Posted: December 2003
Title: Billy's Best Snuggle
Author: Lemur
Type: RPS
Characters: Orlando/Billy
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: This didn't happen and I don't know these people. I just like to put words in their mouths and minds.
Warnings: Bodily fluids, my friends. But with decorum. And Liv makes a brief appearance. With less decorum.
Beta: My Alpha Beta, Maeve, and my lovely Scottish Beta, Kira. All mistakes are hereby my own.
Author's Notes: Sorry this one took so long. My stumble on "Billy's Best Bath" made me paranoid. *grin* Also, a weta is a large cricket-like insect native to New Zealand. That's a good thing to know going into this fic.
Summary: Billy tries very, very hard to make it all about comfort. At least he gets an ‘E' for Effort.

*****

Billy genteelly opened the passenger side door for Liv, stepping cleanly to the side. "Thanks, Billy," she said with a smile and a yawn, and plopped down. "Oh, my god! I think I'm going to go crazy!" She picked vehemently at her ear, her usually breathy voice managing to come out in something resembling a growl. "I hate this glue. I'm going to develop a nervous habit out of this, I swear."

"Years down the road, all the Elves will still be picking at their ears." Orlando slid into the driver's seat, scratching across the shell of his own ear. Small flecks of dried glue fell onto his shoulder.

"Oh, stop it. That's minging." Chuckling, Billy kicked the back of the driver's seat and grinned when Orlando quickly flipped him off over his shoulder before putting the key in the ignition. "If you think you've got it bad; you want to see my feet?"

"No!" Liv laughed.

"Please, Bill. You'll give the poor girl nightmares." Orlando teasingly stroked Liv's head and turned the key. The engine rumbled to life, the headlights flashing on across the dark car park.

As Orlando steered out of the lot, Billy nestled into the backseat and folded his arms across his chest. He was feeling good. In fact, he was feeling great and had been for the last few weeks and intended to for several more. He lived each new day with the sort of contentedness born of a life enriched with a loving family, loyal friends, a promising career, and an absolutely unflinching sense of self.

He knew what he was about now. More importantly, he knew what he and Orlando were about. Comfort. Pure and simple; single malt. It'd made perfect sense once he'd calmed down and really thought about it: he and Orlando were mates, they'd arrived together, they were both far from home, embarking on a new stage of their careers. It was a lot to handle, so, of course, they found a little creature comfort necessary, like a date and a majestically great snog at an airport.

But then, they'd gotten confused. What should have been a hug and a snuggle ended up being wanking and bums because they'd been corrupted by sexual politics:

Men want sex.

Everything in the media said it; everything in Billy's brain and body said it, so he could hardly disagree. Men want sex – only they didn't. They wanted warmth and sappy stuff; bodily comfort without sex and without trying to keep a lass happy while working twelve hours a day. But since they'd been corrupted by sexual politics, they couldn't understand that and so condoms had become involved. Unexpected, but true.

But now, now they were on the right track. Several nights a month, Billy would sleep over at Orlando's. It was rarely planned in advance. Instead, they let the stresses of the day dictate. They would chat a bit about nothing important and then crawl into bed and fall asleep. It was quite nice, really, now that he understood it all with crystal clarity. That was why he just smiled when Orlando drove past his house to take Liv home first.

"Orli, you just passed Billy's place." From the passenger seat, Liv's eyes whipped toward their driver, her fingers still fiddling with her ear.

"Oh, sorry. I zoned out," Orlando replied.

"Great," Liv said with a smile and a stifled yawn. "I'm glad we have you driving."

Billy glanced up just in time to catch Orlando's eyes flit back at him in the rear view mirror. Great, indeed, he thought. He'd earned a bit of a snuggle. It had been a rough day.

Four hours later, Orlando shifted in his sleep and Billy slowly, unhappily opened his eyes. Five in the morning was simply too early a call time. But then, his sleep-blurred gaze fell on the alarm clock on the bedside table glowing soft and green like a mirage of the Garden of Eden:

2:37 am.

