Recipient: waqaychay
Author: kiltsandlollies
Pairing: Billy Boyd/Dominic Monaghan/Elijah Wood
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Takes place during the 2005 Sundance Festival in Park City, Utah. Request: a hobbit pwp, and um, well. 6,000 words of pwp later, I hope you enjoy.


There’s a limit to the at least physical heights to which Billy plans to ascend, and he may have reached it tonight.

The view from his Park City hotel rooftop is stunning, and if his breaths weren’t coming out in puffed clouds, obscuring his vision, Billy would enjoy it even more. The streets of the city—more a town, really, Billy thinks—beneath him are lit by stars metaphorical and real, hanging clear and bright above, stomping through slush and paparazzi below. Billy’s not been bothered often enough by the cameras to have begun to hate them, but even in the relatively good–natured atmosphere of Sundance, he knows he’s in the minority.

Perhaps the only camera Billy’s grown to dislike—and not in any kind of heated way, understand; more a resignation to its constant presence—is Elijah’s small digicam thing, carried from event to event like an all–access ticket and seemingly never in need of recharging. From the moment he’d learned that Elijah would be at the festival, Billy had been both amused and perhaps a bit on his guard. The knowledge he has now—that Elijah’s uploaded several videos already for Dominic’s viewing pleasure—makes Billy even more cautious. Having spoken to Dominic last night and listened to his detailed review of Billy’s half–drunken visit to that guitar showcase, Billy’s made it clear that if this sort of thing continues, something’s going to end the week buried in a Utah snowdrift, and the choices are Elijah or his camera.

Billy has to give Elijah credit for cheek, however, when he hears the quiet footfall behind him, followed immediately by the gentle whirr of the digicam. He laughs and does not turn; ducks his head and does not speak.

“Fantastic,” comes the voice. “Much better. Strong and silent. None of that sidekick shite for you anymore—”

Billy leans forward on the edge of the brickwork framing the rooftop and runs one hand through the back of his hair. “Dom.”

“Well, yeah,” Dominic smiles from behind the camera. “Sober enough then, tonight.”

“Fuck you,” Billy breathes, but he’s laughing again. “Turn that thing off and come here.”

Only in the most violent arguments has Dominic ever been less than agreeable with Billy, and tonight’s no exception. The camera disappears into Dominic’s coat pocket, and when Billy turns to look at him, it comes to Billy that it’s been almost a year since he’s seen him wearing a proper coat, beyond that ridiculous piece of striped wool Dominic calls vintage and Billy calls crap. There’s hardly a need for such things in Hawaii, after all, and not often in Los Angeles, either. The coat he wears now doesn’t suit Dominic at all, Billy thinks; nothing about this town does. When Billy’s hands drift inside the material, pulling it away and searching for Dominic’s skin, he takes a long breath.

“I’ve got t’get—”

“Out of here,” Dominic nods, and Billy relaxes under the warmth of Dominic’s hands resting on his own arms. “Easy enough. We’ll just return this thing to Elijah—”

“You’ll return it.” Billy’s attempts to frown are never convincing enough, but Dominic pretends to understand. “I’m serious. You do it or I’ll throw it in the fire or something.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Elijah sighs, stepping out of the blackness behind them to take the camera from Dominic’s hand. “As if I don’t have two more in the room.”

“I believe him,” Dominic smiles, not taking his eyes off of Billy’s. “You alright?”

Billy shakes his head slowly, but he’s smiling, too. “This isn’t going to work, Dom. It never does.”

“Exceptions have to prove a rule,” Dominic returns, and his voice is softer, full of certainty and promise and all those things Billy doesn’t have or particularly need in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of a country he’s never going to fully understand. “And I think—you have to want it, Billy.”

“Want doesn’t have anything to do with it. It doesn’t matter what any of us wants—”

“You’re the only one who doesn’t.”

Billy hisses under his breath—better, he decides, than smacking Dominic’s shoulder and warning him to keep it th’fuck down, he can hear you—and then swallows, looking away from Dominic and back out at the sky, gone completely blue–black in the few minutes he’s been distracted from the view.

“Billy,” Dominic starts, but Elijah’s voice is higher, clearer in the cold air.

“There’s this place,” he says, looking through the camera at the skyline, but pointing one hand vaguely in the distance to the left. “I found it last year when I was driving on the way from Vancouver to Austin. You never what’s going to take you off the path, yeah? It’s—it’s great. Down in the valleys, but y’still get that fucking amazing view. It’s not that far away. Maybe an hour’s drive in Dom’s car.”

