![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fox_confessorTitle: 2000 Miles (Give or Take)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
escribo (Dani)
Pairing: Billy/Dom
Rating: Hard R
Summary: Dominic travels half way around the world to spend his birthday with Billy. At least, that was the plan.
Notes: written for 2010![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
monaboyd_month
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred, or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
The plane had sat on the runway for three hours before it finally taxied and lifted off, the G-forces pushing Dominic back into his seat. It had been in the middle of the New York to Reykjavik to London leg of his hopscotch around the world--one he’d started on the Sunday before the Tuesday of his birthday--that he’d begun cursing the gods in general, spending several unproductive hours trying to dredge up the name of the particular patron saint who should feel the brunt of his ire. It's Wednesday now, and they're circling London; he could see the city, or at least he told himself he could, through the fog--so close and yet so far away, feeding his serious doubts about all the hype of a modern world.
In his mind and in his email to Billy, Dominic's birthday had gone something like this: L.A. to Newark, Newark to London, London to Glasgow, Glasgow to your bed. Billy had called him within minutes of receiving the email, laughter thick in his voice then, too, but low, inviting, asking how long? At that point it would have been three weeks before the first of his flights took off, and two days on planes if he moved his watch back properly, thirty minutes give or take in Billy’s car, and likely less than an hour until Dominic was on his back. After that returned email, he’d texted Billy regularly, running down the time in days, hours, minutes.
The way things ended up, Dominic had turned 33 in Pittsburgh's airport, rerouted and stranded, and too irritated to buy more than a pint of dodgy vodka from a gift shop. He’d convinced himself that it would make a proper mathom for Billy once he’d finally found his way to Glasgow. If Dominic were an actual Hobbit, he’d officially be of age, now; there would have been a party. If he and his friends had gone anywhere--to see the elves, say, because they could be fun, sometimes--they’d have gone on foot, and maybe encountered an undead king or two. There wouldn’t have been delay after delay, reroutes to places that had only previously existed in the hypothetical, and more time spent listening to boarding announcements with his fingers crossed than had ever managed to occur at any other time in his life spent chasing the next horizon.
Of course, he is a Hobbit of sorts, and he'd had a party anyway, at least in terms of drinking, because Billy’s mathom hadn’t made it an hour past the charge on Dominic's card. There had also been phone calls, or rather voicemails--he’d turned his phone off in Cleveland--though he would have preferred that those calls had begun with something other than the echoed Where are you now? first in his mother’s worried voice, then from Elijah’s, pitched too high still, then Orlando’s distant yell over the sound of some party of his own, and then from Billy’s Glaswegian accent thick with laughter, terribly amused at the joke the universe had played on Dominic.
Just thinking about it now makes Dominic scrunch down into his seat and pull off his knit cap, rubbing his hand over his hair. He'd been able to ignore the others, but the sound of Billy’s voice still shot a bolt of something defying definition down his spine even a mile up and thousands of miles away, and he didn’t think it was fair. He didn’t think a lot of things were fair, actually, beginning with smoke over Los Angeles and ending with fog over London, just to start the list. To make everything just perfect now, he'd have to pretend that all of it had been his idea from the beginning: his birthday, his wind-up so that Billy would be fairly panting for him by the time they tumbled into bed.
Instead, Dominic could see his two weeks vacation dwindling down to nothing before he had to be off to Spain with his family, and Billy back to his own. He could remember his birthday spent alone and feel his mildly raging hard-on encouraged every time he listens to Billy’s voicemails even though he knew he shouldn’t, for reasons other than just airline safety rules, of which he was sure he breaking at least fifty. But his iPod was long dead, having given out between Denver and Des Moines, though Dominic suspected he hadn’t actually remembered to charge it at all. So, he listened some more to Billy, pressing repeat until the battery on his phone gave out, too.
The pilot finally comes over the loudspeaker, promising a descent, a break in the fog and land beneath their feet. Of course, this good news is just a prelude to worse; Dominic starts imagining now the time he'll spend in line at passport control and then with ticket agents, trying to find a late (or early morning; one more day slipping through his fingers) flight to Glasgow, considering he’s already missed his by some 27 hours. Then there will be the waiting to board, hoping against another of the weather calamities that have bounced him around the world. Dominic's already decided that if he’s rerouted again, he’ll just set up shop and live out his life, maybe in Dublin or, if he’s lucky, east to Paris.
