Posted: December 2003
Title: Billy's Best Bath
Author: Lemur
Type: RPS
Characters: Orlando/Billy
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't know these gentlemen. This didn't happen. I'm sure they're both much wiser about water conservation than I have depicted.
Warnings: Cussing, casual blasphemy and a wanton waste of water.
Beta: My special and heartfelt thanks to Reisling for being my sounding board and to Maeve for going over this rewrite. Thank you for reading this – again. ;) And thank you to my original betas Kira, Roska, Corli. All mistakes are my own.
Author's Notes: The original version of this episode in the Billy's Best series has been purged. Two plot bunnies diverged in a wood and I, I followed the one with mange. ;) This is the right and proper bunny.
Summary: Billy vs. The Devil. A not-so-epic epic battle.

*****

Billy had always rather liked cartoons. He was especially fond of those old classic scenes with an Angel and a Devil on the hero's shoulders. When he'd been a lad, he'd wanted ones for himself since it seemed like a great way to stay out of trouble: listen to both sides and no matter how good one choice sounds, always go with the Angel. Now that he had an Angel and a Devil on his shoulders, that was precisely what Billy was trying to do. But those cartoons had never managed to grasp just how persistent that Devil could be.

His had first appeared when Eva, dear lass, had come to break off their stumbling little affair. She had been blushing sweetly and prattling on and on about how it wasn't the right time for them; him so far from home and so busy with the film, her with school . . . and commuting . . . and something about her cat – Billy hadn't really heard because Orlando had passed behind her wearing his Legolas leggings and a thin t-shirt.

At that very moment, his Devil had popped up on his shoulder in a hobbity waistcoat and red britches and told him that he was being a cad, that he'd tried so hard to get Eva and now he was giving her up without a fight. He should be honorable and at least ask for a chance to make it up to her because, after all, she was an attractive girl and he liked girls. His Angel popped up and told him to say whatever he wanted; she would overanalyze it and make it mean whatever she wanted anyway. That's what girls do.

Billy went with the Angel. He'd said to Eva that he was sorry it hadn't worked out and wished it could have been better, but stopped short of asking for a second chance; his Angel reminded him that he didn't want one. Then, it had whispered that it thought it saw Orlando go into the catering tent.

That should have been the end of it. Billy had politely but steadfastly ignored that little bastard of a Devil and so, like a good imaginary fragmented conscience manifestation, it should have pissed off. But no. The damned thing kept coming around, tugging pompously on its lapels, and informing him that nice boys don't do things like ogle their friend's arses during scene blocking or crave a sound snogging from him after a hard day on the set.

In the old cartoons, the Devil always suggested exactly the hero do exactly what the hero wanted to do, but not Billy's Devil. Not at all. His Devil forced him to think about things he'd rather ignore, made him acknowledge thoughts he'd rather have let drift into nothingness. And yet, despite the departure from tradition, Billy knew it was the Devil. He knew it because, in all those old cartoons, the Angel always went away. The Angel said the facts and left it to the hero. Only the Devil continually argued its case.

Still, for weeks, Billy had been able to ignore the little Devil easily enough; he had only two authority figures on the set: Tolkien and Jackson. All others he ignored at will.

Until the Devil took a different approach.

Instead of boldly telling him what he should do, it had simply started asking questions. Questions to which the Angel had no answer, to which Billy had no answer. And instead of strutting around on his shoulder, it began to creep slowly to his ears to whisper. Why do you and Orlando keep doing these things? How far will it go? How far do you want it to go? it would ask.

The questions invaded his mind, knotted around the tendons in his neck, burrowed into his spine. And they never stopped. Two or three times a night, he'd awake with a start, his arms tense and tight, his mind sleepy but panicked and swirling with questions. No, not swirling; churning – while the sodding Devil did a happy little jig on his frontal lobe. Billy really, really hated the Devil.

"Okay, great. That's good." Peter's tone was encouraging but distracted; he was too busy to sound sincere. Bundled up in a thick coat, he sat behind the monitors, pointing at the screens and gesturing toward the cameras.

Due in no small part to the Devil and his pissing questions, Billy had been having a rather shite day. It wasn't the worst day of his life; far from it; but even its mediocrity irritated him. A truly bad day was at least something, but this day, this was just one of those days that felt half-baked. It was a flat beer, that's what it was.

From where he knelt, Billy could hear Peter's voice, but none of the words; he was too distracted by the pain. His poor, aching knees had been bearing his full weight for the better part of two hours while he knelt in a flooded car park in the freezing cold. Height continuity, he thought bitterly, sodding height continuity. He wanted to kill the continuity bloke with sticks.

