Scottish (PG; Dom/Billy)
Title: Scottish
Author: SQ
Pairing: Dom/Billy
Rating: PG-13
SCOTTISH
Dom is still retching, face sticky and dirty, and all around is the suffocating smell mix of cough syrup, fresh rain on grass, and orc sweat. Billy slumps down against the stunt guy’s back, one eye on the direction being given up ahead, and one eye on Dom. He means to say something comforting, but it’s a joke that spills out instead, always a joke when he’s with Dom. “You heard the one about Noah and the second ark?”
Dom stares at him, eyes tired, but croaks out an encouraging “no”. Billy starts - working up to his perkiest voice - and watches Dom right up to the punchline, “…and God says, yes Noah, a multi-storey carp-ark.” Watches Dom and sees his chest heave up into a chuckle, a coughing fit that even make his ears shake.
“God, Dom, that sounds bad. You need…”
And Billy trails off. They all need rest, and maybe not even Dom deserves one when everyone else is standing here in the drizzle, the forever chill on this island.
Dom muffles a cough and maybe a laugh into the back of his carrier. “I just need a cup of hot tea, right? God, we’re so fucking British sometimes I feel like my parents.” Another hacking coughing fit seizes him, and Billy turns his head away. But he looks up again when Dom continues in a impish tone, “Bet this makes you feel right at home. You know what they say about the Scottish…”
“No, Dom, I don’t know, what do they say about us?” Billy mugs, playing the straight man once again.
“Well, the words wet, miserable and tightarses come into mind,” Dom teases, but his eyes slide down Billy’s back even as he laughs, and Billy forces a grin and shifts a bit further from his carrier. Dom’s gaze makes him uncomfortable when there’s something serious beneath the joke, and even when he’s covered in a sodden grey blanket he can feel a bit too naked.
Later, trudging back to the trailer, ears beginning to go askew, hair plastered to skin, Billy thinks again about Dom’s ridiculous generalisation in a joke, and can’t quite stop the churn in his stomach at the thought. The problem is not that Dom doesn’t know shit all about Scotland - he could Google it and find a million things - and it shouldn’t matter anyway, but Billy remains annoyed, even after a hot shower and dry clothes, glowering at Dom over dinner.
*
It takes less than a day for Dom to realise he’s pissed his best friend off. And off he goes, tearing around the set, trying to make amends. “First thing you can think of about the Scottish, quick.”
Elijah, smartarse, says “Billy”.
“No, other than Billy, moron.” Lij shrugs, takes another drag on his smokes, says simply, “Well, I don’t think about the Scottish then.”
Sean A goes on and on about heathers and moors, something about nature’s beauty. Orli can only remember trying to get the accent down in drama school, and goes on to give a pretty shite impression of Billy, all vowel sounds and not enough charm. Ian raises an eyebrow over the top of his morning paper and Dom finds himself making an abrupt turn to bother someone else. In the end it’s Viggo who gives him an answer, says without looking up, “Music, Dom, bagpipes.”
After that’s solved, there’s the question of how he’s going fix things, and all Dom can come up with is the most elaborate joke he’s ever played on Billy, for Billy. It involves at least five phone calls home, playing phone tag with an old classmate who went on to a place at the conservatorium to arrange a hurried recording session, an airmailed package to New Zealand, and two covert ops with a drunk Lij as prop, just managing to distract Billy from the front door of his flat long enough for Dom to nip inside and make a quick substitution (though the first attempt is a bust because the tape in question is actually in the car, and a handful of drunk Elijah is harder to handle than he originally expected).
Tapes, they’ve been to known to scoff at Billy, calling him an old fashioned fuck, but Billy just laughs and says it reminds of home, of being fifteen and lazy afternoons after school lying in bed. Dom teases him sometimes, needling him, asking Billy what he was doing at fifteen alone in his room. Billy always answers, with a straight face and a sidelong look, “singing”. But his hands make an incredibly accurate and obscene gesture that has them all in stitches.