Clinging to his bag stuffed with empty wrappers, the book he’s planning to fling out the next window he can open, and a change of clothes he’s changed into twice, Dominic shuffles off the plane, his back aching, and blearily stumbles down through customs, thinking maybe he’ll take a train to Glasgow and ticking off on his fingers the number of disasters that could befall that trip. He's exhausted but well past sleep; he's weary, he's irritated. He's lonely.
He's also surprised, wildly so, to see Billy standing at the gate beyond where Dominic’s had his passport scrutinized and stamped, a ridiculous smile on his face.
"Happy birthday," Billy calls, and Dominic looks around him, thinking perhaps he’s actually gone ‘round the bend finally. "I got you a gift," Billy continues, perfectly naturally, and Dominic nods.
"You'd better have."
"Let's get your luggage."
"Not necessary,” Dominic says, bounding over to sag a bit into Billy’s arms, finally. Billy smells lovely, as hallucinations go, Dominic decides. “It's gone on holiday. Without me, clearly, though maybe it’s having a reunion of its own. Do you remember when your luggage was lost a few years back? Went to Australia, I think.”
“What are you rambling on about?”
“The lovely little carry-on’s our bags will make when they find one another, of course,” Dominic slurs into Billy’s neck. “Yours will have to be the girl, though, because mine is manly luggage.”
Billy snorts. "Do you want a drink?"
"No."
“Do you need a drink?”
Dominic straightens up a bit and grins widely at Billy’s question, hitching his bag higher on his shoulder, the idea that there would be no more trains or planes, at least not tonight, only just becoming clear to him.
“I only ask because I might,” Billy continues, deftly taking Dominic’s bag from him and swinging it onto his shoulder.
“Why are you here?” Dominic asks him, and Billy raises an eyebrow, laughing again.
“Did you want me not to be?”
“I desperately wanted you to be here. I just didn’t think you would. I thought you’d be snug at home, leaving me more tortuous voicemails.”
“Maybe I'm your birthday wish come true."
“My wish actually involved less clothing.”
"Speaking of,” Billy says, ignoring the way Dominic is leering at him. “You do know that you missed your birthday."
"Actually, I had a bottle of really nice vodka. You would have liked it. And a packet of crisps while I sang the birthday song to myself somewhere between Pittsburgh and Philadelphia. It was a lovely birthday, as that sort of thing goes.” Dominic reaches to tug at where Billy’s hair curls over his collar, thankful that the hour's late enough that they're nearly alone, or as alone as one ever gets in Heathrow. He tries to keep his hands to himself, but it's a losing battle, one he hopes the CCTV cameras everywhere above them appreciate. He's too tired and too grateful, though not about to let Billy know that. “You, however, missed it completely."
"I am sorry."
"You're supposed to say you'll make it up to me."
"I will."
"You'll have to be wildly inventive if you expect me to forgive you," Dominic says around a yawn. "I listened to your voicemail thirty-seven times. There were certain implications, inflections, even, in the way you called me an idiot for flying in that weather."
“You’re in a fine mood.”
“I suppose I am.” Dominic shakes his head, knowing his grin has probably gone a bit manic. He wonders a bit at Billy in his neatly pressed trousers and jumper, his great black wool coat that feels soft where Dominic is fingering the collar. He knows he must be a sight, his hair plastered to his head, unshowered though he’d had a wash-up in the airplane loo. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a cure for that in your pockets, do you?”
“So, no luggage? You’re ready?” Billy waits until Dominic nods. “Maybe pop into the restroom before we find a cab? Maybe that one over there that says it’s closed?”
Dominic follows Billy's glance and hums. “Do you suspect they don’t mean it?”
“I suspect maybe some kid's stolen the sign from another part of the airport and put it up to make it look as though it’s closed. One less thing he'll have to clean tonight.”
Dominic raises an eyebrow now, taking a step closer though he curls his hands into tight fists to keep from grabbing Billy and giving him a kiss right there. “What are you playing at, then?”
“Being inventive. Sorry. Being wildly intentive.”
