "Not everybody looks," Dom whispered, and Billy felt the light brush of his tongue like a firecracker in the gut. "And you've been looking at me all week. And even now, you're not repulsed by the way I had a dick in my mouth and now I'm kissing you." His hand coasted against Billy's throat, scratched a thumbnail under his jaw. "Either relax now, or I'm going to go find some wine."

Billy swallowed. The area under his chin was very sensitive, which was why Dom doing that with his nail made such a bright score there. That was the only reason. "Wine would be good." Dom was a cunning motherfucker.

"Why didn't you say so," Dom murmured, grinning, grip going firm on the back of Billy's neck, kissing him once so brief he couldn't protest and then marching him over to the armchair. "Now you just sit here," he said, pushing him down so he was splayed against the chair and then kneeling over him, knee sinking into the cushion between Billy's legs, "and I'll be right back. I'm sure they'll keep you entertained."

Orlando and Viggo were only topless, Billy noted frantically, the moment Dom moved away, so it wasn't like he was watching three naked men frolic just a few feet away. It wasn't like he couldn't take his eyes off three naked men. It wasn't like three naked men were making his boxers feel hot and restrictive.

Orlando did something with his hand, shielded by Elijah's lean naked - naked! - thigh, and Billy watched the shudder go through Elijah's body - naked body! - like a wave. He really needed that wine. His mouth was dry. His throat was dry. His dick was-- um, asleep, yes.

Asleep. As it should be.

Asleep, as that blessed shield of Elijah's thigh was pressed backwards against Elijah's stomach and then lifted so his ankle rested on Orlando's shoulder; asleep as he saw Viggo unbuckle Orlando's belt; most definitely asleep as he watched, at last, after what felt like infinity and a half, the surreal reality of Orlando's cock pushing slowly into Elijah's squirming body.

Well, porn was porn, he told himself, eventually, pressing the heel of his hand into his lap. Porn was porn was porn was--

"Hi," Dom said, lowering a cup of wine into his vision, grinning wolfishly when Billy jumped. "Engrossed, were you?"

"I'm not gay," Billy told him, and drank. The wine had a lot of tannin in it, but it was easy to swallow, felt cool and heavy and purple in his stomach.

"I'm putting the rest of the bottle down here," Dom said, and Billy wondered wildly what was going to be expected of him, if Dom was going to fuck him, if Dom took his continued attendance as implicit permission to bend him like an Elijah.

"I'm not," Billy insisted, drinking deeper, and Dom grinned and picked the bottle up by the neck, tipped it until the dark glossy stream had topped him right up. The tannin made his mouth taste tight after, and was the only thing responsible for the dry sensation all across his tongue. "I'm. straight."

There was a chink noise as Dom set the bottle back on the floor. "I know," he said simply, and lowered himself onto the arm of the armchair, his arm going round the back of it. It was an old green chair upholstered in dusty felt, and Billy thought it might crumble under their combined weight, but it didn't. "Don't mind me," Dom said.

Billy glanced at him suspiciously. Dom had a hand in his own lap, but it wasn't disgusting. He wasn't breathing hard, wasn't drooling, was practically innocent, perched there on the arm and watching Orlando take Elijah up the ass. While Viggo sucked Elijah off.

Er, practically innocent.

Billy wondered suddenly if they'd let him tape it, and if so, how much it would go for on e-bay. He'd never have to work again. Actually, porn of this calibre, he really wouldn't-- not that he thought this was arousing, though. Nuh uh. It'd be a fuck-flick for interested parties, which most certainly didn't include him.

"This is incredibly uncomfortable," Dom murmured, and Billy thought, no it's not, strangely enough, and then, um. What?

"What?"

"This," Dom said, and patted the arm of the chair. "It's hard."

"I thought you liked hard wood between your legs," Billy mimicked quickly, modifying it a tiny bit and feeling oddly proud.

"Only when it's up for fucking me," Dom retorted, and Billy swallowed. He hadn't expected... that. What a picture.

To make matters worse, his brain was only now making the connection of wood-wood-Elijah-Wood, and getting a whole new set of images. See, before, Orlando had basically said that Dom liked Elijah's body between his legs, which could be all sorts of things including blowjobs, whereas now Billy was saying Dom liked Elijah's dick between his legs, and. yes. Right. "Um," he said.

