Now I Know My ABCs

A is for Attitude

“The orientation of an–object relative… to its direction of motion.”

“What?”

“Attitude–that’s–one of its… meanings.”

“So if I do this–” Billy shifts, pulls, pushes— “then have I changed… unh… my attitude?”

Dom doesn’t reply right away. His chin falls to his chest and the smooth muscles of his back tense; his hands flex and then relax. Billy never stops moving.

Dom recovers his breath
laughs
yells
comes, hard and shuddering.

Billy follows a moment later. He lies pressed tight to his mate’s sweaty back and Dom knows that he is grinning.

“You’ve certainly changed mine,” Dom says.

B is for Bite

Billy likes to bite Dom. At first the younger man isn’t sure he likes it. It hurts, and sometimes it distracts him. But later he looks at the neat half-circle bruises on his arms (or legs, or hands, or–in the mirror–neck, shoulders, back) and finds himself getting hard.

Billy apologizes when Dom yelps, and then he stops apologizing, and he looks wicked–an astoundingly arousing look on that pixie face–when he sees the marks.

He never bites too hard.

All the same, Dom doesn’t care to have anything too precious in that sharp-toothed mouth when Billy comes.

C is for Chocolate

“I’ve hidden chocolates somewhere in the bedroom,” Billy announces. He is lying back on the duvet, grinning and fully clothed.

Dominic tears the room apart, watched all the while by his mate. “Give me a hint,” Dom demands finally. He stands with his arms akimbo, glaring at Billy.

“They’re full of liqueur, and they’re getting rather melted.”

“They’re…” Dom squints at Billy, then pounces on him.

~*~*~*~

“You’re cleaning that,” Billy says a bit later.

“That?” Dom licks one sticky expanse of skin, “or that?” Another.

“Mmm. I meant the sheets, actually. But you can start with that, if you’d like.”

D is for Dare

“I dare you.”

“Piss off, Dominic.” That is supposed to be Billy’s stern, don’t-mess-with-me-little-boy voice, but Dom has never been able to hear it without wanting to laugh.

Or gnaw on him. So he does both. “C’mon, Bills. I double-dare you.”

“Christ, you are so fucking immature. It’s not like it’s a big secret.”

“Think how red Lij would get.”

“Well…”

So later he tells Dom there’s mustard on his mouth, leans forward and licks it off. Elijah reddens to the roots of his hair, and even better, he squeaks, much as Billy did earlier.

E is for Endurance

“Please, please… Billy, I’m gonna die…”

“But you’ll die happy, and doesn’t–ahh yeah–doesn’t that count for anything?”

“But Bill I’m so–oh–soclose and I just wanna–and I want you to–unnnnnnhhhhh…”

“Not yet, stay with me oh holy Jesus oh yeah, yeah–”

“BillyBillyfuckpleeeease–”

Not yet–”

“Bill–”

“Okay, now Dommeh now are you ready now do it, come for me, come for me…”

No words left, just sounds and then breathing, hard and fast as slick bodies shift and slide and collapse.

“You’re going to kill me, Bills.”

“I’m gonna teach you endurance, my lad.”

F is for Frustration

The door shuts and Dom attacks Billy, pushing him backward until he falls onto the bed, 145 pounds of muscular hobbit atop him. Billy bites; Dom bites back, harder. On his hands and knees an instant later, Billy hisses irritably as lube is fumbled for. Dom doesn’t bother with fingers–Billy has been ready all day. Nudgepushthrust, and Billy grits his teeth as Dom sets a hard, fast rhythm; he bucks back into the angular hips, meeting the momentum halfway.

Completion comes, desperate and blinding, and both men sprawl onto the duvet, breathing hard.

“Press junkets are hell, eh?”

“Absolutely.”

G is for Gasp

“You know what I like?”

“I know lots of things you like.”

“Wanker.”

“Tosser.”

“Fucker.”

“Fuck ‘er? I hardly even know her.”

Snorts of laughter, and Dom pins Billy down. “I was trying to say something nice.”

“Well, do go on, then.” Billy appears unfazed by his position; he grins up at Dom unrepentantly.

“There’s this sound you make sometimes.”

“Like what?”

“Like…” Dom wrinkles his nose. “I can’t do it.” He cocks his head. “Maybe I can make you make it.”

“Maybe you should try.”