He still had two hours left to sleep. Heaven on Earth.

Smiling contentedly, Billy pulled Orlando's arm back over his shoulder as if he were adjusting his blankets, and closed his eyes.

Yet, not all of him returned so readily to sleep. An urgent concern stirred beneath the blankets, pressure rushing to where he did not want it. He kept his eyes closed and stilled; maybe if he just fell back to sleep, it would go away. Nope. He shifted, trying to ease the discomfort, but succeeded only in earning an unconscious, displeased murmur from Orlando. He tried raising one knee and lying a bit on his side, but there was just no use.

He had to take a piss.

Growling sleepily, he pushed Orlando's arm and the blankets off of him and stood. His legs felt shaky and his feet oversensitive to what was apparently a button under his heel, but most distracting from the unwanted and urgent pressure was the growing tingle in his left arm. It hung leaden at his side, useless, dead; the victim of bearing his weight for the last several hours. Shaking it as he stumbled toward the bathroom, he tried to force sensation back into it, feeling the slow trickle of blood back into the veins. The light switch proved truly difficult with one arm. Or rather, it did because in his half-unconscious state, it had taken him nearly thirty seconds to figure out that he could just use his right arm to turn the light on, instead of using it to lift his left to the switch.

He winced at the loudness of the toilet's flush and, hoping he hadn't awakened Orlando, tottered back into the bedroom. Orlando rested, curled on the bed just as Billy had left him, his body bowed around a Billy-shaped object that was no longer there.

It was always rather entertaining to watch Orlando sleep; his face relaxed, eyes moving beneath the lids, his mouth closed evenly. And then those quiet little hums. The first thing Billy had discovered on that first night was that Orlando hums in his sleep; not musically, but simple, soft, tuneless humming with almost the exact cadence of speech, as if he were talking in his dream and only the rhythm of it rose to the waking world.

Right now, it sounded as though Orlando was dreaming of an argument; clipped, sharp tones issued from his throat. Billy smiled tiredly and collapsed on the side of the bed. He gave Orlando's bare shoulder a rough shove.

"What?" Orlando's eyes flew open, brightly betraying the fact that he was still dead asleep.

Billy slid beneath the covers, facing him. "Flip over. I've got a dead arm."

"I don't care," Orlando mumbled, but rolled over just the same.

"You should. I couldn't see anything in the bathroom ‘cause I couldn't turn on the light. Had to piss in the tub."

"That better not be true or I'm going to beat your arse when I wake up." He scooted his hips forward, making room for Billy to press close.

"You won't even remember this conversation when you wake up."

"That's not true." The words came out garbled; his voice was already falling back asleep.

"You don't remember anything I say at" – Billy lifted his eyes to the clock – "Two forty-three in the morning." He closed his arm over Orlando's shoulders, glad that the weather had warmed enough to let them lose their shirts. Skin felt so much nicer than cotton.

"I'll remember you telling me you pissed in my bathtub." Orlando inhaled deeply and curled his arms further under his pillow, bending to conform to Billy's body.

"One pint says you don't."

"You're on, you bastard hobbit."

"Good. Now, go to sleep and start humming your victory speech."

Orlando jerked his shoulders weakly, attempting to cause injury, but Billy heard the soft snigger over the rustling blankets. He smiled against Orlando's neck. Warmth still permeated the sheets where Orlando had lain and Billy settled into the space, soaking up the heat. Sleep began to slip back toward the center of his mind as he settled his hand across Orlando's chest.

It had taken a bit of getting used it at first, sleeping with a lad instead of a lass. He would close his arms over Orlando's shoulders and there were no breasts to "accidentally" bump along the way. He'd slide his hand from waist to hip and there was no natural dip and rise to the body under his palm. The legs under the blanket with his were muscular and hairy, and sometimes the cheek he kissed was rough with stubble and left his lips feeling pricked and tingly. But after a few nights where those differences were glaring and unsettling, it had actually proven to be quite fantastic.