Dom has to wait a while for the whole thing to come together, but it’s worth it when Billy arrives at feet with his car stereo blaring a tape of Billy’s favourite tracks all in bagpipe, though he only thinks it was maybe worth it when the headache from the fucking noise kicks in. But that’s compensated for when Billy hums the songs all day up in the tree, a smile on his face, his voice for Dom’s ear only as they munch on their apples on a deserted set.
*
Dom’s generosity drives Billy mad sometimes, his propensity to share everything - clothes, jokes, his friends. Out on the town, Dom turns up the charm and flirts with everyone on Billy’s behalf. “Give my mate Billy a kiss then,” and over the last year Billy’s had all sorts brush his lips and cheeks, good looking birds, various barmen who laugh and go on to pull them another beer, even a burly bikie who Billy was very glad to see had a good sense of humour.
And then there’s the sharing of odd trivia that even Billy sometimes thinks are lies. "D’you know, formicophilia is the fetish for having small insects crawl on your genitals?” “Male seahorses give birth to baby seahorses.” “Hey Bills, turns out marmalade is a Scottish invention.”
“Marmalade?”
“Yeah, the runny stuff with orange peel in it, on toast for breakfast and whatnot.”
“Scottish. Not English. Are you sure?”
“Mm, yeah.”
Dom won’t reveal his sources for any of these facts, just that they are and he believes in them and that’s that. Elijah makes a few paranoid protests about things on the internet being so not true, but Dom won’t be challenged by anyone, and on the issue of marmalade he won’t even be drawn by Billy himself, man of Scotland and all that.
The next morning Billy finds a small pot of marmalade waiting for him in their trailer. In the rush to get to Feet, Billy forewent breakfast and a good strong coffee is probably more his thing right now. But he picks up the little silver spoon set by and dips it into the pop, puts a spoonful of the sticky clear orange paste into his mouth with sleepy lidded eyes. The marmalade bursts sweet and sour and wonderful on his tongue, a taste of home he hadn’t even known to miss.
*
It’s strangely comfortable, lying on couch with Dom half beside, half draped on him. Not the best position for Playstation but Billy can’t be arsed to shift out of the warmth, and they play game after game where their avatars die unfortunate deaths for their hands being in unhelpful positions.
Billy’s staring at the screen almost upside down, when Dom crawls until he is on top of Billy, a human blanket.
“Cold, Bills?” Dom’s got a puzzling look on his face, and Billy hears the question, and another behind it.
“Uh, a little. We’ve got a blanket around here somewhere…” He tips his head to the side, makes to get up into a sitting position. But Dom is still on him, his legs astride Billy, and the movement slides him into Billy’s lap. Dom’s face breaks into a naughty grin, and he pulls a tartan rug from under the sofa. He shakes it out gleefully, watching Billy’s face for his amused reaction, then tucks it around the both of them. It’s like a cave for a moment, dark and warm.
“This is cosy.” Dom says, and shifts until his head is pillowed on Billy’s shoulder, one arm around Billy’s neck, the other hand now holding on around Billy’s waist. “This ok with you?”
Billy’s not sure what to say. He grunts, buying time while his brain works through all sorts of reactions, sorting for an appropriate thing to say while being kept warm by an armful of best mate who you don’t have any inappropriate thoughts about, oh no. In the end, he’s rescued from having to answer when Dom takes pity on him and leans up and forward for a kiss.
Dom takes his time kissing Billy. His hands either side of Billy’s head, holding him still, safe. Mouth ghosting over the top of Billy’s head where his hairline is retreating but he’s never felt self-conscious about it before now. A slow meander, past his cheeks, until their lips meet, a little rough, chapstick washed or wiped away. But gentle, and Dom presses insistent against him, and Billy finds himself kissing Dom back timidly. Dom senses his hesitation, and moves away every now and then, and little warm puffs of breath touch Billy instead. Dom keeps his eyes closed though, and he doesn’t open them until he moves away for the third time, three too-short kisses over a moment that seems to have lasted for hours.
