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It never would have happened if Dom had just left the house instead of going back to get his jacket. The party was dead, almost everybody had gone home, and Dom was about to do the same. He sometimes wonders what would have happened if he'd just left the coat there. But he hadn't; instead, he'd reached the front door before he'd remembered leaving his jacket on the back of a chair in the kitchen. He'd waved good-bye to Elijah and Sean, told them he'd see them in the morning, and backtracked to the kitchen. He'd been smiling when he opened the door, thinking how glad he was not to be the one who'd have to clean up the mess. It had taken his eyes a minute to adjust to the room's near-darkness, but when they had, he'd recognized his jacket resting on the back of the chair closest to the window, highlighted by a shaft of moonlight filtering through the parted curtains. He'd gone to pick it up, stumbling once over something on the floor and wondering why the lights weren't on. He'd made his way back across to the door, about to go out, when something flickered, caught his eye. The red burn of a cigarette flared, suspended like a firefly in the dark, and the glow illuminated dark eyes and stubbled skin for a moment before it died out, strangely reminiscent of Aragorn's "entrance" at the Prancing Pony. Fumbling along the wall, Dom's fingers had finally found the switch and flicked on the light. Karl hadn't reacted at all, and Dom had just watched the man for a minute, taking in his stance: legs carelessly sprawled across the floor, back supported by the wall, holding a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other. His eyes were fixed upon the floor, and he hadn't even bothered to look up when Dom approached. Dom had knelt down until they were at eye level, dropped his jacket on the floor. "Hey," he'd said softly, his hand hovering just over Karl's knee, not quite touching him. "See that bottle by the sink?" Karl had asked, eyes shifting to indicate it. Dom had glanced over his shoulder, seen the half-empty bottle. He'd stood back up, gone to the sink, and wrapped a hand around the bottle's neck. Tilting it to read the label, he'd watched the amber liquid roll and sparkle before he’d turned back to Karl. Then he'd slid, uninvited, down the wall to sit next to him, and he'd taken a swig before passing the scotch to Karl. Karl had said nothing, just poured a generous amount into his glass and handed the bottle back to Dom. They'd sat in silence for a while, Dom taking occasional swallows as Karl finished the cigarette and downed his drink in one gulp. Dom had relinquished the bottle when Karl reached for it, and he'd watched as Karl poured another glass and dropped his cigarette butt into the almost empty bottle. Then Karl had raised the glass up to the light, maybe studying the alcohol like Dom had before, or maybe in some kind of toast; Dom didn't know. But when Karl had pushed himself up from the floor and started out of the room, Dom had known well enough to follow. He'd followed Karl upstairs to a bedroom, and he'd followed Karl's movements as he pulled off his shirt and shucked his pants. Then he'd followed him into bed.
And that's how it went that and every time after. Dom would follow Karl when Karl needed him. They never really spoke -- at least, not with words. But Karl told of desperation and confusion and pain with bruising kisses, with the brutal grip of his hands on Dom's hips while he fucked him, with the gasping cry that escaped every time he came inside him. Dom showed his acceptance and support and love when he followed where Karl led, when his hands scrabbled on Karl's sweat-slicked back, seeking purchase, when he pretended to be asleep each time Karl eased himself out of bed and dressed silently before slipping out the door. But that was before Dom went to Karl's one night and knocked on the door, before Karl opened the door, before Karl had Dom in his own bed and didn't know quite what to do when it was that time when he would usually get dressed and leave. So Dom saved him the trouble. When Karl started to slide out of bed, Dom placed a restraining hand on his arm, and Karl froze. "Karl," Dom tried to say, but nothing came out. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Karl." Karl turned obediently to face Dom, but his eyes were focused on the wall just to Dom's right, not actually meeting his gaze. "It's okay," Dom reassured him. "I'll go." Karl's eyes slid over to meet Dom's, and he unconsciously twisted the sheets between his fingers. "I'm sorry. I just don't think I can--" Karl started to say. "No," Dom hushed him. "I understand that you're not ready yet." "When do you think I will be?" Karl asked, eyes still locked with Dom's. "Don't worry about it. You've got to learn to love first," Dom's hand stroked Karl's arm soothingly. "Learn to love you?" Karl stared down at Dom's hand, following the path it traced. "No, not me," Dom shook his head. "I'm here for you, but this isn't about loving me." "Who, then?" "Yourself." END
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