Billy turns on his heel, then, and Dominic follows him, trying to look casual as they cross to the door propped open by a yellow cone with the Closed for Cleaning sign attached. Dominic's barely through the door before Billy kicks loose the stop and pushes the door shut, sliding the lock closed and then grabbing Dominic’s wrist. Dominic’s back thuds against the door and he finds Billy leaning into him, his right hand stretched to rest on the door beside Dominic’s head.
“Hello,” Billy whispers, and his first kiss is a gentle thing before he begins sucking on Dominic’s lower lip. Dominic leans forward, his nose pressed into Billy’s cheek and his hands digging through layers of wool and cotton to find Billy's hips and drag him forward. Billy hums, his tongue swiping at Dominic's, and then there are Billy's sharp teeth again, biting and sucking at Dominic’s lip, soothing before releasing him, leaving Dominic's lips swollen.
Dominic swallows hard, searching Billy’s face, before he manages a smirk and whispers back, “Hi.”
Billy takes Dominic’s head between his hands and begins again, encouraging them both to nip with their teeth, their noses bumping together as they fight for dominance, their favorite type of battle. Dominic finally gives a little, finding his white flag somewhere over the smooth skin of Billy’s back as he pushes his hands and the back of Billy’s jumper higher. Billy’s tongue is in Dominic's mouth, exploring his molars and counting his taste buds and smoothing over the roof of his mouth, the contours beneath his tongue.
Dominic tries to stage his own kind of revolution as his hand sinks lower and then down past the waist of Billy’s trousers. For many minutes it's just that, their mouths and hands at war until each is too distracted to keep up his attack. Billy grabs for Dominic’s hands, pushing them against the wall again, and Dominic’s nails scrabble at the plaster where it crumbles to the floor while Billy slides his hands down over Dominic’s body, over his stomach and into the loose front of his jeans, his fingers sure of their destination and none too gentle.
Dominic gasps for breath as they break the kiss and Billy moves to press his kisses over Dominic’s jaw and down his neck. Billy makes a triumphant sound when he finds Dominic’s cock, curling his fingers over hot, hardening flesh, and Dominic feels his stomach tighten, his thoughts careening from too long to too fast, and he groans when Billy agrees with him and wonders if he’s said it out loud, and what else he’s said without knowing.
Before he can think about it too hard, Billy slides his hand away and replaces it with his thigh, pushing Dominic’s legs apart, and Dominic goes willingly. He chases after Billy’s kisses now, his head coming off the door behind him though he keeps his hands where Billy’s left them. Billy doesn’t allow the kisses for long; his lips tick up into a wicked smile, the bow of his mouth red and swollen, too, before he latches onto Dominic’s neck, pushing down the fabric of his t-shirt to lick at Dominic's collarbone. Billy’s hands are suddenly everywhere again, too, under Dominic's arms and behind his shoulders, tipping his neck and sliding down the back of Dominic’s jeans. Dominic searches for something of his own to grip, settling first to hit the light switch and plunge them into darkness before giving up altogether and reaching again for Billy, his hands going tight around Billy's shoulders, arching up into him. His cock aches, needing more friction, more pressure, more of everything, and finally Billy gives it to him, gives everything to him, shoving against his body and into the door until Dominic’s breath is pushed from him, and grabbing Dominic’s leg to wrap around his hip and rock against him with thrusts like exclamation points until they’re both coming, Dominic first, nearly biting into the black wool of Billy’s coat to keep from screaming, and then Billy, with a breathy nhuh of pleasure wet against Dominic's ear.
For a long time they stand in the dark, trying to remember how their lungs work, and how to stand though their legs still shake. The room's lit now in a weird sort of halo from where the door didn’t quite seal out the weak terminal light, and Dominic can see that Billy's looking at him, his smile pleased.
“Don’t think--” Dominic begins but has to stop, huffing out his breath as he gathers Billy closer for a hug then pushes him away again, his hands on Billy's shoulders. By the time he’s sure he can talk, he’s already forgotten what he was originally going to say. “It was worth it.”
“What was worth it?” Billy asks, amusement high in his voice, and Dominic stares up at the ceiling first, then down again at Billy.
“Fucking Des Moines, that’s what.”
