Posted: December 2003
Title: Billy's Best [Bleep]
Author: Lemur
Type: RPS
Characters: Billy/Orlando
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I don't know these boys and this didn't happen – if I did and it had, I would have video proof . . . possibly DVD.
Beta: My Alpha-Beta Maeve and my fantabulous Scottish Beta Carrie, who helped my Billy sound properly Scottish even when aroused. Any non-Scottish slang that escapes Billy's lips is my own fault.
Warnings: Umm…RPS, lots of cussing, and an author's uneven attention to two orgasms.
Author's Notes: I tried to be as anatomically realistic as possible, but some reality has been bent in the name of fun and fiction. Also, for the sake of the plot of this series, I really had to pull myself out of my usual happy RPS world wherein these boys shag each other rotten at the drop of a hat and try to focus on what two straight boys would honestly be up for (pun not intended, but readily accepted) in this situation. It wasn't easy, but hopefully this fits the flow of "Date" and "Kiss." Enough of that writery nonsense – on to the fic!
Summary: Billy and Orlando just keep pushing their heterosexual envelopes.

*****

Almost all of Orlando's best stories came from the unbelievable schemes he and his friends cooked up back in his London clubbing days. Orlando hadn't changed much since then, so when the resident club-kid-to-the-core opted out of an evening of drinking and dancing, Billy had to investigate.

"So what's this about you not coming then?" Billy stood at Orlando's front door, dressed in his clubbing gear and fully prepared to drag Orlando with him.

"Hey, Bill," Orlando greeted sedately. He wore a ripped pair of jeans and a worn t-shirt – not his clubbing attire – with the portable phone still in his hand. "Come on in."

"What're you doing that's so important you couldn't come out and get plastered with your mates?"

"I just got off the phone with Marie about three seconds ago."

"Ah." Billy anticipated and duly ignored the twinge of jealousy. "How's she?"

"She's okay." Orlando wandered away from him to hang up the phone. The last time Billy'd seen him this uninspired, the lad had been asleep.

"You coming out then?"

"Not tonight. Thanks, though. Tell the others I'll make it up to them later; first round Saturday is on me."

Billy stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Opportunity for alone time achieved, he thought; motive will remain unquestioned. "We'll tell ‘em tomorrow. You got any ales? Or do you just have that American piss ‘Lijah made you buy?" He could hear Orlando's bare feet padding after him as he strode into the kitchen.

"You don't have to stay."

"I do, actually. I was supposed to bring you back with me or stay and nag at you as punishment." He grabbed a bottle of ale from the refrigerator and turned to him. "You're stuck with me."

Billy waited to drink as Orlando stared at him. Then, slowly, a smile spread across Orlando's face. "Toss me a bottle of that watered-down American shit, will ya? I feel like getting pissed."

And pissed they got – lounging on the couch with the lights off and some home design show on the telly, having a drunken conversation behind the forest of empty bottles on the coffee table – and all along, this was what Billy had wanted: a night alone with Orlando. It was surprisingly difficult to get one-on-one time with anyone when five good friends had roughly the same schedule and always someone in their cast of hundreds was throwing a party or a barbeque or a bar mitzvah. Billy hadn't quite figured out how to tactfully request to be alone with Orlando without raising suspicion, which was a priority only because he didn't know how to explain it if he was asked. Well, you see, Orli and I, we're just mates, right? But sometimes we snog – and damn, but the lad can snog.

Billy had never before craved a specific snog. He'd craved general snogging before, along with a good, anonymous shag, if one could be had, but never a specific type of snog from a specific person. But he craved Orlando's. He actually felt thirsty for it at times, which was a new and entirely unsettling experience for him.

After a couple weeks of soul-searching, starting the moment his plane landed in Glasgow after kissing Orlando at the airport (the lack of jetlag allowed him to think crisply and clearly about what the hell he had just done seven hours ago), Billy had decided not to worry about what this all really meant. He still fancied the lasses and didn't want to snog any of the other hobbits, so he figured whatever it was between Orlando and him was . . . between Orlando and him.

He'd gone on his date with Eva. He'd gone on two dates with Eva, but they were mediocre in comparison to that one weird date with Orlando and the kissing had been somewhat less than satisfying. Billy knew two things and realized there was a third he didn't know, but it would come up eventually: He knew he wasn't in love with Orlando (though he suspected he might enjoy dating him all the same). He knew he wasn't switching teams in the game of love, as it were. But what he didn't know was how far both those "knows" would bend when he found himself alone with Orlando again.

