Book 4, Chapter 11: The Play's the Thing (1/3)
Title: The Play's the Thing (1/3)
Authors: kiltsandlollies and escribo
Characters: Billy/Dominic; Martin Lonsdale (omc)
Word count: 7130
Summary: An evening inside and out.
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.
When Dominic steps from the shower, the air in the house feels at least ten degrees cooler than it had that morning, and he can hear Billy waging a small battle with the thermostat in the hall. He's said at least five times since Dominic's been back in the house that he needed to call someone out to look at it, but now Billy seems to be taking personal offense that it's not working. There are at least three retorts on the tip of Dominic's tongue about ways to keep warm until Monday--until a serviceman can come out--but Billy hasn't seemed much in the mood for jokes the last several days, and Dominic just squeezes past him in the hall silently on his way to the bedroom they share. He can feel Billy's eyes follow him the short distance and then hears his footsteps.
"Remind me on Monday to call, Dom."
"I will."
"Maybe we should get a room in the city tonight."
"If you want. Although--." Dominic pauses midway through that thought and pulls off his towel, tossing it onto the end of the bed. He moves to the closet, making a show of looking through the clothes there, though he only owns one suit and it's already hanging on the door. Clothing isn't the point, of course, and he smiles when he looks over his shoulder to see Billy has stepped further into the room and is now staring at him unabashedly.
"We'll come home," Billy says, sliding his hands into his pockets and leaning against the dresser, and Dominic nods, pulling three of Billy's ties from the closet.
"Which one, do you think?"
Billy raises his eyes to meet Dominic's, looking at him for a moment as if deciding, before he crosses the room and takes one, leaving it loose around his own neck. For a moment Billy just stares at Dominic, his mouth drawn into a tight line, and Dominic has to fight the urge to kiss him. It's been like this since Monday, he thinks; there's been silences and sudden tension in places and times where there was none before. He wonders if maybe he isn't manufacturing it himself, nervous that Billy should find out about these latest attacks, for lack of a better word, from Elijah. Dominic just waits Billy out until he seems to come back to himself, choosing one of the remaining ties for Dominic and draping it over his bare shoulder. "This'll do. Get dressed, hmm? I don't want to be responsible for your hypothermia. Your mother would never understand."
"There's a lot she wouldn't understand about me, yeah?"
"Then let's not add anything more to the list." Billy takes his jacket and bends to pick up his dress shoes, recently polished, Dominic notes, and wonders if that's the result of one of a few recent occasions Billy's found it hard to sleep and so had settled in the front room to work or putter or cadge a smoke on the sly. Dominic's still forming a way to ask about it, half in jest, when Billy leaves the room silently, and he's left alone to take his time getting dressed in front of the mirror.
The suit is a few years old, a navy blue wool piece of work that Dominic remembers having worn to a great aunt's funeral. He has few occasions or opportunities to wear it now, this being the first time in months. The trousers hang a bit, as he's still down a full stone from where he'd been three months ago, and the jacket tugs slightly at his shoulders where they've broadened. The shirt is new, given to him by Billy just the last weekend; the occasion then had been to leave Dominic looking and feeling as confident as possible for a meeting with the head of the German department, during which Dominic had argued for and thankfully won approval for his thesis topic.
That meeting had happened Monday morning, and almost immediately afterward, Dominic had stopped by Billy's office to explain its result. Between his congratulations, Billy had suggested they drive into the city and to the riverside arts centre there to catch themselves some culture before they were suffocated by Baskerville's slight lack of it. Dominic had never been and so had agreed, but then he would have agreed to nearly anything Billy suggested, and Billy had pointed that out before dragging Dominic against him for a kiss and then pointing him toward the door and class. The day had been another good one, but that evening something seemed to have changed; some shift in the wind had occurred.
As Dominic dresses he tries not to think of it; he wants to go on faith alone that everything will be all right--trusting in Billy and their relationship--and feels that maybe he's being tested. Elijah's presence and persistence certainly feels like a test. He hasn't told Billy about meeting with Elijah, just like he's never told him about the other times Elijah has emailed him or stopped him in the halls, passed him notes with his jagged handwriting spelling out pleas and threats alternately. Elijah was his cross to bear, if he was going to carry out his theme, his hairshirt for the wrongs he committed. There could be nothing as simple as a few Hail Marys for penance.
Dominic knots his tie and pulls on his jacket, straightening his cuffs. His hair has grown back enough to not make him look like a recent recruit to Her Majesty's army, and he's grateful for that. He decides that if he doesn't actually meet his eyes in the mirror, he likes what he sees well enough, and knows that Billy will--and that's the intention here anyway. With that, he leaves the room, ready for whatever the night will bring, and passes Billy in the bathroom, running his hand over his hair one last time and straightening his perpetually off-centered tie. Dominic stops once he reaches the living room, his eyes landing on the table in front of the couch, and on the box that rests there, left by Billy for him to find.
He knows what's in that box, or rather what used to be; he's been careful not to search for anything Billy might have felt there was reason to keep from him this time around, and the leather cuffs Billy had purchased and modified for him could easily have made that list. Dominic's blood pounds hard in his ears, making his face flush hot and red until he takes a deep breath and holds his ground against what that box came to represent to him, waiting for better sense memory to take over from shock or fear. There's nothing to fear, Dominic tells himself, and everything to gain from letting Billy see that he couldn't be rattled by the opportunity he can see here, if it is even that; it may just be another test, and Dominic has no intention of failing this one.
"There's a lot no one else has to understand about you," Billy murmurs from behind him, and Dominic has to take another breath again and focus on the sound of Billy's voice and on the box, too; the connection between the two is enough to set him almost on his knees, and Billy knows it, resting his hands on Dominic's waist and moving close enough that Dominic can smell the soap on his skin. "Provided y'do so yourself. When you're ready, Dominic, only then. If. They're still there, and they're still yours."
Dominic doesn't respond at first, not trusting his voice. It takes everything he has not to sink into Billy's touch and to take from it a forgiveness he doesn't feel he's earned. Billy leans in closer, nudging his cheek against Dominic's hair and humming idly, as if this is the kindest of challenges he's presenting Dominic, and Dominic thinks that it just might be.
"Do you still feel up to this tonight, Dom?"
What this is or might be goes unspoken, but the possibilities are ones Dominic thinks he can handle, and so he nods, slowly but with a hard-won comfort, and that earns him a tighter press back against Billy's body. "I'm alright," he says then, and means it. "I want to--I want to see them again. I just--I remember the way they smell, you know? You had that, what was it, some kind of salve?" Billy hums again, the sound and feel of it moving warm against Dominic's cheek when Billy tilts his head. "It smelled like rosemary," Dominic continues. "They smelled like leather and rosemary and--"
Dominic holds his hand out in front of him, turning it palm up, his fingers stretching as he remembers. "And us," he finally says. "They smelled like us."
Billy goes still behind him for a moment, and then exhales, his hands rising to catch Dominic's biceps, stilling him, too. "Go and sit," he says quietly and then releases Dominic, and Dominic has to force himself not to move too quickly, instead settling on the couch and leaning forward just enough to tug at his trousers with his long fingers and then reach to bring Billy near. His hand just brushes against Billy's, though; Billy's eyes are on the box now, but he throws Dominic a soft sidelong glance that makes Dominic draw back and wait, and again he's rewarded for it.
"Alright," Billy murmurs and sits beside Dominic, pulling the box closer to them before he takes off the lid and sets it down on top of back issues of thick academic journals that Billy had said he no longer had any use for, their covers torn and pages yellowed. The previous Sunday's papers join them in a pile Dominic had meant to put into the recycling bin but had forgotten in the wake of other items on other agendas. For a moment Dominic finds it easier to try to make out the headlines underneath the lid of the box, and then to follow the inlaid pattern of mother of pearl inside the box itself before he lets himself look at the cuffs.
They're as beautiful as he'd remembered, thick and deep brown, the clasps and rings shining bright silver. The scent of the leather is visceral, carrying Dominic back to the few times he was allowed to wear the cuffs, especially to the first time, the first night they'd played a scene.
It was just that, though, scenes; they'd been very careful on that point. They hadn't wanted the games they played to overwhelm the rest of their relationship, and Dominic doesn't really believe they had; nevertheless there were times when those hours they'd spent together had been easier than others. Neither he nor Billy had been as honest with the other as either should have been, and Dominic had constantly feared tipping the equilibrium of their relationship until the whole thing had been made moot by Billy's decision to end things between them.