"So can I just slip down here?" Dom asked, patting the back of the chair next to Billy's head, and Billy decided to drink some more wine. He couldn't say no. Refusal of such a proposal wasn't acceptable, wasn't even explainable - but that meant that Dom was going to be all smushed up next to him, and that was just not on. More wine, yes please.

"Sure," he managed, when he'd almost emptied his cup. His stomach was glowing softly, and the earth made cunning little shifts whenever he blinked. "Go 'head."

"Thank you," Dom purred, and eased off the arm and into Billy's lap; Billy tipped him off as unhurriedly as he could, trying not to panic. He was right about the smushing. Dom's thigh was practically his own thigh, except it wasn't attached to his cock.

Not that he was thinking about his cock right now.

"Not too squashed, are you?" Dom said, and Billy forced a little laugh.

"Not at all."

"Good," Dom said. He sounded like he ate men like Billy for breakfast, possibly with a little ketchup or some freshly squeezed orange juice. Not in the same glass, obviously.

Jesus christ, Billy thought loudly, shut the hell up. His brain tumbled on, noticing how hot Dom's thigh felt and how Dom's arm had wound up so causally across his shoulders and how Dom smelled, oh, so good. Like an old-fashioned bar, one where they hung bunches of spices up above the chimney piece and the smoke curled around pitchers of ale, none of this pint malarkey.

With one corner of his mind, Billy wondered when he'd turned into a bizarre old man.

"Dear god," Orlando groaned, and Billy focused again to see Viggo on his knees behind Orlando, licking his-- whoa, Billy thought, and then, a moment later, huh. Viggo. He'd always known he was an odd guy, but whoa. That. um.

And Orlando seemed to like it, even weirder-- or, wait, no, because Orlando was making Viggo stop, and Elijah was keening like a lost lamb. A lamb that wanted to be fucked, Billy thought. Since when had they moved to Wales?

He almost laughed, almost shared the joke with Dom, then realised how still Dom was next to him. He glanced down, and Dom's free hand, yeah, in his lap, roving steadily over the same area again and again. For a fraction of a second, Billy mentally flashed his own hand there, and for a fraction of a second he imagined he felt Dom pushing up shakily to rub against his palm.

"Um," he said, looking at Dom's face, and Dom's glazed expression burnt briefly bright and alert.

"Yeah?"

Fuck. He'd had a joke. An... Elijah joke, too. One Dom would be amused by. Shit. "Elijah's... enjoying himself," he said weakly, then dashed the rest of his wine down his throat.

Dom grinned. "He is," he said, and leaned over the arm of the chair. His thigh flexed decadently, and Billy stared for a good three seconds before Dom wriggled and sat back down next to him, brandishing the wine. "More?"

"You're tryin' to get me drunk," Billy accused, and Dom raised one eyebrow.

"You get drunk on half a bottle of wine?"

Billy laughed. "No, but-- a full bottle," he said, "that'd set me on my way, no doubts about it."

"Don't drink a full bottle then," Dom said, shrugging one shoulder. He tilted the bottle in his hand. "Yes? No?"

"Yes," Billy said. Hell, maybe he wanted to get drunk, then he could blame whatever was going to happen on the alcohol swooping through his veins. Much neater.

Uh. What was going to happen?

Moving on! he thought quickly, staring at Dom's hand wrapped round the neck of the bottle, the firm competence of his grip, the width of his palm. It'd feel good round his cock. Moving on, he growled, lifting his cup slightly. Dom stopped pouring, smiled at him.

"Relax, Billy," he said.

His name sounded like a piece of melting chocolate, in that voice.

"I'll just set it down here," Dom said, and leaned forwards this time, bending so his stomach was against his thighs to set the bottle on the floor. His shirt inched up predictably, and Billy looked at the brown of his back, lightly freckled, dimpled deep around his spine.

He'd seen Monsignor Renard, so he knew what that spine led down to. He didn't often think about that, though.

"Fuck," Orlando said loudly, as Dom sat back and replaced his arm round Billy's shoulders, and Billy looked over and saw Viggo's arm braced around Orlando's stomach, Viggo's pelvis perfect against Orlando's ass. Three in a row, Billy thought faintly, and squirmed a little. That must... hurt.

