NaNoWriMo - The Story So Far, Parts 37-40
37. Hoochie Woman
His hands were on her everywhere.
Billy/Dom, Dom/Evi, PG, 500 words
He's seen the pictures, listened to the whispered reports in the press, and had one very memorable conversation with Doodle about it. But the whole thing never seemed real to him, never seemed like his Dommie. Not the Dom he knew in New Zealand, anyway. The Dom he knew in New Zealand had a tendency to wrap his arms and legs around Billy like some kind of crazed monkey. His Dommie liked to push a hand into Billy's lap, even when they were in public, and squeeze him just tight enough to make promises about later. New Zealand Dom once shoved Billy up against the side of their trailer and, pressing the entire length of his body against Bill's, kissed him so hard that Billy's knees very nearly gave out.
Dom was always touching Billy, always reaching out a hand or a foot or sliding over in their booth to rub his thigh against Billy's. He touched with his toes, fingers, and with the tip of his nose. Dom wrote words with his tongue in the small of Billy's back, words like sex and love and trust and mine. That's why none of what's happening seems real to Billy until one day his cell rings. It's Dom, begging Billy to fly out to Hawaii. Please come, Billy, Dom says. For our wedding, he adds, and Billy's heart skips a beat, despite what his head knows, which is that it's not their wedding but Dom's wedding. Billy wonders when, exactly, "our" stopped meaning "DomandBilly" and started meaning "DominicandEvi."
He goes, of course. Elijah has to prod and pry and beg and whine, but Billy gives in, just as he knew he would. Pictures, gossip, phone calls aren't enough. He has to see it for himself, has to watch the way that Dom touches her. Billy has to compare. It's masochism at its worst, but Billy has to know that "our" doesn't include him anymore.
It's a strange little reunion, the first time the entire Fellowship has been together since Return of the King, and all at once it's like nothing and everything has changed. Viggo and Bean still huddle together discussing football, Elijah and Dom still goof around playfully, and Orlando still flits between the two groups, as uncertain as ever of where he fits in. What's new is Billy on the outside, a spectator, exchanging only a few words Elijah when the youngest Hobbit bounces up to him and begs him to join in the celebration. Billy just smiles and shakes his head.
There's something different about the way that Dom touches her, something gentler when he puts a hand lightly on her hip, when he squeezes her hand and smiles at her. Something different and yet, just like the reunion itself, something exactly the same, in the way that Dom can't take his hands off of her, can't seem to keep himself from touching her. When Dom raises a glass, makes a toast to "our love," Billy finally understands.
*****
38. Horses
The camera is rolling. It's easy, like one, two, three.
Viggo/Orlando, NC-17, 500 words
Viggo doesn't know how to turn the damn thing on, ironic given that he's spent most of his life working around cameras, but the actual mechanics of the stupid things escape him. The one he has (actually, it's Dom's, borrowed in exchange for some paint and electrical tape and the mutual promise that they would neither ask nor tell) is so small that Viggo wonders where they would even put a fucking power button.
Orlando actually sets it up, mounts it on the little tripod that Dom so thoughtfully included, does a couple of tests to find the best angle, the best lighting. "My left side is my best side," Viggo teases, and Orlando shoots back, "Your backside is your best side, wanker." Viggo responds by swatting Orlando on his ass.
Once the scene is set, things are a little awkward. "How do we start?" Orlando whispers into Viggo's ear, both of them perched somewhat apprehensively on the edge of the bed. "I think we just... start," is Viggo's answer, given as he leans down to kiss Orlando's mouth.
They're both a little self-conscious, giggling like teenaged boys as they undress each other slowly, stopping occasionally to make remarks to the camera ("Aragorn is ticklish!") or remarks about the camera ("It's kind of close to the bed. Think it'll be safe from your graceful, Elven spazzing?").
Orlando is uncharacteristically quiet when Viggo crawls down his body, biting his lip to keep from crying out when Vig's tongue finally glides over his naked cock. Viggo finds it just slightly off-putting, and he circles Orlando's erection with his hand and pumps once, causing the younger man to thrust up, still soundless. "I want to hear you," Viggo says, and when he lowers his head again to take Orlando in, he finally groans Viggo's name.