Equilibrium. Dominic has other fears now, but still he smiles remembering the safe word that Billy had given him the first time they had engaged in a scene. They'd kept it, even after Billy had said Dominic could change it had he wanted to, but it wasn't a word that Dominic ever planned to say or need. Even now, Dominic can't imagine using it. Billy had said there were limits to everything and everyone, but Dominic can't picture any between them. After several long seconds Dominic realizes that Billy's not going to force the issue in either direction; he's sitting as forward as Dominic but the tension in his lean is different, and his focus is on Dominic, not the box that still holds Dominic's attention. If Dominic wants more, he'll have to ask for or just take it, and the decision's an easy one with Billy's eyes on him, willing strength and more than a little of his own desire into Dominic.
Dominic reaches for one of the cuffs, holds it as if weighing it in his palm. He can see the notches Billy carved with his pocketknife, scored onto the inside of the cuff. He remembers how rough they felt against his skin whilst being butter smooth on the outside. He remembers feeling grounded when he wore them, connected--safe and calm, just as he does when he falls asleep in Billy's arms at night. He presses the leather against his lips and breathes in that familiar scent, imagining he can still smell his own sweat and Billy's, too.
"I want to wear them tonight," Dominic says quietly, holding the cuff out to Billy. He can see Billy pale slightly before his cheeks color again. Dominic understands then that they were meant only to be seen as a reminder. They hadn't been on offer, not really; not tonight. But Dominic picks up the other and presents them both to Billy along with his wrists, demanding them as conditions of a small surrender. He doesn't take a full breath until Billy nods slowly, the gesture a white flag of his own.
Billy takes the cuffs and puts them to one side as he works open Dominic's shirtcuffs, as easily as if it's only been days since they've done anything like this. Dominic's wrists are paler than the rest of him, his veins visible beneath his skin, and Billy strokes his fingers across Dominic's palm and down his forearm before he reaches for one of the cuffs, cradling it underneath Dominic's wrist and holding it there for a moment, just letting Dominic feel it, letting the leather warm his skin. When Billy curves the buckle over, Dominic can sense the weight of his stare moving to Dominic himself; Billy's waiting, Dominic thinks, for a sign that Dominic's changed his mind. There's not a chance, though, and Dominic keeps his own attention on the cuff itself, and on the feel of Billy's hands on him.
"Confido," Billy murmurs, and the word simply falls into the air like that, to both their surprise. Closing the buckles, Billy tests their give and scratches his fingers lightly under the edge of the cuff, then takes his time pulling Dominic's sleeve back down over it, the material loose enough to still cover Dominic's wrists easily.
Billy repeats the motions on Dominic's other hand, but before he buckles the cuff closed, he looks up again and waits a few breaths. "Look at me, Dom," he says, his voice as soft as before. Dominic meets his eyes, and Billy keeps their gaze locked as he finishes his work, until the other sleeve is buttoned again, and Billy's fingers slide between Dominic's.
"How d'you feel?"
"Safe," Dominic says, smiling for a second before his lips flatten out. "Scared. Nervous." He lets his eyes fall to his wrists again. There's a smudged oil stain near the bright silver buckle from where he'd been careless one night while massaging the deep knots from Billy's back, and the memory of that night makes his smile return. "Safe," he says again, raising his eyes to find Billy's.
Billy nods in response to this last word, easier to take, Dominic supposes, than a few of the others. "Safe will do for now. I can give you that." Billy's hands rise to curve at Dominic's face, a smile moving slowly over his own. It comes to Dominic then that it's the first smile he's seen from Billy since Monday afternoon, and he wonders how he went so long without noticing.
"They're yours, when you need them or I want you in them," Billy's saying, holding Dominic's gaze and lowering his voice when he speaks again. "But they can't be the only things that keep you here. You're just as safe without them, just as wanted and needed."
"Am I?"
"Do you still question it?"
"Not really." Dominic's smile holds steady even when it's met with Billy's narrowed eyes. "I don't, Billy. I don't question it. I just want this to be good for you; I want to be good for you, and sometimes I think--"
"Don't." Billy's eyes fall back to Dominic's wrists, his hands following. He strokes his thumbs beneath the leather, his fingers going tight around Dominic's wrists. "You're good for me. You're--" Billy stops, his fingers pressing tight against the pulse point beneath the leather before he kisses Dominic hard and fast. He pulls away just as quickly, leaving Dominic slightly off balance, swaying towards him as he pulls Dominic to his feet.
"We should get moving. These fucking four walls, Dom; I can't take it another five minutes, I can't. By midnight I'll want to be back inside them, you can lay odds on it, but Christ, I need to get out--"
Dominic steadies himself with a hand to Billy's shoulder before even that is withdrawn as Billy goes in search of his keys from beneath the pile of unopened mail on the desk, still half-rambling, half-ranting. Dominic tries to focus on Billy's words falling around him like mortar shells, and he has to slide his own fingers beneath the cuff of one shirt to touch the leather and confirm for himself that the last few minutes really happened. Sliding his finger through the silver ring of one cuff and tugging, Dominic centers himself, shakes off whatever doubt that had settled over his thoughts like cobwebs and catches the last of Billy's tumbling thoughts.
"--and see the lights of an actual city, Dom, and pretend I remember how to drive in one, and listen to people talk about something that's not got anything to do with this fucking school or how long it'll be till they tear down the next building. D'you know it's been two years since I've seen a play?"
Dominic throws Billy as ferocious a grin as he can manage. "Long enough that you think 'bums on seats' means a film, yeah?"
"Something like that." Billy reaches again for Dominic, pulling him close so that they're reflected together in the tarnished mirror on the wall near Billy's desk. "Look at us. At you. You'll stick close tonight, Dominic; I'm going to bear the envy of anyone paying attention when y'walk by." Dominic laughs and ducks his head, but looks up again when Billy slides his hand into the back of Dominic's hair, mussing it further and then leaning so that their foreheads touch. "'m dead serious, and you make it worth it." A pause, and Billy's grip tightens in Dominic's hair, lowering his voice again. "Equilibrium, yeah?"
Dominic swallows and nods. "I remember."
"Good. Then your chariot awaits."
Once inside Billy's car, Dominic thinks it might as well be a chariot; Billy's driving like a hellion and it still feels like it's not fast enough to get them where they want to be. The city's near enough to make the drive plausible but too far to make it particularly enjoyable, especially when Billy's frustration momentarily overwhelms them on a ring road, and the music they'd been enjoying suddenly become just another noise. Dominic hides his laughter at Billy's annoyed huffs and the tetchy rolls of his shoulders and drumming of his fingers on the steering wheel, but he can't keep quiet when Billy's cut off in traffic by what looks like a seventeen-year-old girl, amused herself by Billy's affronted shout. The glare Billy shoots Dominic's way eases into a smile, though, when Billy recognizes what an idiot's he's being, and Dominic takes his chance to distract Billy more safely, brushing his thumb over the scar that's never faded entirely from the back of Billy's hand.
"How long has it been?" Dominic asks, and Billy frowns.
"Since?"
"Since you've been in the city."
Billy frowns again, thinking, and then he raises his eyebrows and smirks a bit, nodding down at Dominic's wrist. "Not since I had a bit of shopping to do. If I'd planned this a little better we might have fit some of that in, too. Not that what we've got going isn't enough; I've heard brilliant things about this, Dom; Shakespeare's a bastard to modernize unless you've got the right play, and what we're about to see can go both ways, yeah? Did you ever see it, Dom? Did you ever do that school-trip Shakespeare thing? Or outside school, did you go to the shows?"
"I went to the Shakespeare Motor Company in Manchester," Dominic grins, drumming his own fingers on top of Billy's. "That counts, yeah? Good food, poor choice of beers. Actually, I--" He hesitates, sneaking a look at Billy's profile before he continues. "When I was younger the school--I had a teacher who used Shakespeare to, I don't know, calm me down or something. Set me the task of memorizing speeches or sonnets to recite later. Kept me in my seat for five minutes and I think that was her chief goal."
"A noble goal, that."
"You would know," Dominic laughs, but Billy's expression holds no tease; they're both aware of the work they've both put in finding ways to allow Dominic to settle in class, and after a moment Billy's hand drifts to catch Dominic's, his fingers trailing inside Dominic's shirtcuff to tug gently at the circle of leather around Dominic's wrist. Dominic's smile stays fixed, but he feels the familiar warmth coming over his body until Billy releases him to change gear.