Elijah started making noises like a barking seal, rhythmic and desperate, and Billy shifted again. Didn't sound like it hurt. Sounded-- pretty hot, okay? pretty hot, but, only, only because Billy had heard women get fucked when they'd made similar noises. Although Elijah's voice was more guttural, more fervent, like he really really wanted them to know how much of a brilliant thing it was to have a dick in his ass. Still pretty hot, despite that.

Because of that

Despite, Billy thought loudly. Despite. Despite. He tried not to think about how hard his leg was pressing against Dom's thigh.

"Fucking hell," Orlando growled, and Dom inhaled sharply, and Billy froze. Shite, and now Dom would want to go join in or something. Billy would go join in, if he had a chance. If there'd been a woman there, hell, Billy would've gone joined in already. Since Dom evidently preferred men, there was no reason he hadn't slunk over there, except for Billy over here.

He snuck another look at Dom's lap, saw his fingers curved around an unmistakable ridge in his jeans. The shape of it looked-- looked a lot like his own lap, but better defined, because Billy had loose trousers. And Dom wasn't pressing the air out the fabric with that hand of his, also.

The difference was the trouser-space, though, Billy forced himself to admit. Not that Dom was hard and Billy wasn't.

Porn, porn, natural reaction, his mind whinnied predictably, and it was very easy to follow that thought and discover that his natural reaction to sitting next to Dom-with-a-hard-on was to reach over, silent, tentative, cautious, and cover Dom's eager fingers with his own.

Jesuschrist, Billy's mind shrieked, the instant his brain registered what he'd done; Dom exhaled hard and long, and slid his hands away, thighs opening, leaving his whole lap open to Billy's touch. warm and hard, whoa.

He looked at Dom's face, then back at where Orlando's hands were physically lifting Elijah's ass as he pushed inside. Just... helping him out, helping out a mate, yes. That's the way.

He hitched his hand closer, felt Dom shift agreeably beneath it. Hell, it wasn't like he was one of those three, up there and naked and doing real hardcore sex things; this was more a public-school sort of thing, only going on because there were no available female crevices to explore.

Not counting Elijah, he thought sardonically, and grinned. Dom was grinning too, he realised, a sort of breathless self-satisfied grin, but probably because Dom must think he'd converted him, not because Dom could read his mind. Ha. Converted, no. Not quite on the agenda, sweetheart.

His hand felt comfortable now, rocking rhythmic and squeezing hard enough that he realised he could feel exact shapes beneath the denim. There, long, and there, flaring, and there, the end, probably damp if Dom wasn't wearing such industrial jeans.

Probably not that much sensation getting through, thick jeans like these, all told.

Some sober part of his mind threw up a sharp splinter about whether it was really Billy's business how much sensation Dom had, and he pondered that for a couple of seconds until Orlando groaned again and Dom ground up hard against his palm-- and see, yes, proof he wasn't feeling enough. And from a heterosexual point of view, it was surely better to finish wanking him off reallyreally fast instead of drawing it out long enough that his boundaries might start to blur.

Right, then, he thought cheerfully, draining his cup, and this was it, and was he - yes, he was, daring to wriggle his thumb at the zip until it loosened, then work his thumb just inside and draw it down down down.

He heard Dom's breath catch as he slid his hand inside, right inside. Underwear is for sissies, he thought distractedly, deciding that if he was gonna do this then it was going to be done right - and it was hotter in there, whoa, right up close in the smog of heat and cotton. Whoa. His fingers glided around Dom's cock of their own accord, finding it healthy and deliciously hard, twitching taut-satin against his palm, all too easy to squeeze.

"Ah," Dom breathed, his hand creeping across his thighs and wrapping around Billy's fingers, trapping them between hot cotton and hot skin, pressing down firm.

Billy almost panicked, but forced himself to breathe deep. C'mon, wine. Do your relaxation thang. Dom's grip started moving, coaxing Billy's fingers to move, and it was crude and covert and just exactly the sort of thing that shouldn't get Billy wishing he had a couple of hands working in his own lap as well.