Orlando had pretty much everything Billy looked for in a person with whom he spent five to seven hours unconscious. He didn't kick his feet a lot or move around, he slept quietly; except for the subtle humming, which Billy had actually started to like; he was warm, his skin was soft. And he smelled nice, too. Billy raised his head, his nose sliding into the short curls at the nape of Orlando's neck. He took a long breath in through his nose. Orlando smelled sweet…and sort of sharply tangy like citrus fruit. Billy knew that scent. He breathed in again. Orlando smelled like…kiwi…kumquat and fig… He smelled like that conditioner.

A small tingle drifted lazily through Billy's groin and his mind recalled hazy images of candlelight licked walls and really great orgasms. An unfamiliar sense of longing crossed Billy's heart and had he been awake, it might have troubled him, but he was too unconscious to worry about Devils or Angels or the meaning of it all.

He was certain now that it had all been a miscalculation on their part; this, pure and sweet, is how they should have been all along. However, that didn't make the memory any less entertaining. It made it more so, in fact, as now there was no Devil dancing upon his shoulder, demanding answers to questions Billy didn't need to ask. He could recall the whole incident with a sort of magnanimous fondness, like he would a frustrating flubbed line that ended up as a highlight in the blooper reel.

But in his current sleep-laden state, he could admit to the awake part of his mind that he sort of missed the kissing. Now, he and Orlando exchanged simple, chaste pecks on the cheek or forehead, which were excellently comforting when wielded properly. But sometimes, late, late at night, Billy missed the deep, hard snogging. He'd feel phantom sensations of Orlando's lips crushed against his and his tongue thrusting into his mouth, and he'd ache.

Then, sometimes, in that brief moment of total abandon just before he finally drifted into sleep, he would wonder…what if? What if he and Orlando hadn't found the right path? What if they had kept it up with the snogging, and the bums, and the condoms? What if they'd gone further?

And in that moment – in *this* moment – his mind came up with the most startling things, always driven by an alarmingly base lust and something else; Billy never knew if it was relief or regret.

Just now, he could imagine lying like this with Orlando, pressed so tightly against him he could feel his chest expand with each breath and his hums vibrating gently through his shoulders. He could imagine sliding his hand slowly over his waist, pressing his palm flat against the smooth surface of Orlando's stomach. Warm flesh rising and falling, pulled tight over strong muscles that tensed a moment at the touch of Billy's hand. He could imagine sliding his hand up, seeking, wanting to find, and finding a small circle of rougher skin, wanting to tease it, wanting to send all of Orlando's blood flowing south. With one touch, it would tighten against his fingertip, the skin puckering and hardening. He could imagine taking the stiffened nipple between his thumb and forefinger and just giving it a little squeeze.

Orlando inhaled suddenly and his hums halted.

Billy slowly opened his eyes to see his arm draped over Orlando's shoulder, and between his fingers he could feel a small pebble of flesh. His heart stumbled into a gallop. He stared, his face blushing hot. And his fingers felt a small pebble of flesh.

Oh, god, Billy thought.

Orlando breathed in and out through his nose and the sound seemed loud to Billy's ears. His hand still rested against Orlando's chest and a heartbeat pulsed steadily and rapidly against his fingertips. Sweat prickled across Billy's hairline, began dappling the skin between his shoulder blades. He swallowed against a parched thickness in his throat and his tired mind raced, trying to think of an explanation for crossing the line, a joke to lighten the mood, a convincing talking-in-his-sleep phrase that would make it seem he wasn't even awake. But his mind didn't have nearly enough blood; Billy's cock thrummed between his legs, half-hard and stubborn.

Orlando's hips shifted and Billy's stomach lurched as a round and very warm backside pressed against his cock. He let out a strangled gasp that spiked into the room's silence. Orlando's hips leapt away, overcorrecting the mistake and nearly toppling himself from the bed.

