Book 1, Chapter 6: Presentation Night
Title: Presentation Night (in two parts)
Authors: escribo and kiltsandlollies
Characters: Billy and Dominic
Word count: 4239
Summary: Dominic attempts to define what it is he wants for the future
Index
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction; the recognizable people in the story belong to themselves and have never performed the actions portrayed here. I do not know the actors nor am I associated with them in any way. If you are underage, please do not read this story. I am not making any profit from these stories, nor do I mean any harm.
For a while now, Dominic has fancied himself half in love with the professor who has been so encouraging and supportive of him. What is not in doubt is how often he's begun fantasizing about Billy and how those thoughts had seemed to increase in the days leading up to this night. The small fire in the fireplace has warmed the house nicely and Dominic had willingly given up his jacket when Billy had invited him inside. A blush had blossomed on his cheeks when Billy had put his hand on the small of Dominic's back to lead him into the front room with the other students, and again when their fingers had brushed together as Billy handed him a bottle of ale. Now, Dominic sits cross-legged in front of the fire, overwhelmed slightly, but happy.
The other students in attendance are mostly older than Dominic, postgraduates, but a brave few from his own class have come as well to hear the postgrads present their thesis papers. Dominic isn't brave, only too overcome by curiosity to see Billy's home. He's actually quite uncomfortable in the company, none of whom have gone out of their way to make him feel included. Still, he feels oddly comfortable in Billy's home, as if he belongs there, and sometimes through the drier presentations, he imagines that he eventually will.
It's only daydreaming, he knows. If he ever found himself alone with Billy--if everyone else here tonight suddenly remembered appointments they needed to keep--he's sure of two things. One, he wouldn't have the nerve to do the things he wanted to do--he’d never let Billy know what he was thinking, because he respects Billy too much--and two, even if he did manage to gather the courage to tell Billy, he knows he’d be rejected for any number of reasons, probably beginning with his age and ending with the fact that he's almost certain that Billy is straight. That's the way these things go, even if it were appropriate for Dominic to entertain such thoughts, which he knows it's not. He can't help indulging them, though, especially when he can see that even Billy appears to be somewhat lost to his own thoughts at the moment.
Billy had told Dominic at some point only a few days before this gathering that he enjoyed having students over on the odd occasion; not because he's one of those professors, but because these things tend to make his students feel more comfortable in the weeks afterward. And as Billy's reminded the students, running through their presentations with him can only help; there's hardly a professor on the dissertation committees who could or will rake them over coals hotter than those Billy throws in their path--coals Billy can still clearly remember walking himself.
What he hadn't told Dominic is that he'd nearly vomited with nerves twice the morning of his dissertation defense so many years before. He hadn't felt unsure of himself or his arguments, but the idea of standing before a dissertation committee only 48 hours after the worst night of his life had been hard to contemplate, much less actually face. But face it he had, because none of the four professors who had questioned him had known or cared that Billy had spent the previous hours trying to sober up, in every definition of the phrase. None of them had known or cared that his mind had felt wiped clean of everything but the dissertation and the scent of wet grass, a scent that had clung to Billy even after four showers and too much sleep. He'd never needed so much to stay awake before, to finish finally what he'd started six years before on another campus. If it hadn't been for the persistent ache in his back and legs and chest, Billy might have felt happy, excited even.
It had come to Billy just as he'd arrived at the campus that morning that he could do better than his professors had done by him and his classmates. He would find a way to earn his students' respect without grinding them down to hard nubs. He would stand in front of them to teach, not to intimidate, and he would do right by them, always. He would work the system to make certain they received the education they needed, not curricula drawn up thirty years before by an embittered professor determined to do unto others what had long been done to him. Billy would be different, and he would be good.
That thought had steadied Billy as he'd made his way to the classroom. He'd carried little more than his notes, and his walk had been measured, slow and calm. There had been, after all, little damage the four professors could do worse than what Billy had suffered so recently, and even if he'd fucked things up completely--argued too vehemently or not enough--Billy had been prepared.
It had only been when Billy had pushed the hair from his face that there had been even the slightest sound from those professors--a sharp inhale, from the gentleman in the middle--and Billy's smile had tightened. The bruise on his cheekbone had throbbed in sympathy, and Billy had steeled himself for the two hours of academic hell to follow. Afterward--after he’d passed, after he’d been freed from the room--Billy had gone back to his little room off campus and slept like a dead man. It had taken days and a letter from his advisor to absolutely convince Billy that he'd survived.
Billy remembers now falling back onto his bed and staring at the ceiling for hours, exhausted and elated at once. The smell of wet grass had disappeared from the air around him, and his body had no longer burned. And though circumstances would prove him not quite correct soon enough, Billy remembers believing himself healed then, healed from the inside out.
His students are now traveling the road to their own healing, or at least to their futures. It's Billy's turn to listen, finding something good in most presentations before he attacks--sometimes gently, but more often with quietly scathing questions and remarks. He takes no notes, mostly because he prefers to rely on memory and the power of the student's argument, but also because he doesn't want to be seen scribbling while someone explains their last few years' work.
