Title: Counting on Fingers and Toes
Author: Kia
Author's Email: lychelle@mindspring.com
Pairings: Billy Boyd/Dominic Monaghan
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Billy tries to sum it all up.
Disclaimer: This is fiction.

***

Eight. Four. Five hundred and fifty-seven. Six.

They were the numbers in Billy's head. Numbers that wouldn't go away.

There was no pattern there. There wasn't supposed to be.

Five hundred and seventy-five. Well, there *was* something odd there. If he
remembered to carry the zero correctly.

Billy would have rather been counting sheep, though he doubted that people
really did that sort of thing. But it would have been something simple.
Something besides years, distances, hours, and other assorted amounts and
measures that he just wanted to forget that he'd wasted his attention on.

A complete waste. Because, just as he suspected, the final number didn't
ring a bell. Like pi. Or sixty-nine. No powerful number to help him figure
it all out.

On the other hand, if anything could have put the fright in him that
morning, finding that the numbers added up to the 'number of the beast'
would have done the trick.

And there was no way in hell that he was going to have a go at
multiplication. A bridge too far, and a sure sign of foolishness.

So he told himself to forget the maths. Might as well forget sleep, too.
Because there was still the wee matter of the paradox he'd discovered only
ten minutes before. One that affected every actor--he sincerely hoped. One
that Billy wished someone would get off his or her arse and find a cure for.
Create a pill. An instant tablet. Preferably a fruit-flavoured chewable.

Fruit, huh? Well, as long as it worked. Then he could take it when
necessary.

Whenever he had to deal with Dom.

Dom was like a germ--which Billy meant in the nicest possible way, of
course. He had a virus that could be transmitted through the phone line. Or
by radio waves, in that particular case.

Or not.

But whatever it was, however he was getting stricken with it, Billy was
tired of it.

Just not tired enough to close his eyes again, to make it go away, to wake
up a few hours later with a new agenda for the day.

So maybe Dom wasn't a germ.

Of course, he wasn't. How silly.

Billy didn't feel ill, anyway. Felt pretty good, actually. No niggling
hangover from the night before. Well-rested. And with the scent of breakfast
wafting under the bedroom door, courtesy of his sister's kitchen, he was
also hungry. *That* was quite possibly the actual reason he couldn't get
back to sleep. Nothing to do with the phone call. Or Dom. Or Billy's
inability to use his acting talent when he needed it most.

Billy wondered if it was documented anywhere.

Telling a Tolkien fan that her portrait of Pippin was fabulous when it
actually looked like Gollum in a wig and breeches had never been a problem.
Telling Dom that he wasn't upset about a minor setback, that he wasn't
bothered at all, not in the least bit peeved, was pretty much a pipe dream.

So maybe it wasn't an illness as such. No one's perfect. Not even Dom. Not
even on a 'Dom could do no wrong' day.

Billy knew he had an innate stubbornness. Knew he could be downright
obstinate. Because he was Scottish? Possibly.

But Dom. Dom was always his usual adaptable self. Throw a hurdle in Dom's
path, he'd hardly blink before taking a flying leap. Then he'd duct tape any
damage with a smile.

Great.

No. Not great. Sounded like Billy was calling Dom faultless. Sounded like he
was calling himself consistent and Dom just unpredictable. Like: Billy,
boring; Dom, interesting. Like Billy was simply a constant and Dom was the
variable.

And it was suspiciously sounding like maths again.

Billy could only identify one inconsistency about himself. His sexuality.
That had certainly been keeping him on his toes. One minute he and Dom had
their eyes on two completely different looking women in two completely
different directions trying to prove to each other why their choice was the
hottest. And the next thing Billy knew, their choices were each other.

Sheer laziness?

No, it didn't compute. Like the conversation he'd just had with Dom that
morning.

Was it too much to look forward to it? Who else was he going to surf with
until he could teach his hairdresser to stay on the board for five seconds?
Was it too much to circle that particular date on his calendar over a week
beforehand? To announce to just about everyone that Dom was coming to
Scotland? To smile when he answered the phone?