"So let's hear it," Billy says lightly. "Let's hear what you remember."
Dominic laughs again, but sits up straighter--properly, he reminds himself. "'Love is not love, which alters when it alteration finds,'" he recites, "'or bends with the remover to remove. O no, it is an ever fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken.' I made it work, and you'd be surprised how far you can get on pretty words, Billy."
"Very pretty. Interesting that she should have chosen such a lush piece of poetry for you. You can speak the verse, definitely better than I could. 'Measure for Measure,' this play tonight, it's not got a lot of the lyricism of Shakespeare's more gentler plays, but it has its moments." Billy turns back to Dominic with a smile of his own. "You'll have to take me to that place in Manchester, even with the crap beer. All your haunts, I think. You're about to enjoy what used t'be one of mine. Let's not talk about how often I used to cross the bridge and talk my way into this place without a ticket, even when I could have paid for it. I was a bit of a shit, but yeah, pretty words." Billy shrugs and then smirks again. "I still can be a bit of a shit, with or without them. So what else d'you remember from all that recitation?"
"She let me recite whatever I liked. Whatever I was willing to memorize." Dominic grins, trying to find remember other pieces, and only coming up with phrases, things he dutifully recites for Billy before quickly running out and supplementing with his own poetry. He stops mid-speech when Billy seems to notice he's no longer working from Shakespeare or anyone else and starts laughing. "Terrible, I know. My first poem. I totally plagiarized Shakespeare."
"Well, that's not the worst choice," Billy laughs. "And it should have compelled you to do better on your own. They say there are no original ideas, Dom; that everything's been written. We're all cheaters, all riding coattails and adding inches to the fabric, yeah? I like to think they would have approved, all those writers; they were only doing the same. Look there, Dom: 's the Centre."
Dominic finds the carpark beyond the greyish buildings long before Billy does, and Billy nods, following Dominic's directions and moving the car expertly underground and into the labyrinth of spaces. Dominic doesn't have much time to appreciate his general surroundings before Billy's marching them up and through long, endless corridors and lobbies, pointing out this half-hidden door that leads to dressing rooms and that staircase that leads to possibly the best alcove in the city for a furtive reach-around. Dominic blushes and laughs, too pleased to question Billy on any background to this information and thrilled to imagine Billy at dirty work in these places years ago. Once Billy's secrets are for the moment exhausted, he tilts his head and nudges his shoulder against Dominic's, bringing them back to their former topic.
"So now that you've got talent of your own and no need to crib off Shakespeare, I say we take a bet. A friendly one." Billy's eyes are dancing, and he hums for a moment as he thinks. "I'll stake you ten quid that you'll be published before you're my age. Plenty of time, plenty of surety. What do you say?"
Dominic blushes harder, but it's out of pleasure that Billy believes him so talented. He shakes his head, thinking it's not a bet he wants to take, but reconsiders at the gleam in Billy's eye. He decides to bank more on Billy's belief in him than on anything else. "Alright. Ten quid. I don't know who's going to be interested in publishing a Brit writing German poetry, but you're on."
Billy's smile in return is delighted, offered up to the tall ceilings first, then to Dominic. Dominic shoves his hands in his pockets as they continue walking, poetry high in his thoughts and deservedly so, he thinks as he catches sight of something from the corner of his eyes. He drags Billy over the ornate display, pointing at a model building within a glass case.
"The Poetry Library," Dominic reads from a ornate display telling of the library's intent and the arts centre's involvement. "On the fifth level. It says they've acquired two copies of each work of poetry published in the UK. I'll owe you ten quid and have my book in here, and that will be my illustrious writing career, then. Not much more I can hope for, but I'll be happy enough to make you proud, I guess."
Dominic is still grinning as he looks over the display. The truth is that he'd like nothing more to be published, and has ideas already about the title of his first journeybook and how its dedication will read. A thought occurs to him, a deeply held fear that dogs every dream he has, though he tries not to make it seem such an obstacle as he turns back to Billy. "Do you think it'll matter that I'm gay? I mean, do you think it'll be harder to find someone willing to take that chance?"
"Not really, no," Billy answers easily, squinting at the plaque Dominic's finished reading. "Your illustrious writing career shouldn't hinge so narrowly on any one aspect of who you are, Dom, though think of the effect your writing could have ten years down the line on someone just like you or me. What chance d'you think a publisher would have to take? Your work should stand on its own. Whatever you choose to share of yourself outside of your pages is up to you. I think ..." Dominic watches as Billy's lips tighten in thought, and then there's Billy smile again, warm and genuine. "I see you making honest overtures in your books, Dom. I see you being true to yourself in every word. And once you've done that, I think you'd find it impossible to hide anything you felt quite so passionately outside of the work."
Billy steps closer to Dominic, almost confrontational in the tilt of his head and the mild dare in his eyes. "You'll have nothing and no reason to hide. Neither of us will. 's a bit odd, isn't it? I'm a teacher who wants to write; you're a writer who wants to teach. No reason not to switch off sometimes, is there--"
"Those had better not be your fingerprints on my display," comes a crisp voice behind them, and Billy and Dominic both turn in surprise before Billy bursts into laughter. The man who now extends his hand is perhaps ten years older than Billy, maybe more, his full hair entirely grey and the corners of his eyes deeply lined. He's also grinning broadly and pressing his hands to Billy's and Dominic's backs, leading them around the other side of the display. "Good, isn't it? The funding took forever, as y'can expect, but we're sorted out, and it's proved more popular than we imagined."
Dominic watches as Billy nods, peering at what must be a first edition volume of old Irish poetry before he makes the introductions. "Dominic, I'd like you to meet Professor Martin Lonsdale. The professor's part time at Fluellen, the Sydenhurst campus up north; he was also the editor of Abeyonne, d'you remember the journal I was telling you about?" At Dominic's nod, Billy's smile creases his face in two, and he curls his hand around the top of Dominic's shoulder with a mix of pride and possessiveness, his eyes locking with Dominic even as he speaks to the professor. "Dominic Monaghan, Martin. One of Baskerville's philosopher poets; my partner. He was just telling me about your project here. Shall we tell the professor about our little wager, Dom?"
"It was nothing, just--" Dominic falters even as he shakes the professor's hand firmly. His imagination's already spun off in another direction, his heart and mind dizzy from hearing Billy just speak it aloud, referring to Dominic as his partner, something Dominic's never heard before and never believed he would. He has to work to pay attention to what Billy's saying now, but Billy's on a tear, his hand sliding from Dominic's shoulder down his back, locking Dominic against his side and giving Dominic strength as Dominic's cheeks and ears blaze red. He can't really call himself embarrassed, though; Billy's confidence in him and in his writing is almost enough without needing others to see or read it.
"--such a power in his writing," Billy's saying, his free hand closing into a loose fist for emphasis. "If I'm honest, Martin, I believe these things have just been waiting to be set loose from him. Freed." Billy nods at Dominic again before turning back to the professor. "There's such a struggle now in contemporary poetry and literature; you hear about it more than I do. One man bemoans the glut of young writers, another says there's not a proper author among them. But there are voices, Dominic's among them, that demand to be heard--more than demand; it's a gentler thing ... they persuade you to listen." Billy takes a breath and laughs at the professor's amused expression. "I'm biased. Conceded. But the future will tell, yeah? I've bet Dominic ten pounds--'m still a cheap bastard--but I've bet him he'll be published by the time he's my age--"
"You have twenty years, Mr. Monaghan," Lonsdale smirks, and Billy huffs.
"Fifteen. My point is that it'll happen."
Lonsdale tilts his head at Dominic, and pushes his hands in his pockets. "Have you read any of Abeyonne, Mr. Monaghan? Then you know that they do accept poetry and creative pieces in all the European languages. Embracing pan-continental influence and all that. And God knows we need decent poetry. I have your name now," he smiles, leaning down a bit to smile encouragingly at Dominic and then dart his eyes toward Billy. "And you've got someone who'll lean hard on you to get it done. I'll expect to hear from you soon, if that one can shut it long enough to leave you in peace to get what you want down on paper."
Billy frowns in a mock charge of irritation and steps backward in the direction of the bar, and Dominic reads the pleasure in his next smirk. "Right, that's enough; I'm out of my league here. Go on, both of you have at it. I'll expect you to say something appropriately glowing in my defense, Dom."