If it weren't for continuity, he wouldn't be kneeling in a car park letting all the blood in his body collect in his kneecaps. And he didn't even want to think about the feet. The stupid pissing hobbit feet he was wearing even though they clearly weren't going to be on screen. Sometimes he liked the feet; rarely, but stranger things happened on this set every half hour. But for some reason, after a year of wearing the damn things, he'd been tripping over them since breakfast. Not only did he trip over them, just after lunch, he'd stumbled over his big, fake toes, thrown Dom to the ground, ripped both their feet off, and smashed a stunt rock to powder – all in the same graceful move. It had delayed shooting for nearly an hour and already he could feel a dark bruise had formed on his shin and another on his elbow.

"Oh, shite," Billy breathed, wincing. He listed toward Dom beside him, trying to ease some of the pressure on his burdened joints and tender shin. Hobbit-feet slippers couldn't do anything for toes so cold he couldn't feel them and teeth exhausted from chattering. "I don't think I can stay here much longer."

"We'll be okay, Bill." Dom laughed weakly. "We've filmed half our scenes already. It'd be too expensive to let us die now." Billy wasn't entirely sure. Despite the chill, the makeup lass kept coming by and wetting bits of their costumes for continuity; he wanted to kill her with sticks, too.

"Okay. Billy?" Peter called.

"Aye."

"We're going to start with your line."

"Aye." Billy rubbed at his nose, which felt glassy and frozen to the touch. "Dom, what's my line?"

Teeth clicking as he shivered, Dom rubbed his arms and squinted at the Doors of Moria looming straight ahead. "I don't know. What scene is this?"

"Bloody hell." Orlando shifted on his feet next to them. "Are we in Mordor yet?"

Dom snickered and Billy tried to, but he was afraid his lips would shatter. "Hey, at least you get to stand, man."

"At least you get to wear cloaks. Do you have any idea how thin this Elf shit is? I'm practically starkers here."

Completely without his permission, the image of Orlando stark bollock naked darted into Billy's brain, seizing his thoughts. He tried to push it out because it wasn't helping with his concentration. . . .Though it was helping a bit with the cold. He glanced up at Orlando just in time to catch him glance away with a faint smirk on his lips. Flirty little bugger.

But then Billy felt little animated hooves poking into his shoulder. The Devil had come to play. Come now, is it really professional to be flirting with your co-star? it asked, whirling its forked tail around like a dancing girl with a feather boa. Shouldn't you be paying attention to your characterization?

"But hot air rises," Dom said.

"Right." Billy shifted his shoulders, trying to shove the Devil off, but it just gripped the Pippin-fabric and hung on. "So it's a whole lot colder down here than it is up there."

"Much colder."

Orlando opened his mouth to reply, but –

"Boys, boys, boys," Ian said, rubbing exhaustedly at his eyes. "Please shut up."

Billy looked straight ahead at the Doors in silence. He and the Devil thought to point out that Ian was faring the best out of all of them: long thick robes, big, bushy wig, prosthetics keeping his nose warm, and a staff to beat off the lass with the water if it should come to it, but of course, he held his tongue. One just didn't sass Mr. McKellen when he was tired.

"Why don't you shut up, Ian? You're faring the best out of the lot of us."

Unless, of course, one is Orlando.

Billy felt the air around them tense. Everyone, including the Elf, knew he'd said something he shouldn't have and Ian shot him a harsh look, one of those sharp, withering stares he was so good at; Billy thought they were worse than Gandalf's. A few crew members rolled their eyes with that distinct brand of disdain reserved just for young actors.

The blond wig and the makeup couldn't hide the heated flush on Orlando's face and his stance took on a sort of forced confidence as if trying to lessen his embarrassment by pretending not to feel any. Billy felt his face redden in sympathy – and anger; his kingdom for a few choice sticks to take to that arsehole of a lighting technician who just muttered "Stupid fucking kid" loud enough for Orlando to have heard.

But Peter called action, so revenge fantasies had to wait. With cold lips and frozen vocal chords, Billy tried his best to deliver his lines. When Peter finally called cut a few takes later, Billy was left with undeniable proof that his best was shite. "Bollocks."

"Don't worry, Bill," Dom said. "You can fix it in post."

Undeniable proof confirmed; as if he'd needed it. "Thanks, Dom.

Knees creaking, Billy stood and hobbled with the other hobbits over to the makeup trailer. He sat down on the metal stair in front of the door and it was with great relief that he eased his weight back onto his arse, stretching his legs out in front of him. The step was ice cold, but nothing had ever felt better than straightening his legs. Well, almost nothing.

Why did that come to mind, hm? the Devil asked, idly inspecting his long, sharp nails as he sat cross-legged on Billy's shoulder. Should such a thing really turn you on? Billy decided that if the Devil was going to be such a nuisance and hang about all day, the least it could have done was bring a bit of that Hellish heat to warm his toes. Just a damned inconsiderate little figment of his imagination, that was.