The student finishing up his presentation now, Rob, doesn't appear to have made a month's work of effort, much less years. He comes to an abrupt stop in his summary before grinning over the top of his paper, looking to his peers for approval but meeting none of the scattered murmurs of approval that had followed the first few speeches. Holding court from a worn chair in a corner of the room, Billy has worked hard to keep down his displeasure until Rob has finished speaking, but now he begins to harshly question Rob's weak thesis statement and supporting evidence. Rob argues back with a ferocity that Dominic couldn't imagine leveling against Billy; in fact, he feels an inexplicable anger welling up inside his chest that anyone would, especially with an argument so flawed that even the undergraduates in the room could have pointed out its problems. Billy and Rob parry, but not for long, and Billy sits with his usual unequaled calm, his fingers steepled beneath his chin as he listens.
It's only when Rob has run out of arguments that Billy begins a short lecture on the subject of Rob's thesis: the nature of moral responsibility between parent, child, and school, with emphasis on academic philosophy. And as Billy speaks it becomes clear that Billy's asked these questions of himself over and over again, and only now does he believe he might be close to the answers. Only one student in here has been privy to this new small obsession of Billy's--that of publishing a potentially controversial screed on British academic philosophy. He hasn't usually shared his intentions to publish with anyone but Miranda and Andrew, but in the last several weeks Billy had found himself spilling his current thoughts during an advising appointment with Dominic.
And now Dominic watches and listens to Billy carefully, absorbing his words. He's surprised when Billy directs a question at him; he hadn't expected to be singled out at this gathering. But Dominic sits up straight as he answers, his eyes never wavering from Billy's, and grins at Billy's visible pleasure at his response. With his short answer, Dominic has demonstrated the faults in Rob's statement and revealed the circular reasoning of his argument with Billy. He feels bad when Rob's shoulders sag a bit in defeat, but he also experiences an unexpected joy from the mastery of the topic, a joy he easily yet unconsciously attaches to Billy.
Afterward, there's a moment of awkward silence--of Rob studying the papers in his hand as if wondering how they had failed him so horribly--and the other students shift uncomfortably in sympathy or in nervousness over their own upcoming presentations. They're all glad when Billy rises from his chair and shoos his students out for a break, stopping to crouch down by Rob and speak to him while everyone else scatters. Dominic watches as Billy talks to Rob for a moment and then disappears into the kitchen with two of his graduate students.
Throughout the night, Dominic had begun to feel a bit of camaraderie with one of them, a pretty blonde called Sophie Winters. He can see her infatuation with Billy as easily as he feels his own but notes, too, that Billy doesn't respond to her fluttering lashes or her too loud laugh; instead Billy simply nods at her pizza, professor, should we ...? and gestures her toward his kitchen.
Dominic keeps his seat for a few moments, ignored by everyone left in the room, before he gets up to find the loo. He remembers from the directions Billy had given someone else earlier that it's just off the narrow hall. Reaching for the light switch, Dominic is distracted by the half-opened door farther down the hall, behind which hides Billy's bedroom. The temptation is too great. He quickly glances over his shoulder to make sure he's alone before he steps inside the room, practicing the excuse he'll give if he's discovered.
He doesn't dare turn on the light, though he wants to. He wants to search through the room like Sherlock Holmes, to be honest, discovering clues about the way Billy lives and thinks and breathes. He limits himself to the bed, though, standing and staring at the messy, rumpled sheets and the carelessly thrown duvet--at the impression where Billy had laid. Dominic’s reached for the pillow before he knows what he’s on about, and he smiles to himself as he presses his nose to it and inhales deeply, his eyes closing at the scent.
The front door shuts loudly as someone comes into the house, their voice loud as they call out to Billy. Dominic drops the pillow, afraid of being caught like this, but he can't seem to force his feet to move. He notes--memorizes--the lamp, the discarded glass of water and a half dozen books. He finally turns to leave but stops and turns back to the bed. A small frame at the back of one Billy’s bedside tables holds a picture of a young boy and girl, and Dominic reaches for it but hesitates. It seems too personal a thing to see; to take it up might be more an invasion of Billy’s privacy than anything else he’s done in here. Dominic’s hand hovers for a moment, drawn to wanting to know about that part of Billy's life, too.
Music starts to play from the front room and Dominic jerks his head toward the door then back. He has to leave--he knows he has to leave. Needing to take something away with him, he moves his hand from the frame to the book on top of the stack. He means only to read the title--to find it and read it himself--but he notices a bookmark, and looking again to the door, he slides it from the pages and hides it in his pocket before he rushes out of the room and back into the hall.
To his relief, he finds himself alone. Once inside the bathroom he leans his back against the door and presses the heel of his hand to his chest, where his heart beats wildly. The adrenaline leaves him feeling shocked at his recklessness. From his pocket, he draws out the thin, smooth piece of leather imprinted with Billy's initials that had served as a bookmark. He realizes that it must have been a gift--that he should have never picked it up--but now that he has it, he can't bear to part with it, however much his conscience prickles.
