Posted: September 2003
Title: Billy's Best Kiss
Author: Lemur
Type: RPS
Characters: Orlando, Billy
Rating: PG-13, for language
Author's Notes: I am bending the rules of time, space, Kiwi airport security and jet lag for my own purposes. Have no idea if flying from Wellington to Glasgow would cause jetlag and don't really care: In my fictional little world, it does. ?
Special thanks to my Alpha beta Maeve and my brilliant Scottish beta, Carrie, for helping my Billy sound that extra bit more authentic and dealing with the confusing U.S. airport terminology. ;) You guys are wonderful!
Dedications: For Maeve, the best person with whom to pull an all-nighter.
Summary: Billy always wondered: would it happen again?

---

Merry had an early date with Theoden, so Dom couldn't help. Frodo and Sam were still stranded in the Emyn Muir with Gollum while Aragorn and Gimli had to battle a small army of Uruk-Hai, so no one was left to take Billy to the airport except a certain Elf with a day off.

"Tomorrow? What time did you want me to come get you?" Orlando sounded groggy on the telephone; damn tired, no doubt.

"My flight's at two, so maybe midnight?"

"Why the hell are you taking such a late flight?"

"‘Cause that's when the plane was leaving for Glasgow. And midnight's only half-way through your usual shooting day anyway, so don't start girning."

"Don't start what?"

"You helping me or not?"

"Bloody hell." Orlando groaned and Billy heard the blankets rustling as he rolled over in bed. "I'll do it, but you'll owe me."

"No, I won't. You owed me from that night we went out clubbing and you forgot your dosh. This is just getting us even."

"Shit." Orlando sighed. "Fucking hobbit. I'll be there."

And so he was. At precisely midnight the next day, Orlando burst in through Billy's front door with just enough energy to show even those unfamiliar with the Helm's Deep night shoot that this boy had been up past his bedtime too many times in a row. Billy, on the other hand, was accustomed to cold glue on his feet at five a.m., so his spirits were considerably more subdued. "Get my shoulder bag and don't talk so loud."

"If I'm playing taxi and doing manual labor, I'm talking as loud as I want." Orlando picked Billy's suitcase off the floor and followed him toward the door.

In the car, some of Orlando's energy seeped into Billy and within minutes, they were fighting over the radio station (Orlando could be picky for a bloke with little interest in current music) and debating the effectiveness of shooting arrows versus throwing rocks "like a girl," as Orlando implied Pippin did, but even Orlando's inability to see the finer points of Hobbit-Fu couldn't entirely distract Billy's memory. He remembered the last time he'd been in a car alone with Orlando – and he could remember what had happened once they'd reached Billy's house.

Kissing a boy wasn't something a straight fellow like Billy was likely to forget.

He'd never gotten a sufficient explanation for that night, from either Orlando or himself. They were both emotionally puddled at the time, he supposed, and he tried to let it go. It was a brill night – one of the best he'd had – and he'd gotten a decent snog out of it, so what more could he want?

He discovered he could want a reason. He could want to know *why* Orlando had kissed him because, even though he'd been plastered, he'd been sober enough to remember that he hadn't initiated it. He'd asked for it, but he hadn't initiated it; it was a fine, but important line.

But the next day, Orlando had brought his car back to the house and acted as if nothing unusual had happened; so much so that for a brief instant, Billy wondered if maybe he'd gone out with Orlando's bizarrely mischievous twin instead. Billy just followed suit: if it wasn't a big deal to Orlando, it wasn't a big deal to him . . . Only, it was a big deal to him. Though he'd never say the exact words out loud, that night had meant a lot.

He'd made friends with the whole cast now and was growing closer to Dom than any of them, but Orlando was the first one he'd met, the one he'd flown with to this nutty country. For that reason, Billy always thought of he and Orlando as being linked. He had one very firm memory that always came into his mind whenever anyone mentioned their first weeks in New Zealand: he pictured Orlando lifting his bag from the baggage conveyor and turning to give him an excited nervous grin.

It had been such a small, insignificant moment at the time, but it had taken root in Billy's mind and become connected to everything about this experience. Whenever he stopped to think about where he was and what he was doing, he saw Orlando turning to grin excitedly at him, like they were beginning an adventure together. Whenever he thought about his future and how it would be after this, he saw Orlando lift his bag and grin excitedly at him. It was like a broken record, only comforting.

It seemed fitting that it was Orlando who found him that night Eva stood him up because the adventure of making "Rings," like the movie, was proving to be full of danger, happiness, laughter, heartache, and he and Orlando were in this together. Like Frodo and Sam with better fashion sense – at least on Billy's part.

