Sugar Rush Written: September 1, 2003 For Rynalwyn. Happy Birthday! Here is your request: Dom, Billy, a kilt, and honey. ♥ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “God, I’m starving.” Billy was halfway into the hotel room before Dom could even get his key out of the door, pushing past him in a swirl of black fabric and champagne fumes. Dom closed the door behind them, tossing his keys onto the table with one hand and rubbing his gritty late-night eyes with the other. “Didn’t you eat at the party?” Billy was already in the tiny kitchenette, and the dark doorway brightened suddenly with the light from the refrigerator. “Yeah, I did. Caviar might cost a hundred pounds a teaspoon but it’s still on a fucking cracker. I’m hungry.” Dom put his hands on the small of his back and stretched until his spine popped and his garish striped jacket creaked with the strain. He sauntered over to the door of the kitchen and leaned against the jamb, stifling a yawn, and watched Billy’s kilt sway from his tilting hips as he bent over and rummaged noisily through the undersized refrigerator. Dom lifted one sleepy eyebrow. “There’s nothing in there but beer, Bill, and you’ve had enough of that I think.” Something fell over in the fridge with a loud clatter, and Dom chuckled to himself at the half-slurred curse. He watched Billy’s pleated black bum wiggle once or twice as he tried to maintain his balance, practically half his body shoved into the little icebox, and the edge of Dom’s weariness mysteriously began to lift. He took a few steps toward the fridge. “It’s too bad champagne’s not a food group, or you’d have no problem,” he said with a grin, remembering fondly the fizzy sparkles of Billy’s eyes over flute after flute of something dry and French, flowing until his laughter rang louder than Elijah’s and clearer than the fountains they posed around in the crisp December air. His comment was answered with a soft moan. Raising his other eyebrow, Dom leaned over to peer into the glaring light of the fridge to find Billy frozen with a small glass jar in one hand and his lips closed around one index finger in bliss. “Hey, that’s for my tea!” Billy opened his eyes and drew his finger out of his mouth, licking off the last traces of honey. “I know. It’s damn good, too.” He ran his fingertip around the edge of the jar, scooping up a second lump of thick amber liquid, and stuck his tongue out to catch the drops before swallowing up his finger to the last knuckle. Dom had opened his mouth to protest at this unsanitary violation of his breakfast sweetener, but at the sight of Billy’s pink tongue curling around the tip of his finger and his eyes rolling closed as he began to suck lightly, Dom forgot exactly what his complaint had been. Billy’s eyes opened slowly, and he pulled his finger out of his mouth and looked up at Dom with flushed cheeks and sticky lips. “Want some?” He straightened, swaying a bit as the blood rushed from his head and left champagne bubbles in its wake, and held the jar out to Dom over the door of the refrigerator between them. Dom took one look at the moisture on Billy’s finger and the smudges on his lips and ignored the jar, leaning forward instead to offer up his own slowly opening mouth. Billy’s finger dripped gold when he pulled it out of the jar, flowing in a long thin stream back down into the glass until he flicked his wrist and curled his finger and slid it smoothly between Dom’s parted lips, smiling when Dom’s tongue closed around it and began to lick in short slow pulses. He drew it out slowly, and Dom held on until the tip popped out with a little smack. He ran his tongue around his lips and smiled. Billy was tapping his glistening finger on his swollen bottom lip. “Good, yeah?” Dom braced his hands on the door and leaned over until his mouth touched the finger hovering over Billy’s lips. He drew the point of his tongue slowly up from the knuckle to the nail, delighting in the tremor that followed it. Without moving he murmured against the wet skin, “Yeah.” Billy’s breath smelled like champagne and sugar. Dom nudged the finger out of the way with the tip of his nose and flicked his tongue across a sticky drop still clinging to the corner of Billy’s mouth. “Still hungry, or can you wait a bit?” Billy’s eyes darkened so fast that the air around them cooled five degrees. “Aye, I can wait.” The jar hit the countertop with a loud thwack as Dom practically climbed over the open door, shoving Billy backwards against the wall in the tiny alcove, hands on the buttons of Billy’s tux jacket and knee already wedging in between folds of heavy black fabric. Billy’s hands in his hair were small and harsh, clawing in his thick tangles and pulling his mouth closer and tighter until his lips went numb against the sharp mash of Billy’s teeth. Their skin was tacky and sweet, tongues licking and sucking at every remaining trace, and when Dom abruptly pulled