And so, like a moth to a flame, or a frightened kid to a scary show, Billy had to go.

Not an hour after they'd sat on the couch, things started to get weird in the most intriguing way possible. Orlando's head gradually made its way to Billy's shoulder and somehow, Billy didn't know exactly how, his own hand had come to rest on Orlando's knee. He was too self-conscious to squeeze or pat, so instead his hand just rested there, feeling heat and muscle beneath denim. Billy had never sat like that with a mate. He'd never sat so close for so long, not wanting to move away because his body tingled wherever it touched Orlando's. It was terrifying and comforting at the same time.

‘Course, if anyone came in right now, they'd have a hard time explaining themselves.

Orlando laughed weakly into his bottle when Billy confessed he rather liked the cartoon fishy shower curtain on the telly and self-conscious, wandering hands aside, they were having such an unassuming, effortlessly good time that Billy thought he'd heard wrong when, just as the home designers were installing the new curtain rods, Orlando said softly, "She broke up with me."

Billy looked down, the bottle halfway to his mouth. With Orlando's head on his shoulder, all he could see was smooth forehead, elegantly arching eyebrows and the delicate slant of a nose. Orlando blinked slowly and Billy saw that too, could watch the dark feathers of his long eyelashes fall and rise. "Oh . . . it wasn't ‘cause of me, was it?"

Orlando laughed, which is exactly what Billy had been aiming for. "Nah. Is that even cheating, you think? Two straight blokes having a snog?"

"I dunno," he said, but if he had a girlfriend who felt about one of her friends the way he felt about Orlando right now, he would definitely consider it cheating. He rubbed his hand minutely over the scratchy fabric covering Orlando's knee; if he needed an excuse, he could always say his palm itched. "Why'd she break it off, then?"

"I don't know." Orlando rubbed his forehead, his eyes closed tight. "Some shit about me being too far away, physically and emotionally, and that she doesn't think we have much in common any more. It's all that shit that's true, you know? So all I can do is sit there and say ‘but I love you' and sound like a total wanker for two hours."

"You said ‘but I love you' for two hours?"

"Variations. It was not my best argument." Orlando took another drink of his beer and as he tipped his head back, Billy saw a glimpse of deep, worried eyes staring absently forward. "But whatever, you know. Fuck it. Fuck girls."

"That's usually the goal, yeah."

Orlando smiled. "Yeah, I guess. But I've been thinking ‘bout going poof anyway."

"You too?" Billy joked, but his heart started to dully pound, reverberating through his chest.

"It's a growth industry." Orlando played absently with the hand on his knee, lifting the index finger and letting it drop, lightly stroking the nail with his fingertip.

"Good dental plan."

Orlando snorted. "Yeah, the dental plan's pretty important. But here's what I don't get about that." He rolled onto his back and the hand on his knee slid over his leg with the movement. It was now much closer to thigh than knee. Billy's hand twitched, but he left it where it was. His stomach fluttered.

"You don't get about what?"

"They're obviously imaginative blokes; the ones who laid down the rules anyway, the ancient Greeks maybe; and they've found a use for every orifice, but – "

"Every expandable orifice."

"Right," Orlando said. "Yeah, the expandable part's important. But – I get the mouth stuff, ‘cause I fancy that myself – but I've never understood their fascination with the arse, you know? I mean, can that even feel good, having something shoved up there?

"Are you asking me because you think I'll know?" Billy laughed.

"No, I'm asking you because you're here when the thought occurred to me." He sounded honest enough, but Billy possessively hoped that the thought wouldn't have occurred to Orlando with anyone but him.

Billy looked down at the numerous bottles covering the table. Ah, demon ale, he thought, because he could feel the sentence forming in his mind, sparkling synapses traveling down, giving the message to his nose, then realizing their drunken mistake, moving on and delivering it to his mouth, convinced it was exactly what should be said right now.

"You wanna try it?"

Orlando laughed suddenly, his voice rising to a pitch high enough to be startling coming from a man. "Are you serious!?"

"No." Yes. "But I had to say it. You left it wide open."

"Interesting choice of words there, mate." Orlando looked up at him and Billy could almost see the wheels turning in his mind; already, a curious light glimmered in his eyes and his talented, little lips were near enough to kiss. Must get to the kissing somehow. "Would you wanna?"