Once Billy is safely out of earshot, Professor Lonsdale coughs politely to get Dominic's attention, but when Dominic looks up at him, his expression is very kind. "You're still a student."
"I'm in my last year."
"His student."
Dominic looks down at his shoes, unsure of how he should answer but unwilling to lie. There's not more to suss out here, he supposes; the man knows Billy, knows he's a professor and can tell Dominic's significantly younger, and it would take no great leap of logic to determine Dominic's relationship with Billy even if Billy hadn't said it aloud. Still, Dominic feels compelled to keep a secret that he hadn't been able to keep before, and so he says nothing.
"It's not a trick, Mr. Monaghan. I've known Billy a long time, and I've never known him to take up with one of his students before."
Dominic nods before he lifts his head. "It's not just like that," he says quietly, then raises his chin a little. "Neither of us is taking advantage. And it's not--"
"Anyone's concern but your own." Lonsdale nods too, then takes a deep breath. "Least of all mine. You could do worse for a teacher or a partner, though, and if you're careful, well. Continue to be so." He pauses, and Dominic waits him out, surprised that the man's so blasé about it; he's clearly enough of a friend to Billy to feel comfortable saying these things, but then he doesn't work with Billy anymore, and there's got to be a safety in that, too--he's under no obligation to run them both in to some authority at Baskerville, and when he shrugs and smiles, Dominic does as well, choosing to relax and treat the man as a friend as well, the first of Billy's he's met, and to behave as if the conversation's only one of many they could have. Lonsdale picks up on Dominic's determined ease, and clasps Dominic's shoulder, moving them to one side as another couple arrives to look at the display.
"Tell me what it is you're writing now, Mr. Monaghan."
Dominic lowers his eyes again and then remembers that he's speaking here about what he loves to do, what some part of him knows he's good at, even though he can't always acknowledge it without the prompting of another. "I'm finishing my portfolio. Ten poems and a critical analysis, kind of a mixed essay on the modern Germanic movement in poetry and how I fit in as a Brit writing in German, principally."
"Then you're writing in a second language." Lonsdale raises his eyebrows. "Making it hard for yourself."
"No," Dominic shakes his head quickly. "Easier in some ways. I grew up in Germany. I've spoken the language it feels like my whole life. My parents wanted me and my brother to be comfortable with it. And I'm more self-conscious when I write in English. Self-critical, I guess. Every bad thing I've ever heard repeats itself in English." He gives the professor a wry smile, shaking his head again as he remembers his father's voice among others explaining that his time would be better spent on the footie pitch or recopying his maths homework rather than writing or acting in plays. "German gives me my voice. My freedom, even beyond the flexibility of the language. There are things you can't say the same way--the words don't carry the same weight in English."
The professor nods as if he understands, patting Dominic on the shoulder again before stepping back. "I imagine you'd find it easier in print than aloud in any case. You sound enough like a local boy now to me." Lonsdale's smile widens. "A northern local boy, like I was till they pounded the north out of me down here."
Dominic smiles tightly, thinking again of his father and the stories he'd told about his adolescence and years at university. "I learned to adapt when we moved to Manchester. I didn't want to be thought of as any more different than I really was. My brother and I used German as kind of a secret language--my first series of poems was about that. About Matt and me." Dominic's smile grows warmer as he thinks how even now he and Matt speak more in German out of habit and a feeling of protection. Spotting Billy coming towards them, Dominic relaxes even more; he's glad to have Billy near again, however comfortable he'd begun to feel speaking to Professor Lonsdale. "How long have you and Billy known each other?"
"Long enough that he's probably got a file on me," Billy reappears by their side, smirks at Lonsdale and settles his hand on Dominic's back again as Dominic takes the offered bottle of water from his hand. "What is it, almost ten years? Both of us had more hair, I can tell you that." Billy raises an eyebrow at Dominic, and then laughs. "Dom, this man could tell you some of the worst stories about me, but I have plenty on him, too. D'you know he actually thought I was his clerk the first time we met? And being the sad git I am, I just nodded and did what he asked, thinking it was some sort of test, I suppose." Billy's eyes move back to Lonsdale, and as he tilts his head, Dominic thinks he seems much younger suddenly, drawn up tight within himself until Billy seems to recognize it, too. "I learned a great deal from you, Martin," Billy says softly. "Thank you for that."
Lonsdale nods in acknowledgment, and then all three of them look up at the sound of a gently ringing bell on the other side of the foyer. "That'd be the symphony," Lonsdale sighs. "And I estimate about a minute before my wife's at my arm and dragging me in there. Berlioz, which spare me, honestly, but." He thrusts a hand out at Billy, and Billy shakes it firmly before Dominic moves to do the same.
"Write something tonight," Professor Lonsdale says very quietly to Dominic. "You've got it in your head already, I can tell. Perhaps you'll send it to us." Turning toward Billy, Lonsdale offers another nod. "We'll talk soon, Bill."
As the professor moves down the hall, Billy nudges his shoulder against Dominic's and sighs. "A good man. We have about five minutes until we're meant to be seated as well. Shall we?"
Dominic allows himself to be maneuvered toward the theatre while his thoughts remain on the encounter with Professor Lonsdale. The chance to speak to someone else about his writing and to stand beside Billy as very nearly an equal on unfamiliar ground is something Dominic couldn't imagine having until well after he'd finished at Baskerville, and to have had it now leaves Dominic feeling stronger, exhilarated almost. Once he and Billy are seated in the theatre, with several others around them searching for their own seats, Dominic turns to Billy and finds himself the object of Billy's careful attention again. "I still can't believe this sometimes," Dominic says, the words falling from his lips before he can stop them. "That I'm here. With you. We found a way, Billy, and we're just--I'm allowed to be with you."
Dominic blushes and ducks his head again. His fingers seek out the cuff around his right wrist, and he runs his thumbnail beneath the tight edge. The words weren't what he'd meant to say, however much he still means them. It happens like this when he's with Billy lately, though; there's no filter between his heart and mind unless he works to build it. Smiling, his cheeks still tinged scarlet, Dominic gives it another go, meeting Billy's eyes again. "Professor Lonsdale was a very nice man. I'm glad we met him."
"He is." Billy's expression is calm, almost impassive if it weren't for the light Dominic can see dancing in his eyes. "It's been months since I've seen him, and I'm going t'have to make a point not to let that happen again. He was fairly taken with you, I think." Dominic laughs and shifts in his chair, but Billy stills him with a touch to Dominic's knee. "D'you think I don't see these things, Dom? Martin's a good man, but he's not interested in wandering minds; he's the last person you think you'd find teaching and loving arts and letters. He saw something grounded in you, Dom; let yourself see it too."
Billy and Dominic both stand to allow a group of four to pass them on their way to seats on the other side of Billy. Billy's hand settles on Dominic's back, moving up and down restlessly while Dominic works to not sink back against the touch again. He stares instead up at the theatre ceiling and then at the stark design of the theatre's proscenium arch, concentrating on the angles of wood and metal as Billy leans closer, keeping them standing for a moment after they have no more need to do so.
"Belief's a hard thing, isn't it," Billy murmurs, and Dominic nods, his eyes still on the stage in front of him. He's certain that if he turns Billy's way again he won't be able to turn back, not if Billy's voice stays this warm and his hand even more so. That hand travels to find Dominic's, drifting to curve around Dominic's wrist as Billy continues. "You've got enough for both of us, yeah? You've got that faith, that trust in everything I don't always have. I don't think it's about being allowed anything, necessarily. Might just be fate working for good for once. It's not just that, either, though, is it. We're making the right choices. There's power in that."
Billy's grip tightens on Dominic's wrist, and he lowers his voice so that Dominic has to strain to hear it. "Get that down on paper, hmm? Tell that story someday."
The lights come down as Dominic follows the tug of Billy's hand and sits again, the feel of Billy so tight against him still registering down his body. In the darkness Billy's fingers trail inside the cuff, and Dominic closes his eyes, thinking he's rarely been told he's made the right choices in his life. He hasn't needed affirmation of the one that means the most to him now, but he finds it thrilling to hear nonetheless; in the moment Billy's certainty feels enough to silence the doubts of everyone else Dominic's ever known.
Billy doesn't seem surprised when Dominic's resolve breaks and he turns, taking advantage of the darkness to lean in and demand a kiss from Billy. He pulls away when the music swells and then sits back, his evening's second act underway.