A moment later, he's in the kitchen, the bookmark tucked back into his pocket, watching as Billy and the blonde graduate student sprinkle cheese on one of the pizza rounds. "Can I help?"
"Absolutely, please do," Billy laughs, handing Sophie several plates. "You’ve been great, Sophie, thanks; could you put these around the front room and let everyone know there are more bottles on ice out on the porch?"
Sophie casts her green eyes around the kitchen twice before she retreats, plates in hand, and Billy turns back to the pizza. "Think we need some fresh tomato on here," he tells Dominic. "Can you get that for me? And whatever else in there you might like." While Dominic burrows through Billy's refrigerator, Billy continues to smile. "All this tonight ... this is your future, Dom, should you choose to accept it. How does it feel to you?"
"Hadn't thought of it, actually." Dumping his armful of vegetables onto the counter near Billy, Dominic looks around for a knife and cutting board. There is a block of knives that look as if they've never been used, and he selects one before he sets up next to Billy, expertly working his way through dicing and chopping the onions, mushrooms, and peppers. "I don't think that I could do what they're doing. They're all really smart, you know? My dad says I'm lucky enough to be where I am. That I'll be lucky to just get through. Do you have a skillet so I can sauté these mushrooms? They'll be better that way."
"I do," Billy laughs, crouching down to rummage through his lower cabinets and produce a flat-bottomed skillet, several years old and dented on one side. "Not very promising, eh? Let me rinse it off."
While he dries the pan, Billy watches Dominic's quick, confident hands slicing the vegetables into strangely symmetrical pieces. "You're good at this. You like to cook?" Billy asks, stealing a piece of red pepper from the stack next to Dominic's hand. "I don't know that these students are just smart, Dom. I don't think smarts or luck have as much to do with the work as does energy. And passion. Wanting to be done with it and get a piece of paper is one thing, but to use what you've learned for something more, that's what I want to see from my students. That's what I want to feel from their arguments." Billy pauses, licking his fingers absently.
He hadn't been surprised when Dominic had accepted his rather abrupt invitation to hear the postgrad students. Dominic had of late seemed to become more curious about philosophy, and his grades were rising enough that Billy had recommended him for an endowment next term--just a hundred quid to help pay for essentials. Billy knows there's some risk involved, being that he's not one of Dominic's advisors, but it might turn out to be worth it. "Anyway, Dom, I wanted you to see what it's like--" Billy lowers his voice. "And to see that people go into philosophy for the right and wrong reasons. You'd do well in this environment. You've got the passion for it." Billy reaches for his bottle and takes a long swig before moving to Dominic's other side. "So what is it you're doing to those mushrooms, and how long before I can have one?"
Dominic laughs quietly at Billy and pushes another pepper toward him with the tip of his knife. "I'm going to sauté them with a little butter and the onions. Fresh garlic would be good, if you have any." Billy shakes his head. "Some wine, maybe?"
"Wine. Right." Billy reaches past Dominic for a few more slices of red pepper, shoving them in his mouth before he makes his way back to the front room.
Once Billy's gone, Dominic sags against the kitchen counter. The bookmark feels like a stone in his pocket, and he realizes in that instant that of all the people he's told, who know that he's gay, it matters most to him what Billy would say. Then, just as the impulse to take the bookmark had been too much to resist, this new thought weighs on him. He has to tell. He has to know what Billy will say, or do, if anything. That decision made, Dominic stands up straighter. Once he's decided his mind, then the question of how or when matters little. That he'll do it is what is important.
"Here we are," Billy says cheerfully upon his return, holding up his prize for Dominic's perusal. "I don't often drink white wine, but when I do, I tend to like it German. Here." He deposits the bottle on the counter and rubs his hands together.
Dominic quickly prepares the skillet with butter and dumps the mushrooms in before he picks up the bottle and scans its label. He's relaxed and in his element in the kitchen, his hands occupied and his mind shut off from the doubts and worries. Even the silence between Dominic and Billy as they stand side by side building the pizzas is companionable rather than strained or uncomfortable. Once they've finished adding the cheese, Dominic throws the peppers onto the mushrooms and lets them cook just until their color is vibrant, and then slides equal amounts onto each pie, leaving a few clinging to the sides of the pan for Billy.
"We can put them directly on the rack, I think, and they'll be crispier." After sliding the pies into the oven, Dominic brushes off his hands then looks around at the mess he's made of Billy's kitchen just as Sophie comes back in.
"Professor? You're missing your own event." She leans her hip against the counter and crosses her arms in a way that's meant to be alluring, Dominic is sure, and laughs her high, bubbling laugh. He sympathizes with the look in her eyes, but he can't watch anymore. He can't bear the thought that she actually has a better chance at the relationship he wants. "Rob and Kingston are arguing over Plato again. It's ridiculous. We need you."
