Book 3, Chapter 8: Open-Eyed and Fast Asleep
Title: Open-Eyed and Fast Asleep
Authors: kiltsandlollies and escribo
Characters: Dominic/Orlando
Word count: 5300
Summary: Finding comfort and company.
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.
Orlando’s in his room when Dominic finds him, several days after Dominic thinks he's recovered from whatever had brought him to his hands and knees in the dirt that evening with Elijah. Orlando's on his feet and in shirtsleeves, leaning over his desk to read from one of the many books scattered across its surface. It’s late, but the door to the room is half-open, and for a minute Dominic just watches Orlando, staring at the way his forearms hold him steady above the desk and how his features soften in concentration, so unlike what Dominic has noticed sharp focus does to others he knows. Maybe Orlando’s thoughts don’t trouble him, as others’ thoughts do them, Dominic supposes, though he knows that can’t be true; no one’s that lucky, not even Orlando, who’s calmed down significantly in the months Dominic has known him.
After a moment, Orlando mutters something and raises a hand to scratch absently at his chin, his eyes never leaving the page that’s captured his attention. The movement makes Dominic shift too, though, and the sound of floorboards creaking outside the room prompts Orlando to look his way.
“Dom,” he says, advancing toward the door, and it’s only the warmth in his smile and voice that keeps Dominic from tripping over his own feet to walk away. “God, come in. Where have you been, mate? It’s been days-”
Dominic nods, cutting him off, not wanting to hear even the soft admonition that comes from so kind a friend. “I’ve been-it’s just been hard, these past few weeks. I would’ve come. I wanted to. It’s just …” In the middle of Orlando’s room now, Dominic swallows, looking for either the frustration and anger that drove him to come over or the sense of peace he wants to come in the near future to wash over him; anything would be better than the nervous present.
Orlando tilts his head, waiting for more from Dominic, but when it doesn’t come, he doesn’t push. Dominic can see that he’d like to, but in all things between them, Orlando’s been polite, kind even, and that’s one of the main reasons Dominic’s come here, he reminds himself; he needs to know, he needs to understand why and how Orlando could have given Dominic’s game away, to Elijah of all people, even if they are all friends, or are supposed to be.
"I've been busy," Dominic lies and blushes when Orlando says nothing and in his silence everything. "I've been with Elijah."
"So I've heard."
"I feel a bit like I should defend myself."
"No need. I just--" A knock at the door interrupts them and Dominic turns, feeling strangely as though he doesn't want to be seen in Orlando’s room, though not for his own sake. Confused by his own sense of shame, Dominic blushes harder and forces himself to look again at the art that decorates Orlando's walls as Orlando breathes out a sigh and turns to answer the door.
Everything about Orlando’s room seems warmer and better than Dominic’s, and it’s easy for Dominic to settle in here as he perches on the edge of the bed, moving his eyes from one piece of art to the next, trying to connect what they all mean to Orlando. Dominic remembers for a moment wanting to turn away from the Escher posters and scattered Cubist nightmares all over Elijah’s walls; Orlando’s choices are kinder, softer but just as resonant, and Dominic feels himself relaxing in their light and shadows, in the deep colours and quiet of scene after scene. Once Dominic’s looked at everything he can without actually standing up again and peering at the bookshelves and other surfaces, he closes his eyes, wondering if he should leave-if whoever had turned up at Orlando’s door had earned his attention more than Dominic has. It’s bound to be a better friend, Dominic thinks; it’s bound to be someone more interesting and less trapped inside his own head and heart. Before he can trip too far down that path, Orlando is grabbing a book from amongst the stack of many, squeezing Dominic's shoulder as he moves past, and then the door is shutting and they're alone again.
“You told Elijah.” Dominic doesn’t offer it as a question, but Orlando frowns anyway before his mouth works strangely and he pales a little.
“I didn’t. Not straight out, Dom; I said I wouldn’t do that.”
“And I believed you, mate.” Dominic makes to continue, but then his shoulders drop, the tension in them too heavy to bear. “Can you just tell me what you said? Any of it. I need to know, Orli; I can’t fight it, like, unless I know what I’m fighting.”
“I don’t remember.” Orlando frowns again. “We were walking-to the Noble Bachelor. That’s when it was. David had a gig, and Elijah just started following me, and he said something about you, and I just thought he knew, Dom. You’d been getting-” Orlando stops and looks up, rare irritation in his eyes. “You and Elijah. It happened really quickly, I thought. It’s none of my business, okay, and you don't have to defend yourself, I don't want that, but I was still …”
“Not any more than I was.” Dominic drops down on the bed beside Orlando again, and runs his hands through his hair tiredly.
“Look, Dom …” Orlando pauses again, flexing his fingers nervously. “He can be a really good guy sometimes, I know it, but he can also be, I don’t know, kind of the wrong guy at the wrong place.”
“And time. Don’t forget time.”
“I’m being serious,” Orlando says hotly, and Dominic nods.
“Me too."
“He hasn’t got anything to lose here, Dom, so he can’t get his head around it that other people do. He’s not interested in anything but stirring shit up. He’s bored, he told me that much, and everything else is just … going to come out of that.”
“So you’re telling me that he’s just in it for a game?” Dominic says, and Orlando doesn’t respond. Dominic swallows, and nods again. “I knew that. I think I did from the first go. But I thought you were friends, Orli. You’re the reason I ever even … talked to him, like.”
Orlando stands up, his face reddened slightly. “I’m not congratulating myself over it, okay. We were friends. I just can’t watch things happen and not try to stop them anymore-”
“You should have told me, then,” Dominic cuts him off. “After you’d said anything to him about me and Billy. You should have called me, or found me after class or something-”
“Oh, fuck that, Dom,” Orlando sighs. “Trying to catch you after class is like trying to hold on to smoke.”
Dominic has nothing to say to that, and for a few minutes they share an exhausted silence. Orlando breaks it by tapping a pen gently along the edge of his desk, and when Dominic looks up he sees Orlando staring out the window, his jaw clenched tight though he keeps his voice calm.
“I’m so tired of holding back on everything, Dom. I thought you were so fucking brave, just the way you carried yourself around here, and I wanted that, I wanted to be like you. Hell, I wanted you, you know that. And I don’t like-I can’t stand what you’re letting Elijah do to you, just because things didn’t work with the Profes-”
“Stop,” Dominic interrupts him again. “It’s not-none of this is his fault. It's not because of him. We’re talking about Elijah, not Billy. Not the professor, not him.”
“I’m trying to help you, Dom. Just-you’ve got to stop giving Elijah anything to work with. Because he’ll take everything he can from you and just … run with it. It’s fun for him. If you weren’t …” Orlando’s teeth click together and he smacks lightly at his wall, pivoting away from the desk.
