Billy wakes up thinking that he might just be the luckiest man alive.
Part of it is simply that he is alive, two years after he faced death - three times - at the hands of a Coalition agent; two years after the nightmare that was Billy's recovery. He tries not to think of that year, but it still intrudes in his thoughts and dreams from time to time.
Part of it is that he has a job he loves, and one that doesn't involve being stuck out on his own for months on end, either.
Part of it - by far the largest part - is that he and Dom are still together. They had a rocky patch, yes, but they survived, and they have absorbed the pain and heartache and grown stronger since then. Billy says that before, they were iron, and now they are steel; Dom laughs and tells him not to be so fanciful, and then surprises him with a sgian dubh at Christmas to replace the one he lost.
Anyone who had Dom for a lover would be the luckiest man alive. Billy knows he's lucky to be that man.
* * *
Billy thinks that waking up with Dom is the perfect way to start a morning. At least one of them is usually horny, and, if they have the time, waking up will involve sleepy, barely-moving, hi-how-are-you-today sex. Billy is usually the one to wake first, and he likes to bring Dom out of slumber by kissing him, or stroking his neck, or letting his hands wander further down Dom's body until they reach what is usually a half-hard cock, loving the feel of it growing under his touch. Sometimes Dom wakes first, and takes matters into his hands a bit more directly; more than once Billy has regained awareness with three of Dom's fingers inside him. He hasn't yet woken up with Dom's cock inside him, but he figures it's only a matter of time. Billy secretly thinks that it might be the most absolutely perfect way to wake up, and hopes it isn't too long before he finds out.
Today is not quite perfect, because Dom isn't making love to him. Dom isn't even next to him, and the sheets are cold when Billy runs a hand over that side of the bed. Billy isn't worried, though, because judging by the bright spring sunlight streaming in through the window it's almost lunchtime, and Dom will have been up for hours. The faint clatter of domesticity that reaches his ears reassures him that Dom is still in the house, probably the kitchen, and probably cooking. His nose supports this hypothesis, and Billy spends a pleasant few minutes trying to distinguish the various smells wafting up. Tea, certainly. Meat, yes, and potatoes, and a yeasty smell that Billy's not sure about - it could be bread, or it could be beer. He doesn't waste time trying to work out which it is - he'll find out soon enough.
Billy stretches, sensuously, like a cat, and relishes the small aches that remind him of their lovemaking the night before. He throws back the covers and gets up, frowning slightly as he feels the residual stickiness between his legs. He needs a shower as well as a shave.
He pads into the bathroom and grimaces at his reflection in the mirror. Those cuts on his face are still there, if you know where to look, and he does, every morning. He makes an effort to look elsewhere, noting with pleasure that it has now been thirty three days since his last nightmare. Another three days and he will have set a new record.
He fills the basin with warm water and covers his face with old-fashioned shaving soap. Dom uses the latest depilatory creams with skin-firming additives, but Billy prefers to shave, saying he can't abide the sting of the creams or the irregular re-growth. Dom says he saves a hundred hours a year using the creams and that's a lot of wanking time. Billy says that Dom's a complete tosser anyway and doesn't need any more time for wanking, but he might need injury time if he doesn't stop blocking the mirror.
Billy finishes shaving and steps into the shower. As he cleans himself up he looks down at his semi-erect cock (all those thoughts of Dom have had their usual effect) and wonders, as always, if he ought to have a quick one off at the wrist before going downstairs. And, as always, he decides against it, preferring to wait until he can get Dom up against a hard surface - vertical, horizontal or inclined, it doesn't matter. Wanking when Dom's not around is one thing, but he hates to waste an erection when Dom is there and available. Dom laughs at that, too, and says he'll wank in the shower if he wants to. Billy says he'd better be able to get it up when Billy wants it, shower-wank or no shower-wank, to which Dom replies that the day he can't get it up for Billy they'll have to bury him. So far, Dom appears to be safe from premature interment.