"It's alright, Professor." Dominic doesn't turn away from the sink he's filling with hot soapy water. He'll relish the few minutes he has left to feel at use in Billy's kitchen and even more to not be witness to any more of Sophie's performance. "I'll wash up and then bring the pizzas in when they're finished."
Billy can make his frown turn up at the corners, just enough so that it looks like he's neither irritated nor amused. He throws this look at Sophie, but only for a moment, then turns back to Dominic, giving his shoulder a hard squeeze. "Y'can leave all that, Dom. We've only got two more of these things to go, and they go down much better with food, trust me." A genuine smile, and then Billy leaves the kitchen only to enter a fray.
It doesn't take long for Billy to determine that in this case, Rob has the knowledge and upper hand. Billy hears out both sides, and diffuses Kingston's argument by handing over a book on Aristotle. "I think you might be confusing something, Kingston," he says gently. "You're looking for Plato in the physical world, and that's just not where he chose to spend most of his time or thought. Take a look at this."
Billy flips through the dogeared book and opens it to a page covered in highliter marking. "Aristotle believed that everything physical has a potential and a reality. It sounds like you and Rob just weren't working with the same artillery. Here, take this with you tonight and give it another thought." Billy gives Kingston an encouraging nod and then turns to his foe. "Well said, Rob."
The room seems to take a collective breath after that, knowing that for the moment at least Rob is quieted. Billy escapes the ensuing conversations and looks up in time to see Dominic placing the pizzas on his large hall table. "Brilliant," he smiles, turning back to the room. "Right, food. Professors first." And with that Billy grabs one of the plates and steals two wide slices of pizza. Dominic moves in line behind him, and Billy catches his eye.
"Come and have a seat with me, eh?" he says, raising a slice to his mouth and nodding in the direction of the porch.
Dominic nods as he places a couple of slices on a plate then follows Billy outside. The evening is warm--only just turning cool, with a nice breeze and the stars beginning to come out in the dark blue sky. From inside the house there comes the sound of talking and laughter before someone finds the volume on the stereo. A Blur CD begins to play, and the night is suddenly quite perfect to Dominic. He and Billy sit in comfortable silence, enjoying their meal, while everyone in the house seems not to notice that their host has slipped away. For many reasons, this arrangement is preferable to Dominic, who is thrilled to have been picked out of everyone to sit with Billy. His only problem is that he can't think of anything to say. Everything he wants to say, he deems inappropriate. Everything he thinks might be safe is too mundane. He wants Billy to think of him as smart and funny--he just wants Billy to think of him at all.
"This is fantastic," Billy says and smiles, folding his second slice of pizza over itself and devouring it in a matter of seconds. Wiping his fingers on a napkin, he leans in to Dominic and lowers his voice. "Secret, Dom? I can't cook to save my life." At Dominic's expression of surprise, Billy’s smile widens. "Everything in my kitchen looks like that skillet, those knives. I just don't cook if I can help it. That refrigerator was bare until late last night, and I can't tell you the last time I used the oven myself until now. I'm glad you were here, Dom; I might've burnt the house down."
Billy leans back in his chair, crossing his legs at the ankles. "I fear that, you know. This poor house; it needs so much work. It's sound, of course, but the fireplace gives me trouble sometimes, and the roof's probably shaky, too. I'm the least handy person I know, and I worry." Billy pauses, then laughs, standing and reaching for new bottles from the tub of ice nearby. "Boring as a dry Sunday, aren't I?"
"I don't think you're boring. I think you're the most interesting person I know." Dominic blushes at his admission though his face is hidden mostly in the deepening night. He quickly glances back at Billy, and his disbelieving smile makes it easier somehow for Dominic to grin back.
Billy passes a bottle to Dominic and returns to his seat, this time turning completely toward Dominic and leaning in again. "You're looking a bit overwhelmed, Dom, and I'm talking your ear off. Is there something you wanted to talk about?"
Dominic looks down, outlining the lip of his bottle with his long fingers. "Ehm. You know the first presentation. The one Liam gave. He said that man--humans--can choose everything about themselves, from their eye color to their … to everything. I know he was being metaphorical, but--"
Dominic sets his bottle down onto the step next to his empty plate and bites his lip. Though he's determined to tell Billy, it's still hard for him now that the time has come. He thinks maybe he should have prepared a bit, and he wraps his arms around his legs as he considers the words he wants to use. Without realizing it, he's made himself as small as possible then further still by laying his head on his knees. He takes a deep breath, ready to just get to his point--to know Billy's reaction. "I-- I needed to tell you that--"
"Bill--Professor Boyd?" Sophie asks, swinging open the door and leaning out. "The natives are getting restless. I think they're ready to finish up their presentations."