“You’ve scored a car.” Billy tilts his head and sighs, looking at Dominic as if the minor perks of a television star could change him more than he’s already changed with no help at all. “Of course. Why wouldn’t you.”

“Don’t be such a miserable fuck,” Dominic says gently.

“So I thought if we left now,” Elijah’s continuing, his voice rising with confidence, “and your call’s not till what, seven tomorrow night, Billy?”

“Five–thirty,” Dominic murmurs, and Elijah hears him, nods and finally turns, the camera focusing now on Billy and Dominic.

“Five–thirty, okay. Then all tonight and most of tomorrow. So what do you think?”

“What do you think, Billy?” Dominic repeats, his lips close to Billy’s ear. Billy blinks at the steady red light of Elijah’s camera and thinks of peaks and valleys, of the brightness of stars undiminished by that of artificial light. And then he nods.


Again Billy has to give Elijah credit; the house he’s found—more of a cabin, really, Billy thinks—is beautiful, and set just far enough from the outskirts of anything resembling a city that the stars are brilliant above them, but not so far that they are in danger of finding themselves cut off from the rest of the world should a storm come overnight.

From his perch on the deck of the house Billy can hear Dominic and Elijah downstairs, trading barbs and compliments alike on Elijah’s luck in borrowing the house, his vast and recently gathered knowledge of Ukrainian praises and expletives, and his ability to get the fire going so quickly and well, to Dominic’s powers of persuasion, his vast and recently gathered skill in driving through snow, and his ability to find the one open grocery store (run by a Ukrainian man who’d been on his way home until Elijah had called him honourable and fair in his own language) in the last town. Billy recognizes that none of these things could be called unimportant in the context of tonight, and wonders what exactly he’s brought to the party besides himself. And if that will be—enough.

Billy wonders, too, why he hadn’t thought to bring a camera to Utah, to capture what could be his only time at Sundance. They’ve worked so hard to bring Clear Day here, and Billy’s smiled into hundreds of cameras this week trying to blur the image of himself as a hobbit, that he can’t call the time wasted, but without his Holga or even a less–tempermental point–and–shoot thing, Billy knows he won’t remember everything the way he’d like to. The way he remembers New Zealand and Penrith and Mexico and everything and everywhere else he’s seen since meeting the two people who may or may not require his presence downstairs.

When he finds them in front of the fire, Billy takes his time making that presence felt, rather enjoying this different, blurred and warmer view after the cold clarity of Park City. Dominic’s shirt rides up a little on his back, exposing the upper half of scratches Billy knows he took while filming last week, and Elijah’s hair sticks up in all directions, forcing his silhouette into an odd shape on the wall. They’re talking, but quietly, and they don’t stop when they hear Billy move closer.

They are comfortable with Billy to an extent Billy rarely feels in return.

“And are we hungry?” Dominic asks the fire instead of either of them, but Elijah shrugs and Billy shakes his head, making Dominic push his lips out in a frown more laughable than Billy’s. “We will be tomorrow.”

“What’s the time?” Billy sighs, putting down his bottle and stretching high up on his toes, only half–consciously turning in front of the flames. He’s left his watch—and everything else—behind in the hotel, and done so somewhat cheerfully.

“Late,” Elijah laughs, and throws a hand in the air vaguely as before. “Just. Late.”

“Better than early,” Billy says, nodding like a much wiser, more sober man. Dominic stands and moves behind Billy, his hands settling on Billy’s hips while his chin rests on Billy’s shoulder. Billy doesn’t resist it as he often does when others are present, and Dominic registers the change, weighing Billy’s exhaustion and the two beers he’s already had against the baser reasons they are here, and waiting several beats before he asks.

“Did you want to sleep?”

Billy hums and looks at Elijah and smiles, low and strangely warm, pleased and strangely predatory. Elijah doesn’t look away, and Dominic registers that, too, and tries again, the smile deeper in his voice as Billy sinks a bit against him.

“Did you want to go to bed, Billy?”

“I might.” Billy’s eyes settle on Elijah, who leans back in his chair, lifting his ankle to his knee and taking another slow pull from his bottle. “Elijah,” Billy murmurs.

“Think I’ll have another beer,” Elijah says, his eyes moving to the fire. “Be up in a while.”