back he distinctly heard Billy growl low in his throat. Dom’s chest heaved as he wiped his mouth with the back of one hand. “You’re drunk, Boyd.” Billy let his head fall back against the wall with a thump and regarded Dom from half-lidded eyes. “Boyds don’t get drunk from champagne.” “That’s not what Orlando says.” Dom grinned. “Besides, you only say ‘aye’ when you’re pissed.” Billy raised an eyebrow, squirming slightly against the wall. “You stopped that just to tell me I’m drunk?” Dom’s eyes glittered in the sharp light from the open refrigerator. “No. I stopped to tell you to take off your jacket before that damn flower stabs me in the heart.” Billy giggled despite himself, and began lazily peeling off the coat. “Well it’s only fair. Yours has been stabbing me in the eyes all night.” Gaudy gold stripes joined heavy stiff black in a puddle on the floor, and Dom fell forward in a rush, arms slamming into the wall on either side of Billy’s head and knee edging its way back between quickly-wrinkling pleats. “Now where were we?” he breathed into the humid heat behind Billy’s ear. Billy’s fingers dug dark trails across the fabric of Dom’s shirt. “You were about to get your hand up my kilt.” Dom’s back involuntarily shivered when Billy’s tongue found its way into the shell of his ear. “I was, was I? Are you sure?” Billy dropped his head and trailed quick bites down the skin of Dom’s neck. “Mm-hm. I’m quite… certain… of it.” Dom drew his right hand down the wall, skimming over the cool wallpaper and disappearing into the shadows beneath their waists, and twisted through the endless folds of black until his palm slid across the flat heat of one broad thigh. He pushed against Billy’s sharp jerk and inched his fingers inward over bare skin. “Not even for a premiere?” he said. “Never,” Billy replied. “Though it did get a bit drafty by the fountain.” Dom’s chuckle was cut off by Billy’s hiss as his hips twitched forward into Dom’s hand, and Dom let out a long slow breath and ground forward against the thigh that pressed between his own. He dipped his head to Billy’s mouth, but Billy turned his head, and answered Dom’s questioning look with a sly grin. “I’m still hungry,” he said. His left hand reached out for the jar on the table, never taking his eyes from Dom’s until he brought his finger back to drip heavy and thick into Dom’s open mouth, and the rhythm of Dom’s hand shuddered and sped up a notch. He drew in all of Billy’s finger, back nearly to his throat, and sucked at the thick honey on his tongue to the same slow cadence of their rocking hips. Billy’s lip twitched and he let out another growl, and yanked out his finger to grasp Dom by one ear and drag his head down until their mouths met in a grinding, sticky tangle, sparring for the last traces of sugary sweetness in both their mouths, until Billy went taut and rough and slammed his hips up into Dom’s fist in harsh thrusts that pushed the breath from his mouth and made Dom squeeze and press his body tighter until Billy could barely breathe between Dom’s pounding heart and the unyielding wall. His hands jerked in Dom’s hair, sucking and biting at Dom’s tongue until he could taste blood mingled with honey, and Dom moaned against Billy’s mouth and bucked his hips and scrabbled the fingers of his left hand against the wall while his right hand twisted and flexed beneath the rustle of smooth black pleats. Billy felt his stomach fluttering, saw the light behind his eyes and felt his thighs clenching and he tried to pull back and tell Dom to stop, wait, let him get his kilt off because it was really hard to get the— the— and then he was arching and gasping and stifling a yell against the lip between his teeth, the weight of Dom’s body pinning him to the wall as he shivered and clutched at the sweat-soaked cloth of Dom’s shirt. He slumped backwards, head hitting the wall and gasping through his open sticky mouth. Dom held him there until the last twinge faded, shifting his hips to get every hissing aftershock, and then drew back to grin at Billy from smoky eyes and swollen bruised lips. “Hope you have a good dry-cleaner.” Billy curled up one side of his mouth, bracing his shoulders against the wall to take the weight off his shaking knees. “Hope you do. You’re paying for it.” His hand dropped to the straining zipper of Dom’s jeans, still rocking slightly against Billy’s thigh, and squeezed until Dom jerked and bit his lip. “Your turn.” To his surprise, Dom smiled and stepped back. “Not just yet. I need some things first.” He dropped a kiss on Billy’s cheek and whispered, “Get that kilt off.” Billy watched him walk out of the kitchen, peeling off his damp shirt as he went. Wiping his mouth, he called out, “Where are you going?” Dom’s voice came back to him from the front room, and Billy smiled and reached for the fastenings of his kilt. “To order room service.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ home