Chapter One: Meeting [complete]

The sun was shining merrily when Billy Boyd walked from his flat to the little cluttered bookshop in Montmartre, which made said shop owner frown in response. Of course it was a bloody brilliant autumn Saturday, and he had to go into work. But, rent was expensive, both on the shop and the flat, and such was life if you wanted to maintain the lifestyle to which you were quickly becoming accustomed in Paris. Two years he'd lived here, now, and it was almost starting to become routine.

The Open/Closed sign flipped around with a dull clack of plastic against the glass pane of the window, and Billy cursed as the little key stuck a bit in the lock for the thousandth time. Inside, he drew aside the plain lace curtains--no real need for actual security shutters in this neighbourhood--and opened the huge wooden volets.

The shop itself was small and overflowing with too many books, but clean. Billy was tidy, and though he got enough business to keep afloat, it wasn't so much that he didn't have time to keep things in order. The shop was very well-organised, and it had its share of regular customers--mostly Americans and English expatriates living in the area; a lot of your "alternative" types who came in for the English-language books that Shakespeare & Co. and the other sellers just didn't have.

As was his habit, Billy began the day by shrugging off his pale brown suede jacket, throwing it over the coat rack in the back corner, and starting the electric kettle behind the counter. There was a coffee machine in the front, which appealed especially to his American customers, and a few overstuffed chairs in one corner for reading, but most people just came and went. After checking the cash drawer to match the total from the night before, Billy did a quick walk around to assure everything was in order. Literature, poetry, and novels downstairs, special interest and travel in special shelves built-in along the narrow stairwell, and some of the more subversive materials--including a small section of tasteful erotica that sold better than Billy had originally expected--in the loft whose balcony ran around in an L shape taking up two of the four walls.

Once he'd assured everything was in order, Billy went to the small back room and found the box of donated Ginsberg and Ferlinghetti poems he'd gotten the day before from an American exchange student who was leaving. Shame, too, because he'd always liked Tiffany--good girl to chat with--but the donation wasn't a bad one. The shop sold a mixture of new and used, and they weren't separated on the shelves, so Billy found the Beat poets in the back righthand corner and opened out the stepladder to assist him. He had just reached the top rung, reaching over his head to shelve the first book, when the little chime over the door rang out.

Dom stepped into the small bookshop for the first time, despite having passed it twice a day over the past year or so--on his way down the hill to work and back again on his way home. The place smelled of age and had that unique odour that only books can acquire--usually after gathering dust on a shelf in someone’s home for a couple of years. Dom was glad of the familiar smell--it set him at ease and made him feel less of a stranger in this huge city, even though he was meant to have been calling it home since last September.

They called it the City of Romance, but Dom was yet to find any evidence of that for himself. His broken, Del Boy-esque French was obviously a bit of an issue, but foolishly, he had thought that wouldn’t be a problem, because everyone in Paris spoke English, right? No, of course they bloody didn’t, and venturing to a shop had quickly become Dom’s worst nightmare--first of all there was the currency to deal with, which was all shaped the sodding same, and then there was the fact that he had to attempt to converse with the shop assistants, trying not to appear like an ignorant Brit and ultimately letting the side down.

So it was with little hope and a great deal of caution that Dom risked entering the cluttered little bookshop--even though it was English language, he had horrific visions of an intellectual Frenchman running the place, or, even worse, one of the bearded old men that you’d come across in a remote village back home--the type whose eyes bugged unpleasantly and watched you in a way that suggested they wanted to take you into the back room for a look at their "special collection".

Once he’d returned from his bizarre daydream, Dom took in the surroundings--comfy-looking armchairs in the one corner, as well as a coffee machine. His image of the shop owner now altered to one of your young, go-getting Americans, which wouldn’t be too terrible, as long as he or she didn’t use words like "awesome" and "radical". Dom couldn’t stand that.

A low rumbling behind the counter caught his attention – a kettle clicked, expelling steam from its spout, and he caught sight of the teabags and a few chipped mugs next to it. No, the owner was definitely English, and definitely old.