As they drove toward the airport, Billy pushed all his nagging questions and curiosities from his mind as he had for weeks. But that night, the "date" he had had with Orlando, had changed their friendship in a small, but irrevocable way because there was one question Billy could never fully ignore:

Would it happen again?

Every time he was alone with Orlando, he wondered. He wondered if their usual joking would start to feel like flirting or if making plans to go surfing the next day would feel like setting up a second date. But most of all, he wondered if Orlando would kiss him again, if the circumstances and feelings of that one night could ever be reproduced. It wasn't necessarily that Billy *wanted* Orlando to kiss him; aside from it coming from a man, it hadn't really been that memorable a kiss; but a precedent had been set and now Billy wanted to know what they would do with it.

The only reason they'd gotten another two weeks without mentioning it was that they still weren't uncomfortable around one another. All hail indomitable friendships, Billy thought.

"You can just let me off," Billy said, as Orlando steered toward the car park.

"You still have an hour and a half till your flight takes off. I'll keep you company."

But upon arriving inside and claiming Billy's ticket, they found he had more than an hour and a half to wait. "It's been delayed till four?" Billy stared, dumbfounded, at the ticket assistant. "What happened to it?"

"Mechanical difficulties."

"Mechanical difficulties? Well, that makes a guy feel safe."

"At least they're late because they're fixing it, Bill." Orlando leaned casually on the counter. "They could have just said ‘bugger it' and crashed through the window right on time."

The clerk looked at him sharply. "Don't make jokes like that, sir. That could be considered a threat and I would have to notify security."

Orlando stood up straight, his brown eyes wide with apology. "Sorry. I was just . . ." Billy focused on the ticket in his hand to keep from laughing as Orlando rambled apologetically to the assistant.

"Shite." Billy glanced at the security checkpoint as he and Orlando wandered past. A small trickle of people filed through as the guards changed over. The overnight shift was just beginning. "Now, what do I do?"

Orlando shrugged. "Wait for your plane, I imagine. You hungry?"

"It's one in the morning."

"Hey, this is lunch time for me."

The airport shops and diners around them were all dark and gated; if it weren't for the continuing presence of security, it would have felt a lot like a ghost town, or those dead airports in "The Langoliers." "Hmmm…think a Chinese place would deliver?"

"Ooh, that's a great idea." Orlando rested a hand across his stomach. "Let's find a phone book."

An hour later, Orlando and Billy sat on the grass in a small circle of trees they'd found beside the car park, eating Chinese food and making shapes out of the clouds illuminated by the bright full moon.

"That one looks like a banana." Orlando popped a broccoli floret in his mouth and pointed into the sky with his chopsticks. "Halfway peeled."

"Didn't Freud have a theory about men who see peeled bananas in the sky?"

"Yeah, I think he said that sometimes a banana is just a banana."

Chewing, Billy lifted his eyes to the sky. "Mm, that one looks like a turtle. And look, he's moving in to bite the banana."

Orlando snorted a laugh. "Freud definitely had a theory about blokes who see things *biting* peeled bananas in the sky." Orlando finagled a baby corn between his chopsticks. "And a turtle, no less," he added.

"What do you mean ‘and a turtle, no less'?" Billy nearly choked on his lo mein, laughing. "What the fuck would a turtle have to do with Freud? How does that make it any worse?" Billy clutched his stomach as Orlando threw back his head, laughing helplessly.

"I have no idea what I meant by that," Orlando said, chuckling.

Billy almost dropped his carton of food in his hysterics and it was a good five minutes before they were in any condition to finish their midnight lunch and walk back into the airport to catch Billy's flight.

"Delayed till six?! Now, what's up with it?" Billy stared accusingly at the departure boards.

Orlando put his hands up in surrender. "I have a thousand jokes, but I'm not saying anything. Got my arse yelled at last time."

"Double shite. I'll have to be back here before I even leave." Billy slung his bag over his shoulder, not even bothering to ignore how sick and tired he was of carrying it around. "You can go on home if you want. I'll probably just find some place quiet and crash."

"You can't sleep." Orlando took the bag from Billy's shoulder and hooked it over his own. "The jetlag'll kill you. You should wait and sleep on the plane. Come on."

Billy followed Orlando as he started walking down the terminal. His eyelids were starting to feel incredibly heavy. He'd gotten himself this far with the continued promise of sleep, but now that sleep time was getting farther and farther away and his body was beginning to suspect his promises were lies. "That's another four hours, Orli. I can't stay up another four hours. I'm usually at Feet in three."

"Oh, come on. It'll be better for you, I'm serious. It'll be good."

