Posted: April 2004
Title: Billy's Best Pull
Author: Lemur
Type: RPS
Characters: Billy/Orlando
Rating: PG
Warnings: This chapter contains mild het content, but it's all in the name of slash. (With me writing, could it be in the name of anything else?) And cliffhanger. I suppose I should warn for that since this series hasn't really had one of those before. Eeep.
Disclaimer: This didn't happen. Ever. I don't know these people and more importantly, they don't know me. I am not making any profit except for my own enjoyment.
Beta: My special thanks, as always, to my Scottish beta Kira. Without her, my Billy would probably sound like he's from the United States and I think that would ruin the series. My thanks also to Jeannette, Roska, and Robyn for catching my typos and making great suggestions. All mistakes and vernacular inaccuracies are now my own.
Research: Thank you to Reisling for the following link and to Kira for her impeccable kilt knowledge (which is utilized more significantly in Part 2). This chapter is based on a fan account of the costume/formal Cast and Crew ball during the LotR shoot (http://www.theonering.net/archives/spy_reports/7.23.00-8.09.00), but I've just used that as a spring board, so there's little to no adherence to the sequence of events listed in that account. My apologies to the gods of canon. Please, don't smote me!
Author's Notes: My apologies for taking so long to complete this chapter. Thank you to all the readers who wrote asking for the next installment. It is my fervent wish that this will prove to have been worth the wait.
Summary: In a previous chapter, the Devil said it best: How can this just be friendship?

*****

Pull: British slang, meaning pick up, chat up. "He's going to pull a girl at the party", "going on the pull", etc.

Billy's Best Pull, Part 1
By Lemur

The night before the ball, Orlando gave Billy a toothbrush. After the day Billy had had –
his Hobbit feet had come off twice, his cloak had gotten torn, an amateur Gondorian had accidentally smacked him on the back of the head with a rubber sword – it was an immeasurable luxury to be able to brush his teeth with a real toothbrush instead of his finger and he went to bed that night with cleaner teeth, fresher breath and a healthy dose of gratitude.

The morning of the ball, Billy gave Orlando a kiss on the forehead. Orlando hadn't awakened as Billy crept silently through the room in the darkness of dawn, leaving early to don his Hobbit feet. The night before, they'd both been more than knackered. They'd barely managed to stay awake through their good night snog, so to try anything more ambitious would have been to pass idealistic and land firmly in preposterous. They'd both been content with just sleep.

The day of the ball, Billy gave Orlando a vague, rather flirty warning. They saw each other briefly by the trailers. Billy had winked and told Orlando he hoped he'd slept well. Because no one knew how long the night would last. Then, he'd walked on, going where Pippin was needed.

The evening of the ball, Orlando gave Billy a glinting, secretive smile, and Billy knew he'd successfully pulled the best-looking human in the room before the party had even begun.

So, by the time the ball actually started, everything else was just a bonus.

Reveling silently in his success, Billy relaxed back in his chair, gazing upon the table with the sort of languid, amused smile mastered only by the supremely sloshed. Life is good, he thought. Life is really, really, really, really quite actually really very good. He had good mates, great mates, the best mates on Earth, in fact, he had the best mates in Middle-earth, too – the best mates in two earths – he felt great, had pulled the hottest guy in the room, came from the greatest country on the whole planet, had the best job anyone could think of and – and…he was getting positively pished on the company dime. Life simply couldn't improve right now.

Billy looked over to the seat beside him just in time to see a giant bug in a three-piece suit slowly, almost meditatively turn his compound eyes toward him.

"Hello, Dom."

"How are you, Bill?" Dom's voice came out muffled through his sequined bug mask, but there was no mistaking that certain slur to it. So far, by Billy's calculations, two thirds of the Fellowship was plastered. Things were not looking good for the fate of Middle-earth.

"I'm good." Billy grinned at Dom, his laughter catching somewhere in his throat as he watched the enormous insect head sway. They greeted one another simply because they had happened to look directly at one another; Dom had been sitting beside him for over an hour. The Hobbits and the Elf had claimed this table as their own and had sown the earth with a forest of empty bottles and glasses. Using a shrimp fork thieved from the hors d'oeuvre table, Orlando carved them a small castle out of the block of green oasis foam from the base of the centerpiece. The discarded flowers had been scattered through the forest for decoration, though lilies stuck out from behind Sean and Elijah's ears and Billy held a red carnation in his mouth from time to time.

It'd been a long time since they'd been to a party. Or at least, a big party where the wine, the food and the music had all been provided for them, and they didn't have to work the next day. Such details led to tremendous inebriation.

And as a testament to their closeness (and their drunkenness), none of them had particularly noticed that they were only using roughly a fourth of the table. Dom had scooted close to Billy who had scooted close to Orlando who had scooted close to Sean who had scooted close to Elijah, so they now sat together in a cramped huddle, unaware of just how cramped they were. Too many hours together on set, in weapons training, in script readings had forever altered their concepts of personal space with one another. That, and the wine. That helped, too.

Furthermore, Billy specifically hadn't noticed that his chair had gotten progressively closer to Orlando's and that, by now, their chairs almost touched. He didn't notice that Orlando kept leaning toward him, favoring his side. He didn't notice that, about forty-five minutes ago, he'd gotten into the habit of resting his arm across the back of Orlando's chair, that he'd crossed his legs toward Orlando so his bare knee beneath his kilt touched Orlando's under the table. Had he been aware of all of this, Billy would certainly have decided that red wine was the Devil's drink. Or perhaps the Angel's.

As the others chatted, Billy looked about the ballroom. A few couples still spun to the jazz music buzzing frenetically into the air, but they were noticeably less coordinated than they had been a few free bottles of wine ago. Most everyone was still there, but they'd splintered off into smaller groups and claimed tables just as the Hobbits had. They didn't have a castle though.

"Where's the bloke with the wine?" Dom set his wine glass on the tabletop with an unsteady hand. "He was doing such a brilliant job earlier. This is the first time my glass has been empty."

Sean conferred over the castle with Orlando, snapping a carnation stem into equal three-inch pieces. He looked up just long enough to scan the room. "I haven't seen him in a good twenty minutes now," he said, and set the broken stems in Orlando's outstretched palm. Billy admired Orlando's hands for a few seconds, imagining all the places he'd like to have them touching him, all the things they could do. His lips twisted in a smile and he looked down at his own empty glass. Later, he quietly chided himself. Later.

"Look, my glass is empty."

"You're such a fucking pessimist, Dom." Orlando concentrated on his castle, carefully leaning Sean's carnation stems against it to act as buttresses.

"Aye," Billy agreed, letting his hand rest on Orlando's white-clad shoulder. Under the table, he felt Orlando's knee rub against his in response. "It's no empty, it's just less than totally full at the moment."

Elijah frowned at the wine-less forest. "I think we've been cut off."

"That's shit," Dom said. "I haven't even started taking my clothes off yet. There's a rule back home, you know: If Dom's not naked, Dom's not drunk. Ah! Wine man! Garcon!"

As the bloke with the wine neared them, the entire table came alive, lifting their glasses for refills. Except Sean. Sean was being good. And really, now that Billy thought on it, Orlando was being exceptionally brave to drink red wine in a white suit.

With his own glass sparkling with wine again, Billy looked over to see Dom with his optimistically full glass. Dom sat back in his chair, but made no move to take off his bug head as he'd done for the numerous previous glasses. "How are you going to drink that with your bug head on?" Billy asked.

Dom lavishly pulled a straw from the inside pocket of his suit. "With my proboscis," he said, and inserted the straw through a small hole in his mask.

Billy glanced at Orlando, only to see his dark eyes lift to him. Proboscis. The word triggered a memory to another time, another evening; this one punctuated by wayward hands, advanced snuggling, and worries long, long gone. Orlando's lips quirked in a smile and he looked back to his buttresses. Billy loved being the one who got that smile, loved being the one who got to touch those lips. Later, he reminded himself again. Later. But he squeezed Orlando's shoulder lightly and Orlando flexed into the touch, his eyes fluttering closed for just an instant.

"I got it from the big monkey. Forgot I had it." Dom took a sip of wine through his proboscis. "So, Orlando –" He leaned toward the table and ungracefully slammed his elbow against the edge, causing an earthquake that knocked over half the empty bottles in the forest and tossed his bug mask off-kilter on his shoulders. His proboscis flung red wine into the air. The rest of the group erupted into hysterics, hitting the tabletop with their fists to augment their laughter, cheering for Dom.

Billy leaned toward Orlando as he laughed, feeling Orlando's breath and the warmth of him. Everything was better with Orlando nearby. The wine tasted better, the laughter came more easily, and everything Orlando did, everything Orlando was as a person tonight somehow reflected upon Billy. Orlando looked handsome, which made Billy feel handsome. Orlando laughed at all his jokes, which made Billy feel witty. Orlando's eyes would hold on him just a second longer than common, which made Billy feel special. These jokes, these times when everyone laughed, felt like private jokes just between him and Orlando. This party felt like it was theirs, a preamble to the more important part of their night. Right now, the world honestly did revolve around them and it gave Billy a light, carefree feeling in his chest. He loved it and thought maybe it was even more intoxicating than the wine.