“Maybe I should.”

“That’s it!”

“I didn’t hear it. Make me make it again.”

H is for Heartbeat

Billy’s heartbeat is just a tad slower than Dominic’s. He lies with his ear pressed to Dom’s chest, one hand at the pulse point on his own throat. It’s not a big difference, but they are out of rhythm every six beats or so. He shifts a little, unaccountably disturbed.

“What is it?” Dom’s voice is sleepy.

“Breathe deeply,” Billy instructs him; Dom obeys. The thudding of his heart speeds and then slows as Billy listens intently. After a minute of Dom’s yoga breathing, their heartbeats match perfectly.

“That’s better,” Billy murmurs.

There is no answer. Dom has fallen asleep.

I is for Idiosyncracy

“What are you doing?”

“Moving your shoes.”

“Why?”

“I can’t sleep with them pointed toward the bed.”

“Tell me why.”

“It’s just a thing I have. Shut up and move over, I’m sleepy.”

“Tellmetellmetellmetellmetellmetellmetellmetellmetellmetellme–”

“Will you shut up if I do?”

“Of course!”

“All right, it’s this thing my Gran used to say, about… shit. No. Good night.”

“Billy, if you don’t tell me I’m going to get up in the middle of the night and point every shoe in the house toward the bed.”

“Dominic Monaghan, I will kill you dead, so help me.”

“Just tehhhhhhll me.”

“Oh, Christ…”

A/N: Shoes should not be pointed toward the bed because it allows the Faery Folk to follow your footprints and find you while you sleep. This is actually my idiosyncracy, not Billy’s, so far as I know.

J is for Jamie

“How old were you?”

“Twenty-eight.”

Dom is hypnotized by the images on the screen. “You look about sixteen.”

“Mmm.” Watching Dom watch him on the telly, Billy feels shy. “Turn it off.”

Dom does so without protest.

Billy doesn’t look at him. Billy doesn’t see him lick his lips.

“If I had known you when you were sixteen I would have shagged you senseless,” Dom murmurs, one hand sliding onto Billy’s denim-clad thigh.

“You would have been eight.” Billy grins.

“I was pervy from a very young age, I assure you,” Dom says, and pushes Billy down onto the couch.

K is for Kiss

Dom kisses with his eyes open. It makes Billy nervous. Dom’s eyes, tilted and bright and wide open, distracted him long before they ever touched one another with intent. Dom’s eyes, up close and blurry and deep as the sea, are enough to push the breath from his lungs, so he breaks their kisses with a gasp.

Dom knows it, and he doesn’t care. Billy gets used to it. Closes his own eyes and doesn’t worry about the fact that Dom watches his eyelids move, his brow furrow just a little, his jaw shift as he opens his mouth fully.

L is for Laughter

“How’m I supposed to–”

“Just shift over, please?”

“Shift over to where? There’s not enough room for a hobbit in here, much less two adult men.”

“Guess we’ll have to pretend we’re one adult man.”

“About as adult as a thirteen-year-old.”

“This particular activity, Dominic, is quite adult.”

“Even if we’re doing it like two naughty adolescents?”

“Especially–ouch!–then. Ah. Thank you. I may regain use of that limb someday.”

“Just don’t hurt the–unh–costumes.”

“Is wrinkling the same as hurting?”

“Certainly not. I’m sure they had–oooh–irons in Lorien.”

“You think?”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

M is for Misery

Dom shrugs Billy’s hand off. “Ah, Dommeh.” The younger man stands at the window, staring through himself as Billy flips the lightswitch and his reflection springs into being. “It’s just… you know. Don’t be mad.”

“I’m sick of it,” Dom whispers, and then, because he can’t help himself, he seeks comfort in the one place most certain to hurt him. “Remind me again why we don’t come out with it?”

“I’m having a hard time remembering.” Billy’s arms come up and they sway in silence for a long time, the harsh hotel room light glaring down on their bent heads.

N is for Names

Billy. Bills. Bill. William.

Dom. Dominic. Dommeh.

Sweet William. Pickles. Wee Scot.

Daft Dominic. Bloody Manc.

Billy Boyd!

Dominic Monaghan!

Pippin. Pip. Peregrin Took. Fool of a Took.

Merry. Meriadoc. Esquire of Rohan.

