Original Story: Suddenly by Kimber Leigh ("hipolyta_d")
Rating: Hard R
Summary: This was not the way the night was supposed to go.
Post-reveal Notes: Massive thanks to tigertale7 for the last-minute beta.
Disclaimer: The author makes no claims or inferences to reality or truthfulness. Moreover, this story is based upon the work of another author and recognises their creation.
Billy stared morosely into his whisky. This was not the way tonight was supposed to go.
He'd been trying for weeks now to get some time when it was just the two of them, quiet, away from the distractions of their friends, to talk. Clear the air, as it were. Not that Dom seemed to know the air needed clearing.
If only he hadn't walked into that conversation in the makeup trailer...
The sound of Dom's laughter bounced off the walls of the small trailer as Billy reached for the door.
"Feet?" Dom fell into another round of hiccoughing laughter.
"Fuck off." Elijah sounded irritable. "What d'you think about when you wank, then?"
Dom looked up in time to see his friend appear in the doorway, and grinned mischievously. "Billy!"
Billy preened as the other two men burst into fits of giggles. "Doesn't everyone?"
He'd laughed with them at the time, but the idea had stuck with him, the image of his best mate wanking with Billy's name on his lips coming back to haunt him in the still hours of night, leaving him discomfited, rattled, disturbed...hard. At first he'd tried to brush it off, but the thought had persisted, heated images invading his brain in unguarded moments.
In his imagination Dom usually started clothed, relaxing on a couch or in a chair, lazily thumbing open the buttons of his worn jeans to release his cock, already half-hard and flushed at the tip. Those long, elegant fingers would wrap slowly around his growing erection, savouring the sensation. He'd stroke himself leisurely, tugging his foreskin up and back, rimming the head of his prick deliberately with his thumb, spreading the drops of pre-cum that would inevitably appear. His eyes would darken with need as he gradually hardened, his strokes gaining speed, his breath hitching. His head would tip back as he jerked his fist faster up and down the swollen, flushed shaft, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips, a groan escaping as he squeezed, twisted, his hips bucking languourously at first, and then more urgently as his orgasm swept over him, face and body contorting with need and explosive release.
Sometimes Billy imagined him out at a club or someplace public, hurrying frantically to the loo, locking himself in a stall and tearing down his zipper to free his aching dick, thick and pulsing into his palm. He'd grasp himself roughly, squeezing hard and jerking himself in short, aggressive strokes, eyes shut tight, his hand slapping up and down the rigid length of his cock, urgency driving the uncontrollable thrust of his hips, slack mouth panting and spitting curses mingled with Billy's name as he drove his stiff, straining prick into the tight clench of his fist over and over again. Sometimes the wetted fingers of his free hand would dive lower, pressing and pushing against the sensitive pucker behind his high, tight balls, teasing and probing delicately, roughly, needily as he neared his climax, desperate to feel something -- Billy -- inside him as he came, long and hard and shuddering, gasping, yelling his completion.
And sometimes Billy would wake up in the middle of the night, hard and hot and wanting from the images that played in his mind, awake or asleep, to find his hand curled tight around the thick, insistent jut of his own cock, moving without his permission, stroking and pumping and working him to a long, drawn-out, sheet-clutching finish. As he drifted back slowly to reality, he'd try to wipe the memory from his mind as he wiped the sticky mess from his hand.
It never seemed to work.
He'd tried to rationalise -- it was the long hours, the tight quarters, the way Dom was constantly so close he was practically in Billy's own head sometimes. Or maybe it was just the unexpected depth and closeness of their friendship that he never seemed to quite get over no matter how strangely natural it came to them both, along with the pitch-perfect comedic timing and easy, seamless cameraderie and companionship and understanding they shared. Or maybe it was just the fact that neither of them had much luck pulling of late, and they were two horny bastards with no outlet for that -- except each other? He stifled the thought uneasily.
It didn't really matter why in the end, he had to admit. The simple fact was that he was uncomfortably, unavoidably and really quite desperately attracted to his best mate. He ran a hand over his face in now-familiar frustration. He had to resolve this -- at least find out if it was mutual. It was bothersome and inconvenient and worse yet was starting to nudge unsettlingly at feelings he really wasn't prepared to contemplate: above-the-waist sorts of feelings, and he refused to consider that he might fancy Dom in an out-of-bed sort of way. Not yet. Not right now. If he was lucky, not ever...
Christ, he really needed to get laid.
But if that was ever to happen, if he was to get any peace of mind (let alone piece of arse, his inner adolescent smirked), he had to clear the air. To that purpose, he'd invited Dom over, broken out his only bottle of 12-year-old Macallan in order to relax them, ease their self-consciousness -- lower their inhibitions, inserted a nasty little voice in his head, which he loftily ignored -- and allow them to get this out of the way once and for all. He'd had it all planned out.
