Title: In Plain Air
Archiving: just ask.
Rating: PG-13
Date: February 2004.
Summary: Dom tries to paint; Billy distracts him. Fluffy RPS.
Notes: For Erin Miran. Muah.
"Why are we out here again, Dom?"
"I told you."
"You told me a lot of fancy words. My brain is tired. Tell me again."
"You just love to hear me speak French." Dom turned around and grinned at Billy. Billy had gotten him an artist's beret for the afternoon, and he had cocked it on top of his head, tugging it to one side so his left ear stuck out. It made his face look rather lopsided, but when he grinned like now the world seemed to sort of spin, and everything else felt lopsided, not Dom.
"We're out here because you can capture the light better on a bright sunny day like this. The Impressionists called it en plein aire painting. They would take their canvases out on the open and they'd see all these colors in things you wouldn't normally think to look for. That's why their paintings seem to shimmer the way they do. With all that color and light."
He straightened and looked out over the hilltop, jutting high up over the Yorkshire countryside, where he had set up his easel for the afternoon. Billy stood up and went to stand beside him, following the straight line of Dom's finger where it pointed out over the moors. It was a rare fogless day and the hills stretched out for miles, gleaming white and gold in the sun.
Billy wrapped his hand over Dom's finger and cocked his head when Dom turned and gave him a look.
"I see plenty of color and light right now," he said, studying Dom's face. "Lots of blues and greys and greens, right about there--" he ran a free finger just over the tip of Dom's lashes, which caused Dom to flutter his eyelashes in a hurry, and to flush right around the tops of his cheeks. "Lots of reds and oranges and pinks right around there--" he swept his palm down over Dom's cheek, settling it gently right over the warmest spot, feeling it grow even hotter beneath his touch. "And lots of browns and yellows and golds right around here," unable to keep the slight tremor out of his voice as he leaned in and kissed the top of Dom's hair.
For too short a moment he kept his lips pressed there, unmoving. Then he felt all at once Dom's grip on his arm, tight and clinging, right above his wrist. It was the only response Dom had given him, but it was enough.
"Yup," Billy smiled, pulling back. "A regular masterpiece."
Dom's grip tightened. "Just where do you think you're going?" he said smoothly.
Billy grinned and felt his voice drop several notches til it was almost a purr. "You've your painting to get back to. It'd be unmanly to distract you."
Abruptly, Dom tugged him forward against him; their noses bumped, and Billy's breath caught. "How'd you like to be my muse for the afternoon?" Dom murmured, his breath hot against Billy's lips.
"Oh," said Billy. "Did they have muses too, the Impressionists?"
Dom leaned in and pressed a slow, tingle-inducing kiss to his lips. "I don't know, but there's nothing that says we can't improve on history."
"Oh," said Billy again. "That sounds like quite an improvement to me, don't you think?"
Dom, who seemed to be set on improving history at a very quick rate, was too engaged at present with the side of Billy's neck to answer.
And so, because he had run out of words, Billy abandoned words altogether, for the very enjoyable task of inspiring Dominic.