Billy sighed and gritted his teeth. It was the only way he kept himself from verbally telling the Devil to shut the fuck up. Such an outburst would take too much explaining as, so far, no one else had seemed to notice a five inch, red demon on his shoulder.

"Shit, guys. I can't feel my feet."

Billy glanced over to see Dom prodding his prosthetic hobbit toes in a fake panic. Elijah and Sean laughed sleepily. "I'll bet you can't feel the tips of your ears either," Billy murmured.

Dom nodded with a yawn. "Damn this cold." He edged past Billy and stepped inside the trailer as Elijah and Sean slowly ambled off towards theirs. That's when Billy noticed an Elf quietly approaching. The Devil settled in to listen closely.

"Hey, Bill."

"Hey, Orli. You doin' – How're you doing?" He tried to keep the sympathy out of his voice.

"I'm good." Orlando gave a weighty shrug. "I was wondering if you'd want to drop by tonight. Hang out a bit."

Why is he inviting you, do you think? the Devil asked eagerly. Does he want to end it? Billy shifted his shoulders uncomfortably and rubbed at them like he was trying to work out the kinks instead of the Prince of Lies. "Sure. I'll be over as soon as my feet'll fit on the accelerator."

Grey clouds gathered overhead; to make a bad day worse, it appeared a storm was coming; and in little more than half an hour, Billy tromped up the front steps of Orlando's house, shivering. The cold of the night had somehow taken root within his body and was now emanating outward, chilling him from the inside out. All he wanted to do was find a blanket and curl up in or near a fire, whichever, and sleep.

Why did you come here? the Devil asked, feeling none of Billy's fatigue. Aren't you afraid of what might happen?

Billy rubbed harshly at his forehead as though he could knead the questions out of his brain. "Go away," he said to the crisp night air, but it didn't help.

Why now? Why suddenly, after thirty-odd years on this planet, are you doing all these things, finding out all these things about yourself? And what exactly *are* you finding out? Have you thought about that?

"Orli," he called, closing the front door behind him.

"I'm in here."

Billy turned in the direction of the voice. Candlelight flickered out through the bathroom door, faint and orange-tinged against the white walls outside it. A sudden and intense wave of exhaustion swept through him, but Billy smiled anyway. He was pretty sure the Devil's jaw dropped: You can't want to do this tonight, can you? After such a long day?

Taking tired, shuffling steps down the hallway, Billy just knew he was going to round the corner and find Orlando lying naked on the floor with a bottle of conditioner and box of condoms. Is that what you're afraid to see? the Devil wondered. Or what you're hoping to see?

But when he rounded the corner into the darkened bathroom, he saw a very clothed Orlando with a blanket around his shoulders and a cup of hot tea in his hands. The Devil breathed a sigh of relief as the shrouded figure bent over the tub and turned on the faucet, dipping one hand into the stream to test the temperature.

"What's going on? You having a bath?"

"Nah." Orlando shook his head. "It's just my feet are so fucking cold. I have, like, eight pairs of socks on and they're not helping."

Billy glanced down. Orlando did appear to have eight pairs of socks on, as well as two jumpers and a blanket. He was almost twice his normal size, which was still pretty lean, actually, but his cheeks remained red from the cold; Billy couldn't help but notice that the contrast made his eyes all the brighter. All right, the Devil conceded, Orlando is very pretty, but does that make it any less strange? Should you really be thinking he's pretty in the first place? Billy rolled his eyes.

"What?" Orlando's brow furrowed a moment.

"Nothing. Not you."

Orlando laughed lightly. "Oh-kay." Bundling the blanket on the counter, he began to strip off his socks one by one. "Did you get warm?"

"Didn't have a chance. I came right here."

"Then, have some tea and pull your socks off, mate."

Billy accepted the tea from Orlando's outstretched hand. He swallowed dryly when their fingers met over the ceramic and quickly took a sip of tea. The hot liquid burned wonderfully all the way down to his stomach and an inviting steam began to drift up from the rising bathwater. Strenuous sexual activity, probably not, but this he could do, and gladly. He quickly took off his socks and rolled up the cuffs of his jeans.

"Think they mention this weather in the travel brochures?" Orlando pulled the legs of his jeans up to his knees.

"Come, freeze your arse off in picturesque New Zealand." Billy began clearing a space on the edge of the tub for his seat and suddenly came across a memorable bottle of conditioner. He tensed, but casually grabbed up the bottle. "Shite, Orli, you just leave this sort of stuff lying around? Children could come in here. They don't need to be corrupted by your kinky sex things."

"Yeah, I think the washcloth is particularly scandalous." Orlando snickered and nabbed the bottle from his hand like it was nothing, or rather like it was just a bottle of conditioner. It might as well have been a third person in the room for the way it loomed in Billy's mind.

That whole thing with the conditioner and the. . .condoms, the Devil said delicately, should straight boys really do things like that? More importantly, are they still straight if they do?