Calm through the fit at his expense, Dom carefully situated his mask back atop his head and regained his composure like a true gentleman insect. Elijah was snickering and wiping his eyes when, nearly three minutes later, Dom leaned casually on the table and began where he left off. "So, Orlando…"

Orlando snorted, tears brimming his eyes. "Yeah, Dom?"

"Are you making a specific castle or just making it up as you go?"

"It looks like a sand castle," Elijah said, wrinkling his nose.

"Hey! It does not." Orlando looked affronted and lovingly admired his green foam palace.

"It sorta does, man. I'm just saying."

Billy shook his head at Elijah; clearly, the man did not recognize art when he saw it; but Billy did and Orlando was art. Or his castle was. Either way, really. Billy tilted his head, scrutinizing the castle. Orlando was more art than his castle. Though the castle was quite impressive for something made out of foam and flower stems. He stroked his thumb across the back of Orlando's neck, silently advising him to pay no heed to Elijah's comments.

Sean narrowed his eyes, inspecting the little structure as Orlando tidied up one corner with the fork. "It almost reminds me of Notre Dame."

"Aye, now, there, you see?" Billy heard himself say to Elijah, and he leaned closer to Orlando, inhaling the dull scent of the oasis foam and the musky tang of Orlando's aftershave. God, he smelled good.

"It has those same sort of spires."

"Yeah, and isn't Notre Dame a little green now ‘cause of the rain?" Orlando smiled at his own joke and rubbed his neck, leaving a dusting of green powder on his skin. "It's perfect. I'm fucking brilliant."

Billy laughed, hearing the others laugh with him and they all hooted at Orlando, calling him out. Grinning, Billy jostled Orlando's shoulder teasingly; the lad was such a wanker sometimes.

"Oh, yeah, it's fucking Buckingham Palace, Orli!" Dom called through his mask.

"I think you've got a real career there, too." Elijah leaned against the tabletop, seemingly gone weak from too much laughter. "Everyone needs a little foam castle." The phrase "little foam castle" proved hilarious to Elijah and they lost him in another fit of giggles.

"I like it," Billy said, and he touched a finger to Orlando's neck, wiping away the green dust. Orlando looked up at him, his dark-lined gaze sparkling close, his lips twitching with a barely contained smirk. He'd not worn a mask or a costume, but bold, black eyeliner edged his eyes and Billy found the results rather dazzling. The sort of dazzling that made you forget your name for a moment. He breathed Orlando in, one finger brushing against his neck. "It looks like that Neuschwanstein place."

Orlando's face twisted in confusion, his smile contorting. "What?"

"You heard me."

"Aye – I mean, yeah, I heard you, but I didn't understand what you said. Shit, mate, you sound so fucking Scottish when you're pissed." Orlando grinned and nudged Billy's knee under the table. The way he listed toward Billy, his shoulder almost pressed neatly under Billy's outstretched arm, made Billy feel taller.

"I am Scottish when I'm pissed."

"Oh, right," Orlando chuckled, and looked at him with a heat that Billy could feel on his skin. Orlando moved in his seat, leaning even closer. Their faces almost touched. "Well, it's just a good thing you're cute."

Billy's eyebrows rose and he saw Orlando's eyes widen a moment later in realization.

"Cute?" Dom asked.

Shite, Billy thought with a silly smirk, what are we doing? But he knew what they were doing. They were flirting. With each other. In front of the others. He removed his arm from around Orlando just as Orlando sat back. Billy knew he should be petrified or embarrassed, but he felt a mad sort of giddiness bubbling up inside him. He almost didn't care if the others found out. It was no longer something that embarrassed him; in fact, he thought it was quite cool, quite special. Billy wanted to laugh. He wanted to laugh so badly and so long, but he knew perfectly well he shouldn't, so he didn't. He liked having the secret far too much. He snorted, he covered his mouth with his hand, but he didn't laugh. Later, he promised himself once more. Later. Beside him, Orlando's face bore the same insane amusement and they snickered together, sharing their own little secret joke.

Elijah latched onto Orlando's comment in a different way. "Aw! He's our wee little Scot!" he called out, in an atrocious Scottish accent.

Dom reached across to pinch Billy's cheek. "Like a little leprechaun."

"Hey, hold on! Call me a ‘wee little Scot', but don't call me Irish."

"You're right, you're right." Dom lifted a hand in apology. "My mistake. I have no reason to believe you have a pot of gold or a…"

Dom's sentence wasted away slowly and his bug head craned up at something behind Billy's head. A flowery perfume puffed past Billy's nose and he turned to see a gorgeous blonde in a purple dress standing at the table's edge between Sean and Orlando. She didn't seem at all unnerved by having five drunken men gaping at her. In fact, she seemed rather accustomed to it. She rested her hand on the vacant back of Orlando's chair and leaned down to him, giving him an eyeful of her cleavage. Billy resisted the urge to tilt his head for a better perspective; as it was, he knew his jaw dropped a bit.

"Dance with me?" she said silkily to Orlando.

To Billy, she was suddenly less attractive.

"Oh, uh - " Shrimp fork still in hand, Orlando glanced back at Billy, then returned his eyes to the blonde. "Sure."

Billy frowned before he could stop himself. Orlando dropped the fork on the table, dusted his hands off on a serviette and stood to follow the woman in purple. He had barely taken three steps at her side before she slipped her arm through his. Jazz continued to frantically fill the air as they found an empty spot on the dance floor.

Everyone at the table watched. Elijah strained in his seat, peering through the other dancers. "Does he even know how to dance to jazz?"

Looking back to the table, Sean chuckled. "I'm not sure it's going to matter."

Billy scowled and shifted in his seat. The other dancers blocked his view as they spun and twirled. Twirl out of the sodding way, Billy thought. Then, they did. Through the whirl of color, Billy caught a glimpse of Orlando standing with the blonde, swaying, but not really dancing. As far as Billy could tell, all they'd accomplished was the blonde's tentacles had latched onto Orlando's waist and had come deliberately close to cupping his arse.

"Oi, she's a shy one, isn't she?" Dom snickered and sucked up another sip of wine. Billy decided he must be able to see through that bug mask much better than he'd thought.

"Aye. It's a wonder she found the courage to speak to him." Billy swallowed a bit of his own wine and stared at the pair of them, Orlando and the blonde. Billy didn't like her. She was interfering with his pull.

The woman in purple swayed with Orlando, her hips moving sinuously in a way that only women could do it and the motion had always baffled Billy. She was hot, to be sure, but he couldn't get his mind to dwell on her curved hips or the pale hint of breast he could see through the arm of her gown because he knew he didn't have a chance in hell of touching any of it. Elijah and Dom dwelled with relish, though, and began a running commentary full of phrases like "fantastic tits" and "did you see her ass?" Billy tossed in "great mouth" for cover, but was pretty sure he was talking about Orlando anyway.

Undercutting all of Elijah and Dom's comments was a palpable envy that they didn't care much about hiding. They were jealous of Orlando for having caught the attention of such a "babe," as Elijah called her. But Billy still didn't like her. And he wasn't jealous.

The blonde threw her head back, laughing eagerly at some joke of Orlando's that Billy knew hadn't deserved such a guffaw; Orlando just wasn't that funny. The move had been all about pressing her breasts more tightly against Orlando's chest. Billy shook his head when he saw Orlando glance down her top and then hurriedly meet her gaze when she looked back to him. He could hardly blame him, though. She was hot. Stupid purple woman.

Billy knew how it was: the blonde had been drinking with some other lassies, thought Orlando was good-looking and wanted to see if she could turn him on. It was clear even from where Billy sat that the woman was a tease. She had no intention of making good on any of the promises her body was making, felt no responsibility to help relieve the tension she was creating. She was getting Orlando all knotted up, but didn't care enough about him as a person to take the time to untie him again.

Slowly, Billy grinned. That was all right, then, he supposed. Every time she slid her hands down to Orlando's hips or carefully rolled her breasts against him, Billy knew exactly who would be benefiting from how incredibly horny she was making him. With that new perspective, he watched the couple with a relish matching Dom and Elijah's. In his head, he even cheered the woman on.

He tried to ignore that his silent victory felt hollow, that it tasted sharp and bitter in his mouth. If he played his cards right – if he played his cards *at all* – he'd be going home with Orlando tonight, which was good; which was very, very good. This blonde woman, though certainly not a nun, wasn't a one-night stand either. She wasn't going to alter any of Billy's plans. Not a one. He would still get to go home with Orlando, he would still get to kiss Orlando. He would still get to have Orlando. Good enough, he thought to himself, but when he looked out on the dance floor, his self-satisfied grin became fake.

Billy looked away from the dancers and back to Orlando's castle where Sean was replacing one of the buttresses that didn't quite meet his standards.

"Oh-oh, she's leaving ‘im." Dom leaned forward in anticipation.