A smile not unlike the other morning smiles since he'd been back home, but a
smile with only a hint of something more. Lots to do with the sunlight
peeking through the curtains. Lots to do with the plans for the day.

He didn't react like it was the end of the world. Sure, the smile was
quickly wiped off his face with a few words, but what normal human being
smiled at bad news? Even minor bad news. Shite happens. People deal with it.
But they don't smile.

Shite happens maybe, but that was exactly how Dom sounded when he gave the
news; the way he so easily fucking adapted: "Yeah, I know I said I was
coming, but... you know?"

What the hell was that?

Meanwhile, Billy was thinking, 'No, I don't know. I'm not going to *give*
you a bloody excuse, you selfish bastard,' while responding with, "Fine.
I'll see you when I see you."

Billy wasn't being stubborn, he was being realistic. He'd dealt with far
worse in life than a change of plans. He'd dealt with Dom's indecision
before. But that was before he had a reason to obsess on how that indecision
pertained to him. To them.

Yeah, there were plenty of *other* things that he could do with his day.
There were movies to see, videogames to play, old school friends to ring up,
old tunes to re-acquaint himself with on his guitar. But he hadn't *planned*
any of that. Because Dom was the plan.

The plan was Dom.

Billy didn't feel like doing anything else. The same way that Dom didn't
"feel like" getting on the train. Wanker.

And for the first time that week, Billy wouldn't have minded if it were
bucketing outside.

***

Eight years between them. Almost four years being best mates. Five hundred
and fifty-seven kilometres apart. He was six hours away.

And multiplication didn't work either.

Although he was quite sure the answer was wrong.

It was definitely time to get out of bed.

Why bother? Why roll out of bed at all? He could always read a book.

Because only a depressed person would have lain in bed all day and moped,
forcing himself to read a book when the sun was shining outside. And Billy
would have rather bungeed from Mount Everest than admit that he was
depressed.

Well, fuck.

The rush of blood was instant and temporarily dizzying when his feet at long
last met the floor. And he rushed across the room in cold slipperless feet,
leaving his toes defenceless to doorframes and doors and scales that came
out of nowhere.

Why anyone would put a heavy-duty metal floor scale in the middle of the
bathroom floor anyway? Was she trying to tell him something? Thought he'd
take the hint better if he broke his foot while going for a morning pee?

Of course, she didn't. And taking his bad mood out on a family member was
inexcusable.

It had been the aching toe talking. Same thing that had him grumbling at his
own reflection, unless it was just the sound of the toilet flushing. But he
was definitely frowning. Frowning while opening the medicine cabinet and
reaching with a hand that for some reason chose to knock half the contents
of the lower shelf into the sink.

Billy ceased all attempts to display his anger to no one in particular, and
managed to grab the toothpaste, the only thing left on the shelf. He twisted
the cap, off and away, out of his fingers, and onto the floor.

If he could have spun around, left the bathroom, and walked right back in,
beginning anew, he would have. He could have. But that would have been more
silliness. He was no Mary Poppins, so a snap of his fingers wouldn't have
made a difference. There would still be a mess of bottles, plasters, Q-Tips
and little foil packets in the sink. And a little plastic toothpaste cap on
the floor somewhere.

That was when he felt the need to give himself a good talking to. Or to his
fingers, anyway. They picked the wrong morning to mess with Billy Boyd.

His newly disciplined fingers went straight for the toothbrush, with Billy
having already decided against an attempt at flossing. Then he heard the
faint ringtone, and his hand jerked, knocking the empty mouthrinse cup and
whatever was next to it onto the floor, but Billy was out of the bathroom
before he could hear the clatter.

When the phone was finally rescued from the sheets by fingers that obviously
hadn't gotten the earlier message, the caller was identified by a glance
before he held it to his ear.

Billy didn't hear anything. He then considered the fact that he was the one
answering the call. "Hey."

"Hey."

It was a start. A damn good start. Because Dom called back. Probably feeling
guilty.

"I just had some potato waffles."

Good for him. "Did you?"

"Yeah, sat down for breakfast, and I seem to have gotten my energy back."