Billy-- wished, and his thumb swept over the fluid at the tip of Dom's cock, and he caught himself wondering if it tasted the same as his own, if there was a universal taste for that sort of thing, or if every man was different and it was his prerogative to track all the different nuances down.

"I'm drunk," he declared, in a whisper. Shit. Thinking like this, he better be.

"Yeah," Dom hissed, then chuckled, glancing at him, leaning in to nudge his mouth at Billy's cheek. "No you're not."

Billy kept his hand moving, ignored the prickle of goose-pimples that washed over him at the brush of Dom's wet lower lip. "I am," he insisted, and Dom chuckled again, the innocent arm over Billy's shoulders suddenly looping round and holding him still, Dom's mouth nuzzled at his cheek and then inexorably sideways, and this time evading the kiss seemed both pointless and absurd.

Stubble, Billy thought distractedly, as the scrape of it burnt bright under his skin. Also: Dom liked to bite.

He could bite back, he decided triumphantly, but that wasn't what he discovered himself doing; rather, it was far too easy to let his mouth get worked open and suck Dom's tongue inside, shiver at the slick arrogance of it, at how perfect it felt to open his mouth wider still and invite Dom to do his worst. It was like, like, something.

Invasion was the word, he thought, but that had connotations of battle and soldiers and horses and green fields and flags and Richard III which he was going to see in England in a few weeks starring Keneth Brannagh-- so Dom kissing him, it wasn't much like an invasion at all. It was like a prickling brutal heaven, perhaps; a heaven that made him want to lie back and spread his legs like Pippin on a hot summer's afternoon.

Not that Pippin had ever got hot watching an Aragorn-Legolas-Frodo threesome, he thought. Assumed. Hoped, jesus. That was a little too much for his brain right now. He was having enough trouble with the multi-tasking so far; his hand was still on Dom's cock, still moving helplessly, but the rhythm was jarring since his attention had veered to Dom's teeth against his mouth. Dom's hand kept shifting down to close round his fingers again and again, jerking hard and fast as if to remind him before sliding back up Billy's arm to his hair, but it was like-- pedaling uphill, Billy decided dizzily, when Dom did it for the third time, kissing him sleekly deeper like reprimand confused with reward.

Pedaling uphill, because it was great while Dom was doing that encouraging thing, but the moment he let go Billy was slowing and losing the rhythm again. He thought about being apologetic, but Dom was hardly returning the favour with a Handjob O' Bonny Perfection, so Billy decided this whole thing was treat rather than obligation.

"Jesus," Dom muttered, and the way he twisted back seemed sudden to Billy, piercing his pleasant glaze with something icy. He sounded irritated.

Billy let go of Dom's cock reluctantly, pulled his hand back chaste against his own thigh. He felt... nervous. What the fuck? What did he think Dom was going to do, shout at him for giving lousy relief or something? Still.

Dom grimaced, and Billy thought pissily, scuse me, it's my first time, so shut the hell up, and then Dom was scrubbing at his own shoulder with one fist and cracking his neck with the other. "I swear," he muttered, "my back wasn't this fucked up last week. It's Orlando's fault. Stupid tree-climbing ninny."

Oh, Billy thought. Right. He wondered if he should put his hand back in Dom's pants now.

"I'll be with you in, um, one minute," Dom said, and unfolded from the chair, standing up and stretching massively until Billy heard a faint sickening crackle of spine. "Mm," Dom gasped, as if he was out of air.

Billy reached over and topped up his cup, noticing vaguely that the bottle felt pliable and light in his hand. Am drunk, he thought to himself. So there, Dom-boy.

Dom-boy, his brain parroted back to him, incredulously, a second later. Dear god. First, what a fucking stupid thing to say.

Second, look at him, look at him stretch and think about that dick in your hand. Hardly the physique of a boy.

"Whatcha thinking?" Dom said, stealing his cup for a quick sip and then setting it on the floor. He didn't sit back down so much as kneel, askew to Billy but definitely facing away from the floorshow.

"Nothing," Billy said, a little bemused. Since when was he more interesting than three men fucking? Weird. He wondered if he should put his hand back in Dom's pants now, then admitted that this wasn't the mental behaviour of an entirely straight individual. This was the mental behaviour of a man who needed severe sexuality counselling, if not a personal shrink to accompany him at all times. A pocket-shrink, even. Ha.