Therefore, Dom was quite surprised to have all of his (frankly ridiculous) pre-conceived notions dispelled when a small, elfin bloke descended from the first floor and grinned at him from over the banister.

"Can I help you?" he asked in a very pronounced Scottish accent, and Dom breathed a sigh of relief. Yeah, he’d be coming back here. Repeatedly.

The man in the shop was not a regular at all, but a very attractive man, perhaps a few years younger than Billy himself, but no taller, which was a bit rare (especially considering his usual American clientele that included several men who looked like they must be professional basketball players and always made Billy feel like a midget in comparison). He was a bit quirky-looking, but Billy liked quirky. He made sure to offer the stranger his warmest smile, seeing the man's eyes darting around to take in the shop and feeling a little surge of pride in how cosy the space was. A lot of clutter, sure, but it had its own appeal.

"Um." Dom immediately attatched his hand to the back of his neck and rubbed it slightly, grinning. "Well, I..." Shit. He didn't actually know what he could say to keep this bloke talking. What had happened to the Monaghan Meister over the past year? Well, watching 'American Pie' far too many times could be one thing, as well as the whole not-getting-out-much problem. Say something, idiot! Make something up!

"Uh, I'm looking for a book."

Perhaps not saying anything would have been a better move. Dom called himself every swear word he knew, in two languages--well, one and a half really because he'd forgotten most of his German--and shook his head as the man's eyes crinkled in something Dom hoped was amusement.

"That was stupid, wasn't it?" he asked, smiling somewhat shyly, which was odd as Dom didn't do shy. That, one could tell from his clothes--an orange shirt, black and white striped tie and a pair of black cords didn't exactly scream wallflower.

Billy laughed and shook his head politely, already liking this new customer quite a lot. It wasn't often he met someone as bumbling as he himself could be at times, and though the man looked polished and rather hip, his self-consciousness was endearing. In comparison, Billy felt almost suave.

"Not at all," Billy quickly assured the man. "Books are my speciality," he teased. "Anything in particular you had in mind or do you just want to take a look around? You're welcome to browse to your heart's content," he added, as one of his favourite things about running his own shop was setting his own policy on loitering, which was pretty much feel free, as long as you're not disturbing anyone. He hated big chain bookshops that would usher you out as quickly as possible or constantly bother customers until they'd pay up and go away.

Dom smiled, incredibly thankful that the man apparently didn't think he was the biggest prick in Paris. He liked how collected the man was - it seemed as though it would take something akin to a force ten gale to disturb his calm demeanour.

"Well, thank you," Dom said, crossing and uncrossing his index and middle fingers. "I think I'll just, um, browse, if you don't mind. I'm Dom, by the way." He held his right hand out in front of him for the man to shake, eager for their hands to touch.

"Of course," Billy replied, grasping Dom's hand in his own and on impulse pressing his other hand to it as well as he shook. "William Boyd, but please call me Billy," he said before reluctantly pulling his hands away. "I pretty much run a one-man show around here, so please take your time and let me know if you have any questions. Would you like a cup of tea? Kettle's on already," he offered before shutting his mouth quickly to cut off the stream of nervous babble that tended to come out on sight in the presence of an attractive man. Billy really needed to work on that, especially at his age.

"I'd love a cup of tea...Billy," Dom said, trying out the new name. It fitted the man perfectly - William, Billy, Bill...he was a Billy to the core. It meant something like 'protection' or 'hearth guardian' from what Dom could recall from his foray into etymology for a couple of weeks one summer. Bringing himself back down to Earth, he smiled and flexed his fingers outwards, the memory of their hands being clasped together lingering. Suddenly, he was no longer alone in a huge city. It felt nice.

Glancing around at the bookshelves, Dom itched to take up reading once more. Before he'd had the time to come and explore the tucked-away little place, he'd (unsuccessfully) tried to read some French novels, usually giving up three pages in or throwing the book at the wall in frustration. But here, here there was Byron and Shakespeare and Wilde and there was Welsh and probably some Gayle or Parsons-esque Britlit that he was so fond of. There was Tolkien and Pratchett and Adams, from what he could see in the corner, and there was an incredibly sexy Scotsman who literally (he laughed at the unintentional pun) who literally lived a few minutes away. The shop and its owner had been a good find, he mused as Billy prepared the tea.