Billy looked out to see the purple woman walking away as Orlando gestured largely, saying his goodbyes, if Billy read his body language correctly. Alone, Orlando stood, running a hand through his abbreviated hair. Elijah and Dom howled. "Man, that's so cold! I can't believe she did that," Elijah said, his smile enormous. Billy couldn't help but grin with him. "What's he gonna do?" Orlando looked up. "He's looking over here." Orlando's eyes found them across the dance floor.

"Woo! Woot!" Dom and Elijah both raised their hands in the air triumphantly, cheering loudly enough to get the attention of half the room. Orlando laughed, the distance leaving him silent. He shook his head at Dom and Elijah. Then, for a moment, his eyes caught on Billy's. Billy felt the oddest instinct to look away, some heat in his throat that didn't even want him to look at Orlando right now, but he didn't succeed and so he saw when Orlando turned from the dance floor, heading toward the back hallway.

"Aw, poor bloke. He's going for a wank in the loo!" Dom snickered through his bug head.

"That girl was just mean," Elijah chuckled. "That's just not a nice thing to do to a guy."

Billy crossed his legs, smoothed the edge of his kilt, and waited. He waited for the conversation to change. He waited for enough time to pass and for suspicious behavior to become casual. He waited because he thought Orlando should have to wait. His foot bounced unconsciously with nervous energy and sweat prickled along his neck, making his collar feel stiff and itchy. An eternity later, Sean and Elijah started talking about ballroom dancing and Dom sat back, sipping his wine through his proboscis. Billy perceived his time had come.

"Right," he said softly, then louder again for Dom's sake. "I'm going to go have a pee. Bye." And he fairly leapt out of his chair.

He tried to walk casually toward the shadowed hallway hiding the toilets, but his leg muscles jumped and leapt, urging him to run even when he knew he shouldn't. He was sure his pace seemed twitchy, but silently hoped he just looked like a lad who had to take a piss.

Creeping into the dark corridor, he peered around, making sure no one followed. His fingers danced across the door to the loo and he glanced this way and that before swiftly pushing it open.

The room appeared to be empty. Billy stood a few seconds, scanning the rows of urinals, sinks and stalls before he heard a discreet cough come from behind the still wide open door. He peered around it to see Orlando leaning against the narrow space of wall between the sinks and the doorjamb. His lined eyes blinked slowly and Orlando cocked his head toward the stalls. Just then, Billy heard a flush.

Mind in a rush, Billy darted to a sink, letting the door close behind him. Following his lead, Orlando turned on a faucet, wetting his hands for no reason. They both stood there, unnecessarily scrubbing their palms as the stall door squeaked open and one of the crewmembers – Billy thought he recognized him from the motion capture sessions – came out, tucking in his shirt.

The water splashed over Billy's fingers and the plumbing hissed, but it suddenly seemed ridiculously, uncharacteristically silent to Billy. This motion capture fellow would obviously know who he and Orlando were, he knew they were friends, so he would expect them to be talking. It would make sense for them to be talking; only silence would be suspicious.

"So, uh, Orlando," Billy began. The crewmember stepped to the sink beside him. "What'd you think of the game?"

"What?"

Damn it! Billy thought. Orlando sounded completely clueless. Billy tried not to stamp his foot as a signal.

"Oh." There, he got it. "It was good! Yeah, it was really…cool."

The door thumped closed behind the crewman.

Billy turned to see Orlando gripping the sink with wet hands, laughing so hard it came out silent. He barely stayed standing. "Shit," he breathed. "What the hell was that?"

"That was not your finest moment. You've had much, much finer moments, you know."

"I didn't know you were going to say anything!"

"I had to say something. Too quiet with just the sinks. It seemed weird."

Orlando sniffed, drying his hands. "It *was* weird."

"Oh, and that'll be so huge I can't even say." Billy waved his hand dismissively as Orlando handed him a hand towel. "He can go tell all his motion capture mates that Billy and Orlando were having awkward conversation in the gentlemen's. So, Billy and Orlando awkward in loo. Big hairy fucking deal."

"Yeah, and ‘Billy and Orlando not talking in loo' would have been gossip for weeks." Orlando narrowed his eyes at him, amused.

"Okay, so it wasn't my finest moment either."

"I've definitely seen finer ones." Orlando waggled his eyebrows, then snickered, lowering his eyes. Billy grinned at the innuendo, but it felt awkward. A weird sort of irritation tightened in his neck and he got the strangest feeling that he was mad at Orlando.

"Hey, uh, sorry about the ‘cute' thing out there." Orlando leaned against the wall behind him, his shoulders hitching self-consciously. "I didn't – I don't know what I was thinking."

Billy shrugged, trying to shake off the shroud of disappointment. "Well, I am extraordinarily cute, so I understand, really. You couldn't help yourself."

"Oh, yeah, that was it. It's the kilt."

"You like the kilt."

"I barely know the kilt." Orlando raised his hands in surrender. "We've never been properly introduced."

Billy chuckled lightly, but it was forced. He didn't understand why they weren't snogging already. They were alone now. They should be going at it like rabbits, or at least like two young lads who'd had a lot of wine, but he felt uneasy; discontentment coiling in his stomach. Billy stared at him and all he could think was that he'd essentially given up Eva for Orlando, so it wasn't unreasonable for him to expect Orlando to not go dirty dancing with ballroom tarts. But it *was* unreasonable. It was a ludicrous thought. He was embarrassed to have thought it. He couldn't just say, ‘Look, mate, I don't want you dancing with pretty girls.' Orlando didn't owe him anything and he certainly shouldn't have to ask for Billy's permission to do whatever he wanted. And Billy could hardly have expected him to say no. If he'd turned her down, the Hobbits would have made fun of him, even Billy. You just don't turn down a lass who looks like that.

But then, he had looked at Billy, hadn't he?

Billy thought a moment. Yes, he distinctly recalled Orlando glancing at him before accepting the tart's advances, as if he was about to ask if it was okay before he remembered how that would sound to the others. The coil in Billy's stomach fluttered and he wondered when he and Orlando had gotten to this stage. Why had Orlando even thought to ask him, let alone turn to do so? And why was Billy so relieved that he had?

"You wanna come over to mine later?" Orlando asked.

Billy quirked an eyebrow. "Someone get you riled up?"

"What?"

"The lassie."

"Bugger that," Orlando breathed. "She was such a fucking tease."

"Not like me, then, aye?"

"Aye, not like you." Orlando smiled, and Billy heard something in his voice, something that made ludicrous thoughts seem reasonable. Because Orlando had done it, too. Orlando had given up the woman in purple for him. They had both officially given up a woman for whatever it was they had with one another. At the moment, Billy wasn't sure how he felt about that.

He shifted from one foot to the other, scratching his leg idly through the thick wool of his kilt. He opened his mouth to say whatever came to mind simply to end the silence, but – "Shite!" – the door flew open and slammed him hard on the shoulder, knocking him over.

Billy caught himself against the row of sinks and felt Orlando grab him for an instant before letting go.

"Shit! Sorry, Bills. You okay?" Elijah's laughter barely contained itself through the sentence.

"Aye. Aye, lucky for you, I numbed the pain ahead of time." Rubbing the dissipating ache on his shoulder, Billy turned. Orlando stood with his face stuck in a sympathetic grimace. Elijah glanced between them and Billy scratched his leg again. As far as he could tell, nothing in the room betrayed them, besides, of course, both of them being in the small space behind the door with Orlando leaning rather decadently against the wall. Billy schooled his features and forced himself to look casual.

Elijah's brow wrinkled in confusion. "What are you guys doing in here?"

"Wrestling," Billy answered, and Orlando let out a sharp laugh.

"Chatting. Just chatting." He stood up straight. "It's too loud out there."

"Well, me and Dom've been looking for you." Elijah opened the door again, letting in the high-paced jazz from the ballroom. "You blokes should come out and see this. It's brilliant." He darted out eagerly.

"Blokes?" Billy looked at Orlando.

Orlando rolled his eyes. "Brilliant."

Billy sighed and shook his head. "Americans. They all want to be European." Then, he pulled the door open wide and Orlando followed him out of the loo.

They only got a few feet before they ran into a crowd. People gathered nearly a dozen deep, forming a wide, thick circle around the dance floor. Billy wandered over to slide in beside Elijah and Dom since they'd already taken the time to find a niche in the mob suitable for fellows of their stature. Dom defensively hugged his bug head to his body, protecting it from the crush. Billy tucked himself in between the wall and the crowd as Orlando came up next to him, peering over the rest.

In the center of the ring of watchers, a couple danced fluidly, spinning and turning with the music. Billy recognized a pair of lighting technicians, husband and wife, if he remembered their introductions well enough. The woman's green dress swirled as she spun, coming to a stop and gathering against the dark-clad legs of her husband before recoiling and spinning again in the other direction. Something twinged in Billy's heart, a vague longing. They knew one another so well, so seamlessly that they could move like this together. Watching them now, moving with such grace, he envied them.

Beside him, Orlando shifted and cleared his throat, his eyes on the graceful couple. He leaned against the wall behind him, letting his hands fall to his side and as he did so, the back of his hand brushed against Billy's. Billy's pulse quickened and he froze.