“If I weren’t what.” Dominic’s own glare is fierce now. “Say it.”
“If you weren’t fucking, Elijah’d probably take it to the administration.”
Dominic’s stomach turns on itself, and he breathes hard for a moment. “No. He wouldn’t. I’ve got enough on him, too, Orli, and no one would believe him in the first place.”
“He hates the professor.”
“He doesn’t hate me.”
“Not yet.” Orlando blinks, surprised by his own guess, and then he crosses back to the bed, facing Dominic now. “Maybe not as long as you are fucking. Just promise me, okay, promise you’re not going to let him know anything else, or … have anything else from you. He’s like some … I don’t know, one of those fucked-up creatures out of stories; the more they know about you and what you love, the easier it is for them to take it all away. Eat you alive.”
“That doesn’t sound like a story to me.” Dominic shoves his hands through his hair again, leaning his elbows on his knees. “I feel like shite.”
“I know,” Orlando says softly. “I’m sorry.”
“I wouldn’t have told him. Any of it. Not even fucked up, I wouldn’t have. So when we went out to the lake-you know the one I mean, the one with the slope that’ll just drag you down under if you don’t know where you’re going?-when we went there, he just comes out with it before I’d even had a drink in me. He just flat out asks me, are you still in love with him? And I just-didn’t know what I was supposed to say.”
Orlando waits a beat, watching Dominic’s hands clench into loose fists. “You’re allowed to lie.”
“Because I do that so well," Dominic nearly spits the words out, and then shakes his head. "You know I can't. You're the one who told me I had t’hide it better.”
"So are you, Dom?"
"Yeah." Dominic sighs heavily and scrubs his hands over his face before he looks back up to Orlando, saddened suddenly when he sees Orlando recoil slightly. He holds out a hand and offers the most genuine smile he can find. "I'm supposed to say no there, right? I know what it sounds like. I know it’s fucking twee. But look, being with Billy was like nothing I've ever known and I couldn't help feeling like we belonged, you know? That we were meant to be together."
“You’re not.” Orlando says it as gently as he can, Dominic can tell, but there’s still some desperation there. “Dom, I know what it’s like, okay, I get what you’re feeling-”
“Do you? Really.”
“I get what you-saw in him, like, but you just can’t do it. Either of you.”
“Yeah, we’ve established that.” Dominic’s jaw tightens, and then he sits back a little on the bed, pushing a hand out to steady himself when the room seems to spin a little around him.
“You could have waited.” Orlando sits on the bed beside him, one hand on Dominic’s shoulder, propping him back up easily. “Another five months, six, what it is? And then you could have just. I don’t know.” Orlando pauses. “I’m sorry, Dom.”
“I’m not.” When Orlando’s eyes widen slightly, Dominic shakes his head. “Not for that. And Elijah would’ve figured it out. Maybe not from me or you, but you’re right. He sees everything. He’s got fucking beautiful eyes, but all they do is reflect you, yeah?”
Orlando nods, and then gives them both a moment before he shifts back on the bed, Dominic following him until they’re leaning against the headboard, each lost in his own thoughts. After several minutes, Dominic reaches for something on Orlando's nightstand, a small, deep-red statue of Buddha that he finds immediately comforting to hold. It entrances Dominic happily for a long while, and he cradles it in both hands and smiles, letting the weight of it and its smoothness soothe him.
“It’s nice, this. Do you believe in it?”
“What, Buddhism? I don’t know yet. I think so. I want to, though. It makes more sense than a lot of things I’ve believed in before.” Orlando sighs, drumming his fingers on his stomach. “But it’s not the only thing. There’s elements in everything that appeal to me. I love cellos and I love my guitars. I love Carl Orff, yeah, but I also love The Clash.”
“A Buddhist punk,” Dominic laughs, and Orlando lets out a snort of pleasure and horror, punching Dominic’s shoulder lightly as he turns onto his stomach. Dominic’s still grinning as his attention returns to the little statue. “It is really nice, though.”
“It was a gift.” Orlando smiles too, and leans forward a little on his elbow to look at it more closely. “David saw it in a thrift shop, if you can believe it. Gave it to me before he left.”
“Left?” Dominic tilts his head and stares at Orlando. “You’re not-”
“We’re good,” Orlando says, shaking off Dominic’s concern gently as he takes back the statue, balancing it in one hand. “He’s just off for about a month. He’s got a teaching gig in the North, and picked up some evenings in a few local places around there, too. I think he thought I’d miss him or something.” Orlando’s smile widens and he laughs as he reaches to set the Buddha back down on the table “I do, yeah? But it’s good. It’s alright. I’m catching up on things, and …” Orlando shrugs and then raises his eyebrows. “People, too, I suppose. It’s good.”
“But you do miss him.”
“Yeah.” Orlando pauses and looks down at his hands and Dominic’s. “It could be a lot worse, though. And I’ve got so much work to do, Dom, it’s insane-”
“Did you want me to go?”
“No.” It comes out quickly, and Dominic feels a small but sad rush of pleasure that his company’s wanted by someone who’s not eager to take advantage of him and it, even if that someone is not Billy. Orlando shakes his head again and lets his hand brush against Dominic slightly. “No, it’s great to see you, I told you. I don’t want you to go. I thought-” Another pause, and Dominic waits him out, holding his own breath. “I thought you looked like you might want to stay.”
“I do. I’m sorry about … the Elijah thing. I’ve been walking around with it for too long, and I just finished today, and I knew I had to just come ask you, or tell you, or whatever. It’s not like you owe me anything, Orli. I’ve been a crap friend.”
“We’re good,” Orlando says again, and holds Dominic gaze for a long time before he blinks first. “Can I ask-do you know, there’s something I never finished-”
“We never got that coffee.”
Orlando laughs. “We didn’t, I know. No, that’s not what I meant.” He’s still smiling, but Dominic watches and registers the change in his eyes and the set of his shoulders. “Can I sketch you, Dom? You never came back to that class, and I was too-distracted to finish in the time we had.”
Dominic feels the small spike of panic race up his spine, but he wills it back down, unafraid of Orlando’s request but unable to grant it just like that, to offer himself so easily. “I can’t-I don’t look like that anymore,” he says, fumbling with the words. “I can’t hold a pose. It’ll be rubbish.”
“Just your hand,” Orlando says softly. “You had one here-” He reaches for Dominic’s hand and places it behind his head, curving Dominic’s palm at the nape of his neck. Orlando moves around Dominic on the bed, setting Dominic’s fingers exactly where they’d been that day months ago, and Dominic closes his eyes, falling into it easily, regardless of his earlier fears. It's not just anyone asking this of him; it's a friend, someone who's always been a friend, even when Dominic hadn't realized how much he needed one.