And then Dom had ruined it all by getting well and truly drunk.
Billy sighed and resigned himself to another night of disguising his eternally optimistic erection, of waiting till his friend crashed and then taking himself to bed for a torturously long, hot wank fueled by the knowledge that the object of his fantasies was snoring on the couch (one hand down his pants and drooling slightly, in all likelihood). Or maybe...maybe he could sneak off to the loo and jerk off while his best mate waited -- all unknowing but (mostly) still conscious -- for him as he stroked himself frantically on the other side of a thin wooden door. He might have to opt for that if Dom didn't stop staring at him.
He turned to meet his friend's eyes, an unwilling smile tugging at him at Dom's unfocused gaze. "You're wasted, aren't you?"
Dom blinked, and grinned. "'M not -- pleasantly tipsy," he corrected unconvincingly, pointing an accusing finger at the nearly-empty bottle on the coffee table. "But if I have any more of that, I certainly will be."
Billy snorted. "I take it you like my taste in whisky, then? Has to be better than that swill you buy." Dom's taste for cheap beer had earned him both notoriety and popularity as a cheap date among the cast and crew.
His mate rolled his eyes, but didn't bother to protest the point. "So what happened to everyone?" He seemed to just now notice that it was only the two of them in Billy's living room. "I thought we were all going out clubbing? Haven't seen Lij an' Orli since dinner."
Yes, and I almost had to bribe them to get them to leave us the hell alone for once, Billy thought irritably, but instead mumbled that they were probably back at Orli's, shagging their wee brains out by now. Which was only true.
"Bunch of randy tossers," Dom declared drunkenly. He downed the remnants of his drink and promptly held his glass out to Billy for a refill. As Billy complied, his mate started muttering semi-coherently about how everyone was getting laid but him, probably even Billy -- Billy snorted and almost spilled the last of the whisky -- and was it too much to ask that he could get laid on occasion?
Steady, steady, Billy told himself sternly. This was no different than any of Dom's other occasional woe-is-me whinges, and it would pass momentarily.
His friend didn't exactly help things by leaning back and unself-consciously adjusting the prominent ridge in his trousers a moment later, inexorably drawing Billy's attention to that state of affairs.
Well, then. Billy swallowed, his mouth dry, hoping his own condition wasn't quite so obvious. Not going to go there -- not right now at any rate, he told himself firmly, forcing his gaze back to the empty bottle of whisky in his hand. Much safer, that. He set it down carefully, preparing to turn back to Dom and make some meaningless conversation that had absolutely nothing to do with his mate's hard-on -- or his own.
A quiet snore interrupted his stern self-scolding. Torn between disappointment and relief, he turned back to find Dom drowsing peacefully, albeit with his neck at a distinctly uncomfortable-looking angle.
I should leave him like that. But then Billy remembered the time he'd found it absolutely hilarious -- although, granted, some of Dom's cheap beer might've been at least partially responsible for that impression -- when a very drunk Dom had fallen asleep in the middle of a yoga posture, and Billy subsequently had to put up with his mate's whinging about his knee and shoulder for a week. Not to mention the lecture they'd both received from Fran when she firmly reprimanded Dom for doing something so stupid -- and Billy for letting him. He'd thought that deeply unfair and pointed out that he had no way of knowing or controlling how Dom fell asleep most nights. His cheeks still burned at the pointedly skeptical look that had evoked. Sighing, he reached over and laid a hand on his friend's bare knee to shake him.
Dom's eyes opened immediately and Billy froze, his breath catching at the naked lust in his mate's stormy, heavy-lidded gaze. Before he could move, Dom hitched his hips higher, let his knees fall wider: opening, inviting, his gaze never leaving Billy's. Surprise and desire made Billy's hand clench on Dom's knee and Dom groaned, his eyes darkening as he spread his legs further, the invitation clear.
"You alright, Dom? Is it the splinter?" Billy tried for a joking tone, but it came out husky and predatory even to his own ears.
Dom broke eye contact at last, and Billy followed his mate's gaze to see that his own hand had somehow started moving north of its own volition, palm grasping greedily at the lightly-haired thigh, deft fingers stroking, fondling, inching higher up the inside of Dom's leg. He swallowed hard as Dom replied in a low, gravelly drawl that no, he was just fine, thanks...
"Good," Billy croaked. "Good..." God, he sounded like an idiot. "That's good, because I've -- I've been wanting this, wanting you, for too long now..." He was babbling, he knew, but Dom didn't seem to mind. His mate's eyes were dark and hot and starkly wanting and they made Billy's cock jump and pulse against his thigh.