Billy's gasp hung in the air, seeming to echo off the bare walls. He stared at the dark, featureless form in front of him and his heart pounded, his gasp repeating in his mind again and again, without pause. It had sounded primal and lustful; it had sounded like he'd liked it. Billy licked his lips.

Orlando definitely had the advantage at this point. He knew that Billy was hard, and if not horny, then most certainly hallucinating, so Billy swallowed thickly once more and waited. Either Orlando would say something or he would just pretend to be asleep and they would go on as if it hadn't happened. And Billy thought he'd only need about ten more minutes to make up his own mind about which of those he preferred.

After a few seconds – the really long kind – Billy found himself still staring at the shadow that was the back of Orlando's head. Hints of light barely illuminated the curve of his scalp and the sharp angle of his cheekbone, but Billy couldn't see if his eyes were open or closed. But he wasn't moving now and his breathing had become even. Like sleeping breaths. Billy couldn't explain the deflated feeling in his heart. All this time, he'd thought it was Orlando who was the brave one.

Sighing softly, he slowly slid his arm back to his side – and Orlando rolled right along with it. The air caught in Billy's throat. The mattress dipped briefly with his movement and Orlando turned to lay on his side with his obscured face toward Billy. His eyes glimmered in the darkness, their wetness catching what little light came from the window. But Billy could feel the gaze. Looking right at him. Asking him something, but he couldn't see the question.

"So, uh," Billy began, and his voice sounded so loud, "you'll never guess what I was just dreaming." He thought his voice sounded remarkably casual, considering.

"Trains going into tunnels, and floating cigars and all that?" Orlando's voice didn't sound sleepy anymore.

"Aye, and, uh, chickens." Billy swallowed against the heart attempting to rise into his throat. Darkness was good, he decided. Couldn't see nervous swallows in the dark. "Does that make sense to you?"

Orlando didn't answer. Instead, all Billy got was the shadow of his lids rising and falling over his shining eyes. It was really damned loud outside; sounded like an army of wetas had made camp below the window to attack at first light. But then, "Do wetas make noise?" he asked.

Instead of a reply, he felt fingers curling through the hair just above his ear and Orlando's mouth touched against his. Without even thinking, Billy's mouth instantly responded, melting against Orlando's tongue. It made Billy think of hot candle wax.

Warm and wet curled across his teeth and Orlando tasted like toothpaste; Billy'd had no idea that Fluoride Plus Whitening could be such an arousing flavor. His hand – the hand that had started this – slipped down to rest on Orlando's waist. The muscles beneath his palm moved and tensed as Orlando shifted himself forward. He kissed silently, slowly, achingly slowly, and with just the barest hint of suction that Billy could feel all the way down in his toes.

Shite, Billy thought as Orlando licked an incredible path across his bottom lip; it's his fault anyway. If he didn't kiss like this, we wouldn't have had a problem in the first place. But those thoughts were drowned out by a low, rumbling, God, I've missed this.

This wasn't like their other snogs that had been all fire and gnashing teeth. This was a slow burn, a distraction. Orlando sucked on his bottom lip and stroked his tongue against Billy's with a completely unhurried pace, as if time would have to wait instead of the other way around.

Snogging had comforting qualities, Billy decided, and wrapped a tentative hand around Orlando's shoulder, pulling him closer. This he could do. This was all right. This was still on the right path and he wouldn't be led down a detour again because he understood now. He could see the road ahead of them, so there was no reason to suddenly turn right.

But then, quite gently, Orlando's lips broke from Billy's and latched onto a bit of tender skin just under his jaw. Heat flooded Billy's stomach and his waning cock trembled, starting to recover from the awkwardness. Lips. Lips in new places. Orlando had never kissed him there before. They'd never kissed anywhere but on the mouth.