"Breakfast will do that, you know."

"Still bolshie, eh, Bill?"

"No, I've exhausted my supply of grouchiness for the morning, I think."
Billy thought it must have been true because he actually cracked a smile.

"Ah. Well, change of plans, then. I mean there *isn't* a change of plans,
after all. Plans are back on, that is."

Billy didn't quite know whether he should have still been smiling or rather
hanging up on Dom.

"Uhm, sorry. I'll be heading for Glasgow Central in about an hour, is what I
mean to say."

"Oh?" Billy would have liked to hear a reason for the sudden change. A
reason that would have had something to do with Dom wanting to see his best
mate whom he occasionally slept with. "They need you on set today, after
all?"

"No, I'm still scheduled for tomorrow. I probably shouldn't let them know
that I'll be in the area a day early."

"Probably shouldn't." Billy didn't hear any spattering against the window,
yet walked over to make sure, letting a stream of golden dust-speckled light
into the room. "See you in about seven hours then?"

"Yup. I'll ring you."

"Alright."

"Don't be late."

"I won't," Billy said, because he'd be there a half hour early.

"I know you won't," Dom replied, suggestible as always. "Bye."

After hanging up, Billy closed the curtain, put down the phone and sat on
his bed. Feeling that he'd done away with the numbers, paradoxes, and Disney
characters, he was ready to get a few more hours of sleep.

Probably three.

***

Billy had never noticed how shiny his boots were, how they still looked
brand new for being old favourites, as he tapped one of them on the
pavement. On the other hand, he'd always been aware of his fidgeting, which
he was doing as usual. Hands moving from his chin to his pocket to his hair
to the handle of a suitcase that Dom had put in his hand. Dom, who had come
from the opposite direction than the one Billy had been staring in for an
hour and a half. Fingers on Dom, rather than on a leather handle, would have
been better, would have been nice. But if he had to settle for a quick lean
and brush, so be it.

"Sorry I'm late. Got a later train. And my mobile was in my bag above me,
and I got into this book I was reading-"

"No problem," Billy mumbled, getting a better grip on one-third of Dom's
visible luggage.

"Really, though. I'm sorry that you had to wait."

He would have enjoyed making Dom suffer a little longer, but that damn
paradox was at work again. Billy simply couldn't resist Dom's apology face.
"It's okay. You're here now."

One of the few predictions Billy could make about Dom was the dander and
shuffle that would occur a few minutes after they met up. He was used to it,
and never minded so much since it always gave him an excuse to give Dom a
once over, to see what had changed about him, what had stayed the same, what
he'd missed the most. But it was longer than usual, this time. Long enough
for Billy to realise that he couldn't decide what he'd missed the most.

"Before we go, I-"

Billy hadn't meant to drop the suitcase so hard. Hadn't expected Dom to be
concentrating on his words so hard that he'd be so easily interrupted.

"There's a little problem."

"Yeah?"

"Got a call just before I left London. It's the reason I missed the first
train, actually. They need me on the set, in fucking Aberdeen, even though
they're not sure if they need me." Dom rolled his eyes. "But you know how
that is. "

"Yeah, sure." Great, and just when Dom's number had dwindled into simple
double digits. "So you... have to get another train?" Billy grabbed the
suitcase and another bag that was resting at Dom's feet, and was already
considering which mate he'd ring first as soon as Dom was gone, was thinking
he might just play surf instructor again, after all. "Should go get you a
ticket then, so you can get going."

"Hey. Billy?"

The bag was tugged off his shoulder as Billy took a step towards the doors
of the train station. He was nearly thrown off balance by the sudden tip of
weight in his other hand.

"Don't."

"Don't what?" Billy let the suitcase down again, crossed his arms then
uncrossed them, then slid his hands into his jacket pockets. "What am I
doing?"

"I wasn't finished."

"Oh." Billy took his hands from his pockets and crossed his arms again.

"Up for a trip to Aberdeen?"

"Why?" Billy knew he was going too far with his nonchalant act. It wasn't
only an annoyance, it was a catch twenty-two.