Billy arched his back away from the tension seeping down it and he imagined the Devil gave a short cry as it lost its foothold and plummeted to the bathroom floor. He wanted to let out a victory chuckle, but he knew it'd be back. It was never away for long.

One hand on the wall for support, he lifted his foot over the edge of the tub and slowly immersed it in the rising water. It felt scorching on his frostbitten skin and he hissed lightly, hearing a similar sound coming from Orlando beside him. The two of them each set their second foot down in the water and sat on the cleared lip of the tub.

Billy leaned weakly against the tiled wall, feeling the blood start to flow through his feet once again as the water melted away the glue residue. It felt so good, it was almost worth being cold all day. He took another sip of tea and passed the cup back. He purposely let his fingers slide over Orlando's and almost enjoying the slight leap in his chest when they did.

Orlando took a small drink of tea, but his eyelids stayed calmly and evenly shut, his eyelashes fanning darkly against his skin. There was a heaviness under his eyes that wasn't usually there and the lids seemed thin and pale. Billy watched him a moment and slowly, the Devil scaled back up to his shoulder, a bit out of breath. What can ever come of this? it asked, brushing the dust off its jacket. What happens when the film is finished and you go back to your normal life?

Billy let his gaze fall to the waving water. His normal life felt a million miles away; it always did. He lived now within the microcosm that was Middle-Earth. His world was hobbits, and Elves and Orcs and people in rubber masks and tiny gymnasts in big, giant suits. And maybe poofs. Possibly poofs. And he might be the poof.

He sighed. He was fairly certain it declared him to be a shallow person, but the truth was, he didn't want to be gay because he just didn't have the time right now. He didn't want to have to come out to his family and friends, and deal with the dating scene. He didn't want to march in parades and wear rainbow bracelets. He would if had to, but he was a very busy hobbit and really couldn't be buggered with it.

And yet, it loomed before him as a distinct possibility. He'd essentially ruined a perfectly good relationship with a perfectly lovely lass all for whatever it was he got from Orlando. He'd given up a girl for Orlando. Don't you think it was too easy, the Devil mused, idly tapping his earlobe with a pointed talon, to go from desiring her to desiring him? Should it really just be a simple switch of pronoun?

Billy's foot bounced unconsciously in the water and it splashed up to wet his calves. He'd given up a girl for Orlando. But in this particular instance it had to have been the right choice because, after all, Eva had her commute and her cat and no way she would have put out on the third date like Orlando did. Besides, she was right when she'd said he didn't have time for a real relationship right now. He saw Orlando all the time anyway and it wasn't like they had to set aside time to go on dates. He was convenient; that's all it was.

That's all it is? the Devil sat up suddenly. Are you just using him, then? What kind of friend are you?

Billy couldn't answer the question, of course, but it did suddenly make him realize that Orlando hadn't spoken for the last five minutes. "Hey, pal, you doin' okay there?"

"I guess."

"Anything wrong?"

"I'm just – " Orlando opened his eyes, looking directly at the plain tiled wall across from them. "Will there ever be a time in life when I'll stop being a complete arse?"

"I hope not." Billy laughed lightly; the look of dismay on Orlando's face was hilarious. The lad worried about the smallest things sometimes.

"Shit, I've just been a total fucking wanker all day today. It's like I open my mouth and all these stupid things come out."

"Aye, and I've had such a totally special day. Did you miss all four thousand times I tripped over my pissing hobbit feet?"

Orlando snickered. "No, I can't say I did. That was incredible, man, the way that rock just exploded." His lips pursed for the sound effect and he spread his arms wide, reenacting the great rock disaster in pantomime.

"Shut it." Billy smiled, but felt his face reddening all the same.

"And I swear, Dom's foot shot at least three feet in the air."

Billy laughed despite himself; the humiliation was fresh, but Orlando had a rather infectious laugh, damn him. "Fuck off. Weren't we talking about how *you're* an arse? Telling off Sir Ian McKellen. You picking fights with knights now?"

Orlando chuckled, a faltering smile on his lips. "Yeah, yeah. I didn't mean it to come out like that. Shit, I'm such a fucking idiot."

"Don't worry about it, mate. We're all idiots."

"Do you think I should apologize or something?"

"Nah. He's probably already forgotten about it."

"Yeah, I guess." Orlando leaned against the wall and his foot shifted slightly beneath the water. His toes just touched the side of Billy's heel. "I hate when I do stupid shit like that."

"Really?" Billy said, unable to lift his eyes from where their feet touched. "I love it."

"You love it when I do it or when you do it?"

"Well, it's a lot more fun for me when you do it." Billy smirked and raised his eyes.

Orlando's back straightened properly and he sighed. "I just feel like such a fucking amateur, you know? Like one of those snotty little drama school kids who thinks he knows everything."

