~2800 words :: LotRiPS :: Dom/Elijah, Dom/Billy :: 11/5/05
Odd things happen when Dom moves into a new flat. (Note: Commentary for this fic can be found here.)

Dom can’t believe the great deal he got on this place. Nearly half as cheap as any of the other flats he’s looked at. Nice area. Close to his favourite record shop, even.

Billy says (when they’re down the pub later celebrating) that maybe it was the scene of a crime or something. He goes on to describe the theoretical grisly murder in great detail, entirely putting Dom off his dinner.

Within a fortnight, he’s moved in, and though he’s asked all his neighbours about the former occupants, no one has anything out of the ordinary to report. There’s been a fairly high turnover rate, but this area has a lot of students, so it’s not exactly unheard of. In fact, only one of Dom’s new neighbours has even been here longer than a few years herself.

In a way, it’s a bit disappointing. He’d sort of got used to the idea, and think of the Halloween parties he could have thrown.

Well, assuming he’s still here this time next year. With things the way they are, it’s not too hard to imagine he might be moved in with Billy. There were a couple times he even thought Billy was going to ask this time ’round. When Dom had got turned down for the flat he’d looked at before this one, he’d almost just asked Billy himself. It’s not like it’s a big thing. Just a hey, mate, let’s move in together and split the rent sort of thing. And yeah, they’re shagging, but it’s not like it would be some sort of huge commitment like getting married or something.

It would certainly make it easier, on nights like this, when Dom’s lying in bed, feeling a bit horny, like he could do with a good shag. Well, he’s not going to ring Billy up in the middle of the night and ask him to come over, but if Billy were here, or he were at Billy’s – if it were, in fact, theirs – well, then, that would take care of the problem altogether, wouldn’t it?

But no, Bill’s not here, and all Dom’s got now is his hand. He briefly considers putting on a porno to wank to, but in the end can’t be arsed.

Shoving the blankets down to the foot of the bed, he wriggles out of his tracksuit bottoms and pulls off his jumper and t-shirt and wraps his hand around his cock. It’s cold, colder than he’d thought when he was snug under the covers and layers of clothing – though, of course, that’s why he was wearing layers of clothing (or any clothing at all) in the first place, so it did stand to reason. Still, he’s got goosebumps rising on his arms and legs, so he doesn’t waste time with anything fancy, just quick, rough strokes that get him there quickly.

He stares up at the ceiling, his breathing loud in his ears and his sweat turning clammy, making him shiver and pull up the blankets. After a few moments, he even puts his clothes back on, but it doesn’t get any warmer. In fact, he could swear it’s getting colder, and there’s this itchy feeling like someone’s watching him. Like he can almost see them out of the corner of his eye, but when he turns there’s nothing.

The tales of serial killers come back to haunt him now, and Dom pulls the covers up tight around his neck, mutters, “Fucking Billy.” There are no serial killers. Not here, anyway. But fuck, that’s hard to believe in the middle of the night.

His sleep is fitful when he finally does drift off, but when he’s squinting in the bright light of morning – or midday, rather, he realises, looking at the clock – it’s easy to brush it off as nothing.

He doesn’t tell Billy about it, except to say whingingly that he could’ve used a good fuck last night, which results in him spending the night at Billy’s, and the next night, too, until he’s kicked out finally on the third day, with a “Christ, I can’t get anything done with you hanging about all the time!”

The flat is freezing when he gets home from work, and he puts on another jumper and wraps himself up in a blanket to watch the telly, though he spends more time sulking than watching. Hardly his fault that Billy brings work home every night.

He dozes off around eight, wakes up to his stomach trying to eat itself, and a wet patch on the blanket where he’s been drooling. When he pushes himself up, there’s a cold breeze, but there aren’t any windows open. He goes ’round and double-checks just to make sure. It would certainly account for the cold. The cold that’s got his fucking teeth chattering now. But no, they’re all shut tight.

Pot noodles warm him up a bit, as do long johns and another pair of socks, but not enough to keep him from shivering as he pulls the blanket tight around him and huddles on the sofa. Despite the cold, he’s fucking horny again, and for no discernable reason, either, unless he’s suddenly taken a fancy to Patricia Routledge.

“What the fuck is up with you, mate?” he asks his dick. “Can’t you see it’s fucking freezing?”

His dick doesn’t answer, of course, and with the cold and the hard-on, Dom isn’t able to concentrate on the telly at all. He flips through the channels and ponders pulling out the PS2, but he doesn’t really want to play anything. Doesn’t want to watch anything, either, to be honest.