*Another* number.

"Because, I *want* you to come with me. I hear those Aberdonian's are.
different."

Billy laughed. "You've heard the jokes then?"

"What do you call an Aberdonian with five sheep?"

"A pimp."

"Yeah, heard that one," Dom said, trepidation briefly crossing his face. "So
how about it?"

Billy hoped he wouldn't actually have to reassure Dom of the joke's
ludicrousness once they were there. "Of course, I'll go with you." And of
course he'd already decided to go the first time Dom had asked.

"Sure you have nowhere to be today?" Dom looked amazingly happy for someone
who'd have to sit around a set all day and possibly meet an Aberdonian.

Billy didn't bother to think of another reason for that happiness. He didn't
want to be wrong. "Absolutely sure. I'm all yours."

***

There hadn't been enough time for Dom to check into a hotel, so Billy was
once again lugging a suitcase around, then up the three steps to an open
trailer they were pointed to.

"Trailer all to yourself," Billy said. Not just to hear himself talk, of
course.

"Don't be daft. Sharing it."

Billy hoped he hadn't just hit a sore spot with Dom. He doubted it, but
tried to change the subject anyway. "No bed?" It wasn't his exact intention.

"You need a bed, Bill?" Dom was apparently so irritated that he hadn't even
dropped his bags yet.

"No. Just... saying." And that was the problem, right there. Less saying,
more... well, anything else.

Dom put down his luggage. "Right." He opened one of the bags and pulled out
a manuscript. "I should probably get going then. Have to go find the costume
trailer, and look over the script. I would do that here, but you're too
distracting."

Billy quickly broke his temporary oath of silence. "I am?"

"Has anyone ever told you that your hair grows freakishly fast?" Dom began
to flip through the papers in his hand.

"Yeah, my hairdresser's mentioned that. And what do you mean it's
distracting?"

"I didn't say your *hair* was distracting."

Billy waited until Dom's nose was no longer buried in the script. "Then-"

"How is he anyway?"

"Who?"

"Scott."

"Oh! He's good. Learning to surf. Said you need to make an appointment. If
not with him, then somewhere else. 'Anywhere, for God's sake,' were his
exact words. So how am I distracting you?"

"Did he?" Dom ran his fingers through his hair, scrunching then re-spiking.
"To tell you the truth, I haven't even looked at it today."

"It's not bad," Billy lied, forever a fan of Dom's bedhead look.

"You know, only a couple of gay guys would be having a conversation about
hair."

And Billy was rendered speechless, although a little too late. "Uhm."

"That reminds me...."

From the tone of Dom's voice, Billy wanted to back up as Dom moved towards
him. But when he noticed the way Dom was leaning into him, he stood his
ground, was caught off guard by a lick to the corner of his mouth, then a
kiss that ended much too soon, leaving the slight taste of mint in his
mouth. "Toothpaste?"

"Just thought I should take care of that for you."

"Take care...? Wait a minute." Billy reached for Dom's sleeve, only managing
to catch thin air.

Dom laughed as he dashed across the trailer. "There's something sexy about a
man with toothpaste on his mouth." Then he winked and ran out the door.

The bastard *better* run.

Billy wiped the back of his hand across his mouth to assure himself that Dom
had gotten it all off. Then he smiled, because one of his many numbers was
no longer a big fat zero for the day.

***

With a victorious flick of the wrist, Billy plonked the seven of clubs onto
the counter, then meticulously straightened it and each row of cards. He
didn't turn to see who was coming in the door, and thought, in all
likelihood, that he was going to be thrown out again before he could finish
his game.

"Are you actually playing cards... standing up?"

A fine reason to look, after all. And Billy turned to take a quick peek at
Dom, mostly out of curiosity to see whether he was still in costume.

He was. Actually looked like he'd just stepped out of *Reservoir Dogs*.
Looked good on him too.

"Been sitting most of the day in case you've forgotten." Billy turned back
to his game.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I thought I'd get to pop by more often. Anyone
hassle you much?"