"Don't know how to tell you this, mate, but that's what you are." Billy grinned at him and when Orlando looked over, he smiled back, but there was no mistaking the worry in his eyes.

"Am I really?"

"A little." Billy shrugged, and wiggled his little toe unconsciously. "But I'm the old Scottish hobbit who trips over his own sodding feet, so we've all got our problems."

Orlando let out a long breath and sat back. "You're right – not about the old hobbit thing. Me. I'm a wanker." His foot slid along Billy's until their toes met and a warm shiver ratcheted all the way up Billy's leg.

"Aye," he said distractedly.

Orlando let out a laugh and shoved his foot roughly against Billy's beneath the water, breaking the spell. "Fucker, you're not supposed to agree with me. Be a fucking mate, mate. Or get your ugly hobbit feet out of my tub."

"Oh, oh! Well, you're, uh…you're very clean."

"In addition to being a wanker?"

"A clean wanker, you are."

"And you're the most graceful hobbit who ever lived, you little shit."

The smile on Billy's face felt like it spread all the way to his chest. His heart stumbled pleasantly when Orlando's foot settled over his own once more. Feet. Before playing a hobbit, he'd had no idea how good feet could feel, but this was what he'd needed. A bit of a flirt with Orlando and footsies in a warm tub of water. It didn't cure all ills, but it cured most of the ones he had right now. Sure, he was still freezing and still far away from home and had single-hobbit-footedly destroyed what was probably a couple hundred dollars worth of prosthetics while simultaneously humiliating himself and delaying the filming of a multi-million dollar feature film, but…

Shite. What a crap day.

Water lapped at the rolled cuffs of his jeans. "Hey, should we shut off the water?"

"I want to leave it running a bit longer," Orlando replied. "I like the sound."

"What sound? The water?"

"Yeah. When I was a kid, my mum used to get mad at me because I'd turn it on and then fall asleep on the bathroom floor. I liked the sound. It's sort of calming, don't you think?"

"I've never really thought about it." But he could just picture little Orlando curled up the bath mat while the water pounded away in the tub. He would have been willing to bet the lad had only done it when he was down like he was now; that seemed like the sort of thing Orlando would do, sensitive soul that he was.

The water was warm and soothing on Billy's feet and the constant thundering rush from the faucet made him feel enveloped in the warmth, absorbed by it; the noise resounded off the tiled walls, filling his ears; the heat reverberated in his chest. It *was* comforting. But it wasn't calming him. Billy looked over at Orlando and he could imagine him two feet shorter, a little boy with too many curls, worried and anxious about the sorts of things lads got worried and anxious about at that age, wanting a pleasant sound to serenade him as he tried to sleep away a bad day. Something about it made his heart twist. Is that love you're feeling? the Devil whispered. Are you in love with him now?

Billy swallowed. He focused his eyes on the water rising around his calves, trying to ignore their linked feet beneath. It swirled in the candlelight, casting wavering patterns across the ceiling. How can this just be friendship? the Devil wondered. Do you really think that you can have him and still be his friend?

A chill shuddered through Billy's arms and he dipped his hands into the water to warm them. The core of his body remained frozen despite the heat creeping up through his legs and the cartoon Beelzebub on his shoulder. He was still freezing. He was still confused. What if he doesn't want you like you want him? the Devil asked. What if he already thinks it's gone far enough?

Billy's teeth clacked hard together. He hadn't noticed they'd been chattering. The sound felt loud in his ears, but Orlando didn't move. Billy's lips felt so cold, he thought they must look blue. He couldn't answer these questions. Couldn't answer a single one. Why do you need him so much? the Devil demanded. What's wrong with you?

"Oh, fuck it."

Billy threw himself off the edge of the tub and down into the water. He caught just the edge of Orlando's surprised laugh before his ears submerged.

Warmth swallowed him. His hair soaked to his scalp, dislodging the Devil. His jeans grew heavy, plastered to his legs. He pinched his nose closed as he bent his head back, feeling the heat sweep over his forehead. He wanted this day to go away, and now he understood what Orlando must have discovered as a little boy: The faucet spouted water between his knees and the deep thunder of it resounded in his ears. It sounded like a waterfall. It sounded like something other than questions.

His lungs began to strain for air, but he stayed submerged. He didn't know why, but he couldn't lift his head above the water just yet. The sound was so comforting. He could feel Orlando's leg against his knee. But the drowning sensation proved to be more persistent than any other.

With a gasp, he raised his head just enough to fill his lungs. He kept his eyes closed, his ears underwater and breathed slowly in and out. A voice tried to penetrate the water's surface, but it came through inconstant and echoey. Billy didn't try to understand it. He didn't want to hear it. And he didn't want to hear Devils or Angels or Santa or the Easter Bunny. He just wanted a moment to breathe. He breathed in again and breathed out. The steady rush of it filled his mind to capacity, roaring deep and distant like putting an ear to a seashell.