They've come a long way since that annus horribilus, when for almost six months Billy could barely tolerate Dom touching him. He's happy to say that they have more than made up for lost time since then, making love almost every day, usually twice. Though there is still the occasional night when Billy wakes up screaming, Dom is there to hold him and soothe him, and Billy finds that the nightmares don't affect him so badly, now, or for so long. He thinks it might be because he has formed the habit of making love to Dom immediately he stops shivering - drowning the unpleasant memories in a sea of lust - and Dom is always happy to help with this somewhat-unorthodox therapy. Well, Dom's always happy to have sex, whatever the excuse.
They're still working their way through that book - they're up to position 67 now. That's not many in two years, but then they haven't been in space all that often, and, besides, they don't want to hurry. Billy thinks that both of them are getting a little superstitious about it - they don't want to reach the end of the book in case (touch wood) it somehow means the end of their relationship. He's had a peek, though, and to honest, he thinks they're pretty safe - by the time they've worked up the courage to tackle positions 100 and 101, they'll neither of them have the flexibility to master them. More likely to get a hernia than an orgasm, he thinks. Not that it wouldn't be fun trying.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, now showered, shaved, dressed and brimming with energy, he finds himself almost running down the stairs. The clattering is louder in the hall, and he can hear Dom's voice over the strains of a ballad playing on the radio. They both like music from the 20th century, but Billy's tastes run more to Sir Edward Elgar than Sir Paul McCartney. Still, Dom sounds happy, and Billy's happy when Dom's happy. Listening to silly love songs is an occupational hazard as far as he's concerned.
He wanders into the kitchen to find that Dom is definitely in a baking mood. A tea-towel-covered bowl of dough is sitting on top of the Aga, the dome in the centre indicating that it won't be long before Dom takes it down to knead it again. Meanwhile, Dom is stirring another bowl that must contain some sort of biscuit mix, judging by the smell of warm sugar and the containers of flour, oatmeal, coconut and syrup standing haphazardly on the table. Unsurprisingly, there is flour on every horizontal surface, as well as on Dom's hands, shirt, and cheek.
Dom looks up and smiles, and Billy falls in love all over again.
Dom looks up and smiles as Billy comes into the kitchen. "Hello, love. Sleep well?"
Billy reaches out and brushes a flour smut from Dom's cheek before answering. "Slept well. Missed you when I woke up."
"I wasn't far."
"I know."
They kiss, gently, a touch of lips to lips, a moment of stillness. It's a little awkward because Dom still has his hands full with bowl and spoon, but they lean into each other as best they can. The kiss lasts three seconds or so, just long enough for them to feel the other's warmth, before they pull apart. Billy rests his forehead against Dom's shoulder, breathing in the scent of Dom and cooking and love.
"I was hoping you'd wake up soon. I'm cooking a roast for lunch."
"Aye, I can smell it." Billy glances at the bowl. "What's this?"
"Oatmeal biscuits. The ones you like."
"With extra syrup?"
"Of course."
"Can I lick the spoon when you're done?"
"D'you think I can stop you?"
"Absolutely not. You may be Lord High Kitchen God but I am Lord High Everything Else and I get to lick the spoon. It's my right and my privilege, along with the washing up."
"Idiot."
"That's Lovable Idiot to you."
They interrupt their banter for another kiss, and Billy thinks about removing the bowl from Dom's grasp - by force if necessary - and getting Dom to apply his hands to other matters that require manual strength and dexterity, namely his reviving erection. But Dom is still making half-hearted attempts to stir the mixture, so instead, Billy slides behind him, his arms on Dom's hips, pulling their bodies close together. Dom's backside rubs enticingly over his groin, and Dom's head falls back to lean on Billy's shoulder.
After a minute of this intimate bump and grind, Billy starts nuzzling at Dom's neck, kissing, licking and nibbling wherever it seems appropriate, which is to say, anywhere within reach of Billy's mouth. Every square inch of Dom's body is familiar to him, and he makes sure it stays that way, but he admits that some areas are more favoured than others. One of them is that small patch of skin just behind the jaw, where the skin is soft and a kiss can elicit a shiver, as it does now, and another is the lobe of Dom's ear, where nibbling evokes not so much of a shiver as a shudder.