"Would you?"

Orlando shrugged noncommittally. "I don't know. Would you?"

"Eventually, one of us is going to have to actually answer this bloody question, you know."

"All right . . . I'm up for it - if you are."

"Another interesting choice of words." Billy smiled unsteadily. "I'm up for it – if you are."

And they both just sat there on the couch, looking at one another and not moving. Orlando's bare foot tapped nervously against the carpet as he stared at Billy, that bright, intrigued look in his eyes.

Finally, Billy let out a laugh. "Were you just taking a poll or what?"

Orlando hopped up from the couch, wobbling a little on inebriated legs. "All right. We'd need some sort of lubricant or something, right?" He stumbled off toward the kitchen and Billy followed.

"I thought you didn't know anything about this."

"I don't, but I know that. I mean, think about it." He pulled his refrigerator door open wide, illuminating the kitchen in yellow light. "It has to be something slick, squishy-like, right?"

Billy peered at the sparse contents. "How about mayonnaise? That's slick."

"Ugh. I don't want to smell like mayonnaise. Spoiled mayo smells something awful."

"How long you planning to leave it up there?!"

"I don't know! I don't know what I'm doing!" Orlando laughed and wiggled the door nervously, rattling the shelves. "But dark, warm places . . . shouldn't use things that spoil."

"Then shouldn't be looking in the fridge." Billy shoved the door closed and headed for the bathroom. "Don't you just have some normal Vaseline or something like that?"

"No, but oh!" Orlando threw aside his shower curtain and grabbed one of the bottles from the edge of the tub. "Conditioner. Conditioner would work, right?"

"I think so." Billy examined the label. "And hey, great, your arse will be shiny and manageable and smell like kiwi, kumquats and figs."

Snickering, Orlando opened a drawer and fished out a few condoms. "These are all I have in here."

"Why the hell do you have so many in here? Does your bathroom see a lot of action? …Or are you just really careful with yourself?"

"They seemed like a bathroom thing when I was moving in; I don't know." Orlando turned around and assessed the situation. "Think maybe we should do this in here?"

Billy liked how they were carefully not giving a name to "this." "That would make sense. For clean-up."

"Bloody bright lights, though."

"Yeah." Billy squinted up at the harsh white light flooding the room, illuminating all shadows, leaving everything naked to the eye. Perfect light for a bathroom normally, but for their uses: "Too bloody bright."

"Would it be too poof of me to light some candles or something?"

Billy raised an eyebrow.

"Right. I'll get the candles."

As Orlando rounded up the candles scattered throughout his house, Billy waited for him with a bottle of conditioner and a handful of condoms. What the hell are we doing? he wondered. But he didn't have an answer for himself. He hadn't had an answer for anything he'd done with Orlando so far and this was just another link in one majorly loony chain. As much as Billy knew he could call this all off, maybe even *should* call it off, he didn't want to. He was curious and nervous, and on a level he wouldn't acknowledge, he wanted it.

So far away from home, friends, family, the proper circles for dating and those ex-girlfriends good a comfort shag: Visiting home for a week had only made him realize how long it'd been since he'd been touched by someone who loved him, and ironically, these years in New Zealand were proving to be the time in his life he'd craved it most. Trying to go to sleep at night, he would stare at his blank walls and his body just felt cold and useless. He wanted the warmth of another body, that feeling of looking into someone's eyes and *feeling* them looking back – and seeing only you. He wanted someone who felt as lonely as he did.

"Well, credit to Marie." Orlando returned, his arms cradling four large candles. "I think she got me all these bloody things."

"I doubt she wanted you to use ‘em like this."

"All the more reason to then, right?" Orlando flashed him a grin and Billy to smile back.

All Billy's unacknowledged needs aside, Orlando wasn't just a warm body to him, not at all. He was Orlando who had four different books on his bedside table and read two pages out of each every night because he couldn't decide which one to read first, Orlando who liked to jump off of bridges simply because he'd never done it before, Orlando who had begun this whole experience with him, smiling nervously at him beside the baggage conveyor. He was smart, zany, friendly Orlando and in that light, all of this made perfect sense – sort of.

Within two minutes, Orlando's unfairly spacious (in comparison to Billy's) bathroom was alight with candles, all of different scents. It smelled vaguely like either a flower shop or a bakery was on fire. Maybe both.