“Can you hold that?” Orlando asks. “Just for a few minutes. I can get you anything you need.”
“Is it for class?” Dominic’s voice is raspy, tired, and his fingers slip a little before he remembers and recovers, settling again.
“No.” Orlando slides off the bed and opens drawers at his desk, rifling through their contents until he produces a dogeared sketchbook. “I've got enough to do there to keep me busy tomorrow. This one's just for me, Dom.” He turns back to face Dominic, thumbing through the pages before he shows the unfinished sketch to Dominic. “Is that alright?”
Dominic nods, and for the first several minutes he is; he reaches back into memory to find how he once did this for an hour at a time, just stood or sat still, lost in happier thoughts than he can access now. He remembers thinking of the future, of everything he wanted at that time and for a while managed to have. He can still hear the sound of the art students' breathing, the scratch of their pencils and the scuffing of their shoes on the floor as they stretched cramped limbs in unnecessary sympathy for him. The time he'd spent in the art studios had been good for him, and he misses it now, though he can't imagine walking back up the stairs to Ms. O's rooms and asking to be welcomed back into that quiet warmth of creativity, to become again part of someone else's art.
Whatever comfort he'd found in that near-silence back then, Dominic decides he doesn’t want it now as he sits for Orlando’s sketch. Orlando doesn’t seem to be too absorbed in his work to talk, and when he looks up at Dominic, he's smiling.
“Still alright?”
“Yeah.” Dominic looks behind Orlando at the array of little objects balanced on the trunk against the wall, and he smiles, too. “I keep thinking you’re a collector, but I don’t know of what.”
Orlando laughs, his face lighting up the darkened room. “I don’t know either. It’s all just things I’ve picked up, or were given to me.”
“Even the pictures?”
“Especially the pictures.” Orlando ducks his head to draw again, the noise of his pen very soft on the paper. “I can’t leave a museum without one. It’s one of the reasons I came up here to study.”
“You were closer to London, though. You’ve got all the museums you need.”
“Not so many of the ones I want.” Orlando smudges a line with his fingertip and tilts his head, appraising what he’s done. “I do want to go to London, though. To work, after this. What about you?”
Dominic looks up at the ceiling, not wanting to meet Orlando’s eyes in case he raises them in concern. “I don’t know what I want to do, much less where I want to do it.”
Orlando shrugs, not unkindly. “We’ve both got a while to figure that out. Almost finished, Dom.”
“Take your time,” Dominic says absently, still staring, and Orlando lifts his chin.
“I wish I could.” He looks away as Dominic tilts his own head, and then they both smile when Orlando looks back again, a resigned blush bright in his skin.
“I thought I had, though,” Dominic says while he still holds Orlando’s gaze. “I thought I’d be a teacher. Matt’s got that covered, though. Then I wanted to write.”
Orlando lets silence move between them for a moment, then speaks, quietly. “And now?”
“Now it’s like I just want to sleep.” Dominic breaks the pose, his hand and eyes falling to his lap. Orlando drops the pad and his pen and crawls on the bed beside Dominic again, tucking one leg underneath him as he leans in and stretches one arm around Dominic’s shoulders, his hand sliding carefully into Dominic’s hair.
“Don’t let them do this to you, anyone, any of them,” Orlando tells him, pulling Dominic more tightly toward his chest. Dominic doesn’t fight it; instead he closes his eyes and rests his cheek against Orlando’s shirt, desperate for the feel of something that’s neither Elijah’s t-shirts nor Billy’s crisper, colder button-downs. Orlando’s skin is warm under the fabric, and Dominic instantly craves more of that heat, a craving that neither surprises nor pleases him at first but one he knows he can’t ignore, one that’s too easy to surrender to.
“Don’t do it to yourself, either,” Orlando says now, and Dominic has to work to listen to him, to understand and to nod. “I’m serious, Dom.”
“Okay,” Dominic whispers. “Okay. Can we just-”
He looks up, and before him there’s suddenly another split second in his life in which he makes a decision for himself and someone else, damn the consequences. There’s no thrilling rush of adrenaline when he leans in and Orlando meets him, taking the same breath before they kiss, but there is a shared relief, an instant physical rapport that Dominic knows will mean only as much or as little as he prompts it to.
Orlando feels fantastic under Dominic’s hands, his shirt opening easily under Dominic’s practiced fingers and his chest smooth and strong as Dominic’s, if not stronger. Orlando hums a little in pleasure when Dominic’s lips travel lower, to Orlando’s throat and neck, and his hands curve around Orlando’s waist, coaxing shirt away from skin. It takes Orlando longer to respond in kind, but Dominic makes up for it, helping his own shirt off and letting his hands drift to his own waist before Orlando catches them there and pulls Dominic into another kiss.
This is better, Dominic decides. It feels alright to be here with Orlando, and no one’s being taken by or from anyone else. And Orlando’s early nervousness has mostly vanished; he knows what he likes and what he wants, and Dominic warms under his touch, relaxing even more and falling into kiss after careful, deeper and more curious kiss.
“You still want to stay, yeah?” Orlando asks, his long fingers moving down Dominic’s shoulder to his arm. Dominic nods but keeps his eyes closed until Orlando’s silence forces them open.
“Orlando-”
“Thing is, we really can’t do this, can we?” Orlando smiles and then shakes his head before Dominic can. “I want to. I did, before, but you were a million miles away even then.”
Dominic ducks his head. “That’s what Elijah said. A million miles away.”
“I’m sorry.” Orlando places both hands on Dominic’s shoulders now and leans in again. “I don’t mean it like that.”
“It’s okay if you do.” Dominic finds a smile somewhere deep inside. “No, you’re right, we can’t. Because you’ve got something really good, Orli. I don’t want to fuck that up for you. I don’t want-” Dominic takes a deep breath. “Somebody’s got to be happy, yeah?”
“You will be.” Orlando’s voice is fervent and warmer. “Look, stay here tonight. We’ll just stay here, and you can get some sleep.”
Dominic nods, wanting to believe that it’ll be that easy, that dreams will take him quickly and that he won’t wake too soon feeling like he has to leave this room, before word gets around that he’s spent yet another night away from his own bed. He turns to his side, facing Orlando’s closet, and closes his eyes as he hears Orlando fall to his own back behind him. He can still feel Orlando’s lips on his own and the wiry strength of Orlando’s body. He’s different from Greg, from Elijah, from Billy-he’s different, full stop, not least because he can pull away and just let Dominic rest beside him, and Dominic can let himself relax, knowing that he won’t be interrogated into the ground between them-every thought and memory dragged from him by Elijah’s smiling greed or Billy’s possessive curiosity-or fucked into silence afterward.