The wetas outside continued their undulating chirping and Orlando's cheek brushed against the pillows as his lips moved, tongue snaking out to lap at Billy's jaw. A shiver slid down Billy's spine and he decided that this was pretty comforting, too. Granted, it was less of a pleasantly distracting snog and more like foreplay, but it was all about the motivation. He and Orlando were just comforting one another, so this wasn't foreplay, it was…advanced snuggling.

Which was why it was okay for Billy to turn his head a bit and let Orlando get his lips around his ear lobe. Orlando exhaled and heated breath slid down Billy's neck, making goose bumps rise across his shoulders. Yes, Billy thought, almost coughing nervously in his mind, very comforting.

Which was why it was okay for Orlando to move a few increments lower and softly bite at that sensitive spot where neck met shoulder. His smooth edged teeth nipped lightly, just pinching the skin, and his tongue slid over the mark, soothing. And he hummed, just a bit, barely a whisper in the air and a vibration against the skin, but Billy's eyes rolled back in his head at the sensation. This was also very comforting, Billy thought. In a vampiric sort of way.

Which was why it was okay for Orlando to move down a bit further, his lips brushing against Billy's collarbone. And why it was okay for him to slide further, his tongue flicking across Billy's nipple.

Hold on there. Was that really okay?

Billy tried to suppress a moan as Orlando's wet tongue circled the hardened point. It didn't feel right for Orlando to be down there. It didn't feel equal. In fact, Billy felt a bit like a king with a concubine. That wasn't what this was supposed to be about; not at all. But heat suffused his body and it took every ounce of his control not to writhe and not to press Orlando's mouth closer. He didn't need to do the latter anyway. Orlando closed his lips over the stiff nub and bit lightly. A choked gasp forced its way out of Billy's throat and his neglected nipple tightened in sympathy. Oh, god, he thought breathlessly…this is comforting, too. In a Freudian sort of way.

Billy felt laid bare to the tempered onslaught as Orlando's tongue slid out, teasing his skin, and a lone hand crept sneakily to his rather jealous right nipple. A spike of pleasure shot through him. He exhaled harshly through gritted teeth as he felt the nub harden against Orlando's thumb.

Long fingers scraped deliciously through the hair curled across Billy's chest and it sent this unusual wave of sensation sizzling down his body. He was faintly surprised Orlando didn't mind touching him like that. Billy certainly enjoyed it, but not only did lasses not have hair on their chests, Orlando didn't either, so he couldn't imagine where he'd grown accustomed to the feel. He must be winging it, Billy decided, shuddering again as Orlando's short nails parted the hair, descending smoothly downward. Good for him.

Orlando's teeth bit teasingly on the sensitive flesh of his left nipple as his fingers deftly pinched the right. And that was comforting, too, Billy thought, in a…Oh, whatever, Men want sex. And he pulled Orlando back up to suck on his tongue.

He'd been rock hard through the last three excuses anyway.

Orlando exhaled lightly in shock as Billy's mouth locked on his, but it only took him a few seconds to close his hands over the sides of Billy's face, stroking his temples with his thumbs. Billy'd always found that to be an unusual instinct, but he liked it. It wasn't necessarily comforting, but it was so fucking hot. Billy kissed him furiously, their teeth clacking together a few times in his effort to get his tongue as far into Orlando's mouth as possible.

Exhilaration. Unadulterated energy coursed through Billy's limbs and he somehow felt as though he were flying within his own body, he felt so suddenly free. He actually smiled against Orlando's mouth when his fingers found the nipple that had seduced him in his sleep and brought a muffled whimper to Orlando's throat. The cotton of his boxers clung damply to his cock and the air beneath the blankets felt uncomfortably humid, almost wet with their combined heat.

"Do you have to wear your feet tomorrow?" Orlando managed to ask in the split second Billy's mouth left his for breath.

"Shite."

"That's a yes, then?"

"Yes." Billy closed his arm over Orlando's shoulders, pulling him close until he could feel his smooth skin pressed against the hair on his own chest.

"Then, we better move on with it." Orlando pulled away just enough to slide his hand down his torso. Billy followed suit, sliding his hand down across his own stomach.