"All right." Orlando blew out the last match and then turned, fidgeting, toward Billy. "You wanna go first?"

With the door closed behind them and the candlelight reflecting off the mirror, the room looked uncomfortably romantic. Or it looked like they were going to try to contact the dead, but Billy was going mainly with romantic. The orange flames flickered off the tiled walls and the towels lying out on the floor made it clear that something unusual was about to happen. Even drunk, Billy knew this was unusual.

"Uh, your idea, you go first," Billy replied, feeling his stomach knot with nerves.

"Is that a punishment or a reward?" Orlando laughed and lowered himself to the towel-covered floor. He rested on his back and bent his knees before letting out a long breath. "Why are we doing this?"

Billy fumbled to open one of the condom packets. "Because we're drunk. And curious."

"Ace. Two things known to cause death."

"If we die doing this . . ."

"We'll have interesting epitaphs, that's for certain." Orlando bunched a hand towel under his head as a pillow.

"They died as they lived."

"What? Experimenting with buggery?!" Orlando threw his head back in a long laugh and Billy snickered as he finally liberated the condom from its foil confines.

"Um . . . Okay, let's just not die doing this, right?" Billy awkwardly slid the latex down over his index finger. It wouldn't be true buggery, as it were, because Billy knew they weren't ready for that – they both knew that. This, they could do, long snogging they could do, but to touch one another, to really touch one another, naked and hard, that was too big a step, too soon. And moreover, Billy didn't want to do it. He'd never touched another man's cock and was in no hurry to change that. That seemed to him to be the one action that could burst this bubble he and Orlando existed in from time to time.

It was easy to pretend this was just some random experimentation between friends; that was common enough; but Billy knew how attached he felt to Orlando, how, even romantically, all the women on the set paled in comparison to him and that was raising some questions that frightened him on a deep, unconscious level. This was his sexuality he was toying with here. To have something that should be ingrained and primal and taken for granted be so much in flux was like standing on a loose rope bridge and trying to feel steady. He didn't doubt for a moment that Orlando felt the same way.

Billy tossed aside the ripped wrapper and grabbed the bottle of conditioner in his free hand. He distantly felt a determined scowl settled across his features as he advanced toward Orlando with his hands at the ready, conditioner in one, and a condom-covered index finger on the other. In his head, he hummed a vague battle march.

Orlando lifted his head to look at him through his raised knees. "You look like the weirdest shampoo advert ever."

"Yeah." Billy chuckled. "I use only kumquat conditioner for all my drunken sexual experimentation."

"Four out of five dentists agree!"

Then, the room fell eerily silent. The hiss and spit of wet wax in flame and the scuffing sound of Billy's denim-clad knees shifting over the towels were mere whispers in the quiet. The knot in Billy's stomach tightened as he reached his destination, hovering over Orlando's bent knees. His gaze only darted toward the back pockets of the jeans still covering where he was supposed to be going. He swallowed dryly and his eyes flickered up to Orlando just in time to see him swallow too, his eyes focused determinedly on the ceiling. Billy's heart beat so forcefully, he could feel his arms quaking with the rush of blood.

"So . . . what now?"

"Well, I'm not . . ." Orlando's eyes stayed trained on some distance point in the air. "I'm not exactly *in* the moment, at the moment."

"Oh." Billy glanced at Orlando's groin. There certainly didn't seem to be much going on down there, not that Billy could blame him; he was so nervous, he didn't think he'd be able to get it up either. "Do you want me to see if I can . . . get you in the moment?" It went unspoken that there was at least one historical instance of Billy managing to get Orlando in the moment.

"Yeah, okay."

Oh, good, Billy thought eagerly. Kissing. He set the conditioner down and lay on the floor beside Orlando. In this new anticipation of the snogging he'd so desired, he forgot about the condom on his finger and tucked his arms under his chest to give him enough height to loom over Orlando, their mouths just inches apart.

Orlando swallowed again and his eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling. Even Billy had to admit this felt different. His heart thudded harshly against his folded arms and he had to concentrate to remember to breathe in and out, in and out, knowing with every breath in, he inhaled some of Orlando. This kiss felt heavier than the others had. It wasn't something they were stumbling on after a night of weird tension; this kiss was the means to an end . . . as it were.

"Just fucking kiss me already," Orlando said. "Or do I always have to be the one to start it, you wussy little hobbit."