Viggo is less self-conscious by the time that Orlando slips a finger inside of him. Orlando chuckles, and the vibrations rub up Viggo's spine as Orlando slides a second and then a third finger in. All memory of the camera is completely erased, and Viggo wantonly pushes back, fucking himself on Orlando's fingers as Orlando quickly twists his wrist.
It's clear that Orlando has forgotten the camera as well when he pulls his fingers out and slides his cock against Viggo's ass, groaning at the warm tightness as he presses the head in and stops, waiting for Viggo. But Viggo doesn't want to wait, and he thrusts backward, grunting "fuck me" at Orlando, who can't resist.
Only after they've finished, Orlando having spent himself inside of Viggo, Viggo in Orlando's hand, that they remember the camera. Orlando flushes and grins at Viggo and then ducks his head under the covers. Viggo nudges him playfully under the covers. "You can turn it off, now," he says. Orlando takes a blanket with him as he slides out of bed, wrapping it shyly around his naked waist.
Suddenly, Orlando dissolves into hysterical laughter. "We forgot to take the lens cap off."
*****
39. Hotel
Met him in a hotel. You say he's the biggest thing there'll be this year.
Viggo/Karl, NC-17, 500 words
When Karl winks at him from across the hotel bar, Viggo knows that it's his signal to meet him in the lobby in five minutes. Viggo quickly finishes his scotch, gives his regrets to Peter, citing a slight headache and the need to study the next day's lines, and sneaks away from the gathering.
Karl is waiting for him when he arrives in the lobby, and he wordlessly presses the up button. The elevator dings, the doors open, and they wordlessly step inside.
Before the doors are even fully closed, Karl has Viggo pressed against the mirrored back wall of the elevator, slamming him into it so hard that Viggo's head makes a dull thudding noise against it. He doesn't apologize, doesn't even look sorry as he shoves up against Viggo. Viggo groans and clutches at Karl's shoulders, his nails digging into Karl's white dress shirt.
Just as quickly, Karl switches their positions, turning so that he's leaning against the wall and pressing down on Viggo's shoulders, forcing him to his knees. Without a word, Viggo understands what's expected, and he eagerly reaches out and palms Karl's hard-on through his pants. Viggo quickly unzips Karl's pants and pulls out his cock, jerking the warm flesh twice before he leans forward and takes Karl's length into his mouth.
Karl thrusts forward, butting his cock against the back of Viggo's throat, but when Viggo moves his head back, Karl's hands are there, pressing him forward. He relaxes his jaw and sucks, hollowing his cheeks, and Karl's grip relaxes just a little. Viggo reaches up and takes hold of Karl's balls, rubbing them together with one palm while he makes quick work of Karl's erection. He can see himself in the mirrored wall, and the sight makes his own cock throb. Eagerly, Viggo works Karl's cock, running his tongue up the underside until Karl takes over. He holds Viggo's head still in his hands and thrusts his hips. Viggo watches in the mirror as Karl works, holding Viggo by the hair as he fucks his face, the only sound Karl's grunting, the rhythm growing until it seems to break. Karl's thrusts become erratic, and Viggo relaxes his jaw as Karl comes down his throat, leaving only the tang of semen behind.
Right on time, the elevator dings and the doors slide open to an empty hallway. Karl quickly tucks himself back into his pants and tugs the zipper up, while Viggo stands and brushes off his own shirt.
Viggo knows the protocol, the wink, the timing of the elevator ride, knows just how long he has to satisfy Karl, get him off before the elevator reaches his floor. And just as he knows that, he also knows that Karl will not follow him out of the elevator and into his room, will not extend the same courtesy to Viggo that Viggo does to him. He knows better than to look back into the elevator as he steps out and into the hallway beyond.
*****
40. I Can't See New York
I know his lips are warm, but I can't seem to find my way out.
Billy/Dom, PG, 500 words
It's impossible to navigate Dom's section of the house. There are boxes, some of which are empty, some that are half unpacked, and some that are still full, even four months into shooting. Notebooks are strewn around in piles, open to random pages covered in drawings and scribbles that Billy can't decipher. Even Dom's section of the refrigerator is a maze of cheese and beer bottles and a thawing pizza.