Lowering his eyes to the shoulder of the man in front of him, Billy used all his peripheral vision to try to see Orlando, to see his reaction. What he saw was Orlando staring straight forward at the dancers, his dark eyes following their every step. But what he felt was Orlando's hand move slightly to touch his.

Billy's eyes flashed up to the dance floor. The couple continued to dance, a swirl of green and black before him, but he didn't see them. His mind's eye focused solely on the back of his hand against Orlando's. Blood pounded in his ears, drowning the jazz, drowning his thoughts, and Orlando slid closer.

The green and black on the dance floor swept upward in a motion that looked impressive by human standards. The crowd cooed and applauded. With one final, fluid movement, Orlando's palm pressed flat against Billy's and instantly, their fingers intertwined, threading through each other. Billy's heart throbbed once, a final drumbeat. Clapping and grinning, Elijah turned to them. Billy quickly grinned back, but didn't feel it and wasn't sure why they were smiling. When Elijah looked back to the dancers, Billy's smile fell and he swallowed.

Orlando's thumb stroked over his, his fingers squeezing gently. His hand felt secure and strong in Billy's, but it trembled, either from the force of his pulse or the jangle of his nerves. It reminded Billy of the first time he'd held a girl's hand and he couldn't let anyone see for fear of being teased. It was something private and maybe even a little bit forbidden. In a way, it meant Orlando was his, no matter what the ballroom tarts might try.

Orlando bought him a toothbrush.

The thought slapped Billy across the face. Orlando bought him a toothbrush. Mates don't buy each other toothbrushes. A bit of plastic with bristles and suddenly, it was an admission, a declaration. An epiphany. Billy slowly started to realize the true nature of their secret and it was so obvious, so clear, he couldn't believe that it actually had to be an epiphany.

It wasn't that they were secretly snogging, or secretly sharing a bed on cold nights. It wasn't even that they were secretly rubbing and touching one another, doing things that involved condoms and lubrication. They were secretly seeing one another, secretly dating. The secret was that they were a couple. Billy's stomach flipped anxiously and he felt the phantom hooves of the Devil on his shoulder, but he didn't let go of Orlando's hand. He didn't let go because he didn't want to.

The song ended with a flourish and the green and black pair struck a final, elegant pose before giggling shyly with one another. The audience around them clapped enthusiastically as the couple bowed. The riotous applause filled Billy's ears, replacing the sound of his own heartbeat. Then, gradually, the crowd began to disperse.

The man in front of Billy walked off, removing a bit of the protective closeness around them. Orlando's hand tightened possessively, sending a smile to Billy's lips and a strange, dizzying euphoria to his blood. He gripped Orlando's hand back. Then, the woman in front of Orlando wandered away. The light of the dance floor struck them. Billy let go. His mood took a sudden, frustrated downward turn.

"Wasn't that great?" Elijah asked. "Did you know they could do that?"

Dom shrugged. "I always saw a certain grace in how they put up the key lights, didn't you, Bill?"

"Oh, aye. All that twirling – didn't seem necessary for putting up a tripod."

Elijah and Dom laughed, then a silence fell that felt heavy enough to suffocate. Billy swallowed and glanced in Orlando's direction, though he didn't lift his eyes enough to actually see him. He wanted to be away now, somewhere private, alone with him.

"I'm pissed," Orlando abruptly declared. The other three just stared at him. "Right, so, I'm going to catch a cab home. Anyone want to share?" He glanced expectantly at Billy.

Billy let a moment pass for the sake of appearing casual. "Aye, I guess I will." Orlando smiled, small and sweet.

"I will, too," Elijah said.

"Yeah." Dom shifted his bug mask under his arm. "I should head home. One more drink and I'll be naked."

"Sean's been wanting to take off for about twenty minutes. Let me see if he's still here." Elijah began pushing through the crowd. "I'll meet you guys by the main door."

"Okay," Dom said for them.

Billy and Orlando looked at one another and frowned.

*****

A sequined bug head thwacked Billy across the face. Dom positioned the exquisite mask on his lap as he crammed himself into the narrow space between Billy and the car door. "Watch it," Billy hissed, ducking his head to the side, which effectively bent it to Orlando's shoulder. Orlando smelled like faded aftershave and wine. He smelled warm.

"Sorry, sorry. But it's a brilliant mask. You gotta admit."

"Aye," Billy said, lifting his eyes to Orlando's for a fleeting moment. He was close enough to kiss. His lips looked soft. Dom finally slammed the door, packing them in tightly.

"That mask is fucking awesome, Dom." Elijah leaned over Orlando toward Dom, squishing them together even more. "If they'd had a contest, you would've won."

"There should have been a contest." Dom admired his mask, green sequins glinting in the car park floodlights. "I should have started a contest and made myself the winner."

"Hollow victory," Sean called from the front seat where he'd been kindly introducing himself to the cabbie.

As Dom, Sean and Elijah continued to discuss the merits – or lack thereof – of dictatorial costume contests, Billy sat beside Orlando, sandwiched in the middle of the backseat. For space conservation, Orlando lifted his arms, stretching them across Billy's shoulders and Elijah's. Billy subtly nestled closer against his body, but strongly resisted the instinct that told him to rest his hand on Orlando's thigh.

"Hey! Hey, guys!" Sean waved his hands, silencing the chatter. "Who gets dropped off first?"

"My place is closest," Elijah offered.

"I think mine's the farthest," Orlando said.

Orlando shifted and Billy thought it might have been a nudge. "Aye, it is."

"So, Elijah, then me, Billy, Dom and then Orlando. That works." Sean turned to give the driver directions.

"Oh, uh!..." Orlando's voice evidently piped up before his mind had figured out what to say. "...I think Dom's house is closer than Bill's."

"Aye, it is."

"Is not." Dom shook his head.

"Is too," Billy said, and heard Orlando's voice in unison.

"You guys," Sean said wearily. "Let's just go with the first order, all right? Everybody, give Orlando some money so he can pay when he's dropped off."

Money suddenly began collecting in Orlando's lap, tossed from all directions, and the cab pulled out of the parking lot and into traffic. Darkness and chatter filled the car. The cabbie's name was Paul and he had lived in Wellington for just over ten years. He was divorced, had a dog named Eli, and loved Meet the Feebles. These facts slipped in through Billy's left ear and shot out his right, sped up and flung by the whirlwind in his mind. He needed to get Orlando alone somehow. He needed to think. Unfortunately, having Orlando so near wasn't helping slow the whirlwind.

The closeness of Dom and Orlando clamped Billy's legs together, thigh to thigh to thigh. Dom's body heat was warm and cozy, but Orlando…Orlando tingled. Distractingly. Almost painfully. Billy was familiar with this phenomenon. The skin of lasses he fancied was always more heated than other people's when they touched him, but now he wondered which came first. Had Orlando always tingled and Billy just hadn't noticed? Or had his skin started tingling during that first date?

"G'night!" Elijah called as he heaved the door closed behind him. They waited a moment at Sean's request, making sure Elijah got into his house safely, or rather that he had his keys to get into said house safely, and as the engine purred, vibrating the back seat, Orlando, Dom and Billy redistributed themselves, reclaiming the vacated space. With an uncertain glance, Orlando reluctantly removed his arm from around Billy's shoulders.

The cab arrived at Sean's house and let him out, then began its far too short trek towards Billy's house where he would be dropped off and separated from Orlando forever. Billy stewed, thinking, calculating. The wine – and Orlando's nearness – impeded his thought processes just enough to make all other options of being alone with Orlando vanish. This was the only cab in New Zealand, the only cab they could use. This was the One Cab and if he and Orlando were to become parted on this leg of the journey, then they would never reach Mount Doom, or anything else they might reach together tonight. Billy loved Dom, but not right now. He was briefly tempted to smash Dom's bug head and shove him out the door of a moving vehicle. It was now every Hobbit for himself.

"Oh, shite." Billy grabbed the leather pouch at his waist and rummaged through.

"What?" Dom asked.

"I left my keys at the place."

"So? Pick ‘em tomorrow."

"I need them to get into my house, genius," he said lightly, hoping Dom didn't remember hearing a set of keys jangling in his sporran when they'd taken their seats. "I'll just go back. It's not all that far, you know."

"You want me and Orli to come with? We could turn around now."

Billy felt a twist of guilt. "Nah. No reason for you to lose sleep." And the guilt pushed him to say more than he wanted. "I'll make Orlando come along though. Fucking Elf deserves a bit of trouble, don't you think?" At least that way, Billy'd been honest about Orlando staying with him. He was still lying right to Dom's face, but he pretended that that shred of honesty shaved a few millimeters off the giant chunk of deception.

"Definitely. Make him crawl for ‘em." Dom grinned at Orlando with red wine stained teeth and told the cabbie where to turn, speeding along toward his house. As soon as Dom bid them good night and wobbled drunkenly through his front door, Billy directed the cab back toward the ballroom.

Exhaling slowly with a fleeting glance at Billy, Orlando leaned forward, resting his arm on the back of the driver's seat and setting his chin on his arm. Billy silently agreed with him. This driver knew them by name now; they shouldn't touch each other just yet. Orlando made friendly conversation and within two minutes, he had discovered that Paul's ex-wife Phyllis was an extreme sports enthusiast who ran a rock-climbing training facility in Australia.