Dom is still holding bowl and spoon, but the bowl is now resting haphazardly at angle, and the spoon is in danger of dropping to the floor. Billy is oblivious to the imperilled utensils as he runs his hands up under Dom's shirt. He loves the way the muscles twitch and ripple as he brushes over ticklish spots, the way that Dom's breathing changes in response to this touch or that. He can feel skin heating up beneath his fingertips. He can see the first few prickles of sweat on Dom's neck, and gives in to the impulse to taste them, to run his tongue over the salty droplets that glisten on golden skin.
The spoon is lost and clatters to the floor. Dom pulls away and bends over to pick it up, giving Billy a view of his arse that has him reaching out with one hand even as Dom straightens up again and grabs the bowl. He takes bowl, spoon, and the tin of syrup over to the relative safety of the bench. The rest of the containers can take their chances - they're sealed plastic, and will bounce if something (someone) should happen to knock them off the table - but they've learned to make sure that the breakables and the messy things are put a safe distance from any bodily interactions that might be taking place.
Billy takes a deep breath and uses the time to survey the kitchen. It is, frankly, a mess. His lover is a fantastic cook, but is constitutionally incapable of preparing the simplest meal without making the kitchen look like it's barely survived a bomb blast. Every surface is covered, either with flour, like the table, or with discarded pans and dishes, most of which will go into the dishwasher later, a couple of which Billy will wash by hand. He spots the olive oil, almost hidden by the knife block - it's the extra-virgin, cold-pressed, Spanish olive oil that Dom swears is the best in the world. Billy says he doesn't care what the olives get up to at night, he's just thankful that they gave their all for the delectation of his taste buds. Today he spares no thought at all for their untimely demise, but notes the bottle's position for future reference.
Billy's gaze falls next on the Aga, where the bread dough is steadily pushing up the tea-towel. "What about the bread?"
"Don't worry, it's only the first rising. It can wait."
Billy grins and brushes a hand over his groin. "Good, because this rising can't."
"Should have wanked in the shower, Bills, I keep telling you that."
"You know I hate to do that when you're here."
Dom smirks at him and asks, "Do I get to wash first?"
"No. Like you dirty."
"Like me sticky, too?"
"Sticky's good."
"I'll remind you of that in a few minutes." Dom's drops to a purr... not the light, soothing purr of a housecat, but the deep middle-of-the-chest rumble of a tiger on the prowl. It sends a thrill down to Billy's groin and his eyes glaze over for a moment. Dom knows exactly what that tone of voice does to Billy, and Billy is helpless to resist. "Come here, Billy," purrs tiger-Dom, "and I'll show you dirty."
Billy growls back, but not menacingly, and pulls them together again, this time front to front. He can feel that Dom's rising, too, and rolls his hips, loving the feel of Dom's body against his own, even separated by two layers of clothing.
Dom's hands are roaming over Billy's back, pressing them closer. As usual, it isn't long before those hands have dropped to cup Billy's arse, fondling the plump cheeks in a manner that drives both men mad with lust, and their movements turn from firm to fierce to frantic. Dom grabs hold of Billy's shirt and pulls it out of his jeans. They lean back, torsos separated for the few - the very few - seconds it takes them to shrug off their shirts, and then they are back into full body contact: skin to skin, breath to breath, heartbeat to heartbeat. Kisses are no longer tender but deep and bruising and absolutely wonderful.
It's Billy's turn to tip his head back as Dom goes for the sweet spot between neck and shoulder. A less-than-gentle nip there and it's all Billy can do not to buckle at the knees. It's tempting to let go and let Dom take over, let himself be ravished and ravaged and mauled and thoroughly, completely filled by his lover, but Billy has a strong sense of fair play and he knows that not only was he the one ravished last night, but also the one last ravished in the kitchen. If there's any ravishing to be done today, Billy decides, he will be doing it, and Dom will lie back and enjoy it.
With that in mind, he undoes Dom's jeans with a few, well-practised hand movements and tugs them down, revealing Dom's healthy erection - and if Dom tossed off in the shower this morning it certainly hasn't affected his response now. Billy hand closes over it and Dom gives a murmur of encouraging approval. After several long, languorous strokes, Billy drops to his knees, noting how the scent of Dom's arousal mingles so harmoniously with the smells of baking. It's no wonder that the kitchen seems to be the place most often used for lovemaking after the bedroom and the shower.