Yeah. A very good find. A very good find indeed.

As Dom walked among the books, fingering the titles as he passed the shelves, Billy busied himself pouring out, and sneaking peeks towards the front of the shop as he did so. He was always secretly fascinated to see what authors gave someone pause in his shop, as the kind of books a person enjoyed in his experience said so much about the person. Personally he liked history, plays, some of the classics...but some of the more interesting favourites were titles you wouldn't necessarily expect from such a quiet man--weird, artsy post-modern novels and erotic poetry, sensual epic romances translated from the Spanish and highly intellectual (and admittedly pretentious) satires among them. He saw how Dom flitted from book to book and smiled. A bit ADD, maybe, or at least highly energetic. Running his fingers over the teabags on a wooden shelf, he selected a Twinings herbal blend, something with grapefruit. He liked to pick tea for people, and this morning he decided that something exotic would suit the quirky young man, but maybe something a bit calming as well. Setting both mugs on a tray, a bag in each, he added a small pitcher of milk and a bowl of sugar, with two spoons, and balanced it on his hand as he walked back out to the front of the shop.

Seeing Dom among the more contemporary novels, he smiled and tapped a finger of his free hand on one spine. "Have you read this one?" he asked, indicating a book called The Eight. "Much better than that Da Vinci Code shite. I highly recommend it."

Surprised by Billy's sudden appearance, Dom laughed, feeling his nose wrinkle. "I liked The Da Vinci Code," he muttered quietly, smiling vaguely, picking the book off the shelf. He read the back, furrowing his brow. "For centuries a secret has been carefully hidden from those who would abuse its power. Oooh. Narrative hook, as my old English teacher would say." He looked up and grins, noticing that Billy was carrying a tray for the first time. "Is that for me?" he asked. "Sorry, mate. Got a bit carried away."

Taking the mug from the tray, Dom brought it to his nose and inhaled the tangy aroma. "Bloody hell, is that grapefruit?" He carried on without waiting for an answer. "Fantastic choice, I love this blend. Twinings, right?"

"Aye," Billy replied, smiling to himself at Dom's enthusiasm. "To both." Setting the tray down on a small bit of empty shelf, Billy took his own mug and added a lump of sugar to the tea. "Da Vinci Code is all right," he allowed, taking a slow sip to avoid burning his lip. "But the writing, kind of 'eh.' This is much better, I think. More alive. But everyone's entitled to their own opinion. 'Chacun à son goût,' no?"

"Oh, indeed," Dom mumbled, flipping through the first few pages of the book. "Yeah, this looks quite good. I've been completely out of touch with books and music and all that crap since I've been living here. In fact, the only thing I have read is The Da Vinci Code, and that's only because it was on sale in the airport before I caught my plane. Not that it's, you know, a long flight or anything." Pausing to sip at his tea, Dom then continued with his barrage of words. "So anyway, I hadn't even heard that there was a new Beatles album out 'til my brother told me. This is how out of touch I am with everything. Bloody France. I'm entrusting my literary education to you now, Billy, I hope you realise that."

Why? Why was he talking garbage? His brain-to-mouth mechanism was clearly non-existent today. He grinned, then decided to occupy his mouth with the tea so it couldn't wax lyrical about how annoyed he was that he couldn't watch 'Queer Eye For The Straight Guy' anymore, or how pissed off he was that he couldn't have Virgin Radio waking him up in the morning. It was best to not say anything, really.

Billy grinned at the endlessly nattering young man, and wondered briefly if his apparent nerves could be attributed to the same sort of interest Billy was certainly experiencing. Far from annoyed by the babble, it was adorable, and put Billy more at ease. He hated people who were too put-together, so-called "perfect" specimens of humanity. The man was lovely, but he was real. Billy liked that.