Billy opens his mouth, closes it, looks genuinely started. He finally breaks the silence, joking weakly, “So what’s with this fetish for all things Scottish all of a sudden?”
“Really only the one thing,” Dom answers, serious and smiling, the joke as always the back-up for the things they say to each other that mean more. “Am I forgiven for - for not knowing more about the ways of the Scots?”
Billy makes an amused noise. “You set me up, didn’t you? You weren’t just all over me for the warmth.”
“The best things are always worth the effort,” Dom says, and Billy thinks back over the last few weeks, and agrees fervently. “Thank you,” he says; then takes a deep breath and kisses Dom back, this time with a great deal more intent.
They take even more time in kissing the second time around, and the heat spreads everywhere over the two of them, head to fingertips and then other places. They’ve managed to divest Dom’s jersey and Billy’s jeans, when Dom sits up, hips still pressed against Billy, and says with a naughty look, “Bills, do you know the one about the Scotsman, the octopus and the bagpipe?”
Billy laughs, long and hard, and through kisses he manages to say, “Aye, and you’re halfway there.”
END
The joke is:
A guy walks into a bar with an octopus. He sits the octopus on a stool and announces that this is a very talented octopus, which can play any musical instrument in the world. Everyone laughs at the man, calling him an idiot. So he says that he'll wager $50 to anyone who has an instrument that the octopus can’t play.
Someone walks up with a guitar and puts it beside the octopus. Immediately the octopus picks up the guitar and starts playing better than Santana. The guitar man pays up his 50. Another guy comes up with a trumpet. This time the octopus plays like Miles Davis. This guy pays his 50.
Then a Scotsman hands over a set of bagpipes. The octopus fumbles with it for a minute and then sits down with a confused look.
"Ha," the Scot says. "Can ye no play it?"
The Octopus looks at him and says: "Play it? I’m going make love to it as soon as I figure out how to get these pyjamas off..."
Author: SQ
Pairing: Dom/Billy
Rating: PG-13
SCOTTISH
Dom is still retching, face sticky and dirty, and all around is the suffocating smell mix of cough syrup, fresh rain on grass, and orc sweat. Billy slumps down against the stunt guy’s back, one eye on the direction being given up ahead, and one eye on Dom. He means to say something comforting, but it’s a joke that spills out instead, always a joke when he’s with Dom. “You heard the one about Noah and the second ark?”
Dom stares at him, eyes tired, but croaks out an encouraging “no”. Billy starts - working up to his perkiest voice - and watches Dom right up to the punchline, “…and God says, yes Noah, a multi-storey carp-ark.” Watches Dom and sees his chest heave up into a chuckle, a coughing fit that even make his ears shake.
“God, Dom, that sounds bad. You need…”
And Billy trails off. They all need rest, and maybe not even Dom deserves one when everyone else is standing here in the drizzle, the forever chill on this island.
Dom muffles a cough and maybe a laugh into the back of his carrier. “I just need a cup of hot tea, right? God, we’re so fucking British sometimes I feel like my parents.” Another hacking coughing fit seizes him, and Billy turns his head away. But he looks up again when Dom continues in a impish tone, “Bet this makes you feel right at home. You know what they say about the Scottish…”
“No, Dom, I don’t know, what do they say about us?” Billy mugs, playing the straight man once again.
“Well, the words wet, miserable and tightarses come into mind,” Dom teases, but his eyes slide down Billy’s back even as he laughs, and Billy forces a grin and shifts a bit further from his carrier. Dom’s gaze makes him uncomfortable when there’s something serious beneath the joke, and even when he’s covered in a sodden grey blanket he can feel a bit too naked.