That doesn’t stop memory from having its way with him, though; Dominic recalls that the last time he’d felt this comfortable, he’d been in Billy’s bed, and even then it had been some time before Billy had ended it between them. The night after Billy had given him the photographs, maybe, Dominic thinks, and a slow wave of remembrance eases over him, stirring something he hasn’t allowed to overcome him since he’d walked out of Billy’s office in cold anger and exhaustion.
Posing for Orlando tonight, even for such a short time, had encouraged that memory of holding still for Billy’s camera along, Dominic’s sure of it. Orlando’s eyes had been kinder than Billy’s, motivated by his own need rather than Dominic’s, a need that could have been read as academic or emotional, or maybe both at once. It doesn’t matter in the end; what does matter is that the need was there. For a moment Dominic wishes he’d taken even one of the pictures from Billy’s home-the last, maybe, of himself smiling tiredly and reaching for Billy, or one of the first, with Billy’s hand resting pale on Dominic’s back. Dominic shuts his eyes tight now, remembering that touch, and shivers just enough that Orlando reacts in his sleep, moving closer. Little alarm bells ring in Dominic’s mind, telling him that he’s not here with Billy, that the body so near him is not the one he wants there, and that he and Orlando both belong somewhere else, with and to another.
Still, they’re both looking for some kind of comfort here, and it’s easy for Dominic to let himself surrender to pretense. His hand snakes inside his jeans, loose enough now that they present no real obstacle to his own touch. Dominic shifts back against Orlando, who responds with a sleepy murmur and rests his hand idly on Dominic’s arm, less steadying than before but just as welcome. Dominic tells himself to pretend harder, then, if he can’t make himself stop, and Orlando makes it even easier for him, nudging his cheek against Dominic’s.
“I’m sorry,” Dominic whispers urgently, but he can feel Orlando shaking his head again, and then hear the compassion in Orlando’s voice, the kind of understanding that would break Dominic if he let it. In so many ways he wants to, and Orlando knows it.
“’s okay. It’s alright.”
Dominic shakes his head then, more frantically, but Orlando repeats himself and strokes Dominic’s arm as he moves closer, his breath almost too warm near Dominic’s face.
“Go on,” Orlando murmurs gently, pushing at Dominic’s jeans when Dominic can’t seem to clear them with shaking hands. Dominic frees his cock and shivers again before he stills, still uncertain. Orlando releases a soft sound of frustration and need on Dominic’s behalf, settling his hand back on Dominic’s arm. “’m not going to tell, Dom; I’m not going to let anyone take it away from you-”
It’s permission Dominic doesn’t want but desperately needs and takes, then, confused and grateful that he’s been understood in a way that won’t come back to haunt him. He doesn’t have to work hard to make himself believe that it’s Billy’s hand around his cock, coaxing him toward a gentler release than usual. It’s Billy’s voice he hears telling him to let go; it’s Billy’s bruises that he can almost feel struck again, Billy’s matchstrikes that scorch him in places they never actually touched.
Dominic can hear himself making the neediest, quietest sounds, and it’s a shock to not have them shushed or forced louder. Orlando’s fingers brush against Dominic’s own, just the softest of touches, and Dominic arches into them, breath filling his lungs and then releasing itself with as a gasp as he comes, seeing the sparks of Billy’s eyes behind his own and hearing Billy’s little challenge of sweet laughter under the sound of blood pounding in his ears.
He hasn’t fully caught his breath when he feels Orlando turning him onto his back, and Dominic cradles his cock almost protectively until he sees Orlando tilt his head and exhale as if hurt by the gesture. “Sorry,” Dominic breathes, but Orlando’s already moving, reaching in his nightstand for tissues while Dominic looks everywhere but at him.
Orlando offers him the tissues at first, but after Dominic falters and closes his eyes, so tired he can barely move now, Orlando takes over, his hands more steady than Dominic imagines his own will ever be again. Dominic braves another proper look at Orlando, then, and is grateful that there’s no pity in Orlando’s eyes, only more of that honest compassion. Still, Dominic feels like he’s not fulfilled his end of a bargain they hadn’t actually made, and after another few seconds, he covers Orlando’s fingers with his own.
“Did you want-”
Orlando’s smile tightens and he shakes his head. “I’m alright. I don’t want to do that to you, Dom. I’m not-”
“Elijah.”
“No.” Orlando laughs, the nervousness returning to his voice. “I’ve not got those eyes, for a start.”
Dominic laughs too, more of that relief washing over him even as his mind wrestles hard with disgust that he’s done this, to Orlando as well as himself. He bites his lip and forces his eyes open to stare at Orlando’s ceiling again, denying himself sleep he doesn’t feel he’s earned.
“Look, I-thanks,” Dominic says softly. “And I am sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Orlando’s hand flattens on Dominic’s stomach for a moment, just his fingertips inside the waistband of the jeans now. “Nothing happened that shouldn’t have, yeah? It’ll be okay, Dom. It’ll be alright.”
“I didn’t come to here for this. To beg it out of you, like.”
“You didn’t,” Orlando says urgently. “Dom. Don’t think about it like that, okay? C’mon and sleep.”
"Don't want to."
“’s not got anything to do with it, does it?” Orlando sighs and wraps his limbs around Dominic loosely, and Dominic slips into the old, familiar pattern of trying to match his breaths to someone else’s, to slow his heart’s race to theirs. “Was it bad, Dom?” Orlando asks him, quietly. “With the professor. You didn’t get-”
Orlando can’t bring himself to say it, it’s clear, and Dominic’s grateful for that; he couldn’t bear the brutal questioning he’s already had from Elijah now coming from anyone else, especially not Orlando. He’s still looking for the right response when Orlando continues.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I just thought-I thought you’d be alright. Both of you.” When Dominic turns his head sharply, Orlando looks away. “I just did. I hoped it would be good. It’s a lot to risk if it’s not. If it wasn’t.”
“It’s a lot to risk even when it is.” Dominic tries to resist the yawn that forces itself from him, and he curls a little tighter into himself even as Orlando’s fingers thread a bit into his own. “It was brilliant, and then it just wasn’t. Everything you thought about him is true, Orli; all that stuff we talked about that day when you came up to me, and there’s more, and I wish I could tell you. I wish I could explain it. It wasn’t about risk, either. Walk up to Billy and ask him and he’ll tell you it was, but it wasn’t.”
“So what was it?”
Dominic thinks for a long time before he hears Billy’s voice in his head, rasping and low and sweet in its constant deferment of all the truths Dominic always wanted to hear. “I’ll tell you another time,” Dominic murmurs, and Orlando sighs again and pulls Dominic even closer, acknowledging that they both know there are better and more honest answers, but that right now there’s nothing more Dominic can actually say.