Billy grinned and pressed his mouth against Orlando's, determined to show he could play offensive just as well as defensive. Judging by the pleasantly surprised mewl that escaped Orlando's lips, he succeeded. Billy was a bit surprised himself by that sudden burst of heat and comfort, and that special elation making his heartbeat quicken. He always forgot how great it felt to touch someone.

Billy's sucked Orlando's tongue into his mouth and curled his own around it. This was exactly what he'd wanted; that flavor, that pressure, that dexterity of lips that was pure Orlando. He had been craving this the way he craved a good malt whiskey, and that was saying a lot.

Orlando lifted his hand to grip Billy's shoulder, pulling him nearer and Billy complied. Knowing their intentions for the night, it didn't seem like a big deal to rest himself across Orlando's chest when Orlando threaded his fingers through his hair and it didn't seem unreasonable to lightly rub the nipple he felt through the shirt beneath his latex-covered finger. Orlando arched into the touch as well he could with Billy nearly on top of him.

If all blokes kissed like Orlando, Billy definitely understood what poofs got out of it; if he weren't already on the floor, he would have ended up their sooner or later. Something Orlando kept managing to do with his bottom lip directly affected his knees and that sound, that low, half-moan in the back of Orlando's throat, went straight to his cock. If Orlando wasn't in the moment yet, Billy would have gladly taken his turn. He was in the moment and then some.

But he felt one hand leave his head and brush past his on its way down Orlando's chest. His lips still in the kiss, Billy opened one eye to see Orlando's hand hesitating at the waist of his jeans, too shy to attend to the growing bulge in the denim.

Billy pulled his tongue from Orlando's mouth. "Pissing do it already if you're gonna to do it. Don't get bashful now."

"Jesus Christ. All right." Orlando slipped his hand down the front of his jeans and gripped himself firmly, letting out a grunting hiss with the first touch.

"Right. So you're in the moment, right?"

Orlando's body shuddered as his hand moved beneath his jeans. "Right."

Billy had to go in for one last taste of those lips. "Right." Then, he lifted himself from Orlando's chest and scarpered back to his previous position.

Noticeably flushed even in candlelight, Orlando lifted his shirt off over his head and unfastened his jeans. Billy had seen Orlando naked several times during quick changes before nights out, but seeing him naked and aroused was rather different. As Orlando slid out of his jeans and boxers, Billy couldn't keep his eyes from looking at the juncture of his legs, waiting to see his erection slip free.

It wasn't until Orlando ungracefully yanked his trousers off his feet and tossed the whole jumbled mess into the bathtub that Billy got his first good glimpse and he let out a subtle sigh to see he wouldn't measure up too badly. Of course, he and Orlando would never be able to make boasts about large cock sizes since the truth would be known between them, but that wasn't difficult to let go. Orlando was, in Billy's uninformed estimation anyway, a good length. Not freakishly long or wide; not intimidating. Just a nice, handsome cock, if such a thing existed. Quite nice really, in a naked Roman statue sort of way.

Orlando poured some conditioner onto his palm to ease his wanking – a method Billy suspected he'd used before, which made him wonder why he hadn't suggested the conditioner in the first place - and rolled the bottle across the floor to Billy.

"Okay." Billy turned his attentions lower, where they were supposed to be. "You ready?"

"Probably not, but go ahead." Orlando let out a nervous, breathy laugh. He closed his eyes as he uneasily spread his legs to give better access. He took his cock in his slicked hand, stroking lightly. "God, we're fucking barmy."

"You're just noticing now?"

Billy was hardly well versed in the diversity of blokes' backsides, but Orlando's looked pretty nice to him: taut, round, smooth and even. If he were a poof, he'd be all over Orlando. He let out a snort at his own thoughts: he *wasn't* a poof and he was all over Orlando.

"What?"

"You should never go to South Soho," Billy said. "You'd be mobbed."

Orlando tried to laugh, but it just came out in a shaky breath and his eyes closed a bit tighter.

Billy popped the cap on the conditioner and squeezed some onto his hand, liberally coating his condomed finger. Looniest thing he'd ever done, that was for certain, and his heart wouldn't stop pounding. Setting the bottle back on the ground and wiping the excess conditioner off his palm onto the towel, he inched forward, gripping one of Orlando's bare knees with a trembling hand. As he pushed Orlando's legs farther apart, two thoughts occurred to him: One, he wasn't drunk anymore, which meant he was doing this stone cold sober and Two, holy shite! That's a wee opening! No way blokes got a whole, full-sized tossel in there.

