Mix Tape
Title: Mix Tape
Pairing: BB/DM
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Never, ever happened.
Notes: Angsty. Um, I really have no idea what I was trying to do with this; it's sort of disjointed and odd and...[shrug] Oh! Also, all but the first and last parts are song-inspired. Hence the title.
Dominic conducts his days like normal after Billy leaves. He wakes up - and if it is just slightly later than usual, no one blames him; takes a shower - and if there is a faint tang of salt lingering on his face, mingled with the harsh spray of water, no one mentions it; and stumbles into the kitchen for a cup of warmed-up coffee - and if he grips the cup just a little bit more desperately than really necessary, no one says a word.
Dominic thinks he's doing pretty well, actually. If he's not, no one lets him in on it.
-
He likes to think sometimes that it was all a dream. Likes to think that maybe he just dreamed Billy's hands ghosting over his body; Billy's lips, soft, sweet, and pink, demanding and giving all at once, pressed against his own; Billy's embrace, warm and comforting; Billy's voice, lilting and caressing in a way he never knew voices could. Likes to think that maybe, just maybe, he dreamed Billy up completely.
He likes to think sometimes that it was all a dream, but he knows in his heart that it wasn't, because dreams never hurt like this when they end.
-
"I know what you're doing."
"What?"
"You're being fucking selfish."
"It's for your own good."
"You are my own good, goddamnit!"
"You need...I can't give you everything you need."
"What can't you give me? You're fucking everything; what else do I need?"
"Fuck, Dom, it's hard for me too."
"Then don't fucking do it! Billy...I don't know what you think I need, but I need you."
"Listen to me. I can't...god, Dom, no, don't do that, don't fucking look at me like that...you need more than me."
A kiss, then:
"I love you, Dommie. Always."
Gone.
-
He concedes that maybe he isn't doing so well, that maybe everything isn't fine and fucking dandy, when he catches a trace of Billy's cologne in the scent of the wet paint on the buildings that he passes.
When he can taste the tang of Billy's skin in the cool breeze that blows around him.
When he sees Billy - only glimpses, but enough to make his heart stop - around every corner he turns.
When he hears Billy's voice coming out of the newscasters' mouths as he stares blankly at the television.
Just because you feel it doesn't mean it's there.
-
"Elijah?"
"Yeah?"
"It's raining."
A sigh, so soft he can barely hear it. "Okay. Where are you, man?"
"The diner."
"The one on the corner?"
"Yeah."
"I'll be there in a few minutes."
"Lij...thank you."
"Don't mention it."
And it's not because every time he hears thunder it makes him think of rain spattering on the windows, drawing abstract patterns on Billy's head and chest; of their first time together. Not because rain is inexorably linked with the softest of whispers and the sweetest of sensations.
He just doesn't want to get wet. That's all it is. Nothing more.
-
The way Dominic conducts his days after Billy leaves is anything but normal. He wakes up - entirely too late, hours off his usual schedule; takes a shower - and his sobs can, on occasion, be heard even above the rush of water and through the closed door; and stumbles into the kitchen for a cup of warmed-up coffee - trembling as he takes it out of the microwave and adds the milk, stirring it absently until it grows cold and bitter once again.
Dominic wonders why no one has said anything to him, because it's fairly obvious he's falling spectacularly to pieces.
Pairing: BB/DM
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Never, ever happened.
Notes: Angsty. Um, I really have no idea what I was trying to do with this; it's sort of disjointed and odd and...[shrug] Oh! Also, all but the first and last parts are song-inspired. Hence the title.
Dominic conducts his days like normal after Billy leaves. He wakes up - and if it is just slightly later than usual, no one blames him; takes a shower - and if there is a faint tang of salt lingering on his face, mingled with the harsh spray of water, no one mentions it; and stumbles into the kitchen for a cup of warmed-up coffee - and if he grips the cup just a little bit more desperately than really necessary, no one says a word.
Dominic thinks he's doing pretty well, actually. If he's not, no one lets him in on it.
-
He likes to think sometimes that it was all a dream. Likes to think that maybe he just dreamed Billy's hands ghosting over his body; Billy's lips, soft, sweet, and pink, demanding and giving all at once, pressed against his own; Billy's embrace, warm and comforting; Billy's voice, lilting and caressing in a way he never knew voices could. Likes to think that maybe, just maybe, he dreamed Billy up completely.
He likes to think sometimes that it was all a dream, but he knows in his heart that it wasn't, because dreams never hurt like this when they end.
-
"I know what you're doing."
"What?"
"You're being fucking selfish."
"It's for your own good."
"You are my own good, goddamnit!"
"You need...I can't give you everything you need."
"What can't you give me? You're fucking everything; what else do I need?"
"Fuck, Dom, it's hard for me too."
"Then don't fucking do it! Billy...I don't know what you think I need, but I need you."
"Listen to me. I can't...god, Dom, no, don't do that, don't fucking look at me like that...you need more than me."
A kiss, then:
"I love you, Dommie. Always."
Gone.
-
He concedes that maybe he isn't doing so well, that maybe everything isn't fine and fucking dandy, when he catches a trace of Billy's cologne in the scent of the wet paint on the buildings that he passes.
When he can taste the tang of Billy's skin in the cool breeze that blows around him.
When he sees Billy - only glimpses, but enough to make his heart stop - around every corner he turns.
When he hears Billy's voice coming out of the newscasters' mouths as he stares blankly at the television.
Just because you feel it doesn't mean it's there.
-
"Elijah?"
"Yeah?"
"It's raining."
A sigh, so soft he can barely hear it. "Okay. Where are you, man?"
"The diner."
"The one on the corner?"
"Yeah."
"I'll be there in a few minutes."
"Lij...thank you."
"Don't mention it."
And it's not because every time he hears thunder it makes him think of rain spattering on the windows, drawing abstract patterns on Billy's head and chest; of their first time together. Not because rain is inexorably linked with the softest of whispers and the sweetest of sensations.
He just doesn't want to get wet. That's all it is. Nothing more.
-
The way Dominic conducts his days after Billy leaves is anything but normal. He wakes up - entirely too late, hours off his usual schedule; takes a shower - and his sobs can, on occasion, be heard even above the rush of water and through the closed door; and stumbles into the kitchen for a cup of warmed-up coffee - trembling as he takes it out of the microwave and adds the milk, stirring it absently until it grows cold and bitter once again.
Dominic wonders why no one has said anything to him, because it's fairly obvious he's falling spectacularly to pieces.