What he wants to do is wank. What he really wants to do is get fucked, and hard. But the latter’s not going to happen due to lack of Billy, and you really can’t have a good wank wearing this many clothes, not to mention the blanket.

The shower.

Of course. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? It’d be warm, even. Dom jumps up, feet tangling in the blanket and sending him crashing headlong to the floor, but he just scrambles to his feet and heads for the bathroom, pulling off jumpers and shirts as he goes.

He hops around, shivering and waiting for the water to heat up. Finally, about the twentieth time he sticks his hand under the spray, it’s warm enough to get in.

He doesn’t waste time, hand going to his cock before he’s even fully wet. Groaning, he throws his head back, eyelids fluttering shut as he strokes. He leans against the tiles; they’re like ice, and when he opens his eyes, he can see the shadow of someone standing on the other side of the shower curtain.

“Bills?” But Billy doesn’t have a key. Dom’s not got duplicates yet. He shivers, but his cock’s harder than ever. “Billy? That you?”

The form wavers, like maybe it’s getting closer, and then the air in the shower is icy cold, though the water’s still coming hot. “Who’s there?”

Then the ice is concentrated around his cock, is stroking him, and there’s a voice whispering in his ear, “Dominic,” and he’s coming and coming for what feels like forever. He scrabbles at the tiles, gasping, and then sputtering as water gets in his mouth.


There’s someone in the shower with him. Maybe. He can feel a hand around his cock still, icy, but he can’t see anyone, and the only answer he gets is another breathy “Dominic”.

Shutting off the tap, he stumbles out of the bathroom without even bothering to dry, and he rings Billy. Billy’s got his mobile off, because it goes straight to the voicemail. Swearing loudly, Dom throws his phone down on the bed. What bloody good is a boyfriend if he’s not there when you need him?

Wet and shivering, he crawls under the covers, falling asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow, and when he wakes up in the morning, he tells himself he must have been feverish and hallucinating. Really, there’s no other explanation. It’s not like he’d even been high or anything.

But it happens again the next night, and the night after that. The weird coldness won’t go away, and though he tries not to wank, he’s so incredibly horny if he doesn’t that he can’t concentrate on even the most basic tasks and eventually has to give in. And it’s not like wanking is a hardship or anything, quite the opposite, but he can’t quite shake that creepy feeling that someone is watching him.

Billy comes to stay at the weekend, and after a few hours, Dom notices it’s not cold at all. That may be due to the fact that he’s currently ensconced on Billy’s lap snogging him senseless, but really, if about fifty layers of clothes hadn’t been able to keep him warm, a little body heat shouldn’t make that much difference.

But it does, or something does, because the cold is gone the whole time Billy’s there, and come Monday evening, when Dom gets home from work, it’s back in full force. Colder than before, even, though Dom wouldn’t have said that was possible. He’s horny, too. Dead horny, like he hasn’t got laid in weeks. Months, even. Maybe a whole fucking year.

He doesn’t think his sex life is particularly unfulfilling. Maybe they’ve fallen into a bit of a rut, but it’s still sex, and it’s still good, and he certainly got a lot of it over the past two days. Yet as he shivers on the sofa, jeans pooled around his ankles, he can’t help but think maybe Billy is the problem. The air around his cock gets colder, feels distinctly like fingers, and cold lips kiss his ear and agree with words he only thought.

As the weeks go by, Dom finds he doesn’t mind the cold nearly so much. Billy’s flat feels uncomfortably hot in comparison, but Dom’s spending less and less time there, anyway. Bill’s busy with work, as usual, but Dom doesn’t complain the way he used to. He’s busy himself.

He gets home around sixish and parks himself on the sofa, pops in a DVD and unzips his fly. He’s hard before the thin plot is even abandoned, and he’s no longer afraid when he feels those icy fingers sliding up his shaft. Today it almost feels like a mouth. No, it is a mouth. Dry, but definitely mouthlike, with lips and tongue and cheeks that hollow as it sucks.

Dom stares at the screen, eyes unfocussed, as the invisible mouth bobs up and down. It’s not long before his balls are tightening, before he’s clutching at the sofa cushions and throwing his head back and coming down that ice-cold throat.


Blinking, Dom watches slack-jawed as the air between his legs shimmers, and for just a few seconds he sees pale skin, blue eyes, pink tongue licking pinker lips. He blinks and it’s gone, but Dom can still feel it – him – there.

“What’s your name?” The bloke climbs up, wraps his invisible icy arms around Dom’s neck as he straddles Dom’s lap, and Dom knows his name is Elijah.