A surge of irritation runs up Billy’s spine at that, and he rises half an inch in Dominic’s grasp before Dominic catches him, speaking before Billy can, in a way Billy can’t.

“We, ah. I thought. This was your—idea, Elijah,” he says calmly, for Dominic at any rate. “You forget I’ve been on a plane half the fucking day—”

“You wouldn’t have come without a three–way in the bargain?” Elijah smiles, eyebrows high on his forehead and amusement high in his voice. “Good to know.”

Billy can hear Dominic’s wounded, raspy inhale, but as if from an uncharted distance. He feels it keenly, though, sharp against his skin, and isn’t surprised when Dominic’s next words come from between gritted teeth. “You lying piece of shit—”

“This is supposed to convince me? You’re good, Dom; you’re not that good.”

Dominic’s grip on Billy loosens and he steps forward, Billy’s hand on his back not enough to hold him there. “What were you thinking?” he stares at Elijah, calm again though his hands still flex and release at his sides. “What do you want, Elijah? The fuck’s going on?”

“He wants t’watch,” Billy says softly, and they both turn to him, leaning against the wall near the staircase, his bottle retrieved and rising to his lips. “It’s the only thing he thinks he hasn’t seen.”

Elijah exhales in a rush. “You’re drunk.”

“No,” Billy smiles and stretches again. “Not yet. I’m not wrong, either.”

Elijah clenches his jaw, but again does not look away. Dominic watches them both, for once unwilling to move or speak until someone else does so first.

“Don’t be such a miserable fuck,” Billy says softly, and Elijah breaks, but only just, tilting his head to meet Billy’s half–closed eyes. Billy licks his lips and swallows before the rest of his words tumble out slurry and thick. “Go and get your fucking camera.”


There’s no question Elijah is prepared for this; Billy’s seen the stash of memory cards in Elijah’s hotel room in Park City, seen also circumstantial evidence of visitors to that same room. Astin’s flushed face and nervous gestures three mornings ago at breakfast told Billy more than he’d needed to know, and now Billy imagines those memory cards might be worth their weight in gold or at very least an excellent dinner in Los Angeles the next time Billy feels the need to visit that city—more of a world, really, Billy thinks—and Astin himself.

Billy shifts his focus from past and future to the present, watches as Dominic circles the bedroom upstairs, long fingers touching everything in their path. He’s still furious, Billy can tell, still hurt and worse, surprised—because Dominic can take anything you throw at him, provided he understands why you’ve thrown it. Elijah’s surveillance—Billy can’t think of another word for it, not this late and not this tired—is not something easily understood once you’ve achieved distance from it, as Dominic certainly has. It only comes to Billy now how far apart Dominic and Elijah have grown, how little they have in common and how desperate Elijah must be—perhaps how desperate they all must be—to have needed or wanted this to happen, in this particular and extraordinarily fucked–up way.

“This isn’t going to work,” Dominic saying, and Billy reaches for him, curls one hand behind Dominic’s neck and brings him close, aware that he doesn’t have much time before Elijah returns with the camera and anything else he’s thought to bring here.

“You have to want it,” Billy reminds him in a ragged mimic of Dominic’s (now for the more part untraceable) accent. “Or so you tell me. We’ll get the tape—”

Dominic clicks his tongue, but with nothing in the way of amusement. “It’s a card, Billy, it’s not a fucking tape—”

“The card, then—”

“Even your taste in technology’s ancient, you sad bastard—”

“Dom.” Billy tightens his fingers at Dominic’s neck, holding him still and silent. “You want it as much as he does, or you wouldn’t have said a word to me after—after Mexico, after we’d tried this before. You’d have laughed in his face and told him to close his eyes and pretend.” Billy’s voice goes very gentle. “And then you’d have fucked him anyway. He’s coming, Dom; unless you give us a reason to leave that’s better than any to stay, this is going t’happen.” Dominic exhales, the fight leaving him, and Billy pulls him closer, removing the last inches of space between them, and when his lips meet Dominic’s, Billy can’t help thinking that he’s closed the deal; he’s pitched and sold a film that can never see the light of the darkest day, much less one that’s clear.

He’s not focused anymore on Elijah, and when it comes, he doesn’t react to the familiar whirr or the sound of Elijah’s breathing so near. When Dominic pulls away for breath, his eyes are wild, darting over Billy’s shoulder to find Elijah, but Billy catches his cheek, his chin, and forces his attention back to Billy’s eyes, clearer now than before, than downstairs. Show him, he thinks, making slow, precise work of removing Dominic’s belt and smiling when Elijah kneels to capture the movement and sound of the leather on film. Show him what we’ve got, Dom.