Finally, he opened his eyes. Orlando looked down at him with a bewildered smile. His lips moved, talking. Such nice lips. But all Billy heard was his own breath.

The Devil was drowned for the moment, but he knew it'd be back. It would probably never leave unless Billy could answer its questions. He sighed and it made a brief surge of wind in his mind. He couldn't stay in Orlando's bathtub forever. Eventually they would need a Pippin on the set and anyway, the water would get cold. Eternal submersion was the coward's way out, albeit an inventive coward, and he had to decide if he was a man or a boy.

He decided he was a hobbit, which was very little help.

He sat up, the water streaming from his hair down into his eyes, and he felt . . .warmer. It wasn't perfect, but it was a start. Orlando laughed, his voice at that edge of amusement that could become concern in a flash if need be. "You okay, you nutter?" Billy liked that voice so much. It was such a nice, warm, friendly voice. "Were you trying to break a record or something?"

Billy looked up to see Orlando smirking down at him, a tinge of worry in his eyes. Billy wanted to kiss him. The Devil wasn't there to object and so, he did.

He slipped his hand around Orlando's neck and pulled his mouth to his. Despite the surprise attack, Orlando instantly kissed him back, his hand unconsciously rising to cover the one against his neck, dry skin meeting wet. God, Billy thought, this is just what I need. But he could feel it. Small cloven hoofs marching up his sodden back as if it were a mountain face; it may have even had a pick-axe. Are you really pals if it's always about this? the Devil asked. Billy broke off the kiss.

Orlando seemed somewhat dazed by the abrupt halt, but smiled just the same. "Thanks," he said. "I think I needed that."

"No, I know what you need." Billy stood streaming from the tub, removing himself from the water and from Orlando's steady gaze.

"Oh…uh, I don't know, Billy. I'm kinda tired and – well, I – "

"Jesus. Not that, you horny eejit." Billy rather enjoyed watching Orlando's face flush red. "You think I'm your personal sex hobbit?"

Orlando laughed and ran a hand self-consciously through his Mohawk. "No! I just thought maybe you were feeling randy or something. I don't know."

"I'm just starting to feel my feet again; it'll be a while before I get to randy. I was thinking you need to get in the tub."

"What for?"

"‘Cause you're still shivering. Baptism, spiritual cleansing or whatever. You're into that new agey shite, aren't you?"

"Not in my jeans, I'm not."

"Then, c'mon, take ‘em off. Drop the kecks. Nothing I haven't seen before." And wouldn't mind seeing again, Billy thought. Oh, really? the Devil wondered. What would you do with him then, hm?

"Oh, fuck it. They're half wet anyway." Orlando slipped down into the tub. The water was somewhat lower after Billy's splashing dunk, but there was still plenty to completely swallow him, jeans, jumpers, and all. He pinched his nose closed and a few air bubbles broke from his lips, rising to the surface as Billy sat down on the edge of the bathtub to place his feet back in the water; there wasn't much else to be done about the chilly tile floor, and surely the Devil couldn't find issue with that. The multitude of layers on Orlando billowed in the water, nearly absorbing the rest of the tub's contents; Billy smirked to himself: the lad was going to come out weighing a metric ton.

Moments later, an urgent gasp interrupted the silence as Orlando sat up suddenly, chest heaving. He breathed in and out, water dripping from his hair. He laughed breathlessly. "Aw, god. I should have taken off a few layers first." He lay back in the tub with an amused smirk. "I'm being crushed by jumpers."

"You should really think things through. I don't know what you were thinking, jumping in there in your clothes. Idiot."

Orlando smiled and looked down to the other end of the tub, wiggling his toes in the faucet's stream. Then, he lifted his eyes to Billy.

The thundering water continued, refilling the bathtub after the overflow, and Billy wondered if that blanketing noise was even more conspicuous than actual silence would have been; he and Orlando were simply staring at one another. He'd been in this situation with many a girlfriend before, only then she'd known exactly what he should say, but wanted him to come up with it on his own. He'd never had a clue what to say. An this time, he didn't know what Orlando should say either. Silence seemed the best way to go; the water could talk for them for a bit.

But then, his dark eyes never leaving Billy's, Orlando slowly sat up and gripped his shoulder to pull him down for a kiss. Billy laughed inwardly: that was the same distraction technique he always tried on his girlfriends; if you have nothing to say, then snog. It never worked on the lasses, but it sure as hell worked on Billy.

His feet began to slide on the tub's slick floor and his thighs tightened, straining to keep himself upright on the bathtub's edge even as Orlando's arms and lips pulled him down. What the hell, Billy thought, and Orlando let out a short laugh as Billy dropped down into the rising water with him. Orlando laid back, letting Billy perch over him, his arms braced against the wall behind his head and the wet denim of their legs meeting roughly.