Elijah sinks down on Dom’s still-hard cock, tight and cold, and Dom grimaces, hands curling into fists at his side. “Too much…” But Elijah assures him it’s not. Elijah says not to worry; it’ll all be fine.

This time it takes ages for Dom to come, and when he does, it lasts forever, leaves him shaking with exhaustion. Elijah smiles at him, flickering and staticky, and Dom finds it slightly disturbing that he can see the telly through Elijah’s head.

A knock on the door wakes him up the next morning. There’s no sign of Elijah anywhere, which is good, because it’s Billy at the door, and Dom can’t exactly not let him in. Not that it’s really any business of Billy’s what Dom does with his time. In fact, the more Dom thinks about it, the more annoyed he gets.

Billy flops down on the sofa. He makes small talk and slides his arm around Dom’s shoulders. Dom shrugs it off and gets up, ostensibly to get a couple coffees, but really he just doesn’t want Billy touching him. It makes him ill, the warm, sweaty feel of his skin. Besides, he’s sure it’s Billy that’s keeping Elijah away.

Finding two clean mugs takes a few minutes, but finally he’s got them out and the kettle on. “I don’t think we ought to see each other anymore,” he says, and while it’s not what he’d meant to say, as soon as the words are out, he realises it’s true.

There’s silence from the sitting room, which is, Dom supposes, to be expected. It must be quite a shock to Bills, but it can’t be helped. He’s in the way, Elijah says in his head, and Dom nods.

“What are you-” Billy says, standing in the doorway looking confused and hurt. It stirs something in the back of Dom’s mind and he has to look away. Billy’s hands are on Dom’s shoulders, and he’s saying, “Look at me, damn it. What’s going on?” but Dom refuses to speak. When he looks up, he can see Elijah flickering behind Billy.

“It’s over,” Dom says as the kettle boils and switches off. “You still want your coffee?”

Billy just stares at him, mouth open and eyebrows drawn together. Dom watches, fascinated, as his expression slowly changes from shock to anger, and isn’t at all surprised when he says, “No, I fucking don’t!” and stomps out, slamming the front door behind him.

Elijah says, “I’m glad he’s gone,” and Dom agrees.

It’s not over, though. Billy rings him up later that night, and again the next day, and the next. Dom never says much; in fact, he’s not even sure why he keeps answering the phone, so eventually he stops. He deletes Billy’s messages without listening, and when Billy starts coming ’round every night after work, Dom doesn’t answer the door.

This time Billy’s not going away, even when Dom threatens to call the cops. Elijah says to ignore him, but even with Elijah’s mouth on his cock, it’s not easy.

With a petulant frown, Elijah pulls back and says, “You still love him, don’t you?” Cold flows off of him in waves, enough to give Dom goosebumps, but it only makes his cock ache more.

“Lo-? No. No way,” Dom stammers. “It was never. I mean, we were just.”

Elijah’s lip curls up in a snarl and the air whirls around Dom’s cock, sucking his orgasm out of him and leaving him drained and breathless. Elijah looks more solid than ever and his voice is flat when he says, “He’s in the way, Dominic.”

The pounding stops when Elijah opens the door, naked and belligerent. Billy pushes his way past, grabs Dom by the shoulder and shakes him. “Is this why? Who the fuck is he?”

Dom hasn’t the energy to answer, but Elijah takes care of that. He shuts the door and walks calmly over to Billy and says, “You’re in the way.”

“Is this what you want?” Billy says, ignoring Elijah. Reaching down, he grabs Dom’s cock. “Is he better than me, is that it?” His hand is more than just warm; it’s burning, searing the skin off, it feels like, and the last bit of Dom’s leftover erection fades away. “Say something!”

“You’re in the way.”

“Not you!” Billy whirls, glaring at Elijah. “What have you done to him?”

Elijah’s eyes widen and the room is suddenly freezing again, even with all the heat Billy’s giving off. “What the fuck?” The glare is gone now, and Billy takes a step backwards, fumbles in his pocket for his mobile. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but I’m phoning the police.”

But he’s not, because he’s suddenly clutching at his throat, eyes bulging. “Dom,” he pleads, but Dom just stares at him dully and wonders how he ever stood shagging someone that warm.

You’re in the way,” Elijah says once more, and then Billy crumples to the ground. His lips are blue and he doesn’t move, but Elijah just steps over him, settles down between Dom’s legs and smiles. “He won’t bother us anymore.”

Dom glances over at Billy again. They’ll have to do something about the body, but he has no idea what. Elijah will take care of it.

“Yes,” Elijah says, bending his head to lap at the tip of Dom’s cock. “I’ll take care of everything.”