Dominic jumps at the sound of her voice and is on his feet and carrying his plate into the house before she's finished talking. Billy doesn't bother hiding his exasperation this time as Dominic pushes past both of them back into the house. Billy nods curtly at Sophie and gestures her back into the front room before he settles back into his chair, waiting for the next presentation to begin.
click here to continue to part 2
Authors: escribo and kiltsandlollies
Characters: Billy and Dominic
Word count: 4239
Summary: Dominic attempts to define what it is he wants for the future
Index
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction; the recognizable people in the story belong to themselves and have never performed the actions portrayed here. I do not know the actors nor am I associated with them in any way. If you are underage, please do not read this story. I am not making any profit from these stories, nor do I mean any harm.
For a while now, Dominic has fancied himself half in love with the professor who has been so encouraging and supportive of him. What is not in doubt is how often he's begun fantasizing about Billy and how those thoughts had seemed to increase in the days leading up to this night. The small fire in the fireplace has warmed the house nicely and Dominic had willingly given up his jacket when Billy had invited him inside. A blush had blossomed on his cheeks when Billy had put his hand on the small of Dominic's back to lead him into the front room with the other students, and again when their fingers had brushed together as Billy handed him a bottle of ale. Now, Dominic sits cross-legged in front of the fire, overwhelmed slightly, but happy.
The other students in attendance are mostly older than Dominic, postgraduates, but a brave few from his own class have come as well to hear the postgrads present their thesis papers. Dominic isn't brave, only too overcome by curiosity to see Billy's home. He's actually quite uncomfortable in the company, none of whom have gone out of their way to make him feel included. Still, he feels oddly comfortable in Billy's home, as if he belongs there, and sometimes through the drier presentations, he imagines that he eventually will.
It's only daydreaming, he knows. If he ever found himself alone with Billy--if everyone else here tonight suddenly remembered appointments they needed to keep--he's sure of two things. One, he wouldn't have the nerve to do the things he wanted to do--he’d never let Billy know what he was thinking, because he respects Billy too much--and two, even if he did manage to gather the courage to tell Billy, he knows he’d be rejected for any number of reasons, probably beginning with his age and ending with the fact that he's almost certain that Billy is straight. That's the way these things go, even if it were appropriate for Dominic to entertain such thoughts, which he knows it's not. He can't help indulging them, though, especially when he can see that even Billy appears to be somewhat lost to his own thoughts at the moment.
Billy had told Dominic at some point only a few days before this gathering that he enjoyed having students over on the odd occasion; not because he's one of those professors, but because these things tend to make his students feel more comfortable in the weeks afterward. And as Billy's reminded the students, running through their presentations with him can only help; there's hardly a professor on the dissertation committees who could or will rake them over coals hotter than those Billy throws in their path--coals Billy can still clearly remember walking himself.
What he hadn't told Dominic is that he'd nearly vomited with nerves twice the morning of his dissertation defense so many years before. He hadn't felt unsure of himself or his arguments, but the idea of standing before a dissertation committee only 48 hours after the worst night of his life had been hard to contemplate, much less actually face. But face it he had, because none of the four professors who had questioned him had known or cared that Billy had spent the previous hours trying to sober up, in every definition of the phrase. None of them had known or cared that his mind had felt wiped clean of everything but the dissertation and the scent of wet grass, a scent that had clung to Billy even after four showers and too much sleep. He'd never needed so much to stay awake before, to finish finally what he'd started six years before on another campus. If it hadn't been for the persistent ache in his back and legs and chest, Billy might have felt happy, excited even.
It had come to Billy just as he'd arrived at the campus that morning that he could do better than his professors had done by him and his classmates. He would find a way to earn his students' respect without grinding them down to hard nubs. He would stand in front of them to teach, not to intimidate, and he would do right by them, always. He would work the system to make certain they received the education they needed, not curricula drawn up thirty years before by an embittered professor determined to do unto others what had long been done to him. Billy would be different, and he would be good.
That thought had steadied Billy as he'd made his way to the classroom. He'd carried little more than his notes, and his walk had been measured, slow and calm. There had been, after all, little damage the four professors could do worse than what Billy had suffered so recently, and even if he'd fucked things up completely--argued too vehemently or not enough--Billy had been prepared.
It had only been when Billy had pushed the hair from his face that there had been even the slightest sound from those professors--a sharp inhale, from the gentleman in the middle--and Billy's smile had tightened. The bruise on his cheekbone had throbbed in sympathy, and Billy had steeled himself for the two hours of academic hell to follow. Afterward--after he’d passed, after he’d been freed from the room--Billy had gone back to his little room off campus and slept like a dead man. It had taken days and a letter from his advisor to absolutely convince Billy that he'd survived.
Billy remembers now falling back onto his bed and staring at the ceiling for hours, exhausted and elated at once. The smell of wet grass had disappeared from the air around him, and his body had no longer burned. And though circumstances would prove him not quite correct soon enough, Billy remembers believing himself healed then, healed from the inside out.
His students are now traveling the road to their own healing, or at least to their futures. It's Billy's turn to listen, finding something good in most presentations before he attacks--sometimes gently, but more often with quietly scathing questions and remarks. He takes no notes, mostly because he prefers to rely on memory and the power of the student's argument, but also because he doesn't want to be seen scribbling while someone explains their last few years' work.