"You're not going to try to talk the lot of us into going rock-climbing, are you?" Billy abruptly entered the conversation.

"Sure. Why not? You liked surfing."

"That was a fluke; dumb luck or something. I didn't like bungee jumping."

"You wouldn't even go, you pansy." The passing lights illuminated Orlando's amused face for a heartbeat.

"Aye, I didn't need to. I don't need to jump off a bridge to know I don't want to jump off a bridge."

"I'm with you," Paul agreed. "Jumping off a bridge is just tempting fate."

"See?" Billy nodded toward Paul in the front seat. "Sensible people don't do things like that. Your body doesn't know you're not going to die."

"But that's where the rush comes from!" Orlando countered. "The adrenaline, and the endorphins and all that."

"But you don't have to make your body think it's going to die. There are better ways to get an adrenaline rush."

Billy honestly hadn't meant to make it sound like an offer, but his voice had other ideas. It has said it low and leading, with the emphasis on "better". Orlando's eyes widened and he tried to suppress the grin crossing his face. He glanced at Paul sitting silently in the driver's seat, and Billy wondering if Paul could sense the almost magnetic pull between Orlando and him. It felt undeniable enough to him; he wanted to attack Orlando that instant. The engine hummed and rattled and the streetlights passed.

"Le petit morte." Paul's voice punctuated the stillness. "The little death."

Orlando grinned in triumph. "See?"

Billy just shook his head and smiled with a strange feeling of pride. Paul had definitely sensed it.

Paul dropped them off precisely where he had picked them up. "Thanks, mate," Orlando said and handed over the large wad of collected cash, complete with generous tip. "Have a good night, all right?" He slid across the seat and climbed out after Billy.

They stood side by side on the curb, watching as the cab pulled off. Billy turned to Orlando, looking at him blankly. Then, they looked back to the car park to see another white cab pulling up. "Taxi!" Billy called, and behind him, Orlando doubled over laughing.

When they climbed into the new cab, neither introduced themselves nor said a word beyond Orlando's address. Billy knew better now than to try to appear casual with a conversation about sports. This lady driver didn't know they were mates, so they could pretend to hate each other for the duration of the trip, if they so desired. Or they could act like two of those buskers who stand in city squares and pretend to be statues, just on holiday in Wellington, perhaps. Either way, Billy kept his mouth shut.

In the new silence, Billy detected the faint music crackling from the car's speakers. The radio played a light, airy love ballad, sickeningly saccharine and cheesy. Orlando's white suit rendered him a ghost in the shadows, and the passing lights yielded only a silhouette of his face. But even in the dim, Billy saw the hand reaching for his and lifted his hand to meet it. Their joined hands came to rest on the warm wool covering Billy's knee and Billy listened to the radio in the absence of ineffectively casual conversations. He was forced to roll his eyes at every refrain about ‘right next to me is too far away' and ‘I feel you all through me' because his heart reacted far too much for his taste. Already, it beat in his throat, making it difficult for him to swallow or even breathe. This was so stupid. He felt like a sodding girl. But a lucky girl, nonetheless.

As the cab drove off, red taillights disappearing in the dark, Billy and Orlando collapsed against the wall of Orlando's home. Orlando's tongue swiped across Billy's and the richness of the wine Billy had lost hours ago by over imbibing exploded across his taste buds, sweet and luscious like cherry pie. Even with the distracting feel of Orlando's body warm and firm against his, he was very aware of the porch light above their heads, illuminating them like a solar flare. From the outside, he knew it must look pornographic: two men kissing, their tongues meeting visibly between their mouths, slowly, sensually, with no attempt at propriety or concealment. With one eye, he squinted up at the light, then quickly returned his attention to the more insistent concern of Orlando's tongue flicking rhythmically into his mouth. It felt too bright for this – and it definitely felt too bright for that low, hungry sound Orlando just made.

"Inside," he breathed between kisses. He felt Orlando smile against his lips.

"But I left my keys at the place."

"Then, you're breaking a pissing window."

Orlando laughed lightly and stepped to the door, fidgeting with the key in the lock. Billy followed. With their own agenda, his arms slipped around Orlando's waist and his mouth kissed the back of his neck, just at the base of his Mohawk. The keys hit the pavement with a loud jingle. "Fuck, mate." Orlando arched into the arms holding him and turned his head to expose more of his neck to Billy's lips. Billy slid his hands across Orlando's flat stomach, gripping the belt buckle so tightly it would surely leave an impression in his palm. He licked at Orlando's neck, dimly noticing freckles on the skin and lapping his tongue across them.

Orlando turned in his arms and they fell against the wall once more. Orlando attacked his neck, pushing aside his shirt to suck at his collarbone, leaving Billy dizzy. Tonight was going to be amazing. Billy felt that so certainly, it was at once boldly thrilling and starkly terrifying; he wasn't used to recognizing an eventful moment as it happened. There was no distance, no detachment. He was here in the moment with Orlando pressed hard against him, wanting Orlando so much his thoughts wouldn't flow smoothly or linearly and he knew he would never forget tonight. He was dancing on fucking cliff's edge.

His slid his hand up the back of Orlando's head, cradling. "I have a question I want to ask you, mate," Billy said, raising his chin to let Orlando's tongue get at his ear lobe.

"You're not going to propose to me, are you?"

Billy snorted and his laughter caught him completely off-guard. He quickly tried to think of a witty retort, something to trump the joke, but damn him, the lad had been funny when he wasn't expecting it. He had to settle for a harmless insult. "Nah. You'd look shite in a wedding dress."

Orlando's laugh was just a puff of faintly amused breath against his neck and Billy knew his reply hadn't deserved much more.

"I was wondering what you told the lassie."

Orlando leaned back, looking him in the eyes. "What's a lassie? Oh, the girl? At the ball?" He moved forward again, not licking, but nuzzling, listening. Thinking.

"Aye." Billy rested his head against the brick behind him. "She walked away. What'd you tell her?"

Orlando's nose touched against Billy's throat, brushing lightly. "Does it matter?"

"No."

The nose against Billy's throat feathered once, twice over the juncture of neck and shoulder, making Billy shiver.

"I told her…I thought I was with someone."

Billy's stomach flipped as lips pressed softly against his skin. "Wait...Did you actually say ‘I think'?"

Orlando lifted his head in thought. His eyes narrowed, turned upward into his memory and the edges of his mouth had already begun to curl. "Yeah, I think I did." His sentence ended with wine-tinted teeth in a wide, laughing smile.

"‘I can't dance with you because I think I'm with someone.' Shite, mate, she probably walked away because she thought you were fucking barmy."

Orlando's laughter subsided and he raised his eyes with a coy smile. "Well, at least she walked away, right?"

Billy closed his hands around the alluring, narrow waist so near to him. "Aye." Dark-lined eyes dropped to his lips and Billy quirked his mouth in a small smile, feeling bold under that stare, feeling sexy. "It's just funnier if she thinks you're mad."

Orlando cocked his head, his left eyebrow rising, and Billy understood the unspoken words completely: Maybe I am, mate. And he shrugged, silently answering back. If you are, then so am I.

The wetas chirped and the air around them felt warm and calm as Orlando pressed forward, bending his mouth to Billy's once more. The air grew warmer still. Billy pushed open Orlando's jacket and insinuated his hands inside. Orlando breathed in and Billy felt it against his palm, the body expanding and retracting with a slipstream of smooth, fluid fabric beneath his hand. "Fuck." He gasped against the sweat of Orlando's neck, between frantic kisses. Fuck, fuck, fuck, this felt great. He raised his knee and hooked it on Orlando's hip, forcing him closer between his legs where Billy wanted him. Moaning against Billy's mouth, Orlando gripped his shoulders. With every pulse of his kisses and the renewed energy of his lips, he shoved Billy against the wall, pushing him hard against the wood paneling. It almost hurt, but Billy loved it. He relished it because he knew those shoves were all that was keeping Orlando from tearing his clothes off right here. Already, his long fingers tugged at the collar of Billy's shirt, straining the buttons. Billy had never felt so fucking *wanted* before. "We have to go in."

"No, we don't." Orlando took his lips again, stealing his breath.

Billy let his tongue play messily with Orlando's and gripped him all the tighter with the leg around his hip. "Should we- ? Ah!" Billy gasped as Orlando nipped maddeningly at his bottom lip. "Can we- ?" He raised his chin, forcing Orlando's lips to attack his neck instead of his mouth, but it didn't make the words come any easier. "I want-" Orlando slid upward, his body rubbing against Billy's with delirious friction, and reclaimed Billy's mouth. With a frustrated growl, Billy clamped Orlando's head between his hands, stilling him. "Stop distracting me."

Orlando swiped a pink-stained tongue across the small dip beneath Billy's nose. "You sure?" he asked in a serious voice. Orlando lifted his eyes to meet Billy's and Billy realized he didn't need to say the words after all. The black of lust had almost entirely swallowed the brown of Orlando's irises, but his eyebrows bowed over his eyes. He almost looked worried. He knew what Billy wanted to say.