For a creature brought up on film and in front of audiences almost as much as Elijah, Dominic is not as quick as Billy would hope to recognize what he’s trying to do. But when it clicks—when Dominic’s heart slows and his body relaxes at the touch of Billy’s hand first unbuttoning Dominic’s shirt and then resting low on his stomach—Dominic falls into his role easily if greedily, ready before Billy to move on, to move faster and harder and more. Billy shushes him, grateful nonetheless when he meets Elijah’s eyes and confirms that Elijah is getting all of this, every hiss and catch in Dominic’s breath and every rush of skin against skin.

Billy nudges Dominic’s legs apart with his knee and moves his hand into the back of Dominic’s jeans, relishing the jump in Dominic’s pulse and the rise of Dominic’s hips in response. “Off,” Billy murmurs, tugging at Dominic’s opened shirt with his free hand before that hand, too, slides inside Dominic’s jeans, fingers curling to scratch Dominic’s ass lightly, just enough to make his eyes close and his cock strain against the denim. Dominic recovers after a moment, ridding himself of the shirt and tossing it to the ground near Elijah, who doesn’t move even half an inch from his chosen space until Billy blinks slowly, beckoning him closer as Dominic’s lips and teeth trace their way down Billy’s cheek to his throat, hot and wet and more distracting than Billy would like to admit. From the corner of his eyes Billy catches Elijah’s hand drifting from his thigh to his crotch, and Billy can’t fully hide his smirk in Dominic’s hair.

He wants t’watch, Billy reminds himself, and moves to allow Elijah a better view of Billy’s hand curving around Dominic’s waist to the front of the jeans, tugging down the zip slowly. When Billy frees Dominic’s cock, circling its damp heat with his palm and stroking just once before Dominic’s hands tear into his hair, demanding another, better kiss, Billy hears Elijah’s inhale as loud as his own. When Dominic releases something softer than a growl but just as intent, Billy knows Elijah’s eyes are as narrowed as his own in scolding reply.

And when Billy twists his wrist and pulls, harder this time, he feels Elijah’s breath warm near his hand, near the head of Dominic’s cock, so near, so close it seems like such a waste to not turn this on Elijah and to just—

Watch, Billy thinks as his eyes open only a second after Dominic’s.


Billy has to marvel at Elijah’s focus; his right hand still holds the camera steady even as his left presses against the just–visible ridge of his cock. There’s no pleasure Billy can sense in Elijah’s touch, though; everything about the kid screams denial right now, from the tension in his flattened left palm and the white fingertips of his right to the set of his jaw, from his bare, curled toes to his slightly–hunched spine. That can’t be comfortable, Dominic’s tiger smile tells Billy, and Billy rewards him for it with another turn of his wrist, one that makes Dominic’s eyes flutter closed again and his entire body jerk up and into Billy’s hand.

Elijah’s shoes squeak on the floor—the first movement he’s made in minutes beyond the furtive groping—and then his hand flies back up, halfway to the camera before Billy reaches and catches Elijah’s wrist. The camera slips, but Elijah’s reactions have always been catlike, so quick Billy barely has time to blink and regroup in the midst of Elijah’s near–snarling attempt to wrest himself free and keep the camera steady at the same time. When Elijah’s fingers move wildly on the edge of the camera, clearly trying to shut it off, it’s Billy’s turn to hiss, and he spins away from Dominic to kneel in front of Elijah, his hand clenching hard around Elijah’s wrist.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he bites out, waiting for Elijah to stop struggling before he speaks again. There’s a moment in which Billy thinks it might be over, in which Elijah goes very still and so quiet he might as well have stopped breathing, but the fight hasn’t quite left him the way it had Dominic, and Billy feels it, both between them and behind them, beyond them, to where Dominic’s crawling backward up the bed, naked now, and ready. At the creak of a bedspring, Elijah’s shoulders tense and then fall, and it’s painfully clear that he’s torn between not breaking under Billy’s stare and looking anywhere but at Billy, and specifically at Dominic, at Dominic’s hands making their confident, easy way between his legs.