"Well consider yourself in good hands then, lad," he replied with a small, slightly teasing smile that he would let Dom interpret as he would. "I live and breathe books... and I know how frustrating it can be to live here if you're not used to speaking and reading French all the time. 'S part of why I decided to run an English-language shop, that kind of frustration. Well that and the prices at Shakespeare & Company. Figured some of the less-wealthy English speakers living in this part of Paris might benefit," he explained, speaking more than he had all week. He supposed he and Dom weren't all that different in their nerve-coping mechanisms, and the thought made him smile. "Can't say I'm up on what's new and popular, though. I kind of have a penchant for the classics, and for obscurity."

Dom choked slightly on his tea at the sly smirk that flashed across Billy's features for a second or two. God, how he hoped that was a flirtation. However, Billy looked as though he should have a wife, the two-point-four (or was it one-point-six these days?) children, as well as a dog and a house in the suburbs.

"Oh, Shakespeare and Co. drive me fucking insane," Dom said, cradling his hands 'round the teacup to warm them. Damn his poor circulation. "Full of pretentious Southern students on their gap year. Twats, all of them. And the way they glare at you if you stay longer than ten minutes, or just happen to lie on the floor because you can see the bottom shelf better that way. The prices are beyond fucking extortionate; you may as well do your weekly shop at a service station just out of London. Bloody git wizards, they are."

Pausing to breathe, Dom realised that there was no way of scooping the verbal vomit back into his mouth and decided to just continue. "They're a bit like Borders back home, really. Waterstones were slightly better, however; I didn't mind shopping there. This is the sort of bookshop I like, though. Cosy. Organised. Tea readily available. A nice welcome, good conversation...staff who're...well, you know."

He coughed and felt a blush creep up the back of his neck. Had he really just said that? God, he was a wanker. "So, you like classics, then?"

Stop trying to stick a plaster over a haemorrhage, Monaghan, he thought to himself. Just shut up, buy a book and never darken this poor sod's door again.

Billy grinned, not entirely sure which of those comments to reply to first. The safe thing would be to ask where in the North Dom was from, specifically, have a nice small talk conversation, or mention how he liked Waterstones as well. But it was just too tempting. "Staff who are what?" he asked, smiling around the edge of his teacup as he took another sip. "Colour me intrigued."

Shit shit. shit shit shit shit shit shit. "Staff who're..." Dom coughed, looked at the floor and bit his lip. Incredibly sexy? Completely fuckable? Utter flirts? Intelligent? That'll do! "Intelligent," he said, finally looking up at Billy. Which was a mistake. As the bastard was smirking over the rim of his teacup. Bloody smirking. Time for a different tactic, then. "Amongst...other things," he added, hoping he was at least somewhat smooth.

And, at the same time, he knew that he really, really, wasn't.

"Right," Billy replied, licking his lips and then looking away. Shit, he chided himself mentally. Stop trying to be so suave--you're not James bloody Bond, and the kid's going to start laughing at you any minute. "Well, in answer to your question, I do quite like classics, some of them at least," he agreed, running his thumb over a row of Russian novels. "Ever read this one?" He slid a worn copy of Hadji Murat from the shelf and fingered the title with a loving smile. "Can't get enough of Tolstoy..."

Dom laughed, thankful for a change of subject. He could see that long hours in the near future were going to be spent reading up on how to be less of a pillock. If, indeed, there were manuals on that sort of thing.

"Anna Karenina was quite enough for me!" he replied, smiling at Billy. By God, the man was attractive. "I mean, I tried to read War and Peace when I was about twenty to look like I knew stuff that I didn't but I just ended up carrying the bloody thing round Uni all the frigging time. So much for impressing the slightly nerdy bloke who was reading Russian, eh?" He laughed again, hoping he didn't sound like an idiot.

