Two Lines fic
Title: In the Rearview
Pairing: BB/DM/EW
Rating: NC–17
Summary: And I rode alongside, till you lost me there in the open road. Story goes back and forth in the course of a little less than twelve hours.
Disclaimer: When and if this ever happens, I’m sure we’ll be first to know.
Note: For the Two Lines challenge. My lines were as above, from the Tori Amos song “A Sorta Fairytale.” Thank you, shanalle, for gifting me with lyrics from one of my very favourite songs when you probably didn’t even know it.

Saturday, 5:30 a.m.

Dominic’s been wearing the same pair of jeans for two weeks now. Well, wearing them is a stretch, considering how much time he spends out of them, and out of clothes entirely. Billy’s isn’t complaining, though; he rather likes those jeans on Dominic, and off, too—sitting low on Dominic’s hips or thrown to another corner of another hotel room.

Billy sits on the edge of this particular hotel room’s bed—king–sized, all the better for sprawling and sport—and stares at Dominic’s jeans, for once folded neatly over the back of the guest chair. Billy’s own jeans are in a heap in the bathroom, where he left them hours ago.

He had walked away from the bar a long while before Dominic and Elijah. He’d done most of the driving yesterday, and the sun had been hot and hard. Billy had just been tired, that’s all. Tired of the heat, tired of the noise and the nearly getting lost, tired of wondering how he’d agreed to this trip.

Billy’s been ready to go home for days, and it’s only now, with the sun rising outside and throwing its light across the bed behind him, that he understands why.

::

Friday, 7:19 p.m.

They pull off the motorway as soon as the sun begins to set, and Elijah’s not three steps from the car before he’s lighting up. It’s not as if Billy’s demanded that he not smoke in the car, but Elijah tells him he prefers to do it outside anyway, where he can watch the smoke trail up into the sky and not feel it closing in around him.

Elijah is for the most part an ideal passenger. He doesn’t question Billy’s driving or choice of dining establishments, and he’s handy with a map. He’s tolerant of Dominic’s jokes and his bitching, and he actually enjoys pumping gas. And there is no denying that he is an excellent deejay, producing hours of music with barely a single repeat in the mix.

But when he catches Elijah’s eyes in the rearview mirror, something passes between them and stays with Billy all day. And now, as he takes a cigarette from Elijah and lights it himself, hands cupped against the warm, early evening wind, Billy feels it again, harder than before. It’s sweet, like the cloves; almost cloyingly so, enough that Billy wants to shake it off and cling to it at once.

Dominic stands a bit higher, still on the incline and closer to the road. Billy can feel Dominic’s eyes on his back, and after a moment, Dominic joins him, sliding his hands into Billy’s pockets just as Elijah turns back up the hill.

“We were thinking,” he begins, his weight comforting against Billy’s body. “That we might make it an early one tonight. Pull over in the next town, greet the bottom of some bottles.”

Billy nods, takes another drag and hands the cigarette back to Dominic.

“Not so bad, is it?” Dominic murmurs. He’s tucked himself perfectly into Billy now, and Billy nudges his head against Dominic, wanting more, always more. “This is a beautiful country if you let it roll out under you.”

“Like a carpet,” Billy laughs, but his eyes are closed. He knows that below them the world dips out into fields of dusty green and brown, and above them the motorways stretch out slate–grey and paint–black. It’s anything but beautiful, but Billy’s willing to give Dominic the benefit of the doubt.

“Like a carpet,” Dominic agrees, amiably. “You can walk all over it, Billy, and it doesn’t get to walk all over you.”

::

Saturday, 5:45 a.m.

Dominic is right, Billy thinks, but only to a point. America can be a hard place if it is not home, and perhaps harder still when it is. Of course Billy can appreciate the open roads and the expressive eyes and faces of the hundreds who have wished them good mornings and nights on this trip. But he has not found himself wanting to stay, not even in the sweetest hours when laughter blankets the three of them long before night has come.