“Give us the camera,” Billy says, terribly gently, but doesn’t loosen his fingers just yet. “You think you’re the only one?” Elijah blinks, and Billy nods. “I’ll let him bring himself off and you won’t get a fucking frame of it, Elijah; or you can give us the camera and let us see you and you’ll have everything.” Elijah’s eyes have gone blank, but it’s a trick Billy’s seen time and time again, and it doesn’t matter. Elijah can show the camera and the world anything he wants, but want doesn’t have anything to do with it. Billy moves on his knees to Elijah’s side, still holding his wrist but again offering Elijah the view he’s determined to have, that of Dominic, his thighs spread wider now, his eyes narrow but his smile very wide.

“I’ll let you suck him off, Elijah,” Billy murmurs, close to Elijah’s ear. Elijah swallows and blinks again, settling back on his calves and sinking against Billy, lowering the camera to his lap. “I’ll let him fuck you, and you’ll have it. ‘s what you want, yeah?” Billy takes another long breath, forcing himself to stay calm and not shove Elijah forward. “Give us the camera.”

There’s a crack against the window, then, followed by a loud rush of wind, that makes all three of them jump, and it’s Billy’s reflexes, faster just this once than Elijah’s, that save the camera from hitting the floor. From there it’s the sounds outside that seem to change Elijah’s mind, and he surrenders the camera and more than he knows, Billy thinks, to start his own crawl up the bedclothes and to Dominic. Dominic’s shushing Elijah now, calming the movements of Elijah’s hands and pulling Elijah’s clothes away from his overheated skin as if they were paper. Dominic’s good at this, Billy knows; he loves the ritual of it even as he fights the drawn–out attention when it falls on himself. And Elijah’s not exactly fighting it; from the camera’s viewfinder Billy can see the way Elijah’s body curves up to meet Dominic’s touch, and from his new perch at the headboard Billy can smell and almost taste the need between them.

Billy’s never liked digital cameras, but if nothing else tonight has proved that there is a time and place for them. He can forgive the loss of detail in exchange for the image’s immediacy, and of course the sounds that will perhaps not echo on film but will nonetheless exist, to be remembered when Elijah can no longer hear it in his own dreams. Billy sits back on his heels when Dominic inches toward the footboard, shoving a pillow behind his head with one hand while the other reaches to pull Elijah down and closer. Dominic’s voice is rougher now, his throat tight with need, and Billy has to remember to breathe when Elijah’s tongue sweeps from the base of Dominic’s cock to the head, pressing hot and hard at the tip. Neither Dominic nor Elijah seems in the mood for slow or easy, and Billy can understand both that and Elijah’s to focus on both the camerawork and his own dick.

Dominic’s hand falls into Elijah’s thick hair, tugging hard, and again he bares his teeth, chanting something fierce that Billy can’t hear but clearly means more and now. Elijah’s good, Billy thinks, yes, that good, and for only a moment he envies Dominic, but then Dominic’s hand clenches and Elijah inhales, lifts his head in surprise, and Billy focuses tight on the perfect, slack wetness of his mouth, on the brightness of his eyes undiminished by artificial indifference. Elijah is beautiful, shocked into truth and need, and Billy wonders if it’s even possible to capture him on film this way.

It seems as much of a waste as leaving him on his knees before.


In the end it may well be Billy who dreams of this; who may have already dreamt it and is dreaming it even now. So much of what he can see through the camera seems to be occurring in slow motion, and as always happens for Billy in dreams, Dominic’s voice has become harder to hear, while Elijah, quiet before this even began, has fallen into near–silence. Billy supposes that Elijah at least may be too nervous to make the kind of sounds he’ll want to revisit later, but that should change the moment he pushes inside Dominic, inside the heat Billy knows so well and has never left him without words.

He’s right, of course, and it happens even before he’d hoped. Dominic’s drawn Elijah up so their bodies can slide messily against each other, and the friction alone leaves Elijah unable to keep down his little cries. They’re unlike anything Billy’s ever heard, and when he catches Dominic’s gaze, he knows from the way Dominic’s flinty eyes have gone softer that Dominic’s not going to forget the sound, either. This is more than Elijah getting his roundabout way; it’s a reminder of his relative youth, and it’s the closest the three of them have been able to get in years, physically or emotionally. It’s devastating and perfect and all theirs.