Billy has a talented mouth and he's not afraid to use it on his lover. Within a couple of minutes Dom's breathing is harsh and rapid, his leg muscles are trembling, and musky fluid is overwhelming Billy's senses. One final lick up the entire length, then Billy pulls back and gets to his feet. He turns them do that Dom's back is to the table, and pushes the containers off to one side, but he's not looking at them as he does it, and two fall off the table onto the floor. He hopes that all the lids stay on, but can't bring himself to check, because he's lifting Dom up onto the table, thankful that it's heavy timber and not plaswood - they've broken a few pieces of furniture in their time together, and have learned to appreciate good solid materials and sturdy construction. He disposes of both pairs of jeans and takes all of two seconds to reach for the olive oil he spotted earlier. Dom's eyes widen for a moment, but he obviously knows better than to make an objection, staying silent but raising an eloquent eyebrow.
Billy smirks at Dom's expression. He knows exactly what his lover is thinking and he couldn't care less. "High time those olives learnt what it's all about," he mutters as he coats his fingers and inserts one-two-three in rapid succession. Another palmful of oil for himself, and he retains just enough self-control to put the bottle back on the bench (not the table) before pulling Dom's legs over his shoulders and placing himself at the point of entry into Dom's body. He pauses: this is something he doesn't take lightly or for granted, whatever mood he's in. He locks eyes with Dom and waits for the nod before pushing forward, feeling tightness and smoothness and bloodheat all around him. He doesn't realise that he's been holding his breath until he's fully in, and the exhalation takes him by surprise. Dom says "Yeah, that's it" and reaches forward to grab his buttocks, pulling Billy in even further.
Billy starts a gentle rocking, in-and-out motion that soon grows into a more forceful thrusting, and finally into fierce slamming, accompanied by shouts and grimaces and grips that leave new bruises on tender flesh, bruises that will bloom and mingle and fade with those made yesterday and tomorrow.
He's not sure if it’s a minute or an hour later when he blinks and finds himself still looking down at Dom, who is lying with eyes closed and a soft, contented look on his face. It's the only time apart from sleep that Billy ever sees Dom still, and he treasures each and every occasion. Eventually Dom starts to move again, his arms reaching for Billy, and he murmurs "Good, yeah" as he opens his eyes.
"Hey love," Billy whispers.
"Love you," Dom whispers back.
Billy moves a little and slips out, stifling the inner wish to stay in there forever. A few seconds of adjustments and assistance to stiff limbs and they are both standing up again.
Billy checks himself, but there is surprisingly little mess on his body. A little oil, a little flour on his hands, but otherwise not too bad. He takes a clean cloth from the drawer and wipes himself off, then reaches for his jeans.
Dom, on the other hand, not only has semen on his stomach, but flour and oatmeal all over his back, butter in his hair, and a gooey mess on his buttocks - a pancake-mix of the oil that has dripped down between his legs and the flour on the table. Dom runs a hand over his backside and stares, horrified, at the result.
Billy grins unrepentantly, blows the fringe out of his eyes, and says, "Don't you dare look so fastidious, Dominic Monaghan - I've seen where you've willingly put those hands, remember."
Dom gives a mock-snarl, grabs the cloth from Billy and wipes his hands. "Yes, I know, but I never tried to cook afterwards." He tries - unsuccessfully - to remove the worst of it with the cloth, but after only a few smeary attempts he admits defeat, saying, "I'm going to run up and have a shower before I get started on the bread. Keep an eye on the dough, will you? Punch it down if you have to, but don't touch anything else while I'm gone."
Billy nods. Dom drops a kiss on Billy's nose, then heads upstairs.
Billy looks around the kitchen. In spite of the mess, it's warm and inviting - cosy, even; the hearth of the home. Still, there are dishes to be washed, benches to wipe, and biscuit mix to rescue. As he steps towards the sink, his feet crunch on something, and he looks down. One of the containers lost its lid in the fall, and there's desiccated coconut all over floor, mingling with the flour that Dom has scattered around earlier. He sighs, and grabs the dustpan and brush. At least it wasn't the syrup.
He sweeps up the mess and wipes away the few drops of olive oil. He washes a couple of utensils and is checking the bread dough once more when the clock on the wall chimes one.
Lunch will be late today, but Billy doesn't mind.
THE END
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