Authors: kiltsandlollies and escribo
Characters: Dominic/Orlando
Word count: 5300
Summary: Finding comfort and company.
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.
Orlando’s in his room when Dominic finds him, several days after Dominic thinks he's recovered from whatever had brought him to his hands and knees in the dirt that evening with Elijah. Orlando's on his feet and in shirtsleeves, leaning over his desk to read from one of the many books scattered across its surface. It’s late, but the door to the room is half-open, and for a minute Dominic just watches Orlando, staring at the way his forearms hold him steady above the desk and how his features soften in concentration, so unlike what Dominic has noticed sharp focus does to others he knows. Maybe Orlando’s thoughts don’t trouble him, as others’ thoughts do them, Dominic supposes, though he knows that can’t be true; no one’s that lucky, not even Orlando, who’s calmed down significantly in the months Dominic has known him.
After a moment, Orlando mutters something and raises a hand to scratch absently at his chin, his eyes never leaving the page that’s captured his attention. The movement makes Dominic shift too, though, and the sound of floorboards creaking outside the room prompts Orlando to look his way.
“Dom,” he says, advancing toward the door, and it’s only the warmth in his smile and voice that keeps Dominic from tripping over his own feet to walk away. “God, come in. Where have you been, mate? It’s been days-”
Dominic nods, cutting him off, not wanting to hear even the soft admonition that comes from so kind a friend. “I’ve been-it’s just been hard, these past few weeks. I would’ve come. I wanted to. It’s just …” In the middle of Orlando’s room now, Dominic swallows, looking for either the frustration and anger that drove him to come over or the sense of peace he wants to come in the near future to wash over him; anything would be better than the nervous present.
Orlando tilts his head, waiting for more from Dominic, but when it doesn’t come, he doesn’t push. Dominic can see that he’d like to, but in all things between them, Orlando’s been polite, kind even, and that’s one of the main reasons Dominic’s come here, he reminds himself; he needs to know, he needs to understand why and how Orlando could have given Dominic’s game away, to Elijah of all people, even if they are all friends, or are supposed to be.
"I've been busy," Dominic lies and blushes when Orlando says nothing and in his silence everything. "I've been with Elijah."
"So I've heard."
"I feel a bit like I should defend myself."
"No need. I just--" A knock at the door interrupts them and Dominic turns, feeling strangely as though he doesn't want to be seen in Orlando’s room, though not for his own sake. Confused by his own sense of shame, Dominic blushes harder and forces himself to look again at the art that decorates Orlando's walls as Orlando breathes out a sigh and turns to answer the door.
Everything about Orlando’s room seems warmer and better than Dominic’s, and it’s easy for Dominic to settle in here as he perches on the edge of the bed, moving his eyes from one piece of art to the next, trying to connect what they all mean to Orlando. Dominic remembers for a moment wanting to turn away from the Escher posters and scattered Cubist nightmares all over Elijah’s walls; Orlando’s choices are kinder, softer but just as resonant, and Dominic feels himself relaxing in their light and shadows, in the deep colours and quiet of scene after scene. Once Dominic’s looked at everything he can without actually standing up again and peering at the bookshelves and other surfaces, he closes his eyes, wondering if he should leave-if whoever had turned up at Orlando’s door had earned his attention more than Dominic has. It’s bound to be a better friend, Dominic thinks; it’s bound to be someone more interesting and less trapped inside his own head and heart. Before he can trip too far down that path, Orlando is grabbing a book from amongst the stack of many, squeezing Dominic's shoulder as he moves past, and then the door is shutting and they're alone again.
“You told Elijah.” Dominic doesn’t offer it as a question, but Orlando frowns anyway before his mouth works strangely and he pales a little.
“I didn’t. Not straight out, Dom; I said I wouldn’t do that.”
“And I believed you, mate.” Dominic makes to continue, but then his shoulders drop, the tension in them too heavy to bear. “Can you just tell me what you said? Any of it. I need to know, Orli; I can’t fight it, like, unless I know what I’m fighting.”
“I don’t remember.” Orlando frowns again. “We were walking-to the Noble Bachelor. That’s when it was. David had a gig, and Elijah just started following me, and he said something about you, and I just thought he knew, Dom. You’d been getting-” Orlando stops and looks up, rare irritation in his eyes. “You and Elijah. It happened really quickly, I thought. It’s none of my business, okay, and you don't have to defend yourself, I don't want that, but I was still …”
“Not any more than I was.” Dominic drops down on the bed beside Orlando again, and runs his hands through his hair tiredly.
“Look, Dom …” Orlando pauses again, flexing his fingers nervously. “He can be a really good guy sometimes, I know it, but he can also be, I don’t know, kind of the wrong guy at the wrong place.”
“And time. Don’t forget time.”
“I’m being serious,” Orlando says hotly, and Dominic nods.
“Me too."
“He hasn’t got anything to lose here, Dom, so he can’t get his head around it that other people do. He’s not interested in anything but stirring shit up. He’s bored, he told me that much, and everything else is just … going to come out of that.”
“So you’re telling me that he’s just in it for a game?” Dominic says, and Orlando doesn’t respond. Dominic swallows, and nods again. “I knew that. I think I did from the first go. But I thought you were friends, Orli. You’re the reason I ever even … talked to him, like.”
Orlando stands up, his face reddened slightly. “I’m not congratulating myself over it, okay. We were friends. I just can’t watch things happen and not try to stop them anymore-”
“You should have told me, then,” Dominic cuts him off. “After you’d said anything to him about me and Billy. You should have called me, or found me after class or something-”
“Oh, fuck that, Dom,” Orlando sighs. “Trying to catch you after class is like trying to hold on to smoke.”
Dominic has nothing to say to that, and for a few minutes they share an exhausted silence. Orlando breaks it by tapping a pen gently along the edge of his desk, and when Dominic looks up he sees Orlando staring out the window, his jaw clenched tight though he keeps his voice calm.
“I’m so tired of holding back on everything, Dom. I thought you were so fucking brave, just the way you carried yourself around here, and I wanted that, I wanted to be like you. Hell, I wanted you, you know that. And I don’t like-I can’t stand what you’re letting Elijah do to you, just because things didn’t work with the Profes-”
“Stop,” Dominic interrupts him again. “It’s not-none of this is his fault. It's not because of him. We’re talking about Elijah, not Billy. Not the professor, not him.”
“I’m trying to help you, Dom. Just-you’ve got to stop giving Elijah anything to work with. Because he’ll take everything he can from you and just … run with it. It’s fun for him. If you weren’t …” Orlando’s teeth click together and he smacks lightly at his wall, pivoting away from the desk.