"No, what?" Dom said, and Billy shook his head quickly, feeling sexy and crowded.

"Seriously, nothing."

Dom's eyes went intense. "Tell me," he said, a bunch of feathers wrapped around a brick.

Billy swallowed. "I need a pocket-shrink," he said faintly, and Dom's eyes narrowed, "for, um--"

"Uh," Dom whispered, "okay, maybe I don't care," and kissed him, framing his chin with his fingers, and Billy decided he didn't care much either. The angle was different with Dom kneeling over him, and he tasted coolly fruit-rich, but the tone of it hadn't changed. Billy was beginning to wonder what was so good about the world for women that they never felt the need to kiss him with this much aggression.

He shifted restlessly, and Dom slid his fingers up into his hair, tilting his head up further as he moved his knee across Billy's thighs and settled it firmly the other side. Straddling him, huh. Straddling him, most definitely turned away from the floorshow. He wondered if he should put his hand back in--

"Do you wanna," Dom murmured, against his mouth, buzzing like Orlando must've earlier against Elijah's stomach, "um," and reached down, plucking his hand from where it was kneading his own thigh and drawing it up to Dom's waist, "carry on?"

Billy grinned against the kiss and set about working with Dom's fingers to open Dom's pants. The heat against his hands was almost as strong as the first time, and here, oh, it was closer, closer; closer that the intimate scent of that heat flavoured the kiss with something more serious, closer that when Billy's thumb found that moisture again, it was all too easy to touch it to his mouth.

"Oh, jesus," Dom muttered, breaking off the kiss to bite at Billy's thumb, then licking it into Billy's mouth and humming softly when Billy took the hint and sucked the salt off hard.

Tasted-- pretty familiar, all told, though he couldn't quite remember what his own dick tasted like, what with it being considerable hours since it'd last seen the light of day. Time to amend that, maybe, he thought slyly, abandoning the remnants of his pre-shrink hetero tact, and then Dom's jeans had gone lax in Billy's hands and he'd pulled them down, and Dom's fingers curled round Billy's hand and drew it to his cock, and then finished the kiss and - oh, jesus - straightened up, so everything was in full reach of Billy's mouth.

Billy stared at Dom's fingers, blunt and tan with bitten-down nails, curving round his own fingers tight and deliberate, enclosing the warm length of his cock. His mouth-- wanted to open, taste, taste the gloss at the end and feel the bulk of it against his tongue, but shit, seriously, quite a leap from pre-shrink to this rung on the ladder of queerdom.

Dom's thumb stroked up, playing just beneath the crown, hypnotic and restless. He could feel the pulse in his fist like something alien. He glanced up, saw Dom watching him, lips parted, eyes dark.

"You wanna, just," Dom murmured, cupping Billy's cheek with his other hand, stroking his thumb against his lower lip, "...yeah?"

Billy shivered, let Dom's thumb slide into his mouth and then away, and wanted more. And it wasn't that much different, he thought dizzily, inclining his head that crucial inch, relaxing his jaw enough that Dom could pry his mouth wider with his cock, sliding inch after slow warm inch inside.

He was wrong.

Very different, and, "ah, god," Dom drawled, drawing Billy's hand down down down and tight around the base, fisting his other hand in Billy's hair. "Fuckin' waited for this, ah, yeah."

Tasted stronger than Billy'd thought possible; strong and musky, almost enough to make him shy away, but when he tried to back off a little Dom made a tiny protest and pressed closer, his hips intimate and insistent, his fist curt in Billy's hair.

Shit, Billy thought wryly, starting to suck and unable to ignore the thrill sweeping over him; I'm a fuckin' sub. Or maybe, he thought, a moment later, maybe everyone felt like this, having a guy kneeling over them, sliding his hips luxuriously, invasion of his mouth in a totally non-Richard III sort of way.

He wondered what Pippin would think about it all, but had a feeling the little scamp had been playing games like this since he first learnt to swipe provocatively-shaped vegetables, and an odd resentment flew through him at realising his fictional counterpart would give Dom a better time than he could.

