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Dom is lying awake in bed for the fourth night in a row, and it's all Billy's fault.
Billy has this habit, see. A really bad habit, as far as Dom's concerned. The thing is, Billy leaves doors open. His kitchen is an obstacle course of open cupboards; the front door has been left half-open so many nights it's a miracle he hasn't been robbed blind. Closet doors are always ajar, lying in wait for inebriated houseguests to crash into. He doesn't even close the bathroom door, for Chrissakes, talking obliviously over the sounds of pissing, flushing, and washing of hands as though all normal people do this - more than once he's reacted with puzzlement when Dom slams the door on his cheerful face and unzipped fly, mouth half-open (much like those doors) to continue a conversation begun in more civilized rooms of the house.
It's too much to expect that he would close his bedroom door at night. Such an expectation would be certain to crash and burn. And of course he sleeps naked and thrashes the covers off and stumbles (loudly, caroming off walls and doors along the way) to the bathroom in the middle of the night, and even when he does sleep, of course he talks in his sleep (shouts, sometimes), and of course he (only sometimes, to be fair) snores.
And of course the door to Dom's room is old and creaky and the latch is screwed on beyond zebra and the damn stupid bollocksed thing will not shut - drifts open no matter what's done, in fact, so Dom is treated every night to Billy's nocturnal audio extravaganza. The Late Night Billy Show, he calls it, and mostly sleeps through it... but.
But for the past three nights plus this one, he has been hearing something entirely different from Billy's room across the hall, and it has put sleep completely beyond his reach.
So now he lies in his sweaty bed with a raging hard-on in his pants, listening to the sounds of Billy masturbating about... hmmm. Twenty feet away? Something like that. Dom spends a little time working it out in his head: Six feet more or less from his bed to the door, then four feet across the hall, another two or three feet to the right to Billy's door, another six or seven feet to Billy's bed... Call it twenty. This mental exercise is not as distracting as Dom had hoped it would be, because it leaves him (mentally, at least) right beside Billy's bed, and (mentally, only) staring down at his best mate's body, stretched comfortably out atop the sheets (damn the damn weather for being so warm anyhow) and working his cock with his right hand (Dom assumes Billy uses the right, he's right-handed after all, just as Dom is) and thinking about... what?
Dom knows just what his cock is thinking about. He wishes he was certain Billy had the same ideas.
Well, what the hell? Dom is sick and tired of going to sleep with blue balls and an even bluer mind, sick of sneaking a quick wank in the shower in the morning (and maybe one at lunchtime, too, or one before bed in hopes of staving off this exact situation). What the hell, indeed? Might as well see what he can see. That way at least he can slink back to bed, wait till he hears Billy's snores (or mumbled monologue) and jerk off with something a bit more concrete to picture than his unlikely fantasies.
He swings his legs out of the bed, waits a moment and then levers himself up slowly, to avoid the creak of the mattress. The house is dark, but Dom has stayed here dozens of times, even beyond this long visit while his plumbing is repaired, and he has no trouble getting to the door and then out into the hall. There is a pale wash of light from Billy's door - the moon is in the west, then, and Dom won't have any trouble seeing what he's come to see. He stops just outside Billy's half-open door and listens.
So easy to hear, here, the soft sound of Billy's hand on his cock and his easy breathing, deep and content. His eyes must be closed, right? Yes. Certainly. So Dom steps forward, cautiously, cat-footed as a thief, here to steal something precious (though apparently not rare). He leans, bringing his head past the obstruction of the door, and he can suddenly see.
He can see quite clearly, as a matter of fact. Can see Billy's pale body, legs straight and feet flexing slowly. Can see the fuzz of his chest and pubic and leg hair gleaming in the white light. Can see his head, turned away from the door (thank god) so Dom sees his ear and the curve of his cheek and nose, a slice of face limned in moonshine, one lowered lid and the corner of his mouth, serenely closed.
Billy is stretched out comfortably atop the sheets, and he is working his cock with his right hand. His left is there, too, and Dom watches with intent concentration as Billy rubs his scrotum deeply, pulling the loose skin and then pressing back into his sac; Dom's balls tighten in happy sympathy and he swallows a harsh breath that would certainly be heard. Steps forward out of his awkward lean, reaches almost absently into his loose boxers to caress his aching cock. One hand is braced on the doorframe and the other is rummaging around in his pants, and Dom is careful, so careful to be silent as he watches Billy.
Something changes. Billy's right hand moves faster; his left hand cradles his balls gently, lies almost lax between his legs. His toes curl and then stretch and his breathing quickens. After listening for three nights, Dom knows Billy is close. He should leave, but he doesn't; he grips his own cock hard and stares at the long tendon in Billy's neck as the shadow beside it deepens. The big muscles in Billy's thighs clench and his breath comes in hard little pants, probably almost soundless but as loud as shots in the utter quiet.
He comes, back arching slightly and face screwed up tight--even at this angle Dom sees how his cheeks plump and his mouth opens slightly; his hand continues to work until every last drop of (thick, pale, creamy) stuff is out, it seems.
And then Billy lies still, chest moving up and down in a decreasing rhythm, one hand curled around his softening cock, the other limp beside his hip.