“If I weren’t what.” Dominic’s own glare is fierce now. “Say it.”
“If you weren’t fucking, Elijah’d probably take it to the administration.”
Dominic’s stomach turns on itself, and he breathes hard for a moment. “No. He wouldn’t. I’ve got enough on him, too, Orli, and no one would believe him in the first place.”
“He hates the professor.”
“He doesn’t hate me.”
“Not yet.” Orlando blinks, surprised by his own guess, and then he crosses back to the bed, facing Dominic now. “Maybe not as long as you are fucking. Just promise me, okay, promise you’re not going to let him know anything else, or … have anything else from you. He’s like some … I don’t know, one of those fucked-up creatures out of stories; the more they know about you and what you love, the easier it is for them to take it all away. Eat you alive.”
“That doesn’t sound like a story to me.” Dominic shoves his hands through his hair again, leaning his elbows on his knees. “I feel like shite.”
“I know,” Orlando says softly. “I’m sorry.”
“I wouldn’t have told him. Any of it. Not even fucked up, I wouldn’t have. So when we went out to the lake-you know the one I mean, the one with the slope that’ll just drag you down under if you don’t know where you’re going?-when we went there, he just comes out with it before I’d even had a drink in me. He just flat out asks me, are you still in love with him? And I just-didn’t know what I was supposed to say.”
Orlando waits a beat, watching Dominic’s hands clench into loose fists. “You’re allowed to lie.”
“Because I do that so well," Dominic nearly spits the words out, and then shakes his head. "You know I can't. You're the one who told me I had t’hide it better.”
"So are you, Dom?"
"Yeah." Dominic sighs heavily and scrubs his hands over his face before he looks back up to Orlando, saddened suddenly when he sees Orlando recoil slightly. He holds out a hand and offers the most genuine smile he can find. "I'm supposed to say no there, right? I know what it sounds like. I know it’s fucking twee. But look, being with Billy was like nothing I've ever known and I couldn't help feeling like we belonged, you know? That we were meant to be together."
“You’re not.” Orlando says it as gently as he can, Dominic can tell, but there’s still some desperation there. “Dom, I know what it’s like, okay, I get what you’re feeling-”
“Do you? Really.”
“I get what you-saw in him, like, but you just can’t do it. Either of you.”
“Yeah, we’ve established that.” Dominic’s jaw tightens, and then he sits back a little on the bed, pushing a hand out to steady himself when the room seems to spin a little around him.
“You could have waited.” Orlando sits on the bed beside him, one hand on Dominic’s shoulder, propping him back up easily. “Another five months, six, what it is? And then you could have just. I don’t know.” Orlando pauses. “I’m sorry, Dom.”
“I’m not.” When Orlando’s eyes widen slightly, Dominic shakes his head. “Not for that. And Elijah would’ve figured it out. Maybe not from me or you, but you’re right. He sees everything. He’s got fucking beautiful eyes, but all they do is reflect you, yeah?”
Orlando nods, and then gives them both a moment before he shifts back on the bed, Dominic following him until they’re leaning against the headboard, each lost in his own thoughts. After several minutes, Dominic reaches for something on Orlando's nightstand, a small, deep-red statue of Buddha that he finds immediately comforting to hold. It entrances Dominic happily for a long while, and he cradles it in both hands and smiles, letting the weight of it and its smoothness soothe him.
“It’s nice, this. Do you believe in it?”
“What, Buddhism? I don’t know yet. I think so. I want to, though. It makes more sense than a lot of things I’ve believed in before.” Orlando sighs, drumming his fingers on his stomach. “But it’s not the only thing. There’s elements in everything that appeal to me. I love cellos and I love my guitars. I love Carl Orff, yeah, but I also love The Clash.”
“A Buddhist punk,” Dominic laughs, and Orlando lets out a snort of pleasure and horror, punching Dominic’s shoulder lightly as he turns onto his stomach. Dominic’s still grinning as his attention returns to the little statue. “It is really nice, though.”
“It was a gift.” Orlando smiles too, and leans forward a little on his elbow to look at it more closely. “David saw it in a thrift shop, if you can believe it. Gave it to me before he left.”
“Left?” Dominic tilts his head and stares at Orlando. “You’re not-”
“We’re good,” Orlando says, shaking off Dominic’s concern gently as he takes back the statue, balancing it in one hand. “He’s just off for about a month. He’s got a teaching gig in the North, and picked up some evenings in a few local places around there, too. I think he thought I’d miss him or something.” Orlando’s smile widens and he laughs as he reaches to set the Buddha back down on the table “I do, yeah? But it’s good. It’s alright. I’m catching up on things, and …” Orlando shrugs and then raises his eyebrows. “People, too, I suppose. It’s good.”
“But you do miss him.”
“Yeah.” Orlando pauses and looks down at his hands and Dominic’s. “It could be a lot worse, though. And I’ve got so much work to do, Dom, it’s insane-”
“Did you want me to go?”
“No.” It comes out quickly, and Dominic feels a small but sad rush of pleasure that his company’s wanted by someone who’s not eager to take advantage of him and it, even if that someone is not Billy. Orlando shakes his head again and lets his hand brush against Dominic slightly. “No, it’s great to see you, I told you. I don’t want you to go. I thought-” Another pause, and Dominic waits him out, holding his own breath. “I thought you looked like you might want to stay.”
“I do. I’m sorry about … the Elijah thing. I’ve been walking around with it for too long, and I just finished today, and I knew I had to just come ask you, or tell you, or whatever. It’s not like you owe me anything, Orli. I’ve been a crap friend.”
“We’re good,” Orlando says again, and holds Dominic gaze for a long time before he blinks first. “Can I ask-do you know, there’s something I never finished-”
“We never got that coffee.”
Orlando laughs. “We didn’t, I know. No, that’s not what I meant.” He’s still smiling, but Dominic watches and registers the change in his eyes and the set of his shoulders. “Can I sketch you, Dom? You never came back to that class, and I was too-distracted to finish in the time we had.”
Dominic feels the small spike of panic race up his spine, but he wills it back down, unafraid of Orlando’s request but unable to grant it just like that, to offer himself so easily. “I can’t-I don’t look like that anymore,” he says, fumbling with the words. “I can’t hold a pose. It’ll be rubbish.”
“Just your hand,” Orlando says softly. “You had one here-” He reaches for Dominic’s hand and places it behind his head, curving Dominic’s palm at the nape of his neck. Orlando moves around Dominic on the bed, setting Dominic’s fingers exactly where they’d been that day months ago, and Dominic closes his eyes, falling into it easily, regardless of his earlier fears. It's not just anyone asking this of him; it's a friend, someone who's always been a friend, even when Dominic hadn't realized how much he needed one.
“Can you hold that?” Orlando asks. “Just for a few minutes. I can get you anything you need.”
“Is it for class?” Dominic’s voice is raspy, tired, and his fingers slip a little before he remembers and recovers, settling again.
“No.” Orlando slides off the bed and opens drawers at his desk, rifling through their contents until he produces a dogeared sketchbook. “I've got enough to do there to keep me busy tomorrow. This one's just for me, Dom.” He turns back to face Dominic, thumbing through the pages before he shows the unfinished sketch to Dominic. “Is that alright?”
Dominic nods, and for the first several minutes he is; he reaches back into memory to find how he once did this for an hour at a time, just stood or sat still, lost in happier thoughts than he can access now. He remembers thinking of the future, of everything he wanted at that time and for a while managed to have. He can still hear the sound of the art students' breathing, the scratch of their pencils and the scuffing of their shoes on the floor as they stretched cramped limbs in unnecessary sympathy for him. The time he'd spent in the art studios had been good for him, and he misses it now, though he can't imagine walking back up the stairs to Ms. O's rooms and asking to be welcomed back into that quiet warmth of creativity, to become again part of someone else's art.
Whatever comfort he'd found in that near-silence back then, Dominic decides he doesn’t want it now as he sits for Orlando’s sketch. Orlando doesn’t seem to be too absorbed in his work to talk, and when he looks up at Dominic, he's smiling.
“Still alright?”
“Yeah.” Dominic looks behind Orlando at the array of little objects balanced on the trunk against the wall, and he smiles, too. “I keep thinking you’re a collector, but I don’t know of what.”
Orlando laughs, his face lighting up the darkened room. “I don’t know either. It’s all just things I’ve picked up, or were given to me.”
“Even the pictures?”
“Especially the pictures.” Orlando ducks his head to draw again, the noise of his pen very soft on the paper. “I can’t leave a museum without one. It’s one of the reasons I came up here to study.”
“You were closer to London, though. You’ve got all the museums you need.”
“Not so many of the ones I want.” Orlando smudges a line with his fingertip and tilts his head, appraising what he’s done. “I do want to go to London, though. To work, after this. What about you?”
Dominic looks up at the ceiling, not wanting to meet Orlando’s eyes in case he raises them in concern. “I don’t know what I want to do, much less where I want to do it.”
Orlando shrugs, not unkindly. “We’ve both got a while to figure that out. Almost finished, Dom.”
“Take your time,” Dominic says absently, still staring, and Orlando lifts his chin.
“I wish I could.” He looks away as Dominic tilts his own head, and then they both smile when Orlando looks back again, a resigned blush bright in his skin.
“I thought I had, though,” Dominic says while he still holds Orlando’s gaze. “I thought I’d be a teacher. Matt’s got that covered, though. Then I wanted to write.”
Orlando lets silence move between them for a moment, then speaks, quietly. “And now?”
“Now it’s like I just want to sleep.” Dominic breaks the pose, his hand and eyes falling to his lap. Orlando drops the pad and his pen and crawls on the bed beside Dominic again, tucking one leg underneath him as he leans in and stretches one arm around Dominic’s shoulders, his hand sliding carefully into Dominic’s hair.
“Don’t let them do this to you, anyone, any of them,” Orlando tells him, pulling Dominic more tightly toward his chest. Dominic doesn’t fight it; instead he closes his eyes and rests his cheek against Orlando’s shirt, desperate for the feel of something that’s neither Elijah’s t-shirts nor Billy’s crisper, colder button-downs. Orlando’s skin is warm under the fabric, and Dominic instantly craves more of that heat, a craving that neither surprises nor pleases him at first but one he knows he can’t ignore, one that’s too easy to surrender to.
“Don’t do it to yourself, either,” Orlando says now, and Dominic has to work to listen to him, to understand and to nod. “I’m serious, Dom.”
“Okay,” Dominic whispers. “Okay. Can we just-”
He looks up, and before him there’s suddenly another split second in his life in which he makes a decision for himself and someone else, damn the consequences. There’s no thrilling rush of adrenaline when he leans in and Orlando meets him, taking the same breath before they kiss, but there is a shared relief, an instant physical rapport that Dominic knows will mean only as much or as little as he prompts it to.
Orlando feels fantastic under Dominic’s hands, his shirt opening easily under Dominic’s practiced fingers and his chest smooth and strong as Dominic’s, if not stronger. Orlando hums a little in pleasure when Dominic’s lips travel lower, to Orlando’s throat and neck, and his hands curve around Orlando’s waist, coaxing shirt away from skin. It takes Orlando longer to respond in kind, but Dominic makes up for it, helping his own shirt off and letting his hands drift to his own waist before Orlando catches them there and pulls Dominic into another kiss.
This is better, Dominic decides. It feels alright to be here with Orlando, and no one’s being taken by or from anyone else. And Orlando’s early nervousness has mostly vanished; he knows what he likes and what he wants, and Dominic warms under his touch, relaxing even more and falling into kiss after careful, deeper and more curious kiss.
“You still want to stay, yeah?” Orlando asks, his long fingers moving down Dominic’s shoulder to his arm. Dominic nods but keeps his eyes closed until Orlando’s silence forces them open.
“Orlando-”
“Thing is, we really can’t do this, can we?” Orlando smiles and then shakes his head before Dominic can. “I want to. I did, before, but you were a million miles away even then.”
Dominic ducks his head. “That’s what Elijah said. A million miles away.”
“I’m sorry.” Orlando places both hands on Dominic’s shoulders now and leans in again. “I don’t mean it like that.”
“It’s okay if you do.” Dominic finds a smile somewhere deep inside. “No, you’re right, we can’t. Because you’ve got something really good, Orli. I don’t want to fuck that up for you. I don’t want-” Dominic takes a deep breath. “Somebody’s got to be happy, yeah?”
“You will be.” Orlando’s voice is fervent and warmer. “Look, stay here tonight. We’ll just stay here, and you can get some sleep.”
Dominic nods, wanting to believe that it’ll be that easy, that dreams will take him quickly and that he won’t wake too soon feeling like he has to leave this room, before word gets around that he’s spent yet another night away from his own bed. He turns to his side, facing Orlando’s closet, and closes his eyes as he hears Orlando fall to his own back behind him. He can still feel Orlando’s lips on his own and the wiry strength of Orlando’s body. He’s different from Greg, from Elijah, from Billy-he’s different, full stop, not least because he can pull away and just let Dominic rest beside him, and Dominic can let himself relax, knowing that he won’t be interrogated into the ground between them-every thought and memory dragged from him by Elijah’s smiling greed or Billy’s possessive curiosity-or fucked into silence afterward.
That doesn’t stop memory from having its way with him, though; Dominic recalls that the last time he’d felt this comfortable, he’d been in Billy’s bed, and even then it had been some time before Billy had ended it between them. The night after Billy had given him the photographs, maybe, Dominic thinks, and a slow wave of remembrance eases over him, stirring something he hasn’t allowed to overcome him since he’d walked out of Billy’s office in cold anger and exhaustion.
Posing for Orlando tonight, even for such a short time, had encouraged that memory of holding still for Billy’s camera along, Dominic’s sure of it. Orlando’s eyes had been kinder than Billy’s, motivated by his own need rather than Dominic’s, a need that could have been read as academic or emotional, or maybe both at once. It doesn’t matter in the end; what does matter is that the need was there. For a moment Dominic wishes he’d taken even one of the pictures from Billy’s home-the last, maybe, of himself smiling tiredly and reaching for Billy, or one of the first, with Billy’s hand resting pale on Dominic’s back. Dominic shuts his eyes tight now, remembering that touch, and shivers just enough that Orlando reacts in his sleep, moving closer. Little alarm bells ring in Dominic’s mind, telling him that he’s not here with Billy, that the body so near him is not the one he wants there, and that he and Orlando both belong somewhere else, with and to another.
Still, they’re both looking for some kind of comfort here, and it’s easy for Dominic to let himself surrender to pretense. His hand snakes inside his jeans, loose enough now that they present no real obstacle to his own touch. Dominic shifts back against Orlando, who responds with a sleepy murmur and rests his hand idly on Dominic’s arm, less steadying than before but just as welcome. Dominic tells himself to pretend harder, then, if he can’t make himself stop, and Orlando makes it even easier for him, nudging his cheek against Dominic’s.
“I’m sorry,” Dominic whispers urgently, but he can feel Orlando shaking his head again, and then hear the compassion in Orlando’s voice, the kind of understanding that would break Dominic if he let it. In so many ways he wants to, and Orlando knows it.
“’s okay. It’s alright.”
Dominic shakes his head then, more frantically, but Orlando repeats himself and strokes Dominic’s arm as he moves closer, his breath almost too warm near Dominic’s face.
“Go on,” Orlando murmurs gently, pushing at Dominic’s jeans when Dominic can’t seem to clear them with shaking hands. Dominic frees his cock and shivers again before he stills, still uncertain. Orlando releases a soft sound of frustration and need on Dominic’s behalf, settling his hand back on Dominic’s arm. “’m not going to tell, Dom; I’m not going to let anyone take it away from you-”
It’s permission Dominic doesn’t want but desperately needs and takes, then, confused and grateful that he’s been understood in a way that won’t come back to haunt him. He doesn’t have to work hard to make himself believe that it’s Billy’s hand around his cock, coaxing him toward a gentler release than usual. It’s Billy’s voice he hears telling him to let go; it’s Billy’s bruises that he can almost feel struck again, Billy’s matchstrikes that scorch him in places they never actually touched.
Dominic can hear himself making the neediest, quietest sounds, and it’s a shock to not have them shushed or forced louder. Orlando’s fingers brush against Dominic’s own, just the softest of touches, and Dominic arches into them, breath filling his lungs and then releasing itself with as a gasp as he comes, seeing the sparks of Billy’s eyes behind his own and hearing Billy’s little challenge of sweet laughter under the sound of blood pounding in his ears.
He hasn’t fully caught his breath when he feels Orlando turning him onto his back, and Dominic cradles his cock almost protectively until he sees Orlando tilt his head and exhale as if hurt by the gesture. “Sorry,” Dominic breathes, but Orlando’s already moving, reaching in his nightstand for tissues while Dominic looks everywhere but at him.
Orlando offers him the tissues at first, but after Dominic falters and closes his eyes, so tired he can barely move now, Orlando takes over, his hands more steady than Dominic imagines his own will ever be again. Dominic braves another proper look at Orlando, then, and is grateful that there’s no pity in Orlando’s eyes, only more of that honest compassion. Still, Dominic feels like he’s not fulfilled his end of a bargain they hadn’t actually made, and after another few seconds, he covers Orlando’s fingers with his own.
“Did you want-”
Orlando’s smile tightens and he shakes his head. “I’m alright. I don’t want to do that to you, Dom. I’m not-”
“Elijah.”
“No.” Orlando laughs, the nervousness returning to his voice. “I’ve not got those eyes, for a start.”
Dominic laughs too, more of that relief washing over him even as his mind wrestles hard with disgust that he’s done this, to Orlando as well as himself. He bites his lip and forces his eyes open to stare at Orlando’s ceiling again, denying himself sleep he doesn’t feel he’s earned.
“Look, I-thanks,” Dominic says softly. “And I am sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Orlando’s hand flattens on Dominic’s stomach for a moment, just his fingertips inside the waistband of the jeans now. “Nothing happened that shouldn’t have, yeah? It’ll be okay, Dom. It’ll be alright.”
“I didn’t come to here for this. To beg it out of you, like.”
“You didn’t,” Orlando says urgently. “Dom. Don’t think about it like that, okay? C’mon and sleep.”
"Don't want to."
“’s not got anything to do with it, does it?” Orlando sighs and wraps his limbs around Dominic loosely, and Dominic slips into the old, familiar pattern of trying to match his breaths to someone else’s, to slow his heart’s race to theirs. “Was it bad, Dom?” Orlando asks him, quietly. “With the professor. You didn’t get-”
Orlando can’t bring himself to say it, it’s clear, and Dominic’s grateful for that; he couldn’t bear the brutal questioning he’s already had from Elijah now coming from anyone else, especially not Orlando. He’s still looking for the right response when Orlando continues.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I just thought-I thought you’d be alright. Both of you.” When Dominic turns his head sharply, Orlando looks away. “I just did. I hoped it would be good. It’s a lot to risk if it’s not. If it wasn’t.”
“It’s a lot to risk even when it is.” Dominic tries to resist the yawn that forces itself from him, and he curls a little tighter into himself even as Orlando’s fingers thread a bit into his own. “It was brilliant, and then it just wasn’t. Everything you thought about him is true, Orli; all that stuff we talked about that day when you came up to me, and there’s more, and I wish I could tell you. I wish I could explain it. It wasn’t about risk, either. Walk up to Billy and ask him and he’ll tell you it was, but it wasn’t.”
“So what was it?”
Dominic thinks for a long time before he hears Billy’s voice in his head, rasping and low and sweet in its constant deferment of all the truths Dominic always wanted to hear. “I’ll tell you another time,” Dominic murmurs, and Orlando sighs again and pulls Dominic even closer, acknowledging that they both know there are better and more honest answers, but that right now there’s nothing more Dominic can actually say.