Author:
escribo (Dani)Pairing: Billy/Dom
Rating: Hard R
Summary: Dominic travels half way around the world to spend his birthday with Billy. At least, that was the plan.
Notes: written for 2010
monaboyd_monthDisclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred, or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
The plane had sat on the runway for three hours before it finally taxied and lifted off, the G-forces pushing Dominic back into his seat. It had been in the middle of the New York to Reykjavik to London leg of his hopscotch around the world--one he’d started on the Sunday before the Tuesday of his birthday--that he’d begun cursing the gods in general, spending several unproductive hours trying to dredge up the name of the particular patron saint who should feel the brunt of his ire. It's Wednesday now, and they're circling London; he could see the city, or at least he told himself he could, through the fog--so close and yet so far away, feeding his serious doubts about all the hype of a modern world.
In his mind and in his email to Billy, Dominic's birthday had gone something like this: L.A. to Newark, Newark to London, London to Glasgow, Glasgow to your bed. Billy had called him within minutes of receiving the email, laughter thick in his voice then, too, but low, inviting, asking how long? At that point it would have been three weeks before the first of his flights took off, and two days on planes if he moved his watch back properly, thirty minutes give or take in Billy’s car, and likely less than an hour until Dominic was on his back. After that returned email, he’d texted Billy regularly, running down the time in days, hours, minutes.
The way things ended up, Dominic had turned 33 in Pittsburgh's airport, rerouted and stranded, and too irritated to buy more than a pint of dodgy vodka from a gift shop. He’d convinced himself that it would make a proper mathom for Billy once he’d finally found his way to Glasgow. If Dominic were an actual Hobbit, he’d officially be of age, now; there would have been a party. If he and his friends had gone anywhere--to see the elves, say, because they could be fun, sometimes--they’d have gone on foot, and maybe encountered an undead king or two. There wouldn’t have been delay after delay, reroutes to places that had only previously existed in the hypothetical, and more time spent listening to boarding announcements with his fingers crossed than had ever managed to occur at any other time in his life spent chasing the next horizon.
Of course, he is a Hobbit of sorts, and he'd had a party anyway, at least in terms of drinking, because Billy’s mathom hadn’t made it an hour past the charge on Dominic's card. There had also been phone calls, or rather voicemails--he’d turned his phone off in Cleveland--though he would have preferred that those calls had begun with something other than the echoed Where are you now? first in his mother’s worried voice, then from Elijah’s, pitched too high still, then Orlando’s distant yell over the sound of some party of his own, and then from Billy’s Glaswegian accent thick with laughter, terribly amused at the joke the universe had played on Dominic.
Just thinking about it now makes Dominic scrunch down into his seat and pull off his knit cap, rubbing his hand over his hair. He'd been able to ignore the others, but the sound of Billy’s voice still shot a bolt of something defying definition down his spine even a mile up and thousands of miles away, and he didn’t think it was fair. He didn’t think a lot of things were fair, actually, beginning with smoke over Los Angeles and ending with fog over London, just to start the list. To make everything just perfect now, he'd have to pretend that all of it had been his idea from the beginning: his birthday, his wind-up so that Billy would be fairly panting for him by the time they tumbled into bed.
Instead, Dominic could see his two weeks vacation dwindling down to nothing before he had to be off to Spain with his family, and Billy back to his own. He could remember his birthday spent alone and feel his mildly raging hard-on encouraged every time he listens to Billy’s voicemails even though he knew he shouldn’t, for reasons other than just airline safety rules, of which he was sure he breaking at least fifty. But his iPod was long dead, having given out between Denver and Des Moines, though Dominic suspected he hadn’t actually remembered to charge it at all. So, he listened some more to Billy, pressing repeat until the battery on his phone gave out, too.
The pilot finally comes over the loudspeaker, promising a descent, a break in the fog and land beneath their feet. Of course, this good news is just a prelude to worse; Dominic starts imagining now the time he'll spend in line at passport control and then with ticket agents, trying to find a late (or early morning; one more day slipping through his fingers) flight to Glasgow, considering he’s already missed his by some 27 hours. Then there will be the waiting to board, hoping against another of the weather calamities that have bounced him around the world. Dominic's already decided that if he’s rerouted again, he’ll just set up shop and live out his life, maybe in Dublin or, if he’s lucky, east to Paris.