"You don't have to stay, you know."

"That's not gonna work. I'm not going to leave just so you can sleep." Smiling, Orlando slid Billy's bag up onto the conveyor belt through the x-ray machine. "How long will you be gone?"

"A week."

"A whole week?" Orlando gave an exaggerated frown. "See? I have to stay and savor the last few hours of Billy-time."

"Oh, yeah," Billy said with a long yawn. "This is going to be quality Billy-time."

Billy dutifully tramped along beside Orlando as they walked deeper and deeper into the airport. Even the hard floor began to look like a comfortable place to curl up for a quick nap, but Orlando kept walking along, talking to him, insisting he talk back until they discovered a closed ticket counter. Orlando dropped Billy's bag to the floor and the two of them hopped up on the desk. After the fifteen minute walk, Billy was feeling good: His second wind had hit, six a.m. didn't feel so far away and there was something bizarrely intriguing about sitting in a dark airport on a ticket counter they would have never been allowed behind during business hours.

Gradually, Billy's questions returned, floating through his mind just behind his thoughts. That night had felt a little like this: Orlando laughing and smiling, Billy laughing and smiling (and not working at his cognitive highest as the evening wore on) alone in a dark, cozy place. Granted, a ticket counter was significantly less homey than a booth at a pub, but the two of them were the same. Sitting side-by-side, reclining against the raised security shelf, shoulders touching, faces only inches apart . . .

Listening as Orlando talked, Billy just smiled. Warm and comfortable, sleep began to fuzz his thoughts. But he was still enjoying Orlando's company.

His clouded eyes liked watching Orlando's lips bend and curl as he spoke, his white teeth flashing with his smiles, and Billy's sleepy ears liked listening to the ebb and flow of Orlando's speech, the deep whispers, and that funny, almost shrill excited squeal. Orlando was entertaining to watch and listen to even when one had no clue what he was prattling on about.

"Bill, you awake?" Orlando nudged Billy on the shoulder and smiled, white teeth peeking out from between curling lips.

"Of course, I am," Billy replied quite clearly, but Orlando laughed and hopped down from the counter.

"I'm going to take that mumbling as a ‘no'." Orlando tugged on Billy's arms and pulled him down to stand beside him.

Billy shook his head vigorously, trying to shake the sleep from his mind. "What time is it?"

Orlando glanced at his watch. "Almost four thirty."

"Agh. I can't stay up for another hour and a half."

"Sure, you can. You can do it. Come on. We'll go for a wander."

Orlando hooked his arm around Billy's shoulder, grabbed the carry-on and they headed down the corridor. Billy slowly felt the sleep dissolving from his limbs and began walking steadily beside Orlando, feeling rather breezy again; a third wind perhaps. As they passed a set of monitors, Billy paused.

"Delayed till eight!? What the bloody hell!? I could have swimmed to Glasgow by pissing now! Jesus Christ and – and all the bloody apostles, too."

Orlando bent over, his hands braced on his knees laughing hysterical as Billy fumed back and forth in front of the monitors.

"What's going on? This is totally fucking loopy!"

"But - " Orlando stood tall and heaved a breath, trying to regain control of his lungs through a laughing fit. "But at least you're awake now."

"Fucking shite." Billy rubbed at his tired, angry eyes. "We better find out that they're building the bloody thing from scratch."

Considerably rumpled in spirits, Billy continued wandering about the darkened airport with Orlando. They wandered until Billy's legs began to ache and sleep had almost completely vacated his mind. At seven-thirty, they checked the boards again to find the schedule hadn't changed. Billy didn't trust it, but they turned their wandering feet toward the gate to tempt fate just the same.

The morning changeover was beginning as Orlando and Billy approached security and the day guards milled, chatting with the night guards. Orlando picked up the bag from the conveyor belt and Billy strolled beside him, heading toward the ticket counter they had claimed as their own. For part of the way, a rather corpulent night guard ambled beside them, his path mirroring their own – and his scent overpowering their airspace.

Billy noticed first and his nose twisted, as if preparing to leap off his face if it became necessary. As the man's odor wafted around him, Billy peered over at Orlando, who still walked calmly and silently . . . until his face contorted in a startled grimace and his large eyes bugged out in shock.

Billy immediately glanced away because he could feel the pressure building in his chest: he was about to laugh. He felt terrible about it; it was a mean thing to laugh; but he'd been without sleep for a long, long time: everything was funny and Orlando's eyes suddenly bugging out like that –

Billy quickly shifted his eyes to his feet, focusing on his shoes stepping one in front of the other over the zigzag design on the carpet. Beside him, Orlando coughed and Billy nearly let out a huge guffaw at just that.