Later, trudging back to the trailer, ears beginning to go askew, hair plastered to skin, Billy thinks again about Dom’s ridiculous generalisation in a joke, and can’t quite stop the churn in his stomach at the thought. The problem is not that Dom doesn’t know shit all about Scotland - he could Google it and find a million things - and it shouldn’t matter anyway, but Billy remains annoyed, even after a hot shower and dry clothes, glowering at Dom over dinner.
*
It takes less than a day for Dom to realise he’s pissed his best friend off. And off he goes, tearing around the set, trying to make amends. “First thing you can think of about the Scottish, quick.”
Elijah, smartarse, says “Billy”.
“No, other than Billy, moron.” Lij shrugs, takes another drag on his smokes, says simply, “Well, I don’t think about the Scottish then.”
Sean A goes on and on about heathers and moors, something about nature’s beauty. Orli can only remember trying to get the accent down in drama school, and goes on to give a pretty shite impression of Billy, all vowel sounds and not enough charm. Ian raises an eyebrow over the top of his morning paper and Dom finds himself making an abrupt turn to bother someone else. In the end it’s Viggo who gives him an answer, says without looking up, “Music, Dom, bagpipes.”
After that’s solved, there’s the question of how he’s going fix things, and all Dom can come up with is the most elaborate joke he’s ever played on Billy, for Billy. It involves at least five phone calls home, playing phone tag with an old classmate who went on to a place at the conservatorium to arrange a hurried recording session, an airmailed package to New Zealand, and two covert ops with a drunk Lij as prop, just managing to distract Billy from the front door of his flat long enough for Dom to nip inside and make a quick substitution (though the first attempt is a bust because the tape in question is actually in the car, and a handful of drunk Elijah is harder to handle than he originally expected).
Tapes, they’ve been to known to scoff at Billy, calling him an old fashioned fuck, but Billy just laughs and says it reminds of home, of being fifteen and lazy afternoons after school lying in bed. Dom teases him sometimes, needling him, asking Billy what he was doing at fifteen alone in his room. Billy always answers, with a straight face and a sidelong look, “singing”. But his hands make an incredibly accurate and obscene gesture that has them all in stitches.
Dom has to wait a while for the whole thing to come together, but it’s worth it when Billy arrives at feet with his car stereo blaring a tape of Billy’s favourite tracks all in bagpipe, though he only thinks it was maybe worth it when the headache from the fucking noise kicks in. But that’s compensated for when Billy hums the songs all day up in the tree, a smile on his face, his voice for Dom’s ear only as they munch on their apples on a deserted set.
*
Dom’s generosity drives Billy mad sometimes, his propensity to share everything - clothes, jokes, his friends. Out on the town, Dom turns up the charm and flirts with everyone on Billy’s behalf. “Give my mate Billy a kiss then,” and over the last year Billy’s had all sorts brush his lips and cheeks, good looking birds, various barmen who laugh and go on to pull them another beer, even a burly bikie who Billy was very glad to see had a good sense of humour.
And then there’s the sharing of odd trivia that even Billy sometimes thinks are lies. "D’you know, formicophilia is the fetish for having small insects crawl on your genitals?” “Male seahorses give birth to baby seahorses.” “Hey Bills, turns out marmalade is a Scottish invention.”
“Marmalade?”
“Yeah, the runny stuff with orange peel in it, on toast for breakfast and whatnot.”
“Scottish. Not English. Are you sure?”
“Mm, yeah.”
Dom won’t reveal his sources for any of these facts, just that they are and he believes in them and that’s that. Elijah makes a few paranoid protests about things on the internet being so not true, but Dom won’t be challenged by anyone, and on the issue of marmalade he won’t even be drawn by Billy himself, man of Scotland and all that.
The next morning Billy finds a small pot of marmalade waiting for him in their trailer. In the rush to get to Feet, Billy forewent breakfast and a good strong coffee is probably more his thing right now. But he picks up the little silver spoon set by and dips it into the pop, puts a spoonful of the sticky clear orange paste into his mouth with sleepy lidded eyes. The marmalade bursts sweet and sour and wonderful on his tongue, a taste of home he hadn’t even known to miss.