Dominic is comfortable here now, perhaps more so than even Elijah. His accent has changed to something flatter, tinged with phrases Billy doesn’t always understand. Again, Billy can accept and appreciate this, but he doesn’t have to like it, or wish it for himself. Dominic is more than enough of an assault on America, Billy smiles to himself in the hotel room’s mirror. It’s hardly necessary for Billy to attempt something similar.

He turns around in time to see Dominic stretch in the bed, arms above his head for a moment before he curls back to his side and back around Elijah.

They make a sight more darkly beautiful than this country, Billy decides. They always have.

::

Friday, 8:02 p.m.

They always send Dominic in to get the room.

He’s charming, after all, even in those horrific jeans and whatever shirt he’s managed to smoothe down enough to appear presentable. He spins fantastic tales of bachelors on their way to Vegas before that one—he waves a hand vaguely in the direction of the car—leaves them behind to get married, and desk clerks in seven different states fall under his spell, handing over three keys to a single room without doing the math in their head.

Billy drums his fingers on the steering wheel, waiting for Dominic’s return and making the smallest of talk with Elijah, whose eyes never leave him in the rearview mirror. When Dominic returns, his smile fierce, it’s safe again to laugh, safe again to breathe.

Dominic’s charm extends only so much, however, and it’s usually Billy they send to get the first—sometimes second, sometimes third—round at the bar. Elijah drinks slowly, pacing himself now the way he never did before. He no longer bursts through open convenience stores demanding attention, porn and chocolate. Dominic drinks as he always has, barely tasting his beer before it’s time for another, and handling the consequences with good cheer. He rarely gets drunk, but when he does, he is the first to laugh it off and lurch toward his bed begging for the end to come. Tonight will be no exception.

Billy cradles his bottle in both hands, reading the label over and over again, listening to Dominic and Elijah talk about nothing for more than an hour while he waits for the alcohol to take effect. Elijah is in the middle of a story about Orlando and a Moroccan toilet when Billy stands suddenly, palms flat on the table to steady himself.

“You alright?” Dominic asks, and there’s genuine concern there, underneath the surprise. Billy nods, and reaches to ruffle Dominic’s hair before he makes to leave. When he looks up, Elijah is watching him, and Billy half expects him to murmur are you leaving, dahling? but there are no cameras here, and no reason for goodbyes when this is merely goodnight.

Still, Billy’s unsettled by Elijah’s stare, and compensates for it by taking Elijah’s cigarette from his fingers and walking away from the table with it already between his lips.

It’s a rare burst of petulance for Billy, and somehow it feels just right.

::

Saturday, 5:55 a.m.

Billy rises now, moving to the bathroom and the shower he meant to take last night before he opted instead for the mattress. He’s quiet, though he knows he could rip the sink from its foundations without waking Elijah, and even Dominic would only grunt, annoyed, in his sleep. That idea makes him smile as the water beats down on his neck and shoulders, and his heart slows along with his thoughts.

There’s a special sort of exhaustion that Dominic and Elijah bring out in Billy, and where he once welcomed it as assurance that everything would always be the same between them, he’s lately been confused by it, as much as he is by the looks Elijah keeps giving him, the same looks he sees pass between Dominic and Elijah twice as often.

It occurs to Billy that he doesn’t have to watch anymore. He doesn’t have to wonder what’s behind Elijah’s stare, because now he knows. It’s been reflected back at him in the rearview mirror for two weeks, and while it’s not beautiful, it is very real.

It’s America, with its open roads and open faces. It’s everything Dominic wants and needs—

And everything Billy does not.

::

Friday, 11:51 p.m.

The sheets are cool and pressed just crisp enough that Billy falls into them with a smile on his face only minutes after shedding most of his clothes all over the bathroom floor. He remains on his back for minutes, finishing Elijah’s cigarette and watching the smoke trail up into the air and close in around him, and for the first time it comes to Billy that Dominic always gets them a smoking room, just in case Elijah feels the urge. Just in case.