Jamie Holmes. Barrett Bonden. (What the hell kind of wig is that, anyway?) Shark. (Do the smile, Bills.) Jimmy. Ross. Glen. Glenda. (Glenda?)

Geoffrey Shawcross. (Christ, look at your ears, Dommeh!) Etienne. Sasha. Jimmy. Goat. (That’s my favorite.) Charlie Pace.

Git. Wanker. Idjit. Fuckwit. Tosser.

Sometimes they forget names. There are just sounds: consonants like jagged glass, vowels as slow and thick as honey.

Mine.

Mmm. Mine.

O is for Obfuscated

“M’not drunk.”

“How many beers am I holding up?”

“Less than you were an hour ago.”

“C’mon, mate, time to get you to bed.”

“I heartily second that.”

“Dommeh?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re a good mate.”

“Yeah.”

“Dommeh?”

“Yes, Bills.”

“Ah’m wanting to kiss you, but I don’t want to take advantage of you in my drunken state.”

“I think you’ve got that backwards.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Well. Maybe just one kiss.”

“Mmmm. Thanks, Dommeh. More…?”

“Um. Yeah… But tomorrow, okay? If you still want to kiss me tomorrow, I’ll be right here.”

“Okay. G’night, Dommeh.”

“G’night, Billy.”

P is for Pace

Slow this time.

Barely awake, muzzy taste of last night’s toothpaste and sleep-sweaty skin; the alarm will buzz in 14 minutes, enough time to move slowly against one another, stretch and stroke and murmur those low, warm sounds that mean
Good morning and

Mmmm, thank you and
No. Thank you.

Fast this time.

Jitters and giggles and moans swallowed whole, stifled.
Quick, we have to be back.

Shhh. They’ll hear you.
Urgency and friction, sometimes too much because No time for lube, so Lickspityeah… Faster harder hotter and
There.
Ahhh.

Mmm, yeah.

Thank you.
No. Thank you.

Timing is everything.

Q is for Queer

There are no good words for the desire Billy feels for Dom. Homosexual? Too clinical. Gay is not bad (“What a gay lad,” he remembers his Gran saying of someone, and so he thinks of a certain cheerful insouciance), but it doesn’t fit, really. Fag makes him think of cigarettes. Fruit? Phhhttph. Shirtlifter is funny, as is arsebandit, but neither can be used in conversation, now can they? Fairy? No. Faery, possibly, but not fairy.

He asks Dom.

“I like ‘queer,’ myself.”

“Hmm.” Billy tweaks one of his nipples. “You are that.”

Dom bites Billy’s shoulder. “And you aren’t?”

“Possibly.”

R is for Reply

You have 1 New Message:
Plane arrives 10. Plans? Me: Drunk n jetlagged.

You have 1 New Message:
You: Drunk n jetlagged n sore. Heh.

You have 1 New Message:
Not me. U.

You have 1 New Message:
So u think.

You have 1 New Message:
Not coming 11000 miles 2 b the sore 1.

You have 1 New Message:
U: Drunk n jetlagged. No choice.

You have 1 New Message:
U wd take advantage of puir wee scot?

You have 1 New Message:
U r kidding right? Airport bathrooms r lovely this time of yr or so I hear.

S is for Subterfuge

“Dom? Oh, I locked him in a cabinet. The git didn’t know my favourite flavour of ice cream.”

“Shit, Billy, where is he?”

“He’ll be out in time for the shot. Maybe.”

“God, you two…” Astin wanders away, scratching at his wig.

“Is he gone?”

“Yeah. You buttoned up?”

“Yeah.” One lanky arm reaches from beneath the counter. “Come down here. It’s your turn.”

“If you insist. Just remember: I locked you in a cabinet.”

“What shall I do to get back at you?”

“I leave that to your fertile imagination.”

“Mmm. Okay. Christ, did they solder this fucking zipper?”

T is for Tied

Dom arches his back and feels the tug of silk at his wrists. Billy slides one hand along his inner thigh and he shivers. Both men are damp with sweat. A ceiling fan spins lazily overhead, and Dom watches it until his eyes slide closed. Billy is at work again, mouth open on salty skin, fingers gently kneading Dom’s flanks.

“Billy,” he sighs. By the time Billy is finished there will be angry burns on his wrists and ankles, and his whole body will ache and twitch, knotted as tight as the scarves that bind him.

He can hardly wait.