"Mm, just," Dom muttered, as Billy sucked him determinedly as deep as he could before his eyes prickled hot and he had to slide off a little, "reach round, yeah?"

It took Dom's wet fingers curling round Billy's wrist and guiding it round - no way - to Dom's ass before he caught on. No way. He made a helpless noise in his throat, pretty sure Dom couldn't be suggesting what he thought he was suggesting but overcome by the idea anyway, and Dom hissed and hunched his hips hard, making Billy choke and yelp all over again.

Dom pulled out, and Billy licked out a tattoo of breathless gratitude before rallying and trying to take him deep again, and then Dom was folding his fingers up unmistakably, and he almost wound up choking again. Apparently-- apparently, Dom was suggesting exactly what Billy'd thought. Apparently, Dom was the sort of guy that could only enjoy a blowjob with fingers inside him-- or else, Dom was the sort of guy that could enjoy something even more extreme, and Billy didn't quite know what to think about that.

Quite a lot of him was headed towards utter and abject celebration; the rest still had a feeling Dom was going to pat him on the head, kiss him one more time, then saunter over to Elijah and give that whimpering mouth something else to do.

"God, slow down," Dom breathed, when Billy sucked harder. His voice was hoarse, and Billy felt a spark of triumph.

Not going to scurry to Elijah just yet.

"I'm gonna, I don't wanna overwhelm you," Dom continued, barely a whisper, ludicrously tender, and Billy swallowed back a sudden confusion, tried to take him deeper still.

Dom's thighs were shuddering against his palms.

"--jesus," Dom growled, wrenching back, dropping into Billy's lap and kissing him fiercely, "jesus, man, I wanna do this right--"

Oh, Billy thought. Oh, wow. "Oh," he said. His voice sounded stunned, even to his own ears.

"No, no," Dom was muttering, scrabbling at Billy's belt, "no time, I can't, I'm too far, too late," and still kissing him, frantic he kicked off his own jeans and tugged Billy's trousers and pants down on the very next breath.

"You, ow," Billy heard himself protest, as his ass raked against the worn velvet of the chair hard enough to go warm with friction, and then Dom was kneeling over him and reaching behind and guiding Billy's cock to press up up whoa between his legs, and Billy choked the rest of his protest, "you not, hey, whoa--"

"you shut up," Dom panted, shifting impatiently and ignoring Billy's shattered gasp, "just, yes--" and then he was bearing down, taking Billy's cock painstakingly inside him, tipping his head back and snarling at the sky.

Ceiling, the pedant in Billy corrected, as the rest of his world dissolved, as frustration cannoned into sensation like the splash on being dipped in acid and then thrown in a loch. Dom's body was, was just, oh god. Hot as hell, and wet, wet inside, must've been doing something when Billy was trying to inhale his cock, and then Dom was lifting and corkscrewing down again, and Billy almost swallowed his tongue.

"You can talk now," Dom said faintly, a grin in his voice, and Billy-- couldn't.

"Uh," he managed, hands finding Dom's hips. His nails were digging in without his say-so, scrabbling and scratching, but Dom didn't seem to mind, didn't seem to mind at all.

"Lean-- move forward," Dom said, and rocking slightly and making Billy hiss, and he was pulling off his shirt, getting stuck with the top button and yanking until it slipped free, the turbulence making Billy hiss all over again. He was so tight, jesus-- tight but accommodating, wet enough to enjoy the ride.

He slid his hands up the muscle of Dom's back, the smooth warm skin proving another distraction. His world was composed of different degrees of heat, each distinct and devastating on its own plateau, folding over each other in eagerness to snatch his full attention. He thought the top of his head might burn off soon. He shuffled forwards gingerly, gritting his teeth.

"Yeah," Dom said, sliding his heels around Billy's waist and wriggling down--

"fuck," Billy gasped, because that, oh, that slid him deeper, harder, and Dom's shirt got flung to the floor and Billy was just being overwhelmed here, too much too fast.

Dom grunted something affirmative, started rocking purposefully in Billy's lap, and Billy made fists against Dom's shoulderblades to take Dom's weight, feeling his hips lift and parry like they'd been waiting weeks for the opportunity.