Authors: kiltsandlollies and escribo
Characters: Billy/Dominic; Martin Lonsdale (omc)
Word count: 7130
Summary: An evening inside and out.
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.
When Dominic steps from the shower, the air in the house feels at least ten degrees cooler than it had that morning, and he can hear Billy waging a small battle with the thermostat in the hall. He's said at least five times since Dominic's been back in the house that he needed to call someone out to look at it, but now Billy seems to be taking personal offense that it's not working. There are at least three retorts on the tip of Dominic's tongue about ways to keep warm until Monday--until a serviceman can come out--but Billy hasn't seemed much in the mood for jokes the last several days, and Dominic just squeezes past him in the hall silently on his way to the bedroom they share. He can feel Billy's eyes follow him the short distance and then hears his footsteps.
"Remind me on Monday to call, Dom."
"I will."
"Maybe we should get a room in the city tonight."
"If you want. Although--." Dominic pauses midway through that thought and pulls off his towel, tossing it onto the end of the bed. He moves to the closet, making a show of looking through the clothes there, though he only owns one suit and it's already hanging on the door. Clothing isn't the point, of course, and he smiles when he looks over his shoulder to see Billy has stepped further into the room and is now staring at him unabashedly.
"We'll come home," Billy says, sliding his hands into his pockets and leaning against the dresser, and Dominic nods, pulling three of Billy's ties from the closet.
"Which one, do you think?"
Billy raises his eyes to meet Dominic's, looking at him for a moment as if deciding, before he crosses the room and takes one, leaving it loose around his own neck. For a moment Billy just stares at Dominic, his mouth drawn into a tight line, and Dominic has to fight the urge to kiss him. It's been like this since Monday, he thinks; there's been silences and sudden tension in places and times where there was none before. He wonders if maybe he isn't manufacturing it himself, nervous that Billy should find out about these latest attacks, for lack of a better word, from Elijah. Dominic just waits Billy out until he seems to come back to himself, choosing one of the remaining ties for Dominic and draping it over his bare shoulder. "This'll do. Get dressed, hmm? I don't want to be responsible for your hypothermia. Your mother would never understand."
"There's a lot she wouldn't understand about me, yeah?"
"Then let's not add anything more to the list." Billy takes his jacket and bends to pick up his dress shoes, recently polished, Dominic notes, and wonders if that's the result of one of a few recent occasions Billy's found it hard to sleep and so had settled in the front room to work or putter or cadge a smoke on the sly. Dominic's still forming a way to ask about it, half in jest, when Billy leaves the room silently, and he's left alone to take his time getting dressed in front of the mirror.
The suit is a few years old, a navy blue wool piece of work that Dominic remembers having worn to a great aunt's funeral. He has few occasions or opportunities to wear it now, this being the first time in months. The trousers hang a bit, as he's still down a full stone from where he'd been three months ago, and the jacket tugs slightly at his shoulders where they've broadened. The shirt is new, given to him by Billy just the last weekend; the occasion then had been to leave Dominic looking and feeling as confident as possible for a meeting with the head of the German department, during which Dominic had argued for and thankfully won approval for his thesis topic.
That meeting had happened Monday morning, and almost immediately afterward, Dominic had stopped by Billy's office to explain its result. Between his congratulations, Billy had suggested they drive into the city and to the riverside arts centre there to catch themselves some culture before they were suffocated by Baskerville's slight lack of it. Dominic had never been and so had agreed, but then he would have agreed to nearly anything Billy suggested, and Billy had pointed that out before dragging Dominic against him for a kiss and then pointing him toward the door and class. The day had been another good one, but that evening something seemed to have changed; some shift in the wind had occurred.
As Dominic dresses he tries not to think of it; he wants to go on faith alone that everything will be all right--trusting in Billy and their relationship--and feels that maybe he's being tested. Elijah's presence and persistence certainly feels like a test. He hasn't told Billy about meeting with Elijah, just like he's never told him about the other times Elijah has emailed him or stopped him in the halls, passed him notes with his jagged handwriting spelling out pleas and threats alternately. Elijah was his cross to bear, if he was going to carry out his theme, his hairshirt for the wrongs he committed. There could be nothing as simple as a few Hail Marys for penance.
Dominic knots his tie and pulls on his jacket, straightening his cuffs. His hair has grown back enough to not make him look like a recent recruit to Her Majesty's army, and he's grateful for that. He decides that if he doesn't actually meet his eyes in the mirror, he likes what he sees well enough, and knows that Billy will--and that's the intention here anyway. With that, he leaves the room, ready for whatever the night will bring, and passes Billy in the bathroom, running his hand over his hair one last time and straightening his perpetually off-centered tie. Dominic stops once he reaches the living room, his eyes landing on the table in front of the couch, and on the box that rests there, left by Billy for him to find.
He knows what's in that box, or rather what used to be; he's been careful not to search for anything Billy might have felt there was reason to keep from him this time around, and the leather cuffs Billy had purchased and modified for him could easily have made that list. Dominic's blood pounds hard in his ears, making his face flush hot and red until he takes a deep breath and holds his ground against what that box came to represent to him, waiting for better sense memory to take over from shock or fear. There's nothing to fear, Dominic tells himself, and everything to gain from letting Billy see that he couldn't be rattled by the opportunity he can see here, if it is even that; it may just be another test, and Dominic has no intention of failing this one.
"There's a lot no one else has to understand about you," Billy murmurs from behind him, and Dominic has to take another breath again and focus on the sound of Billy's voice and on the box, too; the connection between the two is enough to set him almost on his knees, and Billy knows it, resting his hands on Dominic's waist and moving close enough that Dominic can smell the soap on his skin. "Provided y'do so yourself. When you're ready, Dominic, only then. If. They're still there, and they're still yours."
Dominic doesn't respond at first, not trusting his voice. It takes everything he has not to sink into Billy's touch and to take from it a forgiveness he doesn't feel he's earned. Billy leans in closer, nudging his cheek against Dominic's hair and humming idly, as if this is the kindest of challenges he's presenting Dominic, and Dominic thinks that it just might be.
"Do you still feel up to this tonight, Dom?"
What this is or might be goes unspoken, but the possibilities are ones Dominic thinks he can handle, and so he nods, slowly but with a hard-won comfort, and that earns him a tighter press back against Billy's body. "I'm alright," he says then, and means it. "I want to--I want to see them again. I just--I remember the way they smell, you know? You had that, what was it, some kind of salve?" Billy hums again, the sound and feel of it moving warm against Dominic's cheek when Billy tilts his head. "It smelled like rosemary," Dominic continues. "They smelled like leather and rosemary and--"
Dominic holds his hand out in front of him, turning it palm up, his fingers stretching as he remembers. "And us," he finally says. "They smelled like us."
Billy goes still behind him for a moment, and then exhales, his hands rising to catch Dominic's biceps, stilling him, too. "Go and sit," he says quietly and then releases Dominic, and Dominic has to force himself not to move too quickly, instead settling on the couch and leaning forward just enough to tug at his trousers with his long fingers and then reach to bring Billy near. His hand just brushes against Billy's, though; Billy's eyes are on the box now, but he throws Dominic a soft sidelong glance that makes Dominic draw back and wait, and again he's rewarded for it.
"Alright," Billy murmurs and sits beside Dominic, pulling the box closer to them before he takes off the lid and sets it down on top of back issues of thick academic journals that Billy had said he no longer had any use for, their covers torn and pages yellowed. The previous Sunday's papers join them in a pile Dominic had meant to put into the recycling bin but had forgotten in the wake of other items on other agendas. For a moment Dominic finds it easier to try to make out the headlines underneath the lid of the box, and then to follow the inlaid pattern of mother of pearl inside the box itself before he lets himself look at the cuffs.
They're as beautiful as he'd remembered, thick and deep brown, the clasps and rings shining bright silver. The scent of the leather is visceral, carrying Dominic back to the few times he was allowed to wear the cuffs, especially to the first time, the first night they'd played a scene.
It was just that, though, scenes; they'd been very careful on that point. They hadn't wanted the games they played to overwhelm the rest of their relationship, and Dominic doesn't really believe they had; nevertheless there were times when those hours they'd spent together had been easier than others. Neither he nor Billy had been as honest with the other as either should have been, and Dominic had constantly feared tipping the equilibrium of their relationship until the whole thing had been made moot by Billy's decision to end things between them.