*
It’s strangely comfortable, lying on couch with Dom half beside, half draped on him. Not the best position for Playstation but Billy can’t be arsed to shift out of the warmth, and they play game after game where their avatars die unfortunate deaths for their hands being in unhelpful positions.
Billy’s staring at the screen almost upside down, when Dom crawls until he is on top of Billy, a human blanket.
“Cold, Bills?” Dom’s got a puzzling look on his face, and Billy hears the question, and another behind it.
“Uh, a little. We’ve got a blanket around here somewhere…” He tips his head to the side, makes to get up into a sitting position. But Dom is still on him, his legs astride Billy, and the movement slides him into Billy’s lap. Dom’s face breaks into a naughty grin, and he pulls a tartan rug from under the sofa. He shakes it out gleefully, watching Billy’s face for his amused reaction, then tucks it around the both of them. It’s like a cave for a moment, dark and warm.
“This is cosy.” Dom says, and shifts until his head is pillowed on Billy’s shoulder, one arm around Billy’s neck, the other hand now holding on around Billy’s waist. “This ok with you?”
Billy’s not sure what to say. He grunts, buying time while his brain works through all sorts of reactions, sorting for an appropriate thing to say while being kept warm by an armful of best mate who you don’t have any inappropriate thoughts about, oh no. In the end, he’s rescued from having to answer when Dom takes pity on him and leans up and forward for a kiss.
Dom takes his time kissing Billy. His hands either side of Billy’s head, holding him still, safe. Mouth ghosting over the top of Billy’s head where his hairline is retreating but he’s never felt self-conscious about it before now. A slow meander, past his cheeks, until their lips meet, a little rough, chapstick washed or wiped away. But gentle, and Dom presses insistent against him, and Billy finds himself kissing Dom back timidly. Dom senses his hesitation, and moves away every now and then, and little warm puffs of breath touch Billy instead. Dom keeps his eyes closed though, and he doesn’t open them until he moves away for the third time, three too-short kisses over a moment that seems to have lasted for hours.
Billy opens his mouth, closes it, looks genuinely started. He finally breaks the silence, joking weakly, “So what’s with this fetish for all things Scottish all of a sudden?”
“Really only the one thing,” Dom answers, serious and smiling, the joke as always the back-up for the things they say to each other that mean more. “Am I forgiven for - for not knowing more about the ways of the Scots?”
Billy makes an amused noise. “You set me up, didn’t you? You weren’t just all over me for the warmth.”
“The best things are always worth the effort,” Dom says, and Billy thinks back over the last few weeks, and agrees fervently. “Thank you,” he says; then takes a deep breath and kisses Dom back, this time with a great deal more intent.
They take even more time in kissing the second time around, and the heat spreads everywhere over the two of them, head to fingertips and then other places. They’ve managed to divest Dom’s jersey and Billy’s jeans, when Dom sits up, hips still pressed against Billy, and says with a naughty look, “Bills, do you know the one about the Scotsman, the octopus and the bagpipe?”
Billy laughs, long and hard, and through kisses he manages to say, “Aye, and you’re halfway there.”
END
The joke is:
A guy walks into a bar with an octopus. He sits the octopus on a stool and announces that this is a very talented octopus, which can play any musical instrument in the world. Everyone laughs at the man, calling him an idiot. So he says that he'll wager $50 to anyone who has an instrument that the octopus can’t play.
Someone walks up with a guitar and puts it beside the octopus. Immediately the octopus picks up the guitar and starts playing better than Santana. The guitar man pays up his 50. Another guy comes up with a trumpet. This time the octopus plays like Miles Davis. This guy pays his 50.
Then a Scotsman hands over a set of bagpipes. The octopus fumbles with it for a minute and then sits down with a confused look.
"Ha," the Scot says. "Can ye no play it?"
The Octopus looks at him and says: "Play it? I’m going make love to it as soon as I figure out how to get these pyjamas off..."