Dominic’s fingers tangle in Elijah’s hair again, turning his face away from the camera, and then Dominic reaches with his free hand for Billy, who takes it without thinking. Billy places the camera gently on the table beside them and blinks, waiting for his eyes to refocus properly on the sight before him without the benefit—or better, the impediment—of the camera’s frame. The flush in Elijah’s skin is more vivid this way, and the grey hidden in Dominic’s eyes seems to vanish. There are scratches now at the small of Elijah’s back that almost match Dominic’s, and Billy thinks with pleasure that like Dominic, Elijah can call his scars, too, the result of the dangers of filming in an only half–familiar environment.

“Billy,” Dominic’s whispering, reaching to pull at the waist of Billy’s jeans, and when Elijah turns back to them less in surprise than in a rush of need, Billy moves quickly to lose the jeans and everything else besides. His clothes land in a pile near Elijah’s, and as they fall, Billy feels the prickle of cool air hitting his own warm skin and loves the feeling. Elijah’s saying something, or trying to, and Billy bends low to try and catch it, but Dominic holds him back gently but firmly with one hand. “Table,” he says, nodding behind Billy, and Billy leans back and stretches to open the nightstand’s drawer and retrieve its very few contents.

Clever bastard, Billy smiles to himself as he looks from his hands to the pale slope of Elijah’s bare back. How lucky d’you suppose you are? It’s a barb he’ll throw at Elijah later, but for now he’s grateful to the kid in ways he couldn’t begin to express. There’s condoms—more than enough, Billy thinks, because they’re only going to need two—and lube—also more than enough, Billy hopes, because there’s no promise he can give of, of gentleness or what have you. He wants to hear Elijah beg for it; wants even more to hear Elijah make Dominic beg for it.

“Your knees, Elijah,” Billy says softly, his hand caressing down Elijah’s back carefully, brushing away the sheen of sweat there. “Come on, up.” Dominic rises from underneath Elijah immediately, taking one of the condoms from Billy’s hands and blinking at the sight of the second. His eyes flit up to Billy’s, and there’s a question in them, one Billy’s quick to answer, and answer well, it seems, because the colour in Dominic’s cheeks goes high again even as his body leans sweetly against Elijah’s for just a moment before he’s working the thin material over Elijah’s cock. Dominic’s good at that, too, Billy knows, and when Dominic settles back against the pillow and spreads his thighs again, Billy murmurs in Elijah’s ear that he doesn’t have to take this slowly if he doesn’t feel he can—that Dominic can, truly, take almost anything you can give.

Elijah works carefully nonetheless, warming the lube turning his fingers slick before he presses one inside Dominic, his breath again catching when Dominic’s does, too. “Go on,” Billy nods, and moves fully behind Elijah now, waiting and listening for Elijah to be as ready as Dominic likely is and has been for some time. When Elijah’s three fingers in and Dominic’s cursing under his breath, Billy’s hand moves again to Elijah’s back, urging him forward gently. Elijah moves, presses the head of his cock inside Dominic so slowly Billy can hardly bear the tension himself, and then Elijah shivers, clearing the little resistance and exhaling in relief and release. Dominic’s bearing down, breathing hard and wanting to draw this out for as long as possible, but after a moment, Billy shushes him again, and moves as well, his own warm, slick fingers sliding into the cleft of Elijah’s ass while his other hand holds Elijah’s hip steady. Elijah reacts, keening quietly and thrusting first back then forward, making Dominic and Billy both hiss at the same time in response, and then Billy’s hand becomes more persistent, following a pace Elijah hardly knows he’s setting.

It takes nothing before his fingers are far enough inside Elijah that Billy can feel him clenching down on every little scissoring movement. Billy recognizes that it’s partly his own greed that’s making this madness spin toward its end faster than it would without his help, but he can’t conceive of the strength it would have taken to remain behind the camera, especially after Dominic’s whispered invitation. He can’t imagine how Elijah expected to remain uninvolved, detached—to just watch. He can’t believe he almost allowed Elijah the chance to try.


“Fuck, fuck,” Elijah’s whispering now, and Billy presses his fingers in and up, panting when Elijah shoves hard inside Dominic and the bed shrieks in protest. Billy knows from experience and the sound of Dominic’s breathing that he and Dominic have little to no time left, and Billy wants Elijah to come first, wants to see him lose every bit of the detachment that led them here. Dominic knows this; he has to, because he’s bearing down again and this time Billy doesn’t stop him. Elijah’s thrusting erratically now, desperately, and when his whole body tenses and he’s coming hard and shattering above Dominic, Billy leans forward to bring him through it, to hear and see everything even as Dominic begins to shake, too.