Clinging to his bag stuffed with empty wrappers, the book he’s planning to fling out the next window he can open, and a change of clothes he’s changed into twice, Dominic shuffles off the plane, his back aching, and blearily stumbles down through customs, thinking maybe he’ll take a train to Glasgow and ticking off on his fingers the number of disasters that could befall that trip. He's exhausted but well past sleep; he's weary, he's irritated. He's lonely.
He's also surprised, wildly so, to see Billy standing at the gate beyond where Dominic’s had his passport scrutinized and stamped, a ridiculous smile on his face.
"Happy birthday," Billy calls, and Dominic looks around him, thinking perhaps he’s actually gone ‘round the bend finally. "I got you a gift," Billy continues, perfectly naturally, and Dominic nods.
"You'd better have."
"Let's get your luggage."
"Not necessary,” Dominic says, bounding over to sag a bit into Billy’s arms, finally. Billy smells lovely, as hallucinations go, Dominic decides. “It's gone on holiday. Without me, clearly, though maybe it’s having a reunion of its own. Do you remember when your luggage was lost a few years back? Went to Australia, I think.”
“What are you rambling on about?”
“The lovely little carry-on’s our bags will make when they find one another, of course,” Dominic slurs into Billy’s neck. “Yours will have to be the girl, though, because mine is manly luggage.”
Billy snorts. "Do you want a drink?"
"No."
“Do you need a drink?”
Dominic straightens up a bit and grins widely at Billy’s question, hitching his bag higher on his shoulder, the idea that there would be no more trains or planes, at least not tonight, only just becoming clear to him.
“I only ask because I might,” Billy continues, deftly taking Dominic’s bag from him and swinging it onto his shoulder.
“Why are you here?” Dominic asks him, and Billy raises an eyebrow, laughing again.
“Did you want me not to be?”
“I desperately wanted you to be here. I just didn’t think you would. I thought you’d be snug at home, leaving me more tortuous voicemails.”
“Maybe I'm your birthday wish come true."
“My wish actually involved less clothing.”
"Speaking of,” Billy says, ignoring the way Dominic is leering at him. “You do know that you missed your birthday."
"Actually, I had a bottle of really nice vodka. You would have liked it. And a packet of crisps while I sang the birthday song to myself somewhere between Pittsburgh and Philadelphia. It was a lovely birthday, as that sort of thing goes.” Dominic reaches to tug at where Billy’s hair curls over his collar, thankful that the hour's late enough that they're nearly alone, or as alone as one ever gets in Heathrow. He tries to keep his hands to himself, but it's a losing battle, one he hopes the CCTV cameras everywhere above them appreciate. He's too tired and too grateful, though not about to let Billy know that. “You, however, missed it completely."
"I am sorry."
"You're supposed to say you'll make it up to me."
"I will."
"You'll have to be wildly inventive if you expect me to forgive you," Dominic says around a yawn. "I listened to your voicemail thirty-seven times. There were certain implications, inflections, even, in the way you called me an idiot for flying in that weather."
“You’re in a fine mood.”
“I suppose I am.” Dominic shakes his head, knowing his grin has probably gone a bit manic. He wonders a bit at Billy in his neatly pressed trousers and jumper, his great black wool coat that feels soft where Dominic is fingering the collar. He knows he must be a sight, his hair plastered to his head, unshowered though he’d had a wash-up in the airplane loo. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a cure for that in your pockets, do you?”
“So, no luggage? You’re ready?” Billy waits until Dominic nods. “Maybe pop into the restroom before we find a cab? Maybe that one over there that says it’s closed?”
Dominic follows Billy's glance and hums. “Do you suspect they don’t mean it?”
“I suspect maybe some kid's stolen the sign from another part of the airport and put it up to make it look as though it’s closed. One less thing he'll have to clean tonight.”
Dominic raises an eyebrow now, taking a step closer though he curls his hands into tight fists to keep from grabbing Billy and giving him a kiss right there. “What are you playing at, then?”
“Being inventive. Sorry. Being wildly intentive.”