Billy's half of the house is, of course, tidy by comparison. He keeps his books on bookshelves, his videos neatly alphabetized in the rack next to the television, and all of his jackets properly hung up in the closet.
But Dom claims that he can find anything important without searching. Everything is in its place, he says. Billy is constantly putting that theory to the test. The Beatles' White Album, he'll say, and twenty seconds later Dom will pull it out of a box that was seemingly full of bent silverware. A salt shaker, Billy will request, and Dom will take less than half a minute to run to his closet and pull one out of a box full of jumpers.
Once, Billy tried to clean up after Dom, tried to introduce some kind of order into the barely-managed chaos that was Dom's half of their space. He stacked up the CDs next to the stereo, unpacked teacups and saucers and put them in their place in a kitchen cabinet. He straightened Dom's side of the bathroom counter, putting the hair products neatly into a basket under the sink and folding various sizes of towels, which he stacked in the closet.
Dom couldn't find anything for a week. Billy eventually gave up, and Dom's half of their house returned to its pre-cleaning state.
During the last week of principal photography, Dom's side of the house was easily packed. He walked through the house with boxes, shoving things into them at random. A half-finished bottle of shampoo went in with his socks. A pencil cup went in a box on top of his favorite winter jacket. He stacked newly-full boxes and crates on top of the ones that had remained sealed during their entire stay.
Billy, meanwhile, spent the entire week packing meticulously. He folded his t-shirts and laid his pants on top of them. He wrapped the dishes in newspaper and packed them gently into a box marked "fragile." All of his toiletries went into Ziploc baggies and then into their own separate box. Dom watched as he worked, having finished his own packing the day that he'd started.
"I don't understand you. You're never going to be able to find anything in those boxes," Billy said. "And you'll be dusting salt out of your pants for the next six months."
Dom smiled. "I can always find anything important." He stood up and gently kissed Billy on the mouth.
When he pulled back, still grinning, Billy chuckled and emptied the silverware drawer straight into a box with his CD collection.
His hands were on her everywhere.
Billy/Dom, Dom/Evi, PG, 500 words
He's seen the pictures, listened to the whispered reports in the press, and had one very memorable conversation with Doodle about it. But the whole thing never seemed real to him, never seemed like his Dommie. Not the Dom he knew in New Zealand, anyway. The Dom he knew in New Zealand had a tendency to wrap his arms and legs around Billy like some kind of crazed monkey. His Dommie liked to push a hand into Billy's lap, even when they were in public, and squeeze him just tight enough to make promises about later. New Zealand Dom once shoved Billy up against the side of their trailer and, pressing the entire length of his body against Bill's, kissed him so hard that Billy's knees very nearly gave out.
Dom was always touching Billy, always reaching out a hand or a foot or sliding over in their booth to rub his thigh against Billy's. He touched with his toes, fingers, and with the tip of his nose. Dom wrote words with his tongue in the small of Billy's back, words like sex and love and trust and mine. That's why none of what's happening seems real to Billy until one day his cell rings. It's Dom, begging Billy to fly out to Hawaii. Please come, Billy, Dom says. For our wedding, he adds, and Billy's heart skips a beat, despite what his head knows, which is that it's not their wedding but Dom's wedding. Billy wonders when, exactly, "our" stopped meaning "DomandBilly" and started meaning "DominicandEvi."
He goes, of course. Elijah has to prod and pry and beg and whine, but Billy gives in, just as he knew he would. Pictures, gossip, phone calls aren't enough. He has to see it for himself, has to watch the way that Dom touches her. Billy has to compare. It's masochism at its worst, but Billy has to know that "our" doesn't include him anymore.
It's a strange little reunion, the first time the entire Fellowship has been together since Return of the King, and all at once it's like nothing and everything has changed. Viggo and Bean still huddle together discussing football, Elijah and Dom still goof around playfully, and Orlando still flits between the two groups, as uncertain as ever of where he fits in. What's new is Billy on the outside, a spectator, exchanging only a few words Elijah when the youngest Hobbit bounces up to him and begs him to join in the celebration. Billy just smiles and shakes his head.