Dom reached for him just as Billy shifted closer, and Billy stumbled slightly, dizzily, falling into his mate. His body fell flush against Dom's, his straining cock pushing insistently into his friend's thigh, his face pressed into the crook of Dom's neck, which Dom stretched obligingly for his attention with a muffled groan. Billy breathed deeply, taking in the musky, heated scent of his friend's cologne and gave into the urge to nip sharply at that tendon that always seemed so inviting...
Dom's body jerked against his, and Billy couldn't help but smile against the sensitive flesh of his mate's neck, his hand sliding up to palm Dom's eagerly twitching cock through the material of his trousers. "Billy." Dom's voice was hoarse, pleading, his hips rolling up into Billy's grasp.
Blindly, Billy found Dom's lips and kissed him fiercely, feeling his mate kiss back with a fervor that caught him off-guard, Dom's hands clutching mindlessly at Billy's shirt, his shoulders, his back. Billy shuddered, arching into Dom's thigh, his free hand sliding to Dom's nape, holding him still as their tongues thrust wetly together in a slick, hot tangle of hitching breaths and groans of need.
As Dom twisted beneath him, Billy's deft fingers slipped between Dom's taut, trembling stomach and the elastic waistband of his shorts, both men gasping as Billy's hand came in contact with hot, damp flesh -- God, yes. Billy's eyelids fluttered, the feeling of Dom's erection pulsing against his palm almost overpowering, the sound of his mate's harsh breath in his ear intoxicating, enervating, carnally enthralling. His fingers wrapped around the thick, jerking shaft, testing the hard, moist heat with his fingertips, and then gripping him harder until Dom whimpered and tried to thrust up into the tight embrace of Billy's fist.
Billy smiled against his friend's mouth and shifted his weight on top of Dom, holding him prone, stilling the feverish bucking of his hips. Dom mewled with frustration and need beneath him, but Billy was unmoved. His hand started to move: slow, agonizing strokes up the swollen length, twisting around the fat, pulsing tip, plunging down to squeeze firmly at the base. Dom moaned and tore his mouth away from Billy's, panting into the crook of his neck.
"Shhh, I've got you," Billy murmured against his mate's cheek, his tone more taunting than reassuring. "But I want you to do something for me, Dom."
Dom's head lolled back, his eyes glassy and unfocused on Billy's as he groaned his assent.
Billy grinned down into his mate's face. "I want you to come for me, Dom" he purred. "Come harder than you ever have. Can you do that for me?"
Dom's response was a choked whimper and a desperate shove of his hips. Billy ground his own cock roughly against Dom's thigh and stroked his mate faster, harder, letting Dom arch and thrust beneath him. "C'mon then, Dom. Come."
Blunt fingers grasped at Billy's forearms, Dom's voice shaking as managed, "Fuck, Billy, I'm gonna -- " A long, juddering spasm wracked Dom's body, cutting off his words as he shuddered hard and came in long, hot pulses over Billy's fist.
It was all Billy could do to watch, his eyes dark and hot, lips parted in a soundless groan of pure appreciation and lust. His erection swelled and throbbed against his mate's thigh as Dom came apart, trembling and bucking and keening beneath him. It was better than he'd imagined, so much hotter -- yet suddenly it seemed to him strangely unsettling to see his mate so open and vulnerable, surrendering so completely to Billy's dictates. It left Billy feeling uneasy, feverish, desperately needing to come now, needing Dom to touch him, taste him, make him come just like that.
It didn't matter, he told himself, how vulnerable Dom looked, whether it was Billy who set him off like a spark to dry grass or whether it could have been anyone. It was intense and visceral, hot as fuck, and that's all it had to be -- other than reciprocated, of course. Still, his hands stroked his mate gently as the aftershocks wracked, his fingertips lingering with an odd tenderness at the pale jut of his mate's hip bone, the damp, curling hairs at his nape, reluctant to desert Dom's heated, sweat-slick flesh despite his own unfulfilled lust.
Billy watched, barely conscious that his hips were rolling steadily, insistently, pushing his oversensitized hard-on into his mate's leg as Dom's breath slowed and his eyelids fluttered open. "Alright, Dom?" He scarcely recognized the hoarse, inconguously gentle tone of his own voice.
Dom's glazed eyes focused on him, and he grinned, leaving Billy oddly reassured. "Bloody brilliant."
A corresponding smile tugged at Billy's mouth. "Good," he retorted, finding his cockiness restored. "Now it's my turn."
He expected a smirk or a laugh by way of reply, and while there was heat and amusement both in Dom's eyes when they met his mate's, there was more as well. There was hunger to match his own, scarcely banked by the force of his release only moments before. And there was an eagerness there that reached out to Billy, as surely as his mate's questing fingers and low laughter, shyly, fiercely, openly, telling him that this might not have been what he planned for tonight, but it was, like watching his mate come apart in his hands, something more, and better than he could ever have imagined.
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