"Isn't that one of your lines?" Billy's tongue slid out to touch Orlando's between their parted mouths and, beneath the covers, he fought to free his rather aching cock from uncooperative cotton. Not his finest moment of multi-tasking.

"Probably. I'm always telling people to do things and no one ever fucking listens."

Billy grinned euphorically. "That's because Elves - " A startled gasp swallowed his witty retort as he felt his finally freed cockhead bump into something equally hard and dripping.

"Holy fuck," Orlando ground out.

Billy opened his eyes to see the glimmers of Orlando's looking back at him once more. The weta army outside droned on rhythmically, incessantly. The faint light of the room caught the motion of Orlando's adam's apple as he swallowed, gleaming of sweat. And slowly, very slowly, he moved the cock closed in his hand.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Billy released a shuddering breath, holding his own cock still and feeling the slick slide of hard, gentle skin circle the head. His stomach clenched tight. So smooth and so, so iron hard, wet and circling around and around and around. The skin stretched taut over his thick length caught softly on Orlando's, rubbing roughly, exquisitely, like velvet over velvet. Billy'd never felt anything so incredible in his life. He didn't have a prayer of questioning it.

Pleasure ratcheted up Billy's body, climbing higher with each circle around his cock. The tendons in his neck began to strain, tight with holding back what would have been an embarrassingly loud groan.

What was an embarrassingly loud groan.

"Oh, fucking god, that's - " But Orlando's own moan drowned out his voice as the ends of their cocks touched, the twin slits catching for just an instant and giving the fleeting contact the most incredible staccato rhythm. "Fuck."

Too Much, was the only thought in Billy's head, followed quickly by Not Enough. Nothing could even compare to this, except more of it. Lust and sex and heat and just a smidgen of comfort blurred his mind: he was sure those were wetas outside and now, not only could they make noise, he could have been convinced they could sing the choral arrangements from Beethoven's Ninth Symphony should the mood grab them, and he loved cold glue on his feet first thing in the morning, and Elves should always, always be listened to. And he knew he had to act now before his "right mind" cleared up enough to stop him.

He moved his hand forward and grasped Orlando's cock.

"Shit!" Orlando gasped, but it didn't sound like an angry gasp. It was a good, breathless gasp, and his fingers dug into Billy's shoulder as if holding on to stay on the ground.

Billy closed his fingers over both of them, filling his palm and stretching his reach to its limit. The length in his hand felt familiar. It felt like his, but when he stroked it, slid his thumb over the head, he didn't feel anything but a tremble in the body pressed close to his. It was like a part of him that wasn't part of him anymore.

This wasn't like being with a lass. With a lass, it was all guesswork and hoping. Hoping he'd hit the right spot, hoping that where he touched her actually felt good, but this, there was no guessing. He knew what felt good for Orlando because he *knew what felt good*.

Collecting the fluid they both leaked, he spread it over the cocks in his hand, mixing it, easing the way for his hand to slide back and forth. Orlando exhaled raggedly and hooked his leg over Billy's hip, pressing their groins ever more closely together. The tip of Billy's cock touched roughly against thick, coarse curls. Billy's mind went white-hot blank.

Orlando's hand closed over Billy's on their joined cocks, and Billy's hips jumped forward at the added heat, burrowing himself further against Orlando's body. He felt a hard tip jutting against his own abdomen and thrust back, strangely enjoying the feel of it throbbing against his muscles, spreading an obscene wetness across his skin. He grinned, even as his cheeks flushed hot.

Billy set the pace and Orlando followed it. Their slickened hands touching and linked, forming a circle wide enough for both of them, Billy pushed forward, then rocked back, feeling the broad head of Orlando's cock as it slid right alongside his. They pumped against one another, finding a hurried rhythm.