Orlando cleared his throat uncomfortably. "What're you doing?"

"Just, uh . . . planning."

"Planning? Fucking do it already."

Billy swallowed once and let his hand fall into the shadows cast by Orlando's legs. Taking a deep breath, he gently touched the dark hole. Orlando tensed, the muscles in his arse clenching. "It's okay, mate," Billy heard himself saying. "I won't hurt you."

"You didn't. That conditioner's fucking freezing."

"Oh, sorry. Can't really help that." Billy pressed gently again and then, he pushed just a bit harder than he'd intended. He found his fingertip gripped by a tight ring of muscle.

He froze.

Orlando froze.

The candles hissed and burned.

Billy peered up at Orlando's face. "Does that hurt?"

Orlando's mouth twitched. "It's not the best sensation ever," he replied flatly.

And suddenly, everything was hilarious. Orlando burst out laughing, his head thrown back and his hard cock bobbing lightly on his stomach. Billy burst out laughing, his head thrown back and the tip of his finger firmly entrenched in his friend's bum. It was like reality had descended on the bathroom and they could see how totally cracked they looked.

"Fucking hell." Orlando wiped at his watering eyes. "Jesus, Bill. The things you and I think of."

"What?" Billy's chest began to ache from laughing. "Something about this seem strange to you?"

They laughed until both of them had tears sliding down their faces. Billy heaved a deep breath, his stomach aching. As Orlando's laughter calmed, Billy noticed his finger had slid further inside him. That's one method for distracting from the discomfort, he thought; a laughing fit. Wonder if that's a common approach.

"Get out of me, man." Orlando snorted a laugh. "And let's never speak of this again."

"Right." A stray laugh escaped Billy's lips and he shifted to remove his finger. But his fingertip grazed something that felt just a little different.

Orlando's whole body convulsed.

He raised his head to look at Billy, his lips parted by startled breaths and his wide eyes filled with such confusion. "What the fuck did you just do?"

Billy was afraid to move. "Bad?"

"I'm not sure."

Billy curled his finger, seeking out that different sort of spot again. He found it, touched it very lightly, and Orlando's body quivered. Billy saw his cock twitch as he let out a low, guttural groan.

"So, not bad, then."

"Oh, god, Bill." It was a breathy moan, the kind of sound a lover would make. "Do that again."

Billy complied, stroking the latexed pad of his finger over the nub of denser flesh. Orlando's eyes rolled back in his head as he groaned and Billy felt infinitely powerful to know he'd caused it. He'd never felt cooler. Orlando's jaw tightened, the chords in his neck coming into sharp relief, and he let out a choked cry through his gritted teeth before gripping his cock tighter and stroking faster. From there, things snowballed.

Driven by the mewls and animalistic sighs issuing from Orlando's throat, Billy strove to match rhythm, moving his finger in time with Orlando's hand. Billy watched, stunned at the transformation. All shyness and self-consciousness were abandoned, just as it should be during great sex in Billy's opinion, and Orlando moaned freely and wantonly.

Billy was starting to see exactly why the ladies fancied Orlando so – and why the blokes would too. His head bent back against the makeshift pillow exposed the column of his neck, stubbled with light, downy hair; he was evidently reveling in not having to shave twice today to appear on camera; and his eyelashes were dark smudges against his cheekbones, those enviably high cheekbones suffused with pink. Such a delicate, lovely mouth and that moist tongue, pressing to the back of his teeth before flicking out over the small dip in his top lip. He was art - the sort of art that got banned from conservative galleries for being sinful, granted, but art just the same.

Orlando spread his legs even wider, giving even greater access, and lifted his hips. One hand stroking himself with an ever more frenzied pace, he braced his other hand against the wall behind his head, pushing himself down, impaling himself further onto Billy's fingers. Billy felt quite certain he had it all figured out: it was all about rhythm, and he fancied himself pretty damn good for a beginner. Rough breaths tore from Orlando's throat at every pulse of his hand.