Equilibrium. Dominic has other fears now, but still he smiles remembering the safe word that Billy had given him the first time they had engaged in a scene. They'd kept it, even after Billy had said Dominic could change it had he wanted to, but it wasn't a word that Dominic ever planned to say or need. Even now, Dominic can't imagine using it. Billy had said there were limits to everything and everyone, but Dominic can't picture any between them. After several long seconds Dominic realizes that Billy's not going to force the issue in either direction; he's sitting as forward as Dominic but the tension in his lean is different, and his focus is on Dominic, not the box that still holds Dominic's attention. If Dominic wants more, he'll have to ask for or just take it, and the decision's an easy one with Billy's eyes on him, willing strength and more than a little of his own desire into Dominic.
Dominic reaches for one of the cuffs, holds it as if weighing it in his palm. He can see the notches Billy carved with his pocketknife, scored onto the inside of the cuff. He remembers how rough they felt against his skin whilst being butter smooth on the outside. He remembers feeling grounded when he wore them, connected--safe and calm, just as he does when he falls asleep in Billy's arms at night. He presses the leather against his lips and breathes in that familiar scent, imagining he can still smell his own sweat and Billy's, too.
"I want to wear them tonight," Dominic says quietly, holding the cuff out to Billy. He can see Billy pale slightly before his cheeks color again. Dominic understands then that they were meant only to be seen as a reminder. They hadn't been on offer, not really; not tonight. But Dominic picks up the other and presents them both to Billy along with his wrists, demanding them as conditions of a small surrender. He doesn't take a full breath until Billy nods slowly, the gesture a white flag of his own.
Billy takes the cuffs and puts them to one side as he works open Dominic's shirtcuffs, as easily as if it's only been days since they've done anything like this. Dominic's wrists are paler than the rest of him, his veins visible beneath his skin, and Billy strokes his fingers across Dominic's palm and down his forearm before he reaches for one of the cuffs, cradling it underneath Dominic's wrist and holding it there for a moment, just letting Dominic feel it, letting the leather warm his skin. When Billy curves the buckle over, Dominic can sense the weight of his stare moving to Dominic himself; Billy's waiting, Dominic thinks, for a sign that Dominic's changed his mind. There's not a chance, though, and Dominic keeps his own attention on the cuff itself, and on the feel of Billy's hands on him.
"Confido," Billy murmurs, and the word simply falls into the air like that, to both their surprise. Closing the buckles, Billy tests their give and scratches his fingers lightly under the edge of the cuff, then takes his time pulling Dominic's sleeve back down over it, the material loose enough to still cover Dominic's wrists easily.
Billy repeats the motions on Dominic's other hand, but before he buckles the cuff closed, he looks up again and waits a few breaths. "Look at me, Dom," he says, his voice as soft as before. Dominic meets his eyes, and Billy keeps their gaze locked as he finishes his work, until the other sleeve is buttoned again, and Billy's fingers slide between Dominic's.
"How d'you feel?"
"Safe," Dominic says, smiling for a second before his lips flatten out. "Scared. Nervous." He lets his eyes fall to his wrists again. There's a smudged oil stain near the bright silver buckle from where he'd been careless one night while massaging the deep knots from Billy's back, and the memory of that night makes his smile return. "Safe," he says again, raising his eyes to find Billy's.
Billy nods in response to this last word, easier to take, Dominic supposes, than a few of the others. "Safe will do for now. I can give you that." Billy's hands rise to curve at Dominic's face, a smile moving slowly over his own. It comes to Dominic then that it's the first smile he's seen from Billy since Monday afternoon, and he wonders how he went so long without noticing.
"They're yours, when you need them or I want you in them," Billy's saying, holding Dominic's gaze and lowering his voice when he speaks again. "But they can't be the only things that keep you here. You're just as safe without them, just as wanted and needed."
"Am I?"
"Do you still question it?"
"Not really." Dominic's smile holds steady even when it's met with Billy's narrowed eyes. "I don't, Billy. I don't question it. I just want this to be good for you; I want to be good for you, and sometimes I think--"
"Don't." Billy's eyes fall back to Dominic's wrists, his hands following. He strokes his thumbs beneath the leather, his fingers going tight around Dominic's wrists. "You're good for me. You're--" Billy stops, his fingers pressing tight against the pulse point beneath the leather before he kisses Dominic hard and fast. He pulls away just as quickly, leaving Dominic slightly off balance, swaying towards him as he pulls Dominic to his feet.
"We should get moving. These fucking four walls, Dom; I can't take it another five minutes, I can't. By midnight I'll want to be back inside them, you can lay odds on it, but Christ, I need to get out--"
Dominic steadies himself with a hand to Billy's shoulder before even that is withdrawn as Billy goes in search of his keys from beneath the pile of unopened mail on the desk, still half-rambling, half-ranting. Dominic tries to focus on Billy's words falling around him like mortar shells, and he has to slide his own fingers beneath the cuff of one shirt to touch the leather and confirm for himself that the last few minutes really happened. Sliding his finger through the silver ring of one cuff and tugging, Dominic centers himself, shakes off whatever doubt that had settled over his thoughts like cobwebs and catches the last of Billy's tumbling thoughts.
"--and see the lights of an actual city, Dom, and pretend I remember how to drive in one, and listen to people talk about something that's not got anything to do with this fucking school or how long it'll be till they tear down the next building. D'you know it's been two years since I've seen a play?"
Dominic throws Billy as ferocious a grin as he can manage. "Long enough that you think 'bums on seats' means a film, yeah?"
"Something like that." Billy reaches again for Dominic, pulling him close so that they're reflected together in the tarnished mirror on the wall near Billy's desk. "Look at us. At you. You'll stick close tonight, Dominic; I'm going to bear the envy of anyone paying attention when y'walk by." Dominic laughs and ducks his head, but looks up again when Billy slides his hand into the back of Dominic's hair, mussing it further and then leaning so that their foreheads touch. "'m dead serious, and you make it worth it." A pause, and Billy's grip tightens in Dominic's hair, lowering his voice again. "Equilibrium, yeah?"
Dominic swallows and nods. "I remember."
"Good. Then your chariot awaits."
Once inside Billy's car, Dominic thinks it might as well be a chariot; Billy's driving like a hellion and it still feels like it's not fast enough to get them where they want to be. The city's near enough to make the drive plausible but too far to make it particularly enjoyable, especially when Billy's frustration momentarily overwhelms them on a ring road, and the music they'd been enjoying suddenly become just another noise. Dominic hides his laughter at Billy's annoyed huffs and the tetchy rolls of his shoulders and drumming of his fingers on the steering wheel, but he can't keep quiet when Billy's cut off in traffic by what looks like a seventeen-year-old girl, amused herself by Billy's affronted shout. The glare Billy shoots Dominic's way eases into a smile, though, when Billy recognizes what an idiot's he's being, and Dominic takes his chance to distract Billy more safely, brushing his thumb over the scar that's never faded entirely from the back of Billy's hand.
"How long has it been?" Dominic asks, and Billy frowns.
"Since?"
"Since you've been in the city."
Billy frowns again, thinking, and then he raises his eyebrows and smirks a bit, nodding down at Dominic's wrist. "Not since I had a bit of shopping to do. If I'd planned this a little better we might have fit some of that in, too. Not that what we've got going isn't enough; I've heard brilliant things about this, Dom; Shakespeare's a bastard to modernize unless you've got the right play, and what we're about to see can go both ways, yeah? Did you ever see it, Dom? Did you ever do that school-trip Shakespeare thing? Or outside school, did you go to the shows?"
"I went to the Shakespeare Motor Company in Manchester," Dominic grins, drumming his own fingers on top of Billy's. "That counts, yeah? Good food, poor choice of beers. Actually, I--" He hesitates, sneaking a look at Billy's profile before he continues. "When I was younger the school--I had a teacher who used Shakespeare to, I don't know, calm me down or something. Set me the task of memorizing speeches or sonnets to recite later. Kept me in my seat for five minutes and I think that was her chief goal."
"A noble goal, that."
"You would know," Dominic laughs, but Billy's expression holds no tease; they're both aware of the work they've both put in finding ways to allow Dominic to settle in class, and after a moment Billy's hand drifts to catch Dominic's, his fingers trailing inside Dominic's shirtcuff to tug gently at the circle of leather around Dominic's wrist. Dominic's smile stays fixed, but he feels the familiar warmth coming over his body until Billy releases him to change gear.