Elijah’s never smoked in their hotel rooms, not even when it’s clear he wanted to, and it fascinates Billy that he has no second thoughts about doing so himself. Billy can feel his eyes closing, and he stubs out the cigarette half–heartedly before he turns off the light and turns to his side and around the pillow, waiting for sleep and for peace—

Waiting for everything but them.

They come anyway, stumbling a little in the dark and whispering. Billy doesn’t hear them, lost in strange dreams of wheat fields and windmills, and he doesn’t feel them crawl into bed next to him, around him and over him. It’s only when Elijah’s hand slides over his chest that Billy inhales, struggles to open his eyes and fails at the touch of Dominic’s lips on his own.

Dominic is shushing him, running his hand down Billy’s arm in rhythm with Elijah’s careful strokes lower and lower down Billy’s stomach. Billy wants so very much to speak, to stop this or at least question it, but neither words nor breath come.

He’s never wanted this. Never wanted to feel Elijah’s hands on him, especially with what is obviously Dominic’s encouragement and blessing, perhaps even Dominic’s idea. Billy tries again, but the only sound that comes from his throat is desperate, needy and nothing like the cries he makes for Dominic alone.

Elijah is whispering something in his ear, and Billy shakes his head violently before the sentence is even finished. Again Dominic calms him, captures Billy in a kiss and with one warm hand on Billy’s throat, his thumb moving so gently over the skin.

“Let him,” Dominic murmurs, low and dark. “Please, Billy, just tonight let him, he wants you, and I want to—I want to see, Billy, I want to watch him—“

The words hang in the air while Billy shivers between them.

::

Saturday, 6:10 a.m.

He stands in the bathroom now, shaking his head at the debris he’s left behind in the shower—the shampoo bottle he knocked over when his body reminded him with much force of his exertions last night, the soap wrapper that now rests curled and torn near the drain, the cheap metal ring that fell from the rod to the shower floor when he grasped the curtain for leverage. Destruction everywhere, Billy thinks, and why not?

Billy runs his hands through his hair, too tired to search for a comb, and brushes his teeth like a sulking child, letting the water run quietly and counting out a requisite two minutes at the mirror. These ablutions are cursory at best; Billy’s not interested in looking anything more than human at the moment, and his stubble proves it.

When he steps back into the room, Billy’s surprised to see that Elijah is awake, or at least his eyes are open. Billy meets his stare this time, unflinching, until Elijah settles back into the sheets and turns away.

Be grateful for what you’ve got, Billy wants to yell, but remains silent in exchange for Dominic’s continued sleep. Be grateful for what you’ve had.

::

Saturday, 1:37 a.m.

Billy can’t deny that Elijah feels wonderful behind him, soft and curved where Dominic is always so hard and sharp. And the scent of Elijah is more intoxicating than anything Billy’s had to drink this night, so much so that he breathes it in deep and turns his head slightly for more. Elijah takes this as invitation, pressing his lips to Billy’s neck just as his fingers dive into Billy’s boxers to rake through the hair above Billy’s shaft. Billy gasps, and feels Elijah’s smile against his skin, flat little teeth grazing over him and making him arch into Elijah’s hand.

Dominic is smiling too, Billy knows, though he can’t see it. He can hear it in Dominic’s voice, in words he’s heard before, but in very different circumstances, soothing words that make Billy want to believe that this is going to turn out alright. And then the words change to something harder, something like a challenge that Billy could never accept were he not so exhausted—and he knows then that this is beyond wrong, it’s completely fucked up, and yet he suddenly wants it even so, wants it badly, wants it to be done.

Just tonight, Dominic had said, and just tonight it will be.

The urge to open his eyes is overwhelming now, but Billy pushes it back down, hard, and reaches instead for Dominic, pulling him close and whispering in his ear words of bargaining he knows Dominic will not remember once sober, once back on the open road and bathed in morning sunlight. And then Dominic’s attentions become more urgent, his hands yanking at Billy’s boxers until Billy can kick them away. Billy’s almost grateful for this quickening of pace, because it means that Elijah’s breath quickens too, and his hand finally circles Billy’s cock with a practiced ease Billy knows he must have learned from Dominic—must have felt from Dominic.