The student finishing up his presentation now, Rob, doesn't appear to have made a month's work of effort, much less years. He comes to an abrupt stop in his summary before grinning over the top of his paper, looking to his peers for approval but meeting none of the scattered murmurs of approval that had followed the first few speeches. Holding court from a worn chair in a corner of the room, Billy has worked hard to keep down his displeasure until Rob has finished speaking, but now he begins to harshly question Rob's weak thesis statement and supporting evidence. Rob argues back with a ferocity that Dominic couldn't imagine leveling against Billy; in fact, he feels an inexplicable anger welling up inside his chest that anyone would, especially with an argument so flawed that even the undergraduates in the room could have pointed out its problems. Billy and Rob parry, but not for long, and Billy sits with his usual unequaled calm, his fingers steepled beneath his chin as he listens.
It's only when Rob has run out of arguments that Billy begins a short lecture on the subject of Rob's thesis: the nature of moral responsibility between parent, child, and school, with emphasis on academic philosophy. And as Billy speaks it becomes clear that Billy's asked these questions of himself over and over again, and only now does he believe he might be close to the answers. Only one student in here has been privy to this new small obsession of Billy's--that of publishing a potentially controversial screed on British academic philosophy. He hasn't usually shared his intentions to publish with anyone but Miranda and Andrew, but in the last several weeks Billy had found himself spilling his current thoughts during an advising appointment with Dominic.
And now Dominic watches and listens to Billy carefully, absorbing his words. He's surprised when Billy directs a question at him; he hadn't expected to be singled out at this gathering. But Dominic sits up straight as he answers, his eyes never wavering from Billy's, and grins at Billy's visible pleasure at his response. With his short answer, Dominic has demonstrated the faults in Rob's statement and revealed the circular reasoning of his argument with Billy. He feels bad when Rob's shoulders sag a bit in defeat, but he also experiences an unexpected joy from the mastery of the topic, a joy he easily yet unconsciously attaches to Billy.
Afterward, there's a moment of awkward silence--of Rob studying the papers in his hand as if wondering how they had failed him so horribly--and the other students shift uncomfortably in sympathy or in nervousness over their own upcoming presentations. They're all glad when Billy rises from his chair and shoos his students out for a break, stopping to crouch down by Rob and speak to him while everyone else scatters. Dominic watches as Billy talks to Rob for a moment and then disappears into the kitchen with two of his graduate students.
Throughout the night, Dominic had begun to feel a bit of camaraderie with one of them, a pretty blonde called Sophie Winters. He can see her infatuation with Billy as easily as he feels his own but notes, too, that Billy doesn't respond to her fluttering lashes or her too loud laugh; instead Billy simply nods at her pizza, professor, should we ...? and gestures her toward his kitchen.
Dominic keeps his seat for a few moments, ignored by everyone left in the room, before he gets up to find the loo. He remembers from the directions Billy had given someone else earlier that it's just off the narrow hall. Reaching for the light switch, Dominic is distracted by the half-opened door farther down the hall, behind which hides Billy's bedroom. The temptation is too great. He quickly glances over his shoulder to make sure he's alone before he steps inside the room, practicing the excuse he'll give if he's discovered.
He doesn't dare turn on the light, though he wants to. He wants to search through the room like Sherlock Holmes, to be honest, discovering clues about the way Billy lives and thinks and breathes. He limits himself to the bed, though, standing and staring at the messy, rumpled sheets and the carelessly thrown duvet--at the impression where Billy had laid. Dominic’s reached for the pillow before he knows what he’s on about, and he smiles to himself as he presses his nose to it and inhales deeply, his eyes closing at the scent.
The front door shuts loudly as someone comes into the house, their voice loud as they call out to Billy. Dominic drops the pillow, afraid of being caught like this, but he can't seem to force his feet to move. He notes--memorizes--the lamp, the discarded glass of water and a half dozen books. He finally turns to leave but stops and turns back to the bed. A small frame at the back of one Billy’s bedside tables holds a picture of a young boy and girl, and Dominic reaches for it but hesitates. It seems too personal a thing to see; to take it up might be more an invasion of Billy’s privacy than anything else he’s done in here. Dominic’s hand hovers for a moment, drawn to wanting to know about that part of Billy's life, too.
Music starts to play from the front room and Dominic jerks his head toward the door then back. He has to leave--he knows he has to leave. Needing to take something away with him, he moves his hand from the frame to the book on top of the stack. He means only to read the title--to find it and read it himself--but he notices a bookmark, and looking again to the door, he slides it from the pages and hides it in his pocket before he rushes out of the room and back into the hall.
To his relief, he finds himself alone. Once inside the bathroom he leans his back against the door and presses the heel of his hand to his chest, where his heart beats wildly. The adrenaline leaves him feeling shocked at his recklessness. From his pocket, he draws out the thin, smooth piece of leather imprinted with Billy's initials that had served as a bookmark. He realizes that it must have been a gift--that he should have never picked it up--but now that he has it, he can't bear to part with it, however much his conscience prickles.