Finally, the man turned down a service hallway and Billy and Orlando continued down the corridor into fresher air. As soon as they were out of earshot, Billy broke down laughing.

"Oh, now, that's just unfortunate." Orlando rubbed at his wounded nose, looking back at where the man's scent had left their presence. "I guess that's what happens after eight hours on the late shift."

Billy shook his head emphatically, calming his laughs. "No way. You spend the whole late shift fighting off Orcs in a leather tunic and even you don't smell *that* bad afterward."

"I pride myself on my aroma, what can I say?"

Billy gripped Orlando's shoulder, leaning on him for support until he managed to stop laughing. With a long exhalation, he began breathing normally once again. "You do usually smell pretty good." He sniffed near Orlando's neck, inhaling a faded aftershave and Orlando's own, particular scent. "Yeah, not too bad."

"Well, you know, I knew I was going to see you. Have to smell my best." Orlando started toward the deserted ticket counter with Billy in tow.

His hand still on Orlando's shoulder and the scent of Orlando's cologne still in his nose, Billy followed almost dazedly, sleep and scent and sensation mixing and swirling in his mind. Would it happen again? he wondered. But then, the question transformed:

Could he *make* it happen again?

"Does this count as our second date, then?"

Orlando peered at him out of the corner of his eye as a small smile quirked on his lips. "If it does, then this is a shit second date. First time out, there was wining and dining and now you just have ripe security guards and a closed McDonald's?"

"Well, what do you expect? Didn't get much out of that first date." Billy smiled, narrowing his eyes. Orlando blushed. Billy couldn't believe it, but Orlando actually blushed; it was easily the funniest thing he had seen all night, but for some reason, he didn't feel like laughing.

"I remember it a bit differently," Orlando said. "Maybe you were just too pissed."

"No, I remember." Billy's voice came out serious when he'd wanted it to sound like he was joking, playing along, throwing out another barb of harmless innuendo, but instead, it had almost sounded like a confession.

Orlando glanced at him, then hopped up on the ticket counter, letting the carry-on slip down his arm onto the floor. "Well, that's a relief." He said it casually enough, but his eyes stayed fixed on the ground. "Wouldn't want to be a forgettable date."

Billy tried to think of a clever comeback, some way to keep the conversation light and not take them places they weren't ready to go, but his mind was empty, except for all those questions.

He lifted himself up onto the counter beside Orlando. God, he thought, this feels strange. Orlando, his friend, his buddy, his Sam through this bizarre adventure, and suddenly, Billy was very aware that Orlando had a body. Not just a body for surfing and drinking and sword practice, but for touching and feeling.

He could look at Orlando's arms and not see ‘just arms.' Instead, he could see smooth skin and archer's muscles, stretching sinew and warm flesh as Orlando moved to scratch his knee. Despite all the long nights of drinking and talking about old girlfriends, Billy had never noticed that Orlando had a body capable of making love and of being made love to.

"Uh . . ." he cleared his throat, unable to lift his eyes from the fraying shirt cuff stretched tight over Orlando's upper arm. "Well, I mean. It wasn't forgettable exactly, but I've, uh, I've had better."

Orlando smirked slowly. "Really?"

"Yeah, but that's okay, you know? You got the looks; you don't have to be good at kissing."

At that, Orlando lifted his head, looking him dead in the eye. Challenge accepted, thought Billy. "I know how to kiss," Orlando said.

"Hey, I wasn't saying you didn't." Billy raised his hands in false earnestness. "But remember, I've been on the receiving end, so I know what I'm talking about."

"I was holding back ‘cause you were pissed. Didn't want to knock you off your wobbly little legs."

"Uh-huh. I'm sure."

"Oh, let's go." Orlando slipped off the counter. "Come on."

"Go where? What?"

Orlando pulled on Billy's hand. "I demand a rematch or whatever."

That kick-started Billy's heart and set it to pounding. "Why do we have to go somewhere for that?" Billy asked, but slid down from the counter all the same. He felt a nervous tingle when he noticed that his hand was still in Orlando's.

"Because people." Orlando nodded his head toward the chatting security guards. "I don't want them to see."

"Oh, wait, wait." Billy scoffed and allowed Orlando to pull him toward a concealed alcove along the wall. "Mr. Extreme Sports is afraid of public snogging? You'll jump out of a suspended cable car, but you get nervous if a couple people see – "

Billy's sentence died a quick, pleasant death when he reached the alcove and was literally attacked. Orlando closed his mouth over Billy's and within the first three seconds, Billy had to admit defeat: Orlando did know how to kiss.

