fic.

Apr 19, 2006 21:02

Title: This City's Dance
Pairing: Dominic Monaghan/Norman Reedus; implied Billy Boyd/Dominic Monaghan
Rating: all over the damn place.
Notes: for slightlytricky, of course and always. follows a bit after How I've Been Getting Off.

Dominic’s still half asleep when the call comes. And though said call comes almost every Sunday, today it surprises Dominic, because Billy’s supposed to be in Belgium or something, promoting fuck knows what, and shouldn’t really have time to spare on a lazy, indulgent check-in on Dominic. It’s almost uncomfortable, almost unwanted, but Dominic takes the call nonetheless, quieting the tinny, hysterically expletive-laded hip hop melody he’s reserved for Billy’s number.

Billy is as usual cheerful and pleased to have made contact, encouraging and teasing, but his voice is softer, curious and just a little slurred. Chatty bullshit niceties aside, there’s a current running underneath Billy’s words, and Dominic recognizes it immediately, swallowing and chancing a look toward the other side of his bed at Norman still asleep, one arm thrown above his head and his breathing-

“Slow and steady wins the race, though, yeah?” Billy says, and Dominic blinks himself back to the conversation, nodding before he remembers Billy can’t see him.

“I, yeah.” Dominic begins, then swallows again, turns to one side on the pillow and covers his eyes with his hand. “Things might have ... picked up a little, I think. Since-since last time we talked.”

“Good,” Billy sighs down the line. “No, that’s great, Dom, ‘s fantastic. Tell me everything.”

Dominic opens his mouth and then closes it immediately, feeling the mattress shift and Norman’s palm slide gently down the curve of his ass.

“Go ’head,” Norman smiles against Dominic’s shoulder. “Tell him everything.”

:::

It would be good to tell Billy everything’s fine, thanks, and though the skyline Dom’s seen upon waking every morning this week is still a new one, the pace is faster, and the ocean’s too fucking far away, New York still has a lot to offer in its defense, and besides, it’s been months since Dominic felt this opened up to the world around him-to the art in everything, including fucking, which lately has also been very fine, thanks.

So Dominic works at it while Norman more carefully works at him. Dominic tells Billy about the meeting he took with Abrams, tells him about meeting Elijah for a drink and not, for once, anything else. Billy hums down the line, interrupting Dominic only to ask the right questions and listen to the answers, and Dominic relaxes under the sound of his voice and the feel of Norman’s hands, hands that won’t stop-

“Travelling until before the Oscars,” Billy sighs. “I want t’see you, Dom, and not just in ... passing, like. Miss the fuck out of you, I do.” Dominic starts to murmur in response, a quiet yeah, you as well, but Norman’s grip tightens before his hand flattens and pushes, presses at Dominic’s thigh, and all Dominic can do is shift and breathe hard when Norman’s fingers slide inside him, insistent but not aggresive, not just yet, because that comes later, and Dominic doesn’t think there’ll be much he can tell Billy before Billy figures it out for himself.

:::

The slur is Billy’s speech is stronger now, but Dominic’s barely listening, concentrating on the slick race of Norman’s skin against his own.

It’s not as if Dominic’s cheating. He and Billy haven’t slept together since the final pickups, and their relationship’s never been defined by fucking anyway. Not that this new one entirely is; Dominic’s interest in Norman is not solely based on how eagerly and often and well the guy’s dick pounds into him, leaving Dominic breathless and shivery and wanting more.

More is what he wants now, and he tells Norman as much by moving to his stomach and then his knees, drawn up there as Norman grunts low and soft behind him and shoves inside Dominic with a shiver of his own. Dominic grits his teeth, forgetting everything but the tight, angry heat of every thrust and the pleasure of fucking without an agenda, fucking for the sake of fucking, fucking someone who’s not Elijah and not fucking-

“Billy,” Dominic whispers, and Norman goes very still before he pushes again, harder and faster. Billy’s still talking, but Dominic can’t stop himself now; he wants what he has and needs what he doesn’t, and even as he presses back, spread his knees and braces himself with one hand against the headboard, he’s still whispering until the pace forces his voice to rise along with his hips. “Billy, fuck, Billy-”

There’s a sharp, echoing inhale down the line, then, and the phone and Dominic’s stomach drop in unison.

:::

”Keep talking,” Norman says, and it’s the strangest Dominic’s ever heard him, and he’s heard Norman say a lot of things, all in that terribly sweet voice and from between those occasionally sinister lips. Dominic’s frozen, though, eyes fixed on the cell phone resting beside them.

Norman’s not angry; he sounds floored but also fascinated, chilled by Dominic’s exclamations but also challenged by them. Dominic thinks he’d prefer anger; that, at least, he can charm into something else. It’s going to take more than charm to explain this to Billy, because now Dominic’s hearing a different echo, that of Billy’s earlier words miss the fuck out of you, I do and feeling the strain beneath them-the current Dominic had tried to ignore while he’d talked about New York and Elijah and the life he’s trying desperately to build on shoulders too thin to bear it.

“Keep talking, Dom,” Norman hisses, and Dominic shakes his head and tells him he has nothing to say and never has. Norman’s not buying it, and rightly so, Dominic thinks as he gives in and centers himself back on Norman, fighting to not fuck this up as he has everything else. His surrender triggers Norman’s too, after a fashion; Norman stops demanding words and settles for action, wrapping his hand around Dominic’s cock and nodding fuck, yes, that when Dominic closes his eyes and begs him not to stop, not to fucking-

“Let go,” Norman says, so softly Dominic has no choice not to.

:::

Dominic’s still shaking minutes later. Norman’s rolled away from him now, staring at the ceiling, but Dominic can’t move, his eyes closed, his thoughts scattered and his limbs weak.

Billy has to have rung off by now, shocked, maybe furious, too. Dominic reminds himself that he’s done nothing wrong to Billy at least, not this time, and that he’s allowed to fuck who he wants, to be fucked by who he wants when he wants and why.

When Dominic opens his eyes, Norman’s holding the phone, scrolling through the calls received and stopping on Billy’s name and number. Dominic reaches for the phone, folds it closed and tosses it to the nightstand behind him, hiding his grimace at the ache tearing through his body. It’ll pass, and he wouldn’t trade it, even now. There are things Dominic regrets, yes, but he’s determined that this is not going to be one of them.

Dominic settles back down, gazing out the window at that still-new skyline and moving closer to Norman cautiously, ready to be pushed either away or to his stomach again, but surprised when Norman just lifts his arm and makes room, reaching for his cigarettes with his free hand. The silence is uncomfortable, definitely unwanted, and Dominic takes the chance to change that, quieting his own nerves with a deep breath. He has to acknowledge more than just one mistake now. He has to-

“Tell me everything,” Norman smiles in his oddly forgiving, inimitable way, and Dominic begins.
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