And the fact that Orlando looked and sounded nervous should have been a warning, especially since he was evidently distracting Billy from the words to keep him from saying them. Great, Billy thought with a small frown, now Orlando's playing the Devil. He wanted Orlando. Why did it have to be more complex than that? And Orlando wanted him, too, that much was unquestionable. Orlando's hands trailed all over him, as if he just couldn't stop touching him, and Billy could feel him growing hard against his stomach. So, his reticence could only be...

"Are you scared?"

"No." Orlando's faced screwed up in displeasure as he pressed another kiss to Billy's temple. "Aren't you?" He was apparently still too drunk to realize that those two responses didn't exactly fit together.

"Not really," Billy replied, because something – his testosterone, perhaps – wouldn't let him say the truth, which was that the churning, fluttering feeling in his belly could only be nervousness and fear. As much fun as there was to be had in all this, there was even more to be lost if it all went wrong.

And more troubling still, he felt the strangest, most daunting intuition tickling at his mind. He felt tense and torn with a primal, instinctive pull to give himself to Orlando. His body yearned in a way that made him think of Orlando's fingers slipping inside him, stroking him. He wanted to feel that again. But he could tell that it wasn't fingers he wanted, and his stomach flipped. He stared at the even stitching on the shoulder of Orlando's jacket and shrugged before leaning in to kiss Orlando's throat and his jaw. He knew he was only distracting himself now. His leg felt too perfect wrapped around Orlando's hip, it felt too right to have Orlando between his legs and it unnerved him.

Billy closed his arms around Orlando's waist, hugged him close, and felt Orlando place soft kisses against his ear even as he touched kisses of his own against Orlando's neck. A hand slid down Billy's hip and over the curve of his arse before gripping and supporting his raised thigh, keeping it locked resolutely around Orlando. "Do you..." Orlando began. His swallow sounded loud in Billy's ear. "Do you want to go inside, then?" So many questions hidden within that one, insignificant question.

Billy nodded against Orlando's throat. "Aye," he said. "I really do." Confusion crept into his voice, plain to hear, but he meant what he said.

Orlando pulled his body from Billy's and turned to pick up his dropped keys. Billy set his leg back on the ground and let his gaze fall there as well for a moment before he shook his shoulders and forced the actor in him to throw out a bit of nonchalance. He let out a breath and raised his eyes.

Orlando left the door wide open behind him as he entered. "Come on in," he said, as if an invitation was needed after what they'd just surreptitiously agreed to. Billy followed Orlando across the threshold.

In the darkness inside, the porch light once again graced his vision, burnt on his retinas and dancing in the black until his eyes adjusted to recognize lamps and sofas, a table here and there. Billy watched Orlando's tall, listing form head toward one of the lights. The impending threat of illumination drove him to action.

"So, uh, where do we want to do this?"

"Oh." Orlando paused just as he reached for the lamp, but he didn't turn it on. Apparently, he didn't want to have this conversation in the light either. "Bedroom, maybe? Or, uh, I don't know. Bathroom? But that's not very…"

"Bathroom."

"You don't want someplace more...?"

"Bathroom," Billy repeated, and his mind chanted it. Bathroom, bathroom, bathroom. That was where these things belonged. The bedroom was just too...

Bathroom. Definitely the bathroom.

"You sure? I mean, we can go wherever you want. It's not like – "

"Shite, mate, I'm too pissed to discuss this all out. Are you always this chatty when you're trying to get a leg over?"

"No. I don't know. Am I talking a lot? Yeah, then. Maybe."

"Well, I'm going to the bathroom. You show up whenever you're done talking."

Billy strolled down toward Orlando's loo, setting a hand on the wall to walk straight. He stepped onto the tile floor and chose not to turn the light on. Already in his mind, this was a place for darkness. Or rather candles, which, he noted in the dim, Orlando hadn't taken out of the room yet, the lazy little tosser. Or perhaps pervy little tosser, depending on why he hadn't taken them out.

Billy leaned casually against the counter, trying not to twitch with nervousness. Suddenly, music boomed from the living room; the bass line pulsed beneath his feet. A half a second later, it was reduced to a whisper. "Sorry!" Orlando called, and then the distinct scattering fuzz of a tuning radio drifted down the hallway.

Unless Billy was mistaken, and he wasn't, Orlando was out in the living room trying to find a decent radio station to put on while they... It was a nice thought, really. He rubbed the back of his neck restlessly. He tried not to think. Thinking brought images, thinking allowed for perspective and reality. Thinking summoned the Devil.

Billy massaged his forehead and grabbed up the lighter on the counter. After a few fruitless turns of the wheel, a flame shot up from the blue plastic cylinder. He bent it to the first candlewick, watching it spark and spit to life. No thinking. Thinking, bad, he reminded himself. He didn't want to think about bedroom versus bathroom, or what music to play. He just wanted to be shoved against a wall and fucked. Well, no, not shoved against a wall and fucked; not at once. He'd hadn't entirely figured out how he and Orlando were going to fit together just yet and fucking up against a wall definitely seemed like an advanced position, so what he really wanted was… He wanted to not think. At all.

The radio settled on a lilting symphony. The volume rose and the choral piece wafted around the bathroom, augmented and reflected by the tile. Billy snorted a laugh and nearly burned himself with the lighter. He hoped the song would change soon or they'd be shagging to gospel.

The candles lighted and shadows licking the ceiling, he took off his jacket to lay it neatly on the counter. He expected Orlando to waltz around the corner, but he didn't. For several seconds, Billy stared at the black void of the door, waiting. If Orlando chickened out now, Billy was going to march out there and kick him in the pretty white teeth.

"I have a crap radio. I only get, like, two stations." Orlando appeared around the edge of the door, his white jacket thrown over his arm. He unbuttoned the collar of his shirt. "It's either this or that heavy metal thrash angry bastard type music."

Billy nodded vaguely and knew instantly that Orlando had been out in the hallway mentally preparing himself. "It's very...romantic."

Orlando's arms flopped to his sides in defeat and he frowned before laughing lightly. "Fuck, I don't know what I'm doing, mate." He opened the cupboard and deliberately threw a towel at Billy's face.

"Yes, you do. This is very nice." Billy unfolded the towel and laid it out on the floor like they'd done last time; that had worked well. "I'm sure the lasses just love this routine."

"It's not a routine! You said I was talking too much, so I thought if there was music playing, I'd stop talking too much. Fuck off."

"What? I like it."

Orlando looked at him askance, his eyes sharp. Seconds later, a bright smile split his glower and he laughed. "Whatever. Fuck it." Rubbing a hand over his face, he dropped his jacket on the counter on top of Billy's. "You don't know what you're doing either, so there."

"It's a good thing we're pissed, then, aye?"

Orlando snorted, chuckling. "Aye."

They stood in front of one another, both leaning with faked casualness against the sink's counter. And the towels loomed. Beckoned. Billy didn't know if it was just the drunkenness talking, but the towels really did look quite comfortable; soft and downy and warm.

The choral piece ended and a lone piano ascended through a series of opening chords. Billy wondered after the composer, the name of the piece, why it was written and when. Was the maestro a Kiwi? Was he still alive? Was he even a ‘he'? But most of all, he wondered how an instrument of wood and wire could so completely change the feeling in a room. One echoing piano pulse ago, the room had been awkward and bizarre; two lads trading barbs in a bathroom absurdly lit with candles. Now, the air felt denser, the world smaller, and the absurd bathroom felt romantic.

Billy cleared his throat and took a step forward. In the candlelight, the outline of Orlando's face glowed orange; his eyelashes lowered, black streaks in the gleam. Inhaling deeply, Billy breathed him in. Sweat and cologne and the little foam castle with that sharply soft scent of Orlando's skin. Wine-tinged breath puffed hotly against Billy's mouth. Orlando leaned closer, then he pulled back, his eyes raising to Billy's, as if asking for permission. They glimmered darkly with reflected flame, uncertainty and desire mingled. He leaned forward, then back again, stiltedly, timidly, as if he was afraid of making a mistake, as if this was their first real kiss. He was so convincing that Billy found his heart lurching each time Orlando's lips neared, and when they finally touched, he exhaled through his nose into the kiss with a captured breath he hadn't known he had.

Orlando slid his hands up to the collar of Billy's shirt and for a moment, his fingers just touched lightly against his throat, gently pushing his chin up and deepening the kiss. Billy forgot not to think. His mind cleared completely of everything but Orlando. This was the beginning of the moment that he would recall for the rest of his life; he should be taking mental notes, recording feelings and perceptions. But he forgot to try to remember.

Billy reached up to unbutton Orlando's shirt. His fingers fumbled with the first button, they were trembling so much. He scowled into the kiss and tried again. Once again, the little nub of circular plastic evaded his efforts by slipping through his fingers with a faint plink. He pulled away from Orlando's lips. "Hold it, hold it." He glared at the obnoxious black button and shoved it roughly through its fabric slot. "Ah. There."

His hands braced on Billy's shoulders, Orlando tilted his head, peering down the front of his shirt. He looked at Billy. "You better now?"

"I don't like your shirt."