At the first soft swipe of Orlando's tongue, Billy's knees gave out and he collapsed ungracefully against the wall like a schoolgirl getting her first real kiss. Orlando followed, his lips never breaking contact and his arms bracing against the wall on either side of Billy's head to keep their bodies from crashing into contact, which, at that exact moment, Billy appreciated and resented in equal parts. The warmth radiating from Orlando was cozy and inviting, but sleep had never been further from Billy's mind.

For a few dazed moments, Billy allowed himself to be soundly snogged, letting Orlando push his mouth open wider and delve his tongue deeper. But after the initial shock wore off, Billy fought back. He trailed his tongue over Orlando's, tasting mint and soy, and followed it back into the warmth of Orlando's mouth. Orlando let out a low, hungry breath and a thrill sizzled up Billy's body.

A lass had never kissed Billy like this – all hot and heat and gnashing teeth, not afraid to draw blood if the passion insisted – and he had certainly never dared initiate anything this intense and demanding; Billy was a gentleman. But he was never on his best behavior with Orlando anyway.

His hands fisted in Orlando's shirt, trying to pull himself up to his height and give himself better access to that incredible mouth and when that failed, he pawed mindlessly at the strong arms enclosing him, clamoring for leverage, and damning his hobbit height.

His hands slid over flexed muscle as Orlando continued to press against the wall, holding his body distant and on more than one level, holding *them* distant. Billy knew that would be the end, the moment they were body to body, because that would reveal what drove this, if more than just their lips were invested in this kiss. As he felt Orlando's hold beginning to quake, Billy simultaneously craved it and feared it. Every part of him was actively participating in this kiss: his lips, his tongue, his mind, his hands, his heart; and a distinct heat was beginning to pool between his legs – how could it not when Orlando kept flicking his tongue like that? – but Orlando was his friend. Just his friend. And friendship should be above the belt.

But then Billy saw that image again, that brief, comforting image of a turned smile at the baggage claim. This was just another adventure he and Orlando were on together. Just another loony scheme that would make no sense two years from now, out of this context. Something that only Orlando would ever understand. So, it didn't matter if Billy's body was the only one growing aroused and desiring what lay beyond this, desiring whatever Orlando had to give. It didn't matter because Orlando would understand.

Billy's wrapped his arms around Orlando's shoulders, ready and willing to hang from his neck like a tie if it would give him the contact he wanted. He wanted to feel as much of Orlando as he could, he almost felt as if even that wouldn't be enough: he wanted to devour Orlando, absorb him. He succeeded only in pulling Orlando down to his height. With a soft gasp of defeat, Orlando wrapped his arms around Billy's back and they collapsed against the wall, bodies meeting from shoulders to knees.

Billy wasn't the only one wholly invested in the kiss.

And then, suddenly, a heavenly light switched on. Billy and Orlando reclaimed their tongues and swiftly stepped away from one another. His mind spinning, Billy stared at the ground. He didn't know why there was light where there had been nice, good dark, but as the passion-haze began to clear, he realized lights were flickering on all along the terminal.

The airport was opening for the day.

Billy raised his eyes to see Orlando standing in front of him, looking flushed and confused. His shirt lay haphazardly against his chest, two vaguely fist-shaped creases warping the fabric. "So," Orlando said with forced nonchalance, catching his breath, "did I win?"

Billy smiled slowly and just as he was about to reply, a ticket clerk strode behind their counter and began switching on the computers. She glanced curiously at them before looking to her work.

"Oh, sorry." Orlando darted over and pulled the shoulder bag out of her way on the floor. Behind him, Billy saw the gate open and a stream of people poured into the terminal.

"My plane's here." It seemed unreasonable to be disappointed after all this waiting, and yet, he was.

"And you stayed awake until it got here. Now, you can go sleep on the plane and wake up in Glasgow, jetlag free."

"Thanks for that," Billy said, and he wasn't exactly sure which part he was thanking him for.

Orlando smiled, his cheekbones tinged with pink. "Likewise."

Billy stared out the window of the plane as it backed away from the terminal. Orlando's form was already reduced to a dark beanpole through the cloudy glass, but Billy could see that the beanpole was waving and so he waved back. He didn't know what this was between him and Orlando or why it was happening, but as sleep began to sweep over his thoughts once more, he decided that for the next few hours, he wouldn't care. All that mattered was that he had a soft pillow beneath his head, a warm blanket across his shoulders and the memory of one majorly great kiss taking residence in his subconscious.

All other concerns would have to wait.

*****

THE END

Go to the next story in the series: Billy's Best [Bleep]

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