“We’ve got it, Elijah,” Billy smiles before he brushes a distracted, messy kiss to Elijah’s shoulder and holds him up, keeps him from falling too hard onto Dominic’s chest before Dominic has his breath back. “Everything. Y’have your little film. You can stop dreaming of it and know you’ve done it; you can fuck him whenever you want in your head, yeah? You can fuck him, Elijah; you can have him and me and us and it doesn’t have to change, ever—”

“Fuck you,” Elijah spits, but it’s weak enough that Billy sits back and finally lets him fall into Dominic’s arms. Dominic’s hand drifts back into Elijah’s hair, stroking gently now while he stares at Billy with a smile that tempers the protective challenge in his eyes. The ache between Billy’s legs is fading enough that he shakes his head when Dominic makes to touch him, and after a few moments he has the—admittedly small—strength to rise from the bed and find towels, water and more pillows. When he returns, Elijah is close to sleep and Dominic is not far behind, but Billy’s able to convince them both to move—slowly and very carefully—back up the bed to crash and burn properly.

It’s when Elijah’s gone completely silent again and Dominic’s eyes have been closed for several minutes that Billy walks to the window to stare out at the night sky before it changes to that of a Utah morning. Billy feels vaguely ill from the drink and bad decisions that have caught up to his ragged nerves and empty stomach, and he presses his forehead to the cool window glass to steady himself before he turns back toward the bed.

Elijah’s digicam rests on the table, the battery icon flashing, warning of impending loss of power. Billy picks up the camera, surprised at its heat when it had felt perfectly fine in his hands earlier. His thumb moves to brush away what looks like a smear of sweat on the lens, and in so doing, Billy nudges another button, one that flashes delete file and then follows immediately with an are you sure?

The last proper frame, frozen on the viewer screen, is that of Billy himself, leaning to take up the camera, and Billy stares at his own dead eyes and mottled throat, at the mess of his hair and stubble. His thumb rests in the air above the button that would remove the entire night’s damage at least from the camera’s memory, and he’s more than ready to press it when Dominic coughs quietly in the darkness.

“Fuck, Dominic,” Billy whispers.

“Don’t do it,” Dominic says clearly, certain Elijah’s not going to hear. “It’s not your decision to make.”

“The hell it isn’t. How can you just trust this won’t go anywhere?”

Dominic sits up in the bed and reaches for the camera quickly, pressing buttons Billy couldn’t have found if you’d paid him and no doubt, Billy thinks, saving the file before he hands the camera back to Billy.

“Dominic.” Billy scrapes his hands through his hair and then gives up, still staring at the camera. “I just—I want to think it’ll be alright—

“I trusted you not to fuck him.”

“What—” Billy stares at Dominic now, at the space in the bed where he should be beside Dominic. “I don’t see what that—”

“If I can trust you, I can trust him,” Dominic laughs, moving onto his back again and linking his hands behind his head. “He’s a sick fuck, but he’s not a miserable fuck, yeah? And he’s going to be a mess in the morning. Almost as violent and stupid as you.” He yawns and slides down further into the pillows, disheveled but just as inviting as hours before. “Turn that thing off and come here.”

Billy does so blindly, smacking at the largest button the camera has and sighing when it actually works and the faint whirring finally stops. This might have been a mistake, but at least it’s one they all made, and tomorrow he and Elijah will go back to work, or at least what they call work here, and it will be over. And if Dominic can trust Elijah to keep the tape—the card, Billy reminds himself even half–asleep—then to not do so himself would be churlish and more self–protective than probably necessary, Billy decides. He does not want to see any of it again, ever, but Dominic is right: it’s not his decision to destroy the film before he has a chance to request that Elijah do so.

Dominic’s already asleep by the time Billy’s made himself comfortable in the vast bed. Billy’s exhausted, but he doesn’t feel sick anymore, and that’s something, right? He doesn’t want to imagine feeling any worse than he had moments ago at the window, thinking of his behaviour tonight. He wants nothing more now than to sleep and sleep hard, until Dominic and Elijah are forced to throw him into the back of Dominic’s car and get him back to Park City in the nick of time.

There’s a limit to the at least emotional depths to which he plans to descend, and he may have reached it tonight.


Concept created by Megolas in 2002
Fabulous artwork ©2002 by Hope.
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Site revised ©2006 by yueni