Licking his lips, Billy rose up on his knees, following Orlando's motions and keeping his finger deep inside him, pulsing over that smooth knot of tissue. Orlando's whole body was covered in a glossy sheen of sweat, defining the muscles and contrasting with his flat, brown nipples, and he writhed, biting his lip, pleasure attacking from every side. Never. Never in all his years and all the lasses he'd been with had Billy seen anything so singularly . . . carnal. He found himself panting with their rhythm, his own cock pressing against the fly of his trousers, as he thrust his finger in and out, in and out, fucking him. The room smelled of flaming bakeries and flaming flower shops, kiwis, kumquats, figs and sex. Try to make a conditioner out of that, Billy idly thought somewhere in his over-stimulated brain.

Orlando stroked his hardened cock, milking the first drops of fluid. He whimpered roughly and his thighs tensed as he shoved himself down on Billy's finger. "Fuck, yes, Billy."

Billy shivered; Orlando moaning was a sound he thought he'd never hear, but Orlando moaning *his name* had never entered the realm of possibility. The air in the room felt hot and wet and Billy's thoughts were reduced to something along the lines of ‘Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god,' as he watched Orlando let his bracing hand fall to slip a finger into his mouth, laving his tongue over it before sliding it down his chest and wetting a darkened nipple. Orlando pinched the flesh and it seemed like the pleasure of it shot straight to Billy's cock as he watched the nub tighten, glistening wetly.

"Oh, god, Bill, go faster." Orlando panted, trying to push down more forcefully and tugging on his hard flesh more urgently. Billy could imagine it, could almost taste it, that pressure building in Orlando's body, like a fire just a spark away from raging before flaring up so hot, it burns itself out. He could imagine it, which was why he felt really bad when –

"Hold on. I've got a cramp." He pulled his finger out.

"A cramp!?"

"I don't do finger-exercises, man! This is hard. I just gotta . . ."

"Fuck," Orlando breathed, and his hand continued its hurried rhythm on his cock.

Billy absently waved his hand as he worked to slip his middle finger into the slicked condom beside the other. "Hey, hey. Stop that. Stop. I want to help." He didn't even stop to think about the words coming out of his mouth.

Orlando groaned and slowed his hand to light touches that Billy knew had to be agonizing considering how charged he was; they were agonizing to him and he hadn't even been touched yet. Orlando's hands roamed freely and aimlessly over his body; down over his thighs, across his tightened stomach, over his chest, pausing to squeeze a nipple, and Billy understood the instinct: Orlando couldn't stop touching himself, he had to be touched. He *needed* to be touched.

"Hurry up."

"Okay. I'm ready!" Anxious to return to his duty, but not anxious to ever analyze why, Billy set his condomed fingers against Orlando's entrance and pushed inside, instantly bending to find their spot.

Orlando's body tightened and a gasp froze in his throat before breaking raggedly from his lips. "Oh . . . god . . ." And he smiled, biting his bottom lip, light touches happily forgotten. He dipped his slicked hand down just a moment to stroke his bullocks before he renewed his frenzied pace, hips pushing himself downward onto Billy's increasingly skilled fingers.

Then, something changed. With his fingers inside him, Billy could feel the pressure building in Orlando and knew why his movements became hasty and uneven. Orlando's free hand slapped hard against the wall as he braced himself again, shoving himself down almost roughly down on Billy's hand, his mouth wide and gasping. Billy kept up his frenetic rhythm, stroking his fingers against the warm gland, as, with every frantic shift of his hips, Orlando let out a low, primal grunt, speeding toward his climax. His eyes squeezed shut, and his white teeth pressed on his bottom lip hard enough to leave marks.

Orlando squeezed his cock, rubbing his thumb over the dripping head, and thrust himself down once more on Billy's able fingers. He tensed, his mouth open in a silent cry, before he breathed out a long, satisfied, "Fuuuuuuck," as he came, his seed surging onto his stomach. Billy was pretty sure his own brain shattered. Easily the hottest sight he had ever seen.

Panting, Orlando continued stroking himself until every drop of fluid had been spilt. Billy gently removed his fingers, breathing nearly as hard as Orlando, but feeling much, much, *much* less spent. He didn't want to be unfriendly-like and hurry Orlando up, but good god, he wanted to know how that felt. His cock throbbed.

Orlando's hand dropped weakly to the floor and his shoulders collapsed as if boneless. "Brilliant . . ." His head lolled to the side. He closed his eyes as his mouth opened with tired breaths. His lips curled in a soft smile. Billy watched him, his heart thudding in his chest and somewhere deep in his mind, he was shocked to realize he had just seen his friend come. That all took second, of course, to the more pressing concern of making sure his friend got the same dubious honor – and soon.