"Okay." Orlando tugged the hem from his trousers and lifted the shirt off over his head, tossing it into the bathtub.

"Much better. Thank you." By his eye line, Billy was apparently addressing Orlando's sternum. His gaze swept over the somewhat familiar landscape of flesh and nipples. The candles cast strange, undulating light patterns across the terrain, highlighting the bend and cut of muscle and bone. Thin, but beautiful; hard, but touchable. And Billy wanted to touch him, but Orlando stayed distant, several feet away at the edge of the tub and when Billy looked up, he found him watching him, examining.

"So," Orlando said with slight confusion on his face, "with all this gear, is there a way – is it all supposed to be folded neatly or something?"

Billy glanced down at his kilt and dress shirt. "What, like, is there a proper way to take it off?"

By way of an answer, Orlando grinned, his tongue touching against his front teeth. So fucking flirty.

"You have to do it," Billy said.

"Huh?"

Billy nodded, his face the picture of seriousness. "That's a rule. I'm not allowed to help."

"Right," Orlando said skeptically, then straightened his posture with a distractingly graceful arch of his nude shoulders. "What am I supposed to be doing, then?"

The lightness of laughter filled Billy's head, but he didn't even smirk. Keeping a straight face was a gift of his. "Shoes first, naturally." He tapped his toe noisily on the floor. Clop, clop, clop.

Orlando's gaze narrowed shrewdly. Then, he rolled his eyes, just so Billy wouldn't mistakenly think he was enjoying this and lowered to his knees. Billy leaned lightly on Orlando's shoulders as first his left foot then his right was lifted and the black dress shoe removed. Orlando tossed them unceremoniously into the tub to get them out of the way. "And your socks while I'm down here, I suppose." He looked up from his knees. His eyes were dead steady, locked on Billy's, faking the confidence again – at least Billy thought he was faking it; it was hard to tell. His lips stayed parted, tongue glistening behind white teeth and that much was most certainly deliberate.

‘I could get on my knees.' Billy was the one who'd accidentally said it, but he knew they had both had the same mental picture leap into their minds. And he knew that Orlando could guess exactly where his mind would go to have him down there, on his knees. He must be majorly pissed if he's even thinking of trying that, Billy decided. A nervous waver flitted through his body.

"Aye. Would be kind of silly any other way, wouldn't it?" Billy answered.

"Oh, aye. And all Scots are really practical, right?"

Strong hands gripped Billy's ankles and kept firm contact as they slid all the way up to his knees. Billy cleared his throat to hide a shiver. "Of course." Keeping the same divine contact, Orlando slipped his fingers inside the edge of Billy's hose and rolled it down to his bare feet. He tugged it off the toes and threw it over his shoulder into the tub. Then, he gave the second sock, the second leg the same impeccable treatment. Billy couldn't remember ever having such a glorious time removing his rig before. Usually, it was such a boring affair. He was brilliant to have had this idea.

"When's the kilt, hm?"

Billy looked down to see Orlando waiting patiently, his hands resting politely on his thighs. But his eyebrows wiggled with mischief. For that alone, the kilt wouldn't be next. "Shirt."

Orlando stood and stepped close. His warm hands glided up Billy's chest to the collar of his shirt. Drunken fingers fumbled with small buttons and in moments, Orlando was snickering at himself, muttering under his breath. "Fuck. I don't like your shirt either." His knuckles bumped against Billy's chest as he fought with each successive button before finally grabbing Billy's wrists and unfastening the buttons on his cuffs instead. Billy raised his arms, heeding Orlando's silent suggestion, and the feather-light fabric swept up his body and off into the bathtub. Orlando made a soft noise, a rush of air from his lips, and patting down his hair with one hand, Billy looked up to see dark-lined eyes literally raking over him.

"Now, I rather like the kilt like this." Orlando moved near. He met Billy's eyes and used his height to tower over him, looking down at him across the bridge of his nose. Billy's hands settled on Orlando's waist, sliding down hot skin until they collided with the top of the trousers at his hips. Orlando breathed in and Billy felt the air stolen from his own lungs. "What's next?" Orlando asked.

Billy's hand drifted up Orlando's side, feeling him shudder at the edge of ticklish, and slid over the angular curve of Orlando's shoulder up to the back of his neck where it fit so perfectly against his palm. It was a hard journey with none of the softness he'd so desired in lasses, but he took it anyway and savored it. "Sporran," he whispered seductively.

"What the hell's a sporran?" Orlando whispered seductively in reply.

"This, you ninny. This is a sporran." Billy stepped back to allow Orlando a clear view of the tasseled leather pouch hanging at his waist. "It holds everything down, the sporran does. It's very important. Blokes use it like a – like a purse. Keep stuff in it, like change and the like. Fits a hip flask of whiskey. Kilts don't have pockets, you know."

"Fascinating. How do I take it off?"

"There's a bit in the back." Billy waggled his arms, gesturing vaguely behind him. Orlando reached around his waist, leaning into him. Billy pressed a light kiss to Orlando's shoulder, the part of him nearest his mouth, just as he felt the sporran's buckle suddenly release. It hit the tile with a loud wallop. "Hey, careful. That's my – well, it's not my best one, but it's a good one."

Orlando immediately ducked to pick it up. "Sorry, sorry." He dusted it off gently, though it clearly hadn't attracted dust during the fall, and turned it over in his hands, checking for damage on the rigid leather. The tassels flopped and dangled over his wrists. "I think it's okay. This is so cool." He lifted the flap and peered into the pocket, which was empty save for Billy's ambiguous keys. "Okay, anyway." He tossed the sporran gracelessly behind him where it knocked over the bottle of conditioner and landed on top of Billy's shoes with a metal-scraping cacophony. He tensed at the clatter and turned back to Billy with an apologetic grimace on his face. "Sorry."

Billy just shook his head. "You're lucky I didn't have whiskey in there."

"Why do you think I checked inside first? Belt's next?" He tugged at the leather strap and gently licked his way into Billy's mouth, not giving him time to answer, not wanting to wait. The answer would probably have been ‘yes' anyway, regardless of what he asked, provided he asked it like that. ‘Billy, do you like showering in your clothes?' Lick. ‘Yes.' ‘Billy, would you jump off the nearest bridge with a bit of elastic string tied to your ankles?' Lick. ‘Yes.'

It was strangely intimate to have Orlando sliding the leather from the belt loops while they kissed. It tugged Billy's hips forward, pulling his center closer to Orlando's body, and Orlando's hands were so near where he wanted them, but only teasingly. A preamble. Orlando pulled the belt loose, tossed it in the tub. His lips tore from Billy's with an audible sound of broken suction and a whimper; Billy didn't know from whom.

"I have to know, mate," Orlando said. His voice was at least an octave lower. "What *do* you wear under a kilt?"

A slow grin warmed Billy's features. "Why don't you just find out, then?"

Orlando's eyes lit with an eager gleam. His gaze never leaving Billy's, he leaned to the side, his body slowly bending at the waist. His trousers slipped a bit to show a flash of hipbone. Billy breathed as subtly as possible, but his heart drummed with such force, he could perceive the vibration in his chest when he looked down. Orlando's hand drifted downward, brushing lightly over soft wool until it reached the hem of the kilt. Billy swallowed, watching Orlando's eyes, forcing himself to bear the intensity. Fingers ghosted against the outside of his knee. Calmly, Billy raised his arms to take a hold of Orlando, gripping him for support as the hand conformed to his knee, every inch of palm pressed against him. Orlando licked his lips anxiously and Billy exhaled a short laugh. All this excitement over a kilt. Crazy Sassenachs.

Orlando's hand slid upward, disappearing beneath the patterned wool. The hem held on his slender wrist and rose with it, gliding higher as Orlando's touch burned a path up Billy's skin. Billy's thigh trembled as gentle fingertips grazed lightly over hair and flesh. The budding smile on Orlando's face grew with every inch surpassed until finally, it widened into a thrilled grin as his palm came to rest on a warm, nude hip. He licked his bottom lip, leaving it wet and shining in the candlelight. "Cool," he said. He stood tall again, one hand coming to rest on Billy's waist while the other stayed right where it was with fingers just beginning to curve around the swell of Billy's arse. "Now, how do I take it off?

"Uh...well." Billy looked down to his waist. Removing a kilt was a difficult concept to explain. "There's buckles at the sides. You...unbuckle ‘em." Or maybe not so difficult.

Orlando set in on the buckle at Billy's right hip. His fingers stumbled over the leather and metal. Billy grinned at the consternation collecting between Orlando's angled brows. "Mind the pin." He reached down to grab the sharp pewter kilt pin piercing the fabric at his knee. Orlando very clearly loved the kilt. Billy very clearly loved that Orlando loved the kilt. But they might both like it less if the kilt stabbed Orlando.

With a clack of metal, the buckle came free and Orlando let out a triumphant "Ah!" before quickly attacking the next one. The left buckle fell open much more easily and Billy's throat went dry as his kilt slipped heavily to the floor. He felt exposed and bared to Orlando's eyes, naked in his desire. But Orlando ducked down and gathered the woolen tartan from the floor.

"Shit, sorry. Is it supposed to be folded in a special way or something?"