There's something different about the way that Dom touches her, something gentler when he puts a hand lightly on her hip, when he squeezes her hand and smiles at her. Something different and yet, just like the reunion itself, something exactly the same, in the way that Dom can't take his hands off of her, can't seem to keep himself from touching her. When Dom raises a glass, makes a toast to "our love," Billy finally understands.
*****
38. Horses
The camera is rolling. It's easy, like one, two, three.
Viggo/Orlando, NC-17, 500 words
Viggo doesn't know how to turn the damn thing on, ironic given that he's spent most of his life working around cameras, but the actual mechanics of the stupid things escape him. The one he has (actually, it's Dom's, borrowed in exchange for some paint and electrical tape and the mutual promise that they would neither ask nor tell) is so small that Viggo wonders where they would even put a fucking power button.
Orlando actually sets it up, mounts it on the little tripod that Dom so thoughtfully included, does a couple of tests to find the best angle, the best lighting. "My left side is my best side," Viggo teases, and Orlando shoots back, "Your backside is your best side, wanker." Viggo responds by swatting Orlando on his ass.
Once the scene is set, things are a little awkward. "How do we start?" Orlando whispers into Viggo's ear, both of them perched somewhat apprehensively on the edge of the bed. "I think we just... start," is Viggo's answer, given as he leans down to kiss Orlando's mouth.
They're both a little self-conscious, giggling like teenaged boys as they undress each other slowly, stopping occasionally to make remarks to the camera ("Aragorn is ticklish!") or remarks about the camera ("It's kind of close to the bed. Think it'll be safe from your graceful, Elven spazzing?").
Orlando is uncharacteristically quiet when Viggo crawls down his body, biting his lip to keep from crying out when Vig's tongue finally glides over his naked cock. Viggo finds it just slightly off-putting, and he circles Orlando's erection with his hand and pumps once, causing the younger man to thrust up, still soundless. "I want to hear you," Viggo says, and when he lowers his head again to take Orlando in, he finally groans Viggo's name.
Viggo is less self-conscious by the time that Orlando slips a finger inside of him. Orlando chuckles, and the vibrations rub up Viggo's spine as Orlando slides a second and then a third finger in. All memory of the camera is completely erased, and Viggo wantonly pushes back, fucking himself on Orlando's fingers as Orlando quickly twists his wrist.
It's clear that Orlando has forgotten the camera as well when he pulls his fingers out and slides his cock against Viggo's ass, groaning at the warm tightness as he presses the head in and stops, waiting for Viggo. But Viggo doesn't want to wait, and he thrusts backward, grunting "fuck me" at Orlando, who can't resist.
Only after they've finished, Orlando having spent himself inside of Viggo, Viggo in Orlando's hand, that they remember the camera. Orlando flushes and grins at Viggo and then ducks his head under the covers. Viggo nudges him playfully under the covers. "You can turn it off, now," he says. Orlando takes a blanket with him as he slides out of bed, wrapping it shyly around his naked waist.
Suddenly, Orlando dissolves into hysterical laughter. "We forgot to take the lens cap off."
*****
39. Hotel
Met him in a hotel. You say he's the biggest thing there'll be this year.
Viggo/Karl, NC-17, 500 words
When Karl winks at him from across the hotel bar, Viggo knows that it's his signal to meet him in the lobby in five minutes. Viggo quickly finishes his scotch, gives his regrets to Peter, citing a slight headache and the need to study the next day's lines, and sneaks away from the gathering.
Karl is waiting for him when he arrives in the lobby, and he wordlessly presses the up button. The elevator dings, the doors open, and they wordlessly step inside.
Before the doors are even fully closed, Karl has Viggo pressed against the mirrored back wall of the elevator, slamming him into it so hard that Viggo's head makes a dull thudding noise against it. He doesn't apologize, doesn't even look sorry as he shoves up against Viggo. Viggo groans and clutches at Karl's shoulders, his nails digging into Karl's white dress shirt.