Billy broke into a giant grin at that response, shaking his head in sympathy. "For me it was The Brothers Karamazov. I was so fecking pretentious when I was twenty, thought I would not only read a monumentally thick Dostoevsky book but read one that wasn't Crime and Punishment, just to be cool. It was beautiful, but I never did finish it." Billy laughed at the memory, taking another sip of tea and flipping through the pages of the paperback in his hand. "This one's great though, and so much shorter. I felt regret at having needlessly ruined a flower which had been fine in its place, and I threw it away. 'Yet what energy and life-force,' I thought, recalling the effort with which I had picked the flower. 'How vigorously it defended, and how dearly it sold its life,'" he read. "Tragic, but beautiful." Shaking his head again at himself, Billy replaced the book on the shelf and offered Dom an apologetic smile. "Sorry, mate. I always wished for someone else to read to after my gran died, and barring that I have to resort to boring the poor buggers who come in here to death." He bit his lip, a little embarassed, and turned back to the shelf, pretending to study the titles there. "Where in England are you from, then?"

Dom laughed, downing another bit of his tea. This was good. He was relaxing again. "I'm glad someone understands my plight," he said, smiling. Genuinely, as well, not coyly or in flirtation. "That is beautiful, though. I'm bloody shit with the classics...too fond of The Bard, m'self." He stared at Billy's back as he turned towards the shelves. His comment about being boring made Dom grin--thank God he wasn't the only one feeling self-concious. "Hey, bore me any day of the week," he said, wrapping his long fingers around his teacup, glancing around at the rest of the shop. "Specially with that voice." Dom made sure to be staring at the shelves at the back of the room in case Billy decided to turn round. "And I'm from Manchester, by the way."

Billy turned back and raised an eyebrow at the comment on his voice. "Like accents, do yeh lad?" He knew he was flirting rather blatantly, but Dom had dropped several hints, and Billy was feeling dangerous. His eyes traced the line of Dom's spine, and his hand tightened on his cup as he pretended to rearrange things on the shelf with his free hand. "I'm from Glasgow, but you could've figured that much out. Been in Paris for a while now."

Smirking, Dom glanced over at Billy and was slightly disappointed to see that he had gone back to sorting books, despite his quick look in Dom's direction. However, Billy had called him 'lad' again, and that was interesting. At least, his cock found it interesting. Thankful his t-shirt was just long enough to cover any embarrassing bulges. Dom coughed and decided to throw caution to the wind.

"Jesus, yes," he replied, his cheeks colouring slightly. Don't look at him don't look at him don't look at him... "I was with someone once who'd, you know, talk. Um. During sex." He smiled as the memory took him over. "God, that was great."

Finishing the rest of his tea, Dom continued to not look at Billy--instead watching the dust particles float in and out of the beam of sunlight from the window.

"And yeah, I sort of guessed you were from Glasgow. I've got an ear for accents." He smiled vaguely at the floor. "How long have you been in Paris, then?" he asked, looking over at Billy.

"An ear for them, and a thing for them. You do realise you're putting me in a position to exploit you horribly?" Billy pointed out with a little smile to himself, not meeting Dom's eyes either. He busied himself putting his empty cup on the tray and stacking its contents to give his hands something to do for a moment before answering Dom's question. "Years. I guess I showed up to get away for a while and then never bothered to leave."

Oh, Dom would not object to being exploited. Not in the least. He placed his cup on the tray along with Billy's, staring down at the way their hands were nearly-but-not-quite touching. His were slightly tanned next to Billy's paler complexion--the Parisian sun had been doing him good, it seemed.

He coughed and looked up at Billy's face, before glancing downwards again. "I'll take this," he said, walking with the tray to the counter. "I've only been here a year. Fancied a change."

"Ta," Billy replied distractedly when Dom took the tray, his eyes tracing the other man's body briefly as he walked away before turning back to the books he had been stocking. "It's certainly a change. Do you have a job you like here at least?"

Dom leant against the counter and admired the way Billy's shirt clung to his upper arms as he stacked a few books onto a shelf above his head.

"I work at the English-language school at the bottom of the hill. I'm a teacher." Tilting his head to gaze at Billy's arse, Dom smiled vacantly and raised his eyebrows in approval.

"What age do you teach?" Billy asked, not noticing Dom's wandering eyes as he focused on putting the books in order.