Dom grunted again, his skin going damp, and Billy could smell them, smell the sex of them, wondered sharply how long this'd been on the cards. Maybe Dom'd planned it since the beginning - after all, so little warm-up, he must've done something already unless he was just, like, accustomed to this or something-- loose, his mind provided helpfully, and then he was giggling, cheek pressed to Dom's chest, wet and salty.

"What?"

"Nothing," Billy said, kissing the skin beneath his mouth.

"What," Dom repeated, and Billy giggled again.

"Just thinking you were kinda loose," he said lightly, and Dom choked. "Accommodating, I mean," Billy added, like an afterthought, pushing his hips up smoothly and closing his eyes in something like bliss.

"You fuck," Dom said, arching his back and grinding down, "I'll leave--"

"Meant it in a good way," Billy mumbled, gritting his teeth, kissing Dom's chest some more as the heat in his stomach tumbled closer to an edge.

"Meant I'm - ah - a slut," Dom said sulkily, his hand scuffing in Billy's hair, guiding Billy's mouth to his nipple, and Billy sucked willingly, feeling the gasp before he heard it.

"You make a fuckin' ace slut," Billy slurred, palming his hips harder and picking up the pace, and this was wild, seriously wild, and Orlando did lock the door earlier, right? because to be barged in on right now would really not do.

"If I was married and having lots of sex with just one man, the effect'd be the same," Dom said, and Billy forced his eyes open because something in Dom's voice required extra attention - but Dom had his head tipped back, and his eyelashes were either squeezed tight or obscenely fluffy, and Billy didn't actually have all that much spare attention right now.

"You can't marry men," he said, and Dom laughed.

"We'll go to San Fran," he gasped, "they're up for it there," the words blending into a curse as he started to work his thighs, pulsing his body against Billy's cock like the world's most obscene bodypop, and Billy remembered his joke from earlier, dragged in a breath to spit it out.

"We can go to Wales - they marry sheep there, and Elijah."

What the hell was that, his brain demanded, as the ache in his stomach swelled wonderfully up his body, and then Dom was saying, "so you'll do - we'll do this again?" and Billy's breath caught on a whole different plane.

"Love to," he joked, then bit at Dom's chest to keep him quiet, to keep him from pushing Billy any further up that queer ladder than strictly necessary. "Hell, why stop at two? We could have the whole five--"

"I want to stop," Dom gasped, "at two," and then he was coming, the wet heat of it sudden between them, making Billy panic and bear up hard. Dom moaned, sounding somewhere between piteous and rapturous, and that felt so utterly sweet he had to do it again, again - and then it was like fucking the world's most delicious, pliant, overheated ragdoll, with Dom slippery and tight and clutching in his arms.

Billy lifted his hips, slamming up hard, over and over, racheting up the ache until it was a sore and thundering mist all through him, and then he was going giddy, again with the fireworks and acid and that ache slicing into joy. He caught sight of Elijah as he rode it out, that fervent blind enjoyment making a weird optical echo to Dom muttering curses as he shuddered on Billy's cock.

Elijah was fucking pretty, practically glowing as Orlando bent him to a ludicrous angle and held him there, grinding his hips, and then Billy was gasping and slumping back in the armchair, Dom heavy and wet in his arms. "Wales," Dom said, voice breaking into static as he coughed twice and then groaned, soft and low. "Lemme, lemme get up. Then we're talking Wales."

"We're not going to Wales," Billy managed, gritting his teeth as Dom peeled off him, then oofing quietly when Dom plonked back down across his lap. "Sticky."

"Wales is wet," Dom said, ignoring him. Billy thought that maybe stickiness comes with the gay thing; maybe the fastidious stereotype is because they're all so used to cleaning up mess that it's become automatic. Or compulsive.

"Scotland's wetter," Billy remarked, scratching his nose. Dom didn't seem all that fastidious, right now. Dom was slumping heavier against him, lazily mouthing his neck. Billy realised he was still wearing his shirt. God, how disgusting.

"We'll leave Scotland for now, then," Dom said, and he was quite clearly not about to move, and Billy sighed and crossed his arms around Dom's chest. Fine. The wine was still glowing in his stomach, curled up with afterglow. He was so incredibly warm.

They could sleep, then.

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