Billy shook his head, picking the next to last card in the, as yet, unused
deck. "Was called a peeping tom, though. When some actress came in to
change. Almost had my arse kicked for touching someone's tea bags. And I
helped someone run through his lines. Decent chap, too. Gave me these
cards." Billy could hear Dom moving around, rustling papers, coughing
because he'd been laughing so hard. "Oh, and I had this great idea for a new
scene in our script." Billy grabbed the cards, and nimbly began to reshuffle
them while envisioning the mayhem of an action-packed boat chase. Then he
felt Dom's body, his entire body, but most notably his chest, and almost
sent the cards airborne before setting them back down. "But I can tell you
about that later. Finished for the day?"

"I think so." Dom's voice was soft, yet so close, and Billy could just as
easily have called it a purr.

"Don't sound so sure." Billy's hand was swatted away when he reached for the
deck.

"I'm pretty certain."

Billy didn't mind so much that Dom had barged in on his game. He didn't mind
that Dom was breathing against his cheek, holding his waist for balance,
while reaching across him. He didn't mind that Dom's mouth was open, tongue
peeking out, as if solitaire were suddenly a profound game.

Then somewhere between Billy's silly urge to attach some spooky significance
to the card Dom picked--the five of hearts--and his more sensible urge to
forget the bloody game so they could just get back to Glasgow, Dom kissed
him, and Billy kissed him back.

Billy followed Dom's lips, his tongue, over to his right shoulder, twisting
his neck as far as it would go to continue the kiss. A task made easier with
Dom's hand pressed to his jaw, relieving the strain, while the other hand
was tugging up on, then creeping under, his T-shirt. When the fingers went
directly up to one of his nipples, Billy jerked back against Dom in reaction
to the pinch, which promptly sparked off another reaction; unexpected, but
not. And it had Billy achingly hard even before Dom's fingers had dropped
from under his shirt to work the fastenings of his jeans.

Billy began to grow concerned about their liplock losing its momentum, the
way it was fragmenting into a series of shorter and shorter kisses, until
they stopped completely.

Why did he stop? Where was he going? Billy's worry had hit a peak.

Then something told Billy to stay right where he was, to keep leaning
against the counter, to make no move to raise his falling jeans. It had
something to do with the firm message of that last, however fleeting, kiss.
Something to do with the sound of the door locking and the curtains
closing--the sudden darkness.

And there were more sounds, like Dom rifling through a bag.

Billy didn't know whether he preferred predictable or unpredictable Dom at
that moment, because it would have required a coherent thought, an
expectation.

If. *If* they were going to, Billy could count it as the third time for him.
The third of five. He would have officially been fucked sixty percent of the
time that they'd had sex. Approximately one percent of the sex he'd had in
his lifetime.

Oh God.

Billy was tempted to take another card from the deck, though he could hardly
see them. Had his eyes been closed all that time? And since they were open,
adjusting to the dark, Billy decided to turn around and see what was taking
Dom so long.

Then he heard them fall. Not all at once, but a few at a time; hitting the
floor, hitting his boots, like an avalanche... of fewer than fifty-two
cards. A bit over the top, Billy thought. Quite a reaction for only seeing
Dom coming towards him. Completely nude. Would probably have been golden and
smooth if the curtains were open, but... devastatingly sexy in silhouette.
Larger. Dominating. Incredibly male.

And he'd gotten that much--courtesy of his sister's horrid romance
novels--from a mere glimpse.

Only a glimpse, because Billy was pushing his jeans down his thighs, then
pulling his shirt off. And by the time he'd tossed it away, he was hearing
something opening, something being unwrapped, then Dom breathing a heated,
"Okay?" in his ear.

Billy barely got out his reply of, "Okay," before turning to catch Dom's
lips again. He knew that Dom had more important things to do than kiss, and
that he might have needed to *see* what he was doing, but... yeah, Dom had
always been adaptable.

Adaptable, indeed. And apparently able to get a condom on with one hand too,
because Dom had a hand on one of Billy's hips, while the other had just
dropped something onto the counter, then was slipping into his crevice.