"So let's hear it," Billy says lightly. "Let's hear what you remember."
Dominic laughs again, but sits up straighter--properly, he reminds himself. "'Love is not love, which alters when it alteration finds,'" he recites, "'or bends with the remover to remove. O no, it is an ever fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken.' I made it work, and you'd be surprised how far you can get on pretty words, Billy."
"Very pretty. Interesting that she should have chosen such a lush piece of poetry for you. You can speak the verse, definitely better than I could. 'Measure for Measure,' this play tonight, it's not got a lot of the lyricism of Shakespeare's more gentler plays, but it has its moments." Billy turns back to Dominic with a smile of his own. "You'll have to take me to that place in Manchester, even with the crap beer. All your haunts, I think. You're about to enjoy what used t'be one of mine. Let's not talk about how often I used to cross the bridge and talk my way into this place without a ticket, even when I could have paid for it. I was a bit of a shit, but yeah, pretty words." Billy shrugs and then smirks again. "I still can be a bit of a shit, with or without them. So what else d'you remember from all that recitation?"
"She let me recite whatever I liked. Whatever I was willing to memorize." Dominic grins, trying to find remember other pieces, and only coming up with phrases, things he dutifully recites for Billy before quickly running out and supplementing with his own poetry. He stops mid-speech when Billy seems to notice he's no longer working from Shakespeare or anyone else and starts laughing. "Terrible, I know. My first poem. I totally plagiarized Shakespeare."
"Well, that's not the worst choice," Billy laughs. "And it should have compelled you to do better on your own. They say there are no original ideas, Dom; that everything's been written. We're all cheaters, all riding coattails and adding inches to the fabric, yeah? I like to think they would have approved, all those writers; they were only doing the same. Look there, Dom: 's the Centre."
Dominic finds the carpark beyond the greyish buildings long before Billy does, and Billy nods, following Dominic's directions and moving the car expertly underground and into the labyrinth of spaces. Dominic doesn't have much time to appreciate his general surroundings before Billy's marching them up and through long, endless corridors and lobbies, pointing out this half-hidden door that leads to dressing rooms and that staircase that leads to possibly the best alcove in the city for a furtive reach-around. Dominic blushes and laughs, too pleased to question Billy on any background to this information and thrilled to imagine Billy at dirty work in these places years ago. Once Billy's secrets are for the moment exhausted, he tilts his head and nudges his shoulder against Dominic's, bringing them back to their former topic.
"So now that you've got talent of your own and no need to crib off Shakespeare, I say we take a bet. A friendly one." Billy's eyes are dancing, and he hums for a moment as he thinks. "I'll stake you ten quid that you'll be published before you're my age. Plenty of time, plenty of surety. What do you say?"
Dominic blushes harder, but it's out of pleasure that Billy believes him so talented. He shakes his head, thinking it's not a bet he wants to take, but reconsiders at the gleam in Billy's eye. He decides to bank more on Billy's belief in him than on anything else. "Alright. Ten quid. I don't know who's going to be interested in publishing a Brit writing German poetry, but you're on."
Billy's smile in return is delighted, offered up to the tall ceilings first, then to Dominic. Dominic shoves his hands in his pockets as they continue walking, poetry high in his thoughts and deservedly so, he thinks as he catches sight of something from the corner of his eyes. He drags Billy over the ornate display, pointing at a model building within a glass case.
"The Poetry Library," Dominic reads from a ornate display telling of the library's intent and the arts centre's involvement. "On the fifth level. It says they've acquired two copies of each work of poetry published in the UK. I'll owe you ten quid and have my book in here, and that will be my illustrious writing career, then. Not much more I can hope for, but I'll be happy enough to make you proud, I guess."
Dominic is still grinning as he looks over the display. The truth is that he'd like nothing more to be published, and has ideas already about the title of his first journeybook and how its dedication will read. A thought occurs to him, a deeply held fear that dogs every dream he has, though he tries not to make it seem such an obstacle as he turns back to Billy. "Do you think it'll matter that I'm gay? I mean, do you think it'll be harder to find someone willing to take that chance?"
"Not really, no," Billy answers easily, squinting at the plaque Dominic's finished reading. "Your illustrious writing career shouldn't hinge so narrowly on any one aspect of who you are, Dom, though think of the effect your writing could have ten years down the line on someone just like you or me. What chance d'you think a publisher would have to take? Your work should stand on its own. Whatever you choose to share of yourself outside of your pages is up to you. I think ..." Dominic watches as Billy's lips tighten in thought, and then there's Billy smile again, warm and genuine. "I see you making honest overtures in your books, Dom. I see you being true to yourself in every word. And once you've done that, I think you'd find it impossible to hide anything you felt quite so passionately outside of the work."
Billy steps closer to Dominic, almost confrontational in the tilt of his head and the mild dare in his eyes. "You'll have nothing and no reason to hide. Neither of us will. 's a bit odd, isn't it? I'm a teacher who wants to write; you're a writer who wants to teach. No reason not to switch off sometimes, is there--"
"Those had better not be your fingerprints on my display," comes a crisp voice behind them, and Billy and Dominic both turn in surprise before Billy bursts into laughter. The man who now extends his hand is perhaps ten years older than Billy, maybe more, his full hair entirely grey and the corners of his eyes deeply lined. He's also grinning broadly and pressing his hands to Billy's and Dominic's backs, leading them around the other side of the display. "Good, isn't it? The funding took forever, as y'can expect, but we're sorted out, and it's proved more popular than we imagined."
Dominic watches as Billy nods, peering at what must be a first edition volume of old Irish poetry before he makes the introductions. "Dominic, I'd like you to meet Professor Martin Lonsdale. The professor's part time at Fluellen, the Sydenhurst campus up north; he was also the editor of Abeyonne, d'you remember the journal I was telling you about?" At Dominic's nod, Billy's smile creases his face in two, and he curls his hand around the top of Dominic's shoulder with a mix of pride and possessiveness, his eyes locking with Dominic even as he speaks to the professor. "Dominic Monaghan, Martin. One of Baskerville's philosopher poets; my partner. He was just telling me about your project here. Shall we tell the professor about our little wager, Dom?"
"It was nothing, just--" Dominic falters even as he shakes the professor's hand firmly. His imagination's already spun off in another direction, his heart and mind dizzy from hearing Billy just speak it aloud, referring to Dominic as his partner, something Dominic's never heard before and never believed he would. He has to work to pay attention to what Billy's saying now, but Billy's on a tear, his hand sliding from Dominic's shoulder down his back, locking Dominic against his side and giving Dominic strength as Dominic's cheeks and ears blaze red. He can't really call himself embarrassed, though; Billy's confidence in him and in his writing is almost enough without needing others to see or read it.
"--such a power in his writing," Billy's saying, his free hand closing into a loose fist for emphasis. "If I'm honest, Martin, I believe these things have just been waiting to be set loose from him. Freed." Billy nods at Dominic again before turning back to the professor. "There's such a struggle now in contemporary poetry and literature; you hear about it more than I do. One man bemoans the glut of young writers, another says there's not a proper author among them. But there are voices, Dominic's among them, that demand to be heard--more than demand; it's a gentler thing ... they persuade you to listen." Billy takes a breath and laughs at the professor's amused expression. "I'm biased. Conceded. But the future will tell, yeah? I've bet Dominic ten pounds--'m still a cheap bastard--but I've bet him he'll be published by the time he's my age--"
"You have twenty years, Mr. Monaghan," Lonsdale smirks, and Billy huffs.
"Fifteen. My point is that it'll happen."
Lonsdale tilts his head at Dominic, and pushes his hands in his pockets. "Have you read any of Abeyonne, Mr. Monaghan? Then you know that they do accept poetry and creative pieces in all the European languages. Embracing pan-continental influence and all that. And God knows we need decent poetry. I have your name now," he smiles, leaning down a bit to smile encouragingly at Dominic and then dart his eyes toward Billy. "And you've got someone who'll lean hard on you to get it done. I'll expect to hear from you soon, if that one can shut it long enough to leave you in peace to get what you want down on paper."
Billy frowns in a mock charge of irritation and steps backward in the direction of the bar, and Dominic reads the pleasure in his next smirk. "Right, that's enough; I'm out of my league here. Go on, both of you have at it. I'll expect you to say something appropriately glowing in my defense, Dom."