Billy’s long been aware of their relationship. They’re something more than fuck–buddies—a term Billy hates, with all its throwaway American flatness and almost criminal lack of grace—and something less than lovers. He’s even tolerated their casual fucking on this trip, knowing that in the end, they will all go home alone. There is much Billy can never give Dominic, and who is Billy to deny him whatever pleasure he can find through Elijah—even if that pleasure ends in loss.

::

Saturday 6:30 a.m.

Billy thumbs through the contents of his backpack, peering at souvenirs he doesn’t remember buying and smiling at Polaroid pictures of the three of them that are already wrinkled at their edges. It has been a generally good fortnight, and Billy wouldn’t lie and tell you otherwise. Billy will carry his memories of it fondly, in time forgetting the uglier moments.

Deep in the recesses of his pack he finds a pen, chewed up unspeakably by someone’s—alright, Elijah’s—nervous teeth, and leans over the rickety table in the corner of the room to write in spiky, slanted penmanship words that will make Dominic laugh even in his probably anger, and, with luck, convince Elijah that there are reasons why he should not expect to get everything he wants, not even from Dominic.

They aren’t words Billy would ever want to—or could—speak aloud, but they flow from the chipped pen easily.

He folds over the hotel stationery, such as it is, and leaves the paper on the table along with his room and car keys before he stands again in the middle of the room, still undressed and suddenly hungry, thirsty, restless—

And very much ready to leave.

::

Saturday, 1:54 a.m.

In choosing not to watch, choosing not to look into Dominic’s dark eyes, Billy also chooses not to anticipate anything. It’s easier for him to shut down everything but his body and its reactions, the responses he can’t easily control on a good day, much less a ragged night like this. And so he does not see Dominic pass the thin sachet to Elijah, and only hears the little breath Elijah takes in return.

Elijah’s hand has barely fallen away from Billy’s cock before Dominic’s is there, stroking harder, motion carried by intimate memory, Billy thinks as he gives himself up to it. It is so strange to not be whispering Dominic’s name, pleading for more and better, but it would be stranger still somehow to do so knowing that Elijah is listening, and in more control than he likely knows.

Billy’s eyes do flutter open, then, when Elijah presses two cold, slick fingers down the cleft of Billy’s ass, edging nervously toward their goal. Billy sucks in air between his teeth and arches up again, moving against Elijah’s fingers to guide him as much as he can without admitting to either of them what the precise fuck is going on. Elijah’s next breath is hiccupping, apologetic, and then finally he’s there, rougher than Billy expected but blessedly on target. Dominic’s smile is no longer triumphant and tigerish, but warm, shaky at its corners but still so utterly Dominic that Billy can hardly keep from smiling himself.

A third finger, more confident than the first two, and Billy can feel Elijah’s cock against him now, hard and different from Dominic’s in ways Billy can already surmise just from proximity and relative heat.

“Lijah, now,” Dominic breathes, and Billy ducks his head into Dominic’s shoulder just as Elijah’s fingers slip from inside him, dragging slowly and making Billy shiver again. “Lijah.”

For Christ’s sake, hurry, Billy thinks as he bites down on his lip, waiting, waiting for the first press and burn and for Elijah to find his way. When Billy’s hips rise just a touch, encouraging, inviting, Elijah nearly slides from Billy’s body entirely, but he recovers, and Billy holds his breath until he feels Elijah’s skin flush against his own, hears Elijah’s ragged breath back in his ear.

“Well done,” Dominic murmurs, speaking to Elijah but trailing his damp, sticky fingers through Billy’s hair. “Don’t let me stop you.”

::

Saturday, 6:45 a.m.

Billy’s dropped the towel now, and he’s wandering the room in that what–am–I–forgetting way that drives Dominic insane whenever they’re meant to have been somewhere an hour ago. Billy smiles at that, too, considering how few people would believe him to be the chronically late one, the one who avoids doctor’s appointments, the one who cannot remember small things like where he left his watch.