Billy's heart thundered. This isn't who you are, is it? the Devil questioned. Is this really what you want? A low, breathy gasp broke from Orlando's lips as he spread them wider, sliding his tongue out to stroke against Billy's, and he threaded his wet hands through short blond hair. Entirely wanton in the best way possible; Billy's arms trembled. Okay, the Devil conceded. He's an excellent kisser, but that doesn't make my question any less valid, does it? But with one swipe of Orlando's tongue across his top lip, Billy chose to ignore the Devil.

This did cure all ills. For the first time today, Billy wasn't thinking about hobbit feet or flubbed lines or failed jokes. He didn't miss home and he wasn't frightened by a project as large as three epic films. He didn't hear the Devil or the Angel. All he could feel were lips, tongues, skin, warmth; such warmth. Damn, but Orlando's good at this, he thought.

His breathing a bit ragged, Orlando parted his mouth from Billy's and opened his eyes, dark lashes lifting to reveal pleasantly clouded brown. A warm grin spread across his face and Billy had no choice but to return the expression. The faucet continued to pound into the bathtub. Water was beginning to slip over the edge and drool onto the floor. "I always have to clean my bathroom after you drop by," Orlando said.

"Well, maybe you should start entertaining your guests in the dining room if it bothers you so much."

Orlando smirked. "It doesn't bother me so much." He pulled Billy's mouth back to his. He shifted, pulling himself up just a bit higher to angle his tongue just a bit deeper. It put quite a lot of strain on Billy's shoulders considering all the wet jumpers, but Billy found he was just fine with that as soon Orlando closed his lips around his tongue and sent good shivers all the way down his back.

And yet it wasn't leading anywhere. It was as hot as their other snogs – hotter even, since they were both starting to learn to the little moves and sweeps that made the other tremble – but it felt completely different. Billy didn't feel a desperate heat pooling in his body and it wasn't urgent or building to something. It felt hot and amazing and set his veins to tingling, but it wasn't leading. So, what does that mean? the Devil asked, and it sounded as though it honestly wanted to know.

Orlando breathed in contentedly as he finally released Billy's lips, and lowered himself back into the water. "That beats hot tea, I tell you." He said it so cocky, so self-assured, but Billy noticed how his eyes flickered away and just the tops of his cheekbones flushed red. Just playing cocky, then; Billy knew that feeling.

"Aye." He eased off Orlando and sat back in the tub. "Ow! Stabbed by the faucet." Arching away from the metal spike in his back, he shifted to the side, sitting crookedly. The water streamed down his shoulder and he stretched out his still-aching knees as best he could.

"Man." Orlando's yawning mouth elongated his words. "I'm fucking knackered."

Billy glanced down at his slightly bent legs resting quite comfortably beside Orlando's. "You have a huge fucking bathtub, mate."

"I know. Isn't it great?" Orlando's tired eyes sparkled. "I love this house, I'm telling you." The water splashed and swayed as he leaned forward to shut off the faucet and then sat back. The room fell silent save for the water tinkling and gurgling over the edge and the lingering drip-drip-drip from the faucet. Outside, thunder rumbled in the distance. Orlando rested his head against the wall behind him and his eyes slid shut.

Letting out the yawn he caught from Orlando, Billy closed his eyes as well and his limbs turned to lead. Nearly the full length of his leg pressed against Orlando's and even through layers of denim, it felt as though all the heat in the tub radiated outward from there. The Devil just raised a questioning eyebrow.

"You wanna crash here?" Orlando asked in the watery silence.

"Aye."

"I do mean ‘here' in the house, not ‘here' in the tub, you know."

"Aye. But we're already in the tub."

"Yeah, but there's the drowning factor."

Billy gave a dismissive sniff.

"And then the chaffing factor with the jeans."

"Right." Billy raised his head from the wall to look at Orlando. "You have some clothes I can nick?"

Ten minutes later, after an unreasonably complicated denim removal procedure and mopping session, they both walked into Orlando's bedroom, towels tucked around their waists. Billy flopped down face first onto Orlando's bed, not caring that he was essentially lying in a pile of laundry. "I'm so sodding tired," he groaned. "I thought making pictures was supposed to be all money and drunken parties, and girls." He rolled over onto his side to see Orlando rifling through the wardrobe.

"Apparently, we're doing something wrong." Orlando dropped his towel to pull on a pair of pajama bottoms. Billy knew he should have looked away, but he couldn't give up the chance to see Legolas's arse sans leggings. He was not remotely disappointed. It'd looked good in leggings and great against the floor in a candlelit bathroom. Arguably, it looked even better standing and – Billy swallowed against the nervous flutter in his throat – bending over. Smooth, pale…quite nice. But then Billy felt the Devil's talons curling around his ear just as Orlando knotted the drawstrings on his trousers. Should you really be looking at your friend like that? the Devil asked sharply.