Once Billy is safely out of earshot, Professor Lonsdale coughs politely to get Dominic's attention, but when Dominic looks up at him, his expression is very kind. "You're still a student."
"I'm in my last year."
"His student."
Dominic looks down at his shoes, unsure of how he should answer but unwilling to lie. There's not more to suss out here, he supposes; the man knows Billy, knows he's a professor and can tell Dominic's significantly younger, and it would take no great leap of logic to determine Dominic's relationship with Billy even if Billy hadn't said it aloud. Still, Dominic feels compelled to keep a secret that he hadn't been able to keep before, and so he says nothing.
"It's not a trick, Mr. Monaghan. I've known Billy a long time, and I've never known him to take up with one of his students before."
Dominic nods before he lifts his head. "It's not just like that," he says quietly, then raises his chin a little. "Neither of us is taking advantage. And it's not--"
"Anyone's concern but your own." Lonsdale nods too, then takes a deep breath. "Least of all mine. You could do worse for a teacher or a partner, though, and if you're careful, well. Continue to be so." He pauses, and Dominic waits him out, surprised that the man's so blasé about it; he's clearly enough of a friend to Billy to feel comfortable saying these things, but then he doesn't work with Billy anymore, and there's got to be a safety in that, too--he's under no obligation to run them both in to some authority at Baskerville, and when he shrugs and smiles, Dominic does as well, choosing to relax and treat the man as a friend as well, the first of Billy's he's met, and to behave as if the conversation's only one of many they could have. Lonsdale picks up on Dominic's determined ease, and clasps Dominic's shoulder, moving them to one side as another couple arrives to look at the display.
"Tell me what it is you're writing now, Mr. Monaghan."
Dominic lowers his eyes again and then remembers that he's speaking here about what he loves to do, what some part of him knows he's good at, even though he can't always acknowledge it without the prompting of another. "I'm finishing my portfolio. Ten poems and a critical analysis, kind of a mixed essay on the modern Germanic movement in poetry and how I fit in as a Brit writing in German, principally."
"Then you're writing in a second language." Lonsdale raises his eyebrows. "Making it hard for yourself."
"No," Dominic shakes his head quickly. "Easier in some ways. I grew up in Germany. I've spoken the language it feels like my whole life. My parents wanted me and my brother to be comfortable with it. And I'm more self-conscious when I write in English. Self-critical, I guess. Every bad thing I've ever heard repeats itself in English." He gives the professor a wry smile, shaking his head again as he remembers his father's voice among others explaining that his time would be better spent on the footie pitch or recopying his maths homework rather than writing or acting in plays. "German gives me my voice. My freedom, even beyond the flexibility of the language. There are things you can't say the same way--the words don't carry the same weight in English."
The professor nods as if he understands, patting Dominic on the shoulder again before stepping back. "I imagine you'd find it easier in print than aloud in any case. You sound enough like a local boy now to me." Lonsdale's smile widens. "A northern local boy, like I was till they pounded the north out of me down here."
Dominic smiles tightly, thinking again of his father and the stories he'd told about his adolescence and years at university. "I learned to adapt when we moved to Manchester. I didn't want to be thought of as any more different than I really was. My brother and I used German as kind of a secret language--my first series of poems was about that. About Matt and me." Dominic's smile grows warmer as he thinks how even now he and Matt speak more in German out of habit and a feeling of protection. Spotting Billy coming towards them, Dominic relaxes even more; he's glad to have Billy near again, however comfortable he'd begun to feel speaking to Professor Lonsdale. "How long have you and Billy known each other?"
"Long enough that he's probably got a file on me," Billy reappears by their side, smirks at Lonsdale and settles his hand on Dominic's back again as Dominic takes the offered bottle of water from his hand. "What is it, almost ten years? Both of us had more hair, I can tell you that." Billy raises an eyebrow at Dominic, and then laughs. "Dom, this man could tell you some of the worst stories about me, but I have plenty on him, too. D'you know he actually thought I was his clerk the first time we met? And being the sad git I am, I just nodded and did what he asked, thinking it was some sort of test, I suppose." Billy's eyes move back to Lonsdale, and as he tilts his head, Dominic thinks he seems much younger suddenly, drawn up tight within himself until Billy seems to recognize it, too. "I learned a great deal from you, Martin," Billy says softly. "Thank you for that."
Lonsdale nods in acknowledgment, and then all three of them look up at the sound of a gently ringing bell on the other side of the foyer. "That'd be the symphony," Lonsdale sighs. "And I estimate about a minute before my wife's at my arm and dragging me in there. Berlioz, which spare me, honestly, but." He thrusts a hand out at Billy, and Billy shakes it firmly before Dominic moves to do the same.
"Write something tonight," Professor Lonsdale says very quietly to Dominic. "You've got it in your head already, I can tell. Perhaps you'll send it to us." Turning toward Billy, Lonsdale offers another nod. "We'll talk soon, Bill."
As the professor moves down the hall, Billy nudges his shoulder against Dominic's and sighs. "A good man. We have about five minutes until we're meant to be seated as well. Shall we?"
Dominic allows himself to be maneuvered toward the theatre while his thoughts remain on the encounter with Professor Lonsdale. The chance to speak to someone else about his writing and to stand beside Billy as very nearly an equal on unfamiliar ground is something Dominic couldn't imagine having until well after he'd finished at Baskerville, and to have had it now leaves Dominic feeling stronger, exhilarated almost. Once he and Billy are seated in the theatre, with several others around them searching for their own seats, Dominic turns to Billy and finds himself the object of Billy's careful attention again. "I still can't believe this sometimes," Dominic says, the words falling from his lips before he can stop them. "That I'm here. With you. We found a way, Billy, and we're just--I'm allowed to be with you."
Dominic blushes and ducks his head again. His fingers seek out the cuff around his right wrist, and he runs his thumbnail beneath the tight edge. The words weren't what he'd meant to say, however much he still means them. It happens like this when he's with Billy lately, though; there's no filter between his heart and mind unless he works to build it. Smiling, his cheeks still tinged scarlet, Dominic gives it another go, meeting Billy's eyes again. "Professor Lonsdale was a very nice man. I'm glad we met him."
"He is." Billy's expression is calm, almost impassive if it weren't for the light Dominic can see dancing in his eyes. "It's been months since I've seen him, and I'm going t'have to make a point not to let that happen again. He was fairly taken with you, I think." Dominic laughs and shifts in his chair, but Billy stills him with a touch to Dominic's knee. "D'you think I don't see these things, Dom? Martin's a good man, but he's not interested in wandering minds; he's the last person you think you'd find teaching and loving arts and letters. He saw something grounded in you, Dom; let yourself see it too."
Billy and Dominic both stand to allow a group of four to pass them on their way to seats on the other side of Billy. Billy's hand settles on Dominic's back, moving up and down restlessly while Dominic works to not sink back against the touch again. He stares instead up at the theatre ceiling and then at the stark design of the theatre's proscenium arch, concentrating on the angles of wood and metal as Billy leans closer, keeping them standing for a moment after they have no more need to do so.
"Belief's a hard thing, isn't it," Billy murmurs, and Dominic nods, his eyes still on the stage in front of him. He's certain that if he turns Billy's way again he won't be able to turn back, not if Billy's voice stays this warm and his hand even more so. That hand travels to find Dominic's, drifting to curve around Dominic's wrist as Billy continues. "You've got enough for both of us, yeah? You've got that faith, that trust in everything I don't always have. I don't think it's about being allowed anything, necessarily. Might just be fate working for good for once. It's not just that, either, though, is it. We're making the right choices. There's power in that."
Billy's grip tightens on Dominic's wrist, and he lowers his voice so that Dominic has to strain to hear it. "Get that down on paper, hmm? Tell that story someday."
The lights come down as Dominic follows the tug of Billy's hand and sits again, the feel of Billy so tight against him still registering down his body. In the darkness Billy's fingers trail inside the cuff, and Dominic closes his eyes, thinking he's rarely been told he's made the right choices in his life. He hasn't needed affirmation of the one that means the most to him now, but he finds it thrilling to hear nonetheless; in the moment Billy's certainty feels enough to silence the doubts of everyone else Dominic's ever known.
Billy doesn't seem surprised when Dominic's resolve breaks and he turns, taking advantage of the darkness to lean in and demand a kiss from Billy. He pulls away when the music swells and then sits back, his evening's second act underway.