With a short, clipped, "Fuck!" and a hoarse groan Orlando pulsed in their hands and Billy felt something lukewarm and milky leak through his fingers. Freshly slicked, their hands moved easily and speedily on Billy and with each pump back and forth, his bollocks grew tighter, and the air stayed trapped in his lungs until finally, with one last squeeze, he moaned aloud. His cock twitched in their hands, spilling the last of his seed.

They panted against one another. The wetas outside chirped on, oblivious. Billy wondered if wetas made noise. Sleep returned, drifting over his mind, and bit by bit, the lust-driven fugue passed, leaving Billy with reason, an embarrassed blush, and a very sticky hand.

"Yuck," Orlando said with a soft laugh. "I think I figured out why we usually do this stuff in the bathroom."

"Aye."

Careful to use only his clean hand, Orlando sighed and threw back the covers. After a moment, Billy stood and followed him into the bathroom. Orlando opened the cabinets and dug through the towels with one hand. Billy shifted on his feet, looking at the smears of white on his fingers and stomach. He didn't know whether to be intrigued or disgusted. Mainly, he was relieved to see that the Treebeard-seat's attempts to castrate him had been unsuccessful.

In here, the weta army could not be heard and it was quiet, too quiet. Billy tried desperately to think of the etiquette of this situation. Every situation has etiquette.

"So, uh," he said casually, "do wetas make noise?"

Orlando shrugged his bare, sweat-dampened shoulders. "I don't know. Do they have the – what's it called? – the proboscis or something?"

"Proboscis? I thought that – isn't that just a nose?"

"Oh, wait. Crickets make that sound by rubbing their legs together, right?" Orlando rubbed his ankle against his calf in demonstration and tossed Billy a washcloth.

"You're not making noise there, mate."

Orlando smirked. "Fuck off."

Lifting the faucet, Billy wetted the cloth and began to carefully clean himself. This was truly weird. He felt a little like the fog would lift any second now and this moment would make perfect sense. But the fog was thick. Very thick. This was truly, deeply weird. And it was maddening how casually Orlando dropped his boxers and wiped himself off as if nothing were at all amiss.

Then again, maybe nothing was. Billy sighed inwardly. It hadn't technically been sex, but he didn't see the point in trying to sell himself on the concept of a mutual comfort wank. Instead, he just attempted to accept the reality: Men want sex. You can't fight the laws of nature. So, he'd been wrong. Billy shrugged lightly; it wouldn't be the last time.

Orlando let out a long yawn. "I'm fucking tired. Give me a hand here."

"Didn't I just do that?"

"Nice," Orlando snickered, and pulled the blankets off the bed. Billy helped him remove the soiled sheets and toss them in the laundry basket. Then, exhausted and already half asleep, they both grabbed the pristine top comforter and curled up together on the bare mattress.

When the alarm clock buzzed and hour and a half later, Billy sleepily sat up. A mattress button had left an impression on his face and beside him, Orlando burrowed further under the lone cover. Sometimes he really hated Elves; especially when they got to sleep an hour longer than he did. Billy listlessly pulled his clothes on – nicking a pair of Orlando's boxers first – and grabbed his script. He was nearly out the bedroom door when he heard a slumbering little croak of a voice.

"Hey, Bill?"

"What?"

"Did you really piss in my tub?"

"‘Course. You going to beat my arse now?"

"No," Orlando said, and gave a relished, almost childlike stretch of his shoulders. "I'm going to sleep a full, luxurious hour longer, and then I'll beat your arse."

"Smug prat."

"Wanker."

And then, smiling, Orlando really did fall back to sleep. Billy stood beside the bed a moment, quietly marveling at their resilience. That had felt no different than any other half-conversation they'd had any other morning. …Maybe they could really get away with this stuff and not ruin anything.

Billy smirked slowly, feeling damn near wicked, and his eyes slid slowly up Orlando's long, lean leg, naked and defenseless outside the edge of the comforter.

This could be very, very fun.

Closing the front door behind him, he strode out into the dawning New Zealand sun to become a sweet, innocent little hobbit.

A/N: Wetas do make noises.

*****

THE END

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

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