A moment later, he's in the kitchen, the bookmark tucked back into his pocket, watching as Billy and the blonde graduate student sprinkle cheese on one of the pizza rounds. "Can I help?"
"Absolutely, please do," Billy laughs, handing Sophie several plates. "You’ve been great, Sophie, thanks; could you put these around the front room and let everyone know there are more bottles on ice out on the porch?"
Sophie casts her green eyes around the kitchen twice before she retreats, plates in hand, and Billy turns back to the pizza. "Think we need some fresh tomato on here," he tells Dominic. "Can you get that for me? And whatever else in there you might like." While Dominic burrows through Billy's refrigerator, Billy continues to smile. "All this tonight ... this is your future, Dom, should you choose to accept it. How does it feel to you?"
"Hadn't thought of it, actually." Dumping his armful of vegetables onto the counter near Billy, Dominic looks around for a knife and cutting board. There is a block of knives that look as if they've never been used, and he selects one before he sets up next to Billy, expertly working his way through dicing and chopping the onions, mushrooms, and peppers. "I don't think that I could do what they're doing. They're all really smart, you know? My dad says I'm lucky enough to be where I am. That I'll be lucky to just get through. Do you have a skillet so I can sauté these mushrooms? They'll be better that way."
"I do," Billy laughs, crouching down to rummage through his lower cabinets and produce a flat-bottomed skillet, several years old and dented on one side. "Not very promising, eh? Let me rinse it off."
While he dries the pan, Billy watches Dominic's quick, confident hands slicing the vegetables into strangely symmetrical pieces. "You're good at this. You like to cook?" Billy asks, stealing a piece of red pepper from the stack next to Dominic's hand. "I don't know that these students are just smart, Dom. I don't think smarts or luck have as much to do with the work as does energy. And passion. Wanting to be done with it and get a piece of paper is one thing, but to use what you've learned for something more, that's what I want to see from my students. That's what I want to feel from their arguments." Billy pauses, licking his fingers absently.
He hadn't been surprised when Dominic had accepted his rather abrupt invitation to hear the postgrad students. Dominic had of late seemed to become more curious about philosophy, and his grades were rising enough that Billy had recommended him for an endowment next term--just a hundred quid to help pay for essentials. Billy knows there's some risk involved, being that he's not one of Dominic's advisors, but it might turn out to be worth it. "Anyway, Dom, I wanted you to see what it's like--" Billy lowers his voice. "And to see that people go into philosophy for the right and wrong reasons. You'd do well in this environment. You've got the passion for it." Billy reaches for his bottle and takes a long swig before moving to Dominic's other side. "So what is it you're doing to those mushrooms, and how long before I can have one?"
Dominic laughs quietly at Billy and pushes another pepper toward him with the tip of his knife. "I'm going to sauté them with a little butter and the onions. Fresh garlic would be good, if you have any." Billy shakes his head. "Some wine, maybe?"
"Wine. Right." Billy reaches past Dominic for a few more slices of red pepper, shoving them in his mouth before he makes his way back to the front room.
Once Billy's gone, Dominic sags against the kitchen counter. The bookmark feels like a stone in his pocket, and he realizes in that instant that of all the people he's told, who know that he's gay, it matters most to him what Billy would say. Then, just as the impulse to take the bookmark had been too much to resist, this new thought weighs on him. He has to tell. He has to know what Billy will say, or do, if anything. That decision made, Dominic stands up straighter. Once he's decided his mind, then the question of how or when matters little. That he'll do it is what is important.
"Here we are," Billy says cheerfully upon his return, holding up his prize for Dominic's perusal. "I don't often drink white wine, but when I do, I tend to like it German. Here." He deposits the bottle on the counter and rubs his hands together.
Dominic quickly prepares the skillet with butter and dumps the mushrooms in before he picks up the bottle and scans its label. He's relaxed and in his element in the kitchen, his hands occupied and his mind shut off from the doubts and worries. Even the silence between Dominic and Billy as they stand side by side building the pizzas is companionable rather than strained or uncomfortable. Once they've finished adding the cheese, Dominic throws the peppers onto the mushrooms and lets them cook just until their color is vibrant, and then slides equal amounts onto each pie, leaving a few clinging to the sides of the pan for Billy.
"We can put them directly on the rack, I think, and they'll be crispier." After sliding the pies into the oven, Dominic brushes off his hands then looks around at the mess he's made of Billy's kitchen just as Sophie comes back in.
"Professor? You're missing your own event." She leans her hip against the counter and crosses her arms in a way that's meant to be alluring, Dominic is sure, and laughs her high, bubbling laugh. He sympathizes with the look in her eyes, but he can't watch anymore. He can't bear the thought that she actually has a better chance at the relationship he wants. "Rob and Kingston are arguing over Plato again. It's ridiculous. We need you."