Just as quickly, Karl switches their positions, turning so that he's leaning against the wall and pressing down on Viggo's shoulders, forcing him to his knees. Without a word, Viggo understands what's expected, and he eagerly reaches out and palms Karl's hard-on through his pants. Viggo quickly unzips Karl's pants and pulls out his cock, jerking the warm flesh twice before he leans forward and takes Karl's length into his mouth.
Karl thrusts forward, butting his cock against the back of Viggo's throat, but when Viggo moves his head back, Karl's hands are there, pressing him forward. He relaxes his jaw and sucks, hollowing his cheeks, and Karl's grip relaxes just a little. Viggo reaches up and takes hold of Karl's balls, rubbing them together with one palm while he makes quick work of Karl's erection. He can see himself in the mirrored wall, and the sight makes his own cock throb. Eagerly, Viggo works Karl's cock, running his tongue up the underside until Karl takes over. He holds Viggo's head still in his hands and thrusts his hips. Viggo watches in the mirror as Karl works, holding Viggo by the hair as he fucks his face, the only sound Karl's grunting, the rhythm growing until it seems to break. Karl's thrusts become erratic, and Viggo relaxes his jaw as Karl comes down his throat, leaving only the tang of semen behind.
Right on time, the elevator dings and the doors slide open to an empty hallway. Karl quickly tucks himself back into his pants and tugs the zipper up, while Viggo stands and brushes off his own shirt.
Viggo knows the protocol, the wink, the timing of the elevator ride, knows just how long he has to satisfy Karl, get him off before the elevator reaches his floor. And just as he knows that, he also knows that Karl will not follow him out of the elevator and into his room, will not extend the same courtesy to Viggo that Viggo does to him. He knows better than to look back into the elevator as he steps out and into the hallway beyond.
*****
40. I Can't See New York
I know his lips are warm, but I can't seem to find my way out.
Billy/Dom, PG, 500 words
It's impossible to navigate Dom's section of the house. There are boxes, some of which are empty, some that are half unpacked, and some that are still full, even four months into shooting. Notebooks are strewn around in piles, open to random pages covered in drawings and scribbles that Billy can't decipher. Even Dom's section of the refrigerator is a maze of cheese and beer bottles and a thawing pizza.
Billy's half of the house is, of course, tidy by comparison. He keeps his books on bookshelves, his videos neatly alphabetized in the rack next to the television, and all of his jackets properly hung up in the closet.
But Dom claims that he can find anything important without searching. Everything is in its place, he says. Billy is constantly putting that theory to the test. The Beatles' White Album, he'll say, and twenty seconds later Dom will pull it out of a box that was seemingly full of bent silverware. A salt shaker, Billy will request, and Dom will take less than half a minute to run to his closet and pull one out of a box full of jumpers.
Once, Billy tried to clean up after Dom, tried to introduce some kind of order into the barely-managed chaos that was Dom's half of their space. He stacked up the CDs next to the stereo, unpacked teacups and saucers and put them in their place in a kitchen cabinet. He straightened Dom's side of the bathroom counter, putting the hair products neatly into a basket under the sink and folding various sizes of towels, which he stacked in the closet.
Dom couldn't find anything for a week. Billy eventually gave up, and Dom's half of their house returned to its pre-cleaning state.
During the last week of principal photography, Dom's side of the house was easily packed. He walked through the house with boxes, shoving things into them at random. A half-finished bottle of shampoo went in with his socks. A pencil cup went in a box on top of his favorite winter jacket. He stacked newly-full boxes and crates on top of the ones that had remained sealed during their entire stay.
Billy, meanwhile, spent the entire week packing meticulously. He folded his t-shirts and laid his pants on top of them. He wrapped the dishes in newspaper and packed them gently into a box marked "fragile." All of his toiletries went into Ziploc baggies and then into their own separate box. Dom watched as he worked, having finished his own packing the day that he'd started.
"I don't understand you. You're never going to be able to find anything in those boxes," Billy said. "And you'll be dusting salt out of your pants for the next six months."
Dom smiled. "I can always find anything important." He stood up and gently kissed Billy on the mouth.
When he pulled back, still grinning, Billy chuckled and emptied the silverware drawer straight into a box with his CD collection.