Billy didn't stop kissing Dom, just moaned into his mouth when two slick
fingers entered him and were removed just as quickly. He thought he might
have heard Dom's nails scrabbling against the counter, then he definitely
heard the container being discarded again, just before Dom's fingers were
pushing back in, crooking slightly, then twisting.

And, regrettably, yet decisively, Billy had to abandon the kiss, fearing
that he'd unintentionally bite down on Dom's tongue, or worse. He leaned
forward until his chest was almost flat on the counter, Dom's fingers
unmistakeably taking advantage when Billy inched his feet apart, spreading
his legs. He wanted Dom to notice that it was *not* a stance for being
finger fucked. Could he have been any more blatant? "Dom."

When Dom's fingers slipped out, left him gasping, Billy then wondered which
would hurt more: Dom's claw-like hold on his hips or being stretched more
than Dom's two fingers had accomplished--the latter due to his own
impatience, of course. But even as Dom did push into him, curving his
fingers over Billy's hipbones as if they were handles, the only pain Billy
felt were his own fingernails digging into his palms, after trying and
failing to get a grip on the edge of the counter.

Dom had to be all the way in, he *had* to be, Billy's mind shrilled, and he
unclenched a fist to reach behind him, blindly feeling around for...
anything. What he found was Dom's thigh, already covered by a sheen of
sweat, flexing as it slipped away from Billy's hand then collided with it.

Billy hadn't been prepared for it, but it certainly didn't disappoint, and
he didn't regret it, no matter how raggedly he shouted Dom's name. He was
more than eager for the next thrust, and the next, and he made sure to let
Dom know over Dom's own groans, telling him not to stop, to never stop.

Then Dom stopped.

Billy had counted approximately seven thrusts. Couldn't comprehend how Dom
could stop at seven. But before he could announce the incredulously low
number, Dom was no longer inside of him, and Billy was being twisted, was
being kissed again and rotated by the hands still on his hips.

Dom was drawing him away from the counter while kissing him, guiding him,
but staying close enough for their erections to bump and slide together.
Billy didn't know how much more he could take before he was keen to pull Dom
down to the dirty floor with him and just take over. He was beginning to
think it was the best idea he'd had all day, when the backs of his thighs
were pressed against something hard, and he had to break another marathon
kiss.

An ugly brown curtain was the second thing he saw, after observant grey-blue
eyes. Lovely eyes. Oh yeah, the curtains. And Billy deduced that there was a
table behind him, a collapsable table that wasn't very big or sturdy looking
according to his memory. But Dom was already grabbing his legs before he
could sit himself on that table. It gave an unpleasant creak when his body
hit the cool surface.

It was either that or the floor. And the table would probably end up on the
floor anyway. So what did it matter?

Certainly didn't matter to Dom, who was struggling with Billy's jeans,
wrenching them over his boots and finally off.

Billy, after having watched all of that, wondered why Dom hadn't simply
taken the boots off first. His question was still unanswered, yet was made
null and void when Dom lifted his legs, the boots carefully held apart as
they neared his head, until Billy's legs were hooked over Dom's shoulders.
And Billy didn't have time to wonder any further, not about the table, or
someone having a key to the trailer, or accidentally kicking Dom in the
head, because Dom's cock was nudging him, then pushing in effortlessly
slick. There was no time to get accustomed to his size again, no need to
when Dom was already thrusting deeper and harder, already eliciting shouts
of "Fuck!" out of Billy because Dom was at an angle to hit that spot over
and over--the one that made Billy shudder so hard that he felt it in his
toes, in his boots.

Billy knew that he had to be causing all sorts of bruises on Dom's back, his
boots definitely falling against something after every groan and curse and
slap of their skin.

Billy also knew that he was louder than any of those sounds, even louder
when Dom began to stroke him.

Then Billy did grow quiet, only because his back was arched up from the
table as he came, his mouth open to let out what would have probably been a
god awful sound if his lungs had had enough oxygen left to fuel it.

Billy gave a shivering inhale as the thrusts slowed, the slapping stopped,
and Dom's moan became the loudest noise, strident. And Billy could see him,
was watching Dom come, watching his entire body shake, his head thrown back
then forward, lips mouthing 'Oh God', then ultimately whispering it in
exhaustion.