Dom is ready to leave, has pulled his hands out of his (ridiculously tented) boxers and tensed his body in preparation for that first sneaky movement away, when Billy speaks aloud: "Can I help you with something?" He rolls his head on the pillow and looks directly at Dom, one eyebrow raised lazily and his face half-shadowed.
Dom doesn't speak, couldn't if he wanted to and doesn't want to because if he speaks he is pretty sure he will start to laugh (or possibly cry) out of sheer hysterical panic. He just stands there, feeling sweat break out as his entire body goes beet red in humiliation.
Billy watches him for a moment and then smiles a little. "I only ask that because... well. You helped me out. It only seems polite to return the favor."
"I - how?" Dom croaks it somehow. His fingers are tingling, a reaction he's felt before in moments of terror - near misses in cars, leaps off cliffs, things like that. His cock is absurdly unaffected, and he mentally curses, ordering his erection to hit the road.
Billy's eyebrow goes higher, and he sits up and reaches for a tissue from the night table to clean himself, seeming unfazed by his lack of clothing and messy state. "You, ah..." He pauses to think. "Your presence in the door was very... stimulating." He looks back up at Dom, and now the younger man sees something hesitant in his face, sees nerves beneath the insouciant exterior.
It gives him courage, just enough, and: "Not -" Dom stops, clears his throat. "Not half as stimulating as watching you." The tingling has gone, replaced by heat, and Dom is still rosy from head to toe, but he takes one shuffling step forward and now he's inside Billy's room, breathing hard, every muscle tight with anxiety. What if I'm wrong? he thinks, but Billy is smiling at him with... relief? and his legs keep taking him closer without any real input from his brain until he's only a foot or so from the naked man perched on the bed, grinning up at him.
"Nice to hear," Billy says, and he puts out one hand for Dom's, pulling him forward the last two stumbling steps. Billy's eyes are bright and amused and he keeps them locked to Dom's, only glancing down once to where Dom's cock strains against the thin cotton of his pants, about two inches from Billy's nose. "Now." He tilts his head, and Dom grins at him and squeezes his hand with sweaty, nervous fingers. Billy squeezes back. "Can I help you with something?" he repeats.
"Only if you want to," Dom says with elaborate indifference and an involuntary flutter of his lashes. He shifts his weight to stand hipshot, which pushes his cock a half-inch closer to Billy's cheshire-cat smile.
"Oh, I want to," Billy says, and that's enough of talking for quite some time.
"God, Bills," Dom wheezes three hours and two orgasms later, lying spread-eagled across the bed. The moon has gone and Billy is a shadow man as he groans and rolls off to lie in a sticky heap beside Dom.
"Okay there, Dommie?" Billy's voice is coming back to normal, though after the shouting he's been doing it would be better if tomorrow was a day off, for he's likely to be hoarse.
Dom reaches down and peels the condom off, dropping it onto the floor in the darkness, swiping at his belly with a corner of the sheet. "Nnnn," he says. "Yuh." He waves one hand aimlessly around until it lands somewhere on Billy's body--hip? Mmm. Hip. He pats it floppily. "You?"
Billy sighs. "Mmmm. Excellent, altogether." He lets his head fall to the side and looks at Dom. "Took you long enough," he says.
The words take a moment to sink in. "I just fucking came twice in one night," Dom sputters. "And we're not even counting the two times I wanked during the day!"
Billy's laugh is so loud it startles Dom into sitting up straight. "Did ye really?" Billy gasps.
Dom glares at him. "Thanks to your open doors and overactive libido," he says frostily. "And may I just remind you that you weren't exactly complaining five minutes ago, or coming any faster than me, for that matter."
Billy sits up, grinning madly. "Aye, that's true. But Dommie, you've misunderstood the whole thing." He leans forward to kiss Dom's (swollen, reddened) lips gently. "I meant, it took you long enough to figure out you'd be welcome in here." He pats the bed.
"Oh." Dom's jaw goes more crooked than ever as he fights down a smile. "Well, in that case... You're forgiven." It's his turn to kiss Billy, and the feel of the delicate mouth open beneath his own takes his breath again.
"Nice to hear," Billy murmurs against his lips, and bears him down onto his back again. "And now what?"
"Now... we sleep," Dom says, glancing at the alarm clock. The red numbers are ominous, one-two-three, but not in that order.
Billy looks sideways at it and lets his forehead fall to Dom's chest. "Aye. And I'm sleepy enough," he admits.
"Good. Maybe you won't talk so much," Dom mutters as he pulls a sheet over them.
Billy pushes his face into Dom's armpit, throwing his arm over Dom's chest. "Do I talk in my sleep?"
"Sometimes," Dom says, closing his eyes and feeling sleep pouring into him like the tide.
"Mmm." Billy sighs. "What do I say?"
"Dunno." Dom can't think. "Stuff. Can't always tell. Names."
"Really?" Billy is asleep then, and so is Dom, so the conversation is lost and it is six months before Billy learns that the name he says most often is Dom's. And Dom learns that he kicks in his sleep. And they bicker and tease and wrestle and kiss, and they hardly ever bother to close the bedroom door.