Billy looked away and his eyes fell on the bedside table. Four books rested in a stack, each with a bookmark sticking out of the top. Still unsettled by the Devil, Billy smiled weakly and turned the worn spines toward him. A book of epic poems, a paperback novel with the cover torn off, a biography of some photographer, and, of course, The Lord of the Rings.

He slipped the rather tattered copy of Tolkien from the pile and flipped through it. Highlighted lines decorated nearly all the pages with little notes like "almost likes Gimli here" scrawled in the margins. With the exception of the focus on Legolas, it looked a lot like the copy Billy had on his own bedside table.

"Here, mate. I think these'll fit you." Orlando tossed him a plain white t-shirt and what had to be the calmest pair of pajama trousers he owned, a perfectly respectable dark blue.

He'd given him his best pajamas; something in Billy's chest fluttered. What's that now? the Devil asked, as Billy pulled on the borrowed trousers. Is that love?

That question again. That was what it really came down to, Billy supposed. He watched the newly alluring sight of Orlando's bare chest disappear beneath a worn red t-shirt. If he didn't love him then he was using him, but if he did love him . . . then he wasn't who he thought he was.

Only, he didn't feel any different. He still felt like himself, it was just that when he looked at his mate Orlando, he wanted to kiss him rather than wrestle with him. Actually, he sort of wanted to do both.

Orlando cleared the discarded clothes from the bed, and watching his arms bend and flex, Billy had the most humiliating desire to be held by them. Men weren't supposed to desire things like that at all; it made Billy feel like less of a man to want it; but the craving was almost palpable. He'd had such a shite day. He just wanted to curl up in Orlando's arms and go to sleep, and he could feel his feet trying to move forward, his arms wanting to rise. It made his heart pound. He'd never wanted that from anyone before, let alone from one of his mates.

Do you love him? the Devil demanded, tapping a cloven hoof impatiently.

And quite suddenly, Billy had an answer:

Aye, he thought in reply. I do.

Look at him, Billy insisted to the Devil. He's wearing purple and green plaid trousers with a red t-shirt. He reads four books at once. He makes a complete arse of himself on the set at least twice a week and is still having a hell of a great time here. Now, here's a question for *you*: how can you not love him?

The Devil opened its mouth to reply, but Billy anticipated the next inquisition: No, I don't know if I love him sexually or platonically or hygienically or anything, really, but I do love him in my own way, after a fashion, and that will have to be good enough because it's the only answer I have, you little horn-headed bastard.

The Devil's mouth opened, then closed again. It thought for a moment, red lips twisting as one long claw tapped against its chin. Then, it shrugged. Fair enough, it said. And just like that, it vanished.

"What are you grinning about?"

Billy tried to tame his smile under Orlando's close scrutiny, but failed rather spectacularly. "Nothing. Not you."

Orlando's mouth contorted, trying hard not to return the smile. He failed, too. "You are so fucking loony when you're tired. Go to sleep." Billy readily moved to comply and slid beneath the covers, reveling in the feeling of worn cotton sheets and a great pair of pajamas.

The windowpanes clattered as thunder shook the house. "The storm's here." Orlando switched off the light and pulled aside the covers on the opposite side of the bed.

"Sounds like it. Guess we'll be on the soundstage tomorrow." Billy settled his head on the softest pillow ever. He yawned, feeling his eyelids grow pleasantly heavy. "That, or they'll rewrite it so Moria's flooded and make us swim." Cold billowed beneath the blankets, blustering around Billy's already chilled shoulders as Orlando climbed into bed and closed the blankets around himself. Billy instinctively moved toward him, wanting the added warmth.

"Yeah," Orlando said. "Unfortunately, I could see them doing that." He grinned and tucked the blankets in around his neck.

His leg tapped Billy's beneath the blanket and for one brief instant, their eyes met in the darkness. Billy felt it all the way down to his toes and he smiled. So what if his body and mind wanted something his consciousness couldn't define? He would just have to trust it. And he entirely trusted Orlando to give him a good punch in the gut if he ever went too far.

Orlando reached an arm out toward him and Billy readily shifted into the embrace, sliding his arm around Orlando's narrow waist to hug him closer, pooling their collected body heat for protection against the frigid air outside the blanket. Orlando's arms were strong around him as were his around Orlando. An embarrassed blush heated Billy's cheeks, but he just accepted it as another source of warmth; he wasn't moving until he had to. He could feel Orlando's smile where his lips touched his forehead. Their feet tangled together in the darkness beneath the covers and the rain brushing against the windows reminded Billy of their first date.

"Night, Orli."

"Good night, Bill."

Feeling Orlando's breath against his skin and his arms around his body, Billy fell quickly and contentedly asleep, and he didn't wake up until morning.

*****

THE END

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

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