U is for Unexpected

“Oh Jesus yesyesplease, Dom, ah, Dom–”

“Unh so close yeahBilly… love you Billy–”

Billy comes so hard he thinks he’s died. Everything goes white behind his eyelids and his body stretches tight, shaking and shuddering like a car accident, an earthquake, like a man who has just been told he is loved. Vaguely he feels Dom’s climax, hears the words again Yes love you love you Bill and Billy lies quiescent, still shivering slick sticky afraid.

“Did you say…?”

“Yes.”

“Jesus.”

“Does it bother you? It’s true, you know.”

“No. It doesn’t bother me. … Me, too.”

“Okay, then.”

“Okay. Yeah.”

V is for Vanity

“Be still.” Billy concentrates, and Dom slides his eyes down to watch the pink tip of Billy’s tongue. He is reprimanded: “Look up, for Chrissakes, I’ve only ever done this on me before, I don’t want to screw up.” Obediently the eyes (grey today) swivel up and Dom looks patiently at the plaster ceiling, feeling Billy’s finger gentle on his cheekbone, the delicate pressure of the pencil just beneath his eye.

“There.” Billy moves back and Dom cocks his head.

“How do I look?”

Billy turns Dom and they both look at his black-rimmed eyes in the bathroom mirror.

“Edible.”

W is for Wicked

There’s this smile Billy does, that makes Dom go hard and weak simultaneously. Eyebrows down, corners of his mouth curled up like a child’s drawing of a smile. He stalks Dom, sometimes, and Dom lets him, taunts him, asks for it. The hardsoft kiss, the claim, undeniable: Mine.

There’s this look Dom gets, that makes Billy’s eyes brighten and mouth soften simultaneously. Tip-tilted eyes open too wide and brilliant with joy. Dom grins, fidgets, asks for it. And Billy is willing to give it, of course. The hardsoft kiss, the claim, blazoned upon him as much as Dom, undeniable: Mine.

X is for Xenophilia

“You’re like a creature from another planet.” Dom watches Billy ladle thick, gluey glop into his bowl. “You and your porridge.” Billy ignores him, adds a wee bit of milk, a spoonful of sugar. Dom follows him to a table. “You know you’re the only one who likes it, Bill. Every morning the poor slobs who slave to keep us fed make up an enormous pot of boiled fucking oats just because if they don’t you will whinge and complain and bitch and moan–”

“Mmm, porridge!” Orlando sits down and digs in. “God, that is so good.”

“Cheers,” says Billy.

Y is for Yeah

They say it lots of ways.

Agreement: “Yeah.”

Inquiry: “Yeah?”

Disagreement: “Yeah, sure.”

Mockery: “Yeah, that’s a great idea.”

Disbelief: “Yeah, right.”

Amazement: “Yeah, that’s the wave!”

Acquiescence: “Yeah, okay.”

Lust: “Yeah, oh uh-huh, right there, that’s–yeah–that’s it. A little–ah, yeah–faster… Yeah. Oh, unnnhhh, yeah, yeah please yeah, nownownowthereyesyesyeahhhhh…”

Love: “Yeah, oh uh-huh, right there, that’s–yeah–that’s it. A little–ah, yeah–faster… Yeah. Oh, unnnhhh, yeah, yeah please yeah, nownownowthereyesyesyeahhhhh…”

Some people say fuck is the most flexible word in the English language, but Dom and Billy both know the truth.

“Love you, Dom, yeah?”

“Love you, Bills. Yeah.”

Z is for Zig-Zag

“God, you suck at this.”

Billy straightens, eyes watering, wheezing, and passes the joint. “No, I don’t suck at this, that’s the problem.” He grimaces. “You couldn’t make some fucking brownies?”

Dom speaks with the strained tone of a man holding in a lungful of expensive smoke. “Pretend you’re a grown-up, Billy.” Pale vapor leaks from his nose and he finally lets it all out in a rush. “I’ve seen you smoke Elijah’s cloves.”

“I don’t inhale. I’m the original American presidential choice.” Billy tries again, manages to hold the stuff in for a few seconds before he chokes again. “Shit.”

“‘S’okay, Bills. When I get the munchies I’ll make you some brownies.”

“Now that’s love.”

“You’re not kidding. Put on some music, Billy-mine.”

“All right. Then get to work on my brownies.”