"Young-uns," Dom said. "I'm fond of them all, even if they do drive me slightly insane. It's nice to have someone else to talk to apart from their parents, though," Dom said, meaning Billy. His eyes drunk in the sight of Billy's limbs stretching as he placed some more books in the correct order. Nice. Wonder what he'd look like all stretched out like that against a wall?

"Not many friends in Paris then?" Billy asked, doing his best to sound casual as he continued. "Boyfriend? Girlfriend?"

Yes, Billy. I have a boyfriend. This is exactly why I am spending my Saturday morning eyeing you up and imagining the two of us in some frankly very interesting scenarios and not being fucked into the mattress by a very sexy Frenchman.

Instead of saying what he thought, Dom laughed and shook his head. "No, not many friends. My French is too dodgy. And it's just me and a couple of fish back at my flat, definitely no boyfriend."

He stressed the 'boyfriend' part.

Billy didn't miss the emphasis, and he smiled to himself before turning back to Dom. "Well, if you ever need a hand with your French, just let me know. I suppose I'm near fluent by now."

The crushing realisation that Dom was going to do something he'd either regret or rejoice hit him, hard. He took a deep breath and grinned his best 'lovable rogue' grin, tipping his head back just slightly so his neck was exposed.

"Tell you what," he said, praying that he didn't look as much of a basket case as he felt. "I'll take you out to dinner and you can order for us, yeah?"

Carpe Diem, and what have you, after all.

Billy smiled to himself, detecting the bit of nervousness underneath the question despite Dom's overall goofy demeanour. So maybe there's hope for this one after all. "I have a proposition for you," he suggested, figuring he might as well go balls out given the interest the other man seemed to be showing. "I know this excellent place near the Panthéon, kind of off-the-beaten-path, no tourists. I'll buy you dinner, but you have to try to order in French. I'll help you--consider it a learning experience."

In his head, Billy thought of the lovely little bookshop across the street from Le Restaurant Perraudin, and the little avenues running along the neighbourhood behind the Sorbonne. If things went well, it would be an excellent first date location. And if not, at least he'd get a good meal out of it.

"That sounds..." Dom swallowed and grinned. "That sounds wonderful." He breathed a sigh of relief at the fact that Billy had not only accepted, but turned the tables on him a little. That was interesting. Like Billy himself, really. "Not sure about ordering in French, though."He laughed and grasped the back of his neck again, shifting from foot to foot. "And I insist we share the bill."

His mind was racing. What would he wear? What would he say? He'd already made himself sound like a prize knob and he had no wish to repeat the experience, at all. Time for a quick glance at The Times Online.

"Very modern of you," Billy teased. "I should warn you, I haven't been on a date since, oh, about nineteen ninety eight." Might as well put it out there, he reasoned, watching Dom closely as he leaned lightly against one of the shelves.

Date! A date! Billy says it's a date! Yes! Score! Hi-five to self! No, Dom, stop.

"I'm sure that's not going to be a problem at all," he said instead, grinning like he had a slight mental deficiency. "All it means is that I've got to make this date fantastic, so you're not put off in the future."

He wanted to bounce. Or, you know, squee. A date!

"I'd be amenable to that," Billy agreed with another teasing smile. "Would tonight be too soon?" he asked, hoping he picked up on the signals Dom was sending out correctly. The lad did seem a bit eager, after all, and he didn't want to wait all the way till next weekend. "I close the store early on Saturdays normally, could get cleaned up and then meet you back here around seven, take the métro over."

Glancing at his watch and composing himself in one last-ditch attempt not to come across as a rabid idiot, Dom nodded, still grinning.

"No time like the present, is there?" Exhaling slowly to calm himself down, Dom nodded his head again once more, decisively. "Right then. I shall see you back here at seven."

And with that, Dom exited the shop, glancing over his shoulder at Billy.

When at a suitable distance away from the shop and therefore completely certain Billy couldn't see him, Dom jumped in the air and whooped, scaring a flock of pigeons into flight.

Today was a good day.

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