Orlando's knees trembled, straining to stay up until he let them roll to the side to lean against the bathtub. Together, in the silence, they just breathed. Billy collapsed back against the sink, leaning against the cupboards for support. His fingers hurt like hell and his cock ached, hot and hard. Only biting his lip kept him from saying, hurry the hell up, Orli.

He pulled the condom off his fingers and dropped it into the bin, watching as Orlando's bleary eyes slowly began to open and his chest, wet with seed and sweat, began heaving more subtly.

"Hurry the hell up, Orli." So much for patience.

Orlando made a noise that sounded a lot like the groan he gave when being awakened in the morning after too little sleep, so Billy knew he had returned to consciousness. Orlando smiled weakly at him, his eyes slightly glazed. "That was brilliant."

"That's not very romantic, you know, to say ‘fuck' when you come."

Orlando quickly wiped off his stomach and climbed shakily to his knees. "Take off your pants and get on your back."

"That's not very romantic either." Billy speedily did as he was told.

"You'll love this." Orlando slipped a new condom over his index finger and liberally coated it with conditioner. "This is so brill."

"Quit talking about it like it's surfing or something."

"Oh, it's better than surfing."

Billy's eyebrows perked up and his cock pulsed in anticipation. "Really?"

There was no room left for embarrassment now and so Billy slid out of his jeans, unconcerned with what Orlando's thoughts might be to see he was already – was *still* - rock hard and ready. With much less hesitancy, Orlando pushed his finger inside and Billy was suddenly and overwhelmingly forced to agree: this was definitely better than surfing.

Billy's mind became a mire of panting and grunts as he stroked himself and Orlando fucked him with first one finger, then two, but if he had thought about it, really thought about it and been able to form words, he would have realized how crystallized and isolated this moment felt.

Naturally, he found waxing poetic difficult when surging toward the greatest orgasm of his life, but if he had managed it he would have noticed that the bathroom floor felt like an island: There was no sense in worrying about what would happen if Dom found out or Elijah or Sean or any of the rest of the fellowship. There was no sense in worrying about it because they were a million miles away.

This was between him and Orlando.

With a final gasp, Billy climaxed and lay limply and motionlessly on the floor. He tried to think of words to describe how incredible that had been, but apparently mankind as a whole just wasn't enterprising enough to come up with worthy adjectives in any language.

Orlando collapsed opposite him, their feet sharing the same square of towel. "Yeah," he said with a slight laugh. "Like saying ‘holy shite' when you come is a lot more romantic."

"I said ‘holy.' It was a religious thing."

"It was that."

Billy lifted his head as well he could to see Orlando lying naked on the floor, massaging his well-worked and wonderful fingers. "Hell on the fingers, isn't it?"

"I think that works the same muscles as archery, pulling the bowstring, you know?"

"Ah, so Legolas would be skilled at this."

"Definitely. He'd be a skilled bugger."

Billy laughed as hard as his depleted physical energy would allow, hearing Orlando snicker exhaustedly right along with him. It was the first time in a long time he'd rested, feeling tired, but not wanting. His body had been warmed and used just the way it should be. He'd never felt more comforted in his life.

"You ever had one like that before?" Orlando asked. "That intense, I mean."

"No." Billy shook his head lightly. "You?"

"Not as such."

Billy stared at the flicker lick patterns of the shadows on the ceiling as the candles continued to hiss and burn. He could sense Orlando's motionless body near his, and knew that, like him, he was naked and spent, and more than anything else, incredibly confused.

Always when they were together, Billy had questions swirling in his mind, but this time, he could feel them in the air, flickering around the room like the flame-shadows on the ceiling. For the first time, he could physically *sense* that Orlando was asking the very same questions in his own mind.

"Bill?" Orlando said softly.

Billy swallowed and turned to look into wide, questioning brown eyes. "Yeah?"

Orlando stared at him a moment, his eyebrows furrowing once, creating a slight worry line across his forehead. He looked young, vulnerable; he looked confused. "You want another beer?" he asked.

Billy nodded. "Oh, yeah."

Grabbing their jumbled clothes from the bathtub, they slipped on their jeans and walked back out into the main room.

"Think they got that house fixed up on the telly yet?"

*****

THE END

Go to the next story in the series: Billy's Best Bath

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