He finds it on the floor beside the bed, on what is now Dominic’s side. Dominic is still asleep, deeply so, and after Billy picks up his watch he remains in his crouch, watching Dominic breathe and wanting to touch him. And why shouldn’t he, after all this? He’s still Dominic, and whatever damage they’ve all done in the last day and night, he is still Billy’s greatest friend.

Dominic’s eyes open, as if he’s read Billy’s mind, and Billy smiles. Dominic sighs and stretches one hand from beneath the sheets to ruffle Billy’s hair in their common greeting and farewell.

“Too early t’love you,” Dominic mutters, eyes closing again, and Billy recites his own line to perfection.

“Too late t’leave.”

It’s a lie, Billy knows, but one they will both survive.

::

Saturday, 2:19 a.m.

Elijah is moving, at last, and moving as if he’s done this before, which Billy can’t help hoping he has, though he’d rather not spend any time imagining him fucking Dominic. He’s heard and seen (most often accidentally but more than once on purpose) Dominic fuck Elijah, of course, but to think—

And suddenly Billy’s not thinking about anything but Dominic’s hands again, his wrist turning so fucking expertly and his short fingernails racing up and down the underside of Billy’s cock before he’s stroking again, his free hand cupping Billy’s balls and stroking them, too, making Billy cry out finally, if more harshly than he usually would.

Elijah is mewling behind him—that’s the only way Billy could describe the sound of it—and Billy knows he’s not going to last very long. Elijah’s hand flutters over Billy’s shoulder, followed by his lips and teeth, and Billy moves closer into Dominic’s embrace to compensate, moves away and against, caught like he’s never felt caught before.

Elijah is tensing, Billy can feel it. He’s barely begun, and yet the end is near. Dominic knows it, too, and he looks over Billy’s shoulder only once at Elijah, gauging how much longer Elijah has and reading it so quickly it makes Billy wants to smack at his chest you fuck, you complete fuck, this is what you wanted, this? But it’s only when Elijah’s hand moves over Dominic’s to grasp Billy’s cock that Billy snarls a little, grunts and fights it, shifting himself to clench down hard on Elijah and hear him gasp and scream and shake. Elijah’s hand falls away as he collapses, almost sobbing against Billy’s back and shoulders, and Billy closes his eyes again, waiting for Dominic to register what he’s done.

Dominic does not react as Billy expects. His hand moves to push Elijah gently away, and then he’s rolling Billy to his back, pressing kiss after breathless kiss to Billy’s lips and throat and only stopping when Billy holds him at bay enough to return them.

“Why?” Billy asks him, so low that Elijah cannot hear over the sound of his own deep breaths. Dominic shakes his head and lowers his body over Billy’s, entering him smoothly after all that. Billy doesn’t fight him, just keeps repeating the question until Dominic is forced to answer.

“I was afraid he’d convince you,” Dominic whispers. “And I’d never know.”

::

Saturday, 7:00 a.m.

That Dominic would think him so weak makes Billy frown before he pulls on his shirt. No matter how often Elijah had gifted Billy with that stare or those sweet, addictive cigarettes, Billy had not planned to fall into bed with him. The idea of it sickens him even now; it doesn’t matter that he allowed it to happen thinking it was what Dominic wanted, too.

Whatever happens, Billy will not give up Dominic’s friendship or anything else. They are not fuck–buddies. They could be lovers, an actual couple if Billy wanted it, and perhaps he does.

Now, though, he reaches for Dominic’s two weeks–wrinkled–and–stained jeans, sliding them onto his own body and relishing for once their loose fit, considering the long walk he has back to the last town and the rental car agency he noticed there. He’s amused to find that Elijah’s cigarettes fit rather neatly in the pockets.

A last look at Elijah and Dominic, still in what must be terribly peaceful sleep, and he opens the door.

Billy’s been ready to go home for days, and now he steps out into the sun and onto the open road, lost and found again.