"It's alright, Professor." Dominic doesn't turn away from the sink he's filling with hot soapy water. He'll relish the few minutes he has left to feel at use in Billy's kitchen and even more to not be witness to any more of Sophie's performance. "I'll wash up and then bring the pizzas in when they're finished."
Billy can make his frown turn up at the corners, just enough so that it looks like he's neither irritated nor amused. He throws this look at Sophie, but only for a moment, then turns back to Dominic, giving his shoulder a hard squeeze. "Y'can leave all that, Dom. We've only got two more of these things to go, and they go down much better with food, trust me." A genuine smile, and then Billy leaves the kitchen only to enter a fray.
It doesn't take long for Billy to determine that in this case, Rob has the knowledge and upper hand. Billy hears out both sides, and diffuses Kingston's argument by handing over a book on Aristotle. "I think you might be confusing something, Kingston," he says gently. "You're looking for Plato in the physical world, and that's just not where he chose to spend most of his time or thought. Take a look at this."
Billy flips through the dogeared book and opens it to a page covered in highliter marking. "Aristotle believed that everything physical has a potential and a reality. It sounds like you and Rob just weren't working with the same artillery. Here, take this with you tonight and give it another thought." Billy gives Kingston an encouraging nod and then turns to his foe. "Well said, Rob."
The room seems to take a collective breath after that, knowing that for the moment at least Rob is quieted. Billy escapes the ensuing conversations and looks up in time to see Dominic placing the pizzas on his large hall table. "Brilliant," he smiles, turning back to the room. "Right, food. Professors first." And with that Billy grabs one of the plates and steals two wide slices of pizza. Dominic moves in line behind him, and Billy catches his eye.
"Come and have a seat with me, eh?" he says, raising a slice to his mouth and nodding in the direction of the porch.
Dominic nods as he places a couple of slices on a plate then follows Billy outside. The evening is warm--only just turning cool, with a nice breeze and the stars beginning to come out in the dark blue sky. From inside the house there comes the sound of talking and laughter before someone finds the volume on the stereo. A Blur CD begins to play, and the night is suddenly quite perfect to Dominic. He and Billy sit in comfortable silence, enjoying their meal, while everyone in the house seems not to notice that their host has slipped away. For many reasons, this arrangement is preferable to Dominic, who is thrilled to have been picked out of everyone to sit with Billy. His only problem is that he can't think of anything to say. Everything he wants to say, he deems inappropriate. Everything he thinks might be safe is too mundane. He wants Billy to think of him as smart and funny--he just wants Billy to think of him at all.
"This is fantastic," Billy says and smiles, folding his second slice of pizza over itself and devouring it in a matter of seconds. Wiping his fingers on a napkin, he leans in to Dominic and lowers his voice. "Secret, Dom? I can't cook to save my life." At Dominic's expression of surprise, Billy’s smile widens. "Everything in my kitchen looks like that skillet, those knives. I just don't cook if I can help it. That refrigerator was bare until late last night, and I can't tell you the last time I used the oven myself until now. I'm glad you were here, Dom; I might've burnt the house down."
Billy leans back in his chair, crossing his legs at the ankles. "I fear that, you know. This poor house; it needs so much work. It's sound, of course, but the fireplace gives me trouble sometimes, and the roof's probably shaky, too. I'm the least handy person I know, and I worry." Billy pauses, then laughs, standing and reaching for new bottles from the tub of ice nearby. "Boring as a dry Sunday, aren't I?"
"I don't think you're boring. I think you're the most interesting person I know." Dominic blushes at his admission though his face is hidden mostly in the deepening night. He quickly glances back at Billy, and his disbelieving smile makes it easier somehow for Dominic to grin back.
Billy passes a bottle to Dominic and returns to his seat, this time turning completely toward Dominic and leaning in again. "You're looking a bit overwhelmed, Dom, and I'm talking your ear off. Is there something you wanted to talk about?"
Dominic looks down, outlining the lip of his bottle with his long fingers. "Ehm. You know the first presentation. The one Liam gave. He said that man--humans--can choose everything about themselves, from their eye color to their … to everything. I know he was being metaphorical, but--"
Dominic sets his bottle down onto the step next to his empty plate and bites his lip. Though he's determined to tell Billy, it's still hard for him now that the time has come. He thinks maybe he should have prepared a bit, and he wraps his arms around his legs as he considers the words he wants to use. Without realizing it, he's made himself as small as possible then further still by laying his head on his knees. He takes a deep breath, ready to just get to his point--to know Billy's reaction. "I-- I needed to tell you that--"
"Bill--Professor Boyd?" Sophie asks, swinging open the door and leaning out. "The natives are getting restless. I think they're ready to finish up their presentations."
Dominic jumps at the sound of her voice and is on his feet and carrying his plate into the house before she's finished talking. Billy doesn't bother hiding his exasperation this time as Dominic pushes past both of them back into the house. Billy nods curtly at Sophie and gestures her back into the front room before he settles back into his chair, waiting for the next presentation to begin.
click here to continue to part 2