Billy turns on his heel, then, and Dominic follows him, trying to look casual as they cross to the door propped open by a yellow cone with the Closed for Cleaning sign attached. Dominic's barely through the door before Billy kicks loose the stop and pushes the door shut, sliding the lock closed and then grabbing Dominic’s wrist. Dominic’s back thuds against the door and he finds Billy leaning into him, his right hand stretched to rest on the door beside Dominic’s head.
“Hello,” Billy whispers, and his first kiss is a gentle thing before he begins sucking on Dominic’s lower lip. Dominic leans forward, his nose pressed into Billy’s cheek and his hands digging through layers of wool and cotton to find Billy's hips and drag him forward. Billy hums, his tongue swiping at Dominic's, and then there are Billy's sharp teeth again, biting and sucking at Dominic’s lip, soothing before releasing him, leaving Dominic's lips swollen.
Dominic swallows hard, searching Billy’s face, before he manages a smirk and whispers back, “Hi.”
Billy takes Dominic’s head between his hands and begins again, encouraging them both to nip with their teeth, their noses bumping together as they fight for dominance, their favorite type of battle. Dominic finally gives a little, finding his white flag somewhere over the smooth skin of Billy’s back as he pushes his hands and the back of Billy’s jumper higher. Billy’s tongue is in Dominic's mouth, exploring his molars and counting his taste buds and smoothing over the roof of his mouth, the contours beneath his tongue.
Dominic tries to stage his own kind of revolution as his hand sinks lower and then down past the waist of Billy’s trousers. For many minutes it's just that, their mouths and hands at war until each is too distracted to keep up his attack. Billy grabs for Dominic’s hands, pushing them against the wall again, and Dominic’s nails scrabble at the plaster where it crumbles to the floor while Billy slides his hands down over Dominic’s body, over his stomach and into the loose front of his jeans, his fingers sure of their destination and none too gentle.
Dominic gasps for breath as they break the kiss and Billy moves to press his kisses over Dominic’s jaw and down his neck. Billy makes a triumphant sound when he finds Dominic’s cock, curling his fingers over hot, hardening flesh, and Dominic feels his stomach tighten, his thoughts careening from too long to too fast, and he groans when Billy agrees with him and wonders if he’s said it out loud, and what else he’s said without knowing.
Before he can think about it too hard, Billy slides his hand away and replaces it with his thigh, pushing Dominic’s legs apart, and Dominic goes willingly. He chases after Billy’s kisses now, his head coming off the door behind him though he keeps his hands where Billy’s left them. Billy doesn’t allow the kisses for long; his lips tick up into a wicked smile, the bow of his mouth red and swollen, too, before he latches onto Dominic’s neck, pushing down the fabric of his t-shirt to lick at Dominic's collarbone. Billy’s hands are suddenly everywhere again, too, under Dominic's arms and behind his shoulders, tipping his neck and sliding down the back of Dominic’s jeans. Dominic searches for something of his own to grip, settling first to hit the light switch and plunge them into darkness before giving up altogether and reaching again for Billy, his hands going tight around Billy's shoulders, arching up into him. His cock aches, needing more friction, more pressure, more of everything, and finally Billy gives it to him, gives everything to him, shoving against his body and into the door until Dominic’s breath is pushed from him, and grabbing Dominic’s leg to wrap around his hip and rock against him with thrusts like exclamation points until they’re both coming, Dominic first, nearly biting into the black wool of Billy’s coat to keep from screaming, and then Billy, with a breathy nhuh of pleasure wet against Dominic's ear.
For a long time they stand in the dark, trying to remember how their lungs work, and how to stand though their legs still shake. The room's lit now in a weird sort of halo from where the door didn’t quite seal out the weak terminal light, and Dominic can see that Billy's looking at him, his smile pleased.
“Don’t think--” Dominic begins but has to stop, huffing out his breath as he gathers Billy closer for a hug then pushes him away again, his hands on Billy's shoulders. By the time he’s sure he can talk, he’s already forgotten what he was originally going to say. “It was worth it.”
“What was worth it?” Billy asks, amusement high in his voice, and Dominic stares up at the ceiling first, then down again at Billy.
“Fucking Des Moines, that’s what.”
Tags:
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
no subject