Coming down from his high, Billy unburdened Dom's shoulders, and reached up
for him. The table made a worrying sound, but Dom was on top of him and
kissing him and Billy was much too drained to pay attention to more than one
instinct at a time.

Dom lifted his head and smiled. "We should move." And he climbed off,
disappeared from Billy's eyesight.

Billy transferred himself to the settee-like seat against the trailer wall,
just in time for Dom to reappear, free of used latex, and ready, in fact
willing, to warm Billy's body again. Billy kissed him for that. Kissed him
for lots of reasons. Until he realised that Dom was trying to say something.

"Did you happen to hear anyone knocking?"

If it wasn't him or Dom or the table, Billy hadn't heard it. "Not that I
know of."

"Good. Because I want to ask you something."

"Okay." And Billy waited to be asked, but Dom's mouth was still closed, lips
pressed tightly together like they were glued that way. "Dom?"

"You think... you think maybe there's something going on between us?"

Billy hoped he was the only one to feel himself tremble. His answer called
for the performance of a lifetime, an award-winning performance that would
finally beat the impinging irony. So he smiled, forced a laugh. "What ever
could have given you that idea?"

"Uhm." Dom frowned. "The sex?"

"Yeah, there's a clue."

"Kissing."

"Lots of that."

"We bicker like an old married couple."

"All your fault, of course." Billy tried not to chew on his bottom lip, when
Dom sighed, letting their foreheads touch. "Anything else?" He felt Dom's
contemplative hum go right through him.

"Hmm, the sex."

Billy could only see the corner of Dom's mouth; it was curved into a smile.
"You've already said that."

"Well, it ought to be mentioned twice. Certainly deserves to be."

"All right, then. What else?"

"The kissing."

And Billy thought he might have actually predicted that out of Dom. A
prediction that he actually got right for once. No, two predictions. That
repeated mention of kissing and the kiss that followed. "Well, now that it's
settled," Billy laughed against Dom's lips.

Then Dom was back to being his usual fitful self, crooked jaw and
everything. Variable. "D'you think... this might be something we need to
talk about?"

Billy would have loved to talk about it, would have loved to discuss and
plan and keep himself from having future mornings like that particular
morning. But all he'd have to contribute to the discussion were numbers. "It
doesn't add up," he said. And he knew that he shouldn't have been trying to
do math whilst in a post-orgasmic haze. He shouldn't have been doing it at
all. That stuff needed to be left to his agent and accountants and
calculator. He was from Glasgow, theatre district. Not Edinburgh, Silicon
Glen.

"What did you just say?"

"Ehm. I've never been good at maths." Good save. Maybe.

"I took geography in college."

"There's maths in that?"

"Topology has gradients and curls and divs involved in it. Hard stuff."

Billy nodded, thinking that it all sounded vaguely sexual, but that was
probably because they were still naked. "Have you worked with constants and
variables?"

"Oh, yeah. Those are the basics. Although, they can be pretty much one and
the same."

"Oh?"

"You can't have a constant without a variable."

"Is that so?" What was his maths class good for anyway?

"A constant is, in a sense, a variable," Dom said informatively. "Then the
variable can be called a constant, as long as the number isn't changed. They
don't even have to be numbers, you know?" He had a genuine 'And no, I'm not
making that up,' expression on his face.

"Well..." Billy didn't know what to say. That new information was screwing
around with his numbers, and some of his numbers weren't even numbers
anymore, if he'd understood Dom correctly. "...you're not just a number,"
Billy blurted out, "I mean-"

"Maybe I should stop worrying and you should stick to the simple maths."

Dom had to be thinking that his best mate had lost his mind. That he'd just
completely. Dom had been worried? Why had he been worried?

Might have been best to ask aloud.

And Billy tried, but Dom was kissing him again, whispering numbers between
breaths, until Billy shut him up by kissing him back more deeply, because
the first three numbers were all he needed to hear.

Yes, one plus one did equal two.


The End