Billy pursed his lips, frowning. He was standing stark naked and aroused in the middle of a candlelit bathroom and Orlando was worried about the fucking kilt. Billy snatched the plaid from his hands and tossed it into the bathtub with the rest of the clothes. "No," he said shortly.

Orlando's eyes widened in apology. "Just checking." Then, he smirked slyly.

"Wanker."

"Hey, you were the one who said there was a special way to undress you and all."

"Right." Billy barely heard him. His sole focus was to get Orlando equally naked. "So, now, is there a fancy way to undress an Englishman?"

"Uh...turn around three times, do a jig, spit on a cat, I don't know." Orlando shrugged. "Drink some tea first maybe."

"How about I just take your trousers off?"

"That'll work for me."

Billy grabbed Orlando by the waist and quickly undid his belt. The backs of his hands bumped against a tight, tattooed stomach as he bungled first with the buckle and then with the button at the top of Orlando's trousers. The button that was only inches from his cock, a growing bulge beneath white fabric. Billy pushed the button through the hole with his thumb and felt Orlando's stomach tremble against his hand. He glanced up to see Orlando watching his own waist, waiting for Billy's next move. His chest rose and sank, air flowing steadily in and out, waiting, anxious. Billy smiled mischievously to himself; oh, the power he held in this moment.

He gripped the zipper tag between two fingers and Orlando inhaled sharply with the first faint brush against his cock as Billy's knuckles turned, rubbing. Slowly, Billy lowered the zipper. The unlocking of the teeth buzzed in the room, louder even than the piano strains still dancing in the air. An undefined shape, hardening and impatient, pressed against the fabric as Billy's fingers descended, taking the zipper with them. The shape rose outward when it had the chance, proving to be, not surprisingly, a cock, but surprisingly unimpeded by boxer shorts. It appeared they were both hanging free tonight. Billy raised an eyebrow at Orlando.

"You can see boxers. Through the trousers," he explained.

"This is much more convenient anyway." Billy hooked his hands around Orlando's waist, slipping his thumbs inside the waistband, and pushed down, letting gravity take the trousers to the floor. For an instant, he was tempted to scramble to collect them from the tile and lovingly fold them in some ceremonial manner, but he was too distracted by the trousers actually being off. They hadn't really done this before. They'd been naked as a result of various activities, but they'd never just stood in front of one another.

Naked.

Scottish slang dictionary:
Sassenachs – an affectionate term of abuse for the English.

*****

Naked.

Orlando blinked once, deliberately, and then took a step forward. He didn't hide that his eyes drifted from Billy's feet to his forehead, nor did Billy attempt to hide that his did the same. It was such startling sight. Orlando, nude; all long limbs and hard planes. He almost didn't resemble the mate Billy knew in the real world, outside this bathroom. That guy, that Orlando, wore jeans and t-shirts, or Elf leggings and blond wigs. He wore scarves on warm days and full wet suits in the water. Billy was acutely aware that he was the Billy who wore Hobbit trousers and fake feet, curly wigs and kilts that covered everything untoward. Now, both of them, this Billy and this Orlando, whoever they were, were flushed and warm, breathing heavy and turned on. And so very, very naked.

Orlando's fingers touched against Billy's bare waist and the flesh felt uncommonly sensitive, as if always being covered and hidden made it more delicate. Billy shivered inside his skin and moved just enough to insinuate his waist fully into Orlando's palm. Then, with his eyes unusually downcast, Orlando closed his arms around Billy's shoulders. Billy shut his eyes and he hugged Orlando back, stroking his hands along the bend of his shoulders and the deep depression down the center of his back.

He'd never been this naked with a lass before.

As soon as his mind formed it, he recognized the thought for the lie it was. Of course he'd been this naked with a lass. He'd shagged more than a few of them, and at its most enjoyable, shagging often involved lots of nakedness. But he wasn't sure he'd ever *felt* this naked with someone before. With Orlando, like this, it felt starker and more exposed. More naked than naked.

The smell of cologne and clean perspiration filled Billy's nose and he pressed his mouth to a shoulder that was just beginning to become slippery with sweat and tasting of salt. This was something too profound for his mind to understand. This Orlando was his Orlando.

Orlando's hands roamed over him, fingers exploring and sliding along any skin they could reach. Every touch sent the blood between Billy's legs and his rising cock bumped strangely – intimately – against Orlando's. Billy inhaled sharply at the nudge to his cock. His face met Orlando's neck and he pressed small, pecking kisses to the heated skin and felt Orlando doing the same to his jaw and left ear. They were just stalling now; he could feel it; and the word whispered in his mind: Now.

Billy backed up to the spread out layers of terrycloth and sat down, pulling Orlando with him because there was no way he was going to put himself in a position of being spread out on the floor like a bear throw rug with Orlando standing over him. He didn't care how graceless they might be, how they might topple like dominoes, as long as they both hit the floor together.

Slide of limbs, smooth press of bodies and cock met cock.

"Oh," Billy said.

"Wow," Orlando finished for him.

There had been no toppling. Billy had expected toppling, and maybe some fumbling, and at least a little bit of bungling, but he and Orlando had just melted against one another, fluid and graceful. They fit together. Billy's hands strayed over Orlando's shoulders and neck as they kissed. He skidded his fingers over the bristly sides of Orlando's head until they slipped deep into the thick, soft hair down the center of Orlando's scalp, giving Billy something to hold on to, to push and urge Orlando to kiss him harder. Orlando pulsed his hips lightly, cocks rubbing with an amazing friction where they both rested comfortably against Billy's belly, and he slid his hand down Billy's thigh, coaxing and lifting, resting it around his waist. Billy found that his leg hooked perfectly on Orlando's hip, his foot anchored between Orlando's sweat-sleek thighs, locking them together. Billy breathed open-mouthed into Orlando's lips, and he'd had no idea it would be like this. No idea that it could be so effortlessly good.

Orlando's body was plastered against Billy, his weight pressing him into the towels. It was intoxicating. His cock was so full now it ached, held between their bodies with Orlando's. The rub of flesh, the sweat and heat. He was still drunk. He had to be. That was the only way to explain how loony his thoughts were because all he could think was how badly he wanted to be fucked. How could he know that? He'd never been fucked, and yet, his body thrummed and yearned for it. He could feel his body opening to Orlando. It had to be the wine. But did he want to do this because he was drunk, or had he gotten drunk so he could do what he wanted?

Orlando slipped his hand over Billy's hip again, stroking, and descending casually to his arse, as if Billy wouldn't notice if he just did it slowly. Billy would have teased him about it if he hadn't appreciated it so much. A palm rubbed over one cheek and slender fingers just feathered through the cleft. Billy's whole body instinctively clenched closed.

"Ssssh," Orlando breathed, and Billy felt his own face flush hot. He shouldn't be tense, he was aware of that. He and Orlando had gone this far before, so he knew what to expect, but his very blood trembled in his veins all the same. We've done this part before, Billy reminded himself, and he could only attribute his continued fear to the knowledge that these actions were just the beginning and not the end; Orlando was going to expect more than just fingers this time. Hell, Billy thought with an inward roll of his eyes, *I* expect more than fingers this time.

He let out a long breath through his nose against Orlando's lips and forced himself to calm. "It's okay," Orlando assured him softly. The fingers against his hole stilled, pressing flatly against his opening, not pushing, not demanding, just there. Orlando touched his forehead against Billy's and waited.

Feeling Orlando so close to him, feeling his breath across his face, Billy consciously urged his blood to flow slower. It was somehow worse that Orlando was here to see him like this, blushing and shaking like a virgin. Then again, he technically *was* a virgin when it came to this, so maybe his nerves were justified. He reached up one hand to touch Orlando's head, taking comfort in the taut, sliding skin of bare scalp. He didn't need to be scared. This was Orlando, the man who tripped over his own elf-boots and had gotten salad dressing on his wig at least twice. He made a fool of himself daily, so he couldn't very well make fun of Billy without leaving a million opportunities for retaliation. Besides, he'd never make fun anyway. And he would never force. Billy's fingers drifted downward to Orlando's ear where they smoothed along the elegant curved shell and then poked squarely inside; a dry wet willy. Orlando snorted softly and bent his head away. "You okay, then?" he asked, and Billy could hear the wry smile in his voice.

"Aye, of course." Billy willed his muscles to turn to liquid and relax. It was not as difficult as he'd feared. Orlando's fingers moved again, glancing lightly over his hole and he trusted them.

One hand continued to stroke his arse, familiarizing it with the sensation, while Orlando extended the other blindly, pawing at the edge of the tub. Billy heard the bone-cracking slap of knuckles meeting fiberglass, and Orlando sat back, his hand waving vigorously as he tried to shake out the pain. "Fuck." He gritted his teeth and examined his wounded fist.

Billy smirked and felt all remaining tension drain from his shoulders.

"Fuck. Sorry," Orlando said, rubbing the reddening mark on the back of his hand. He looked into the tub. "Well, there's no way for me to do this all suave now, so fuck it." He leaned over the tub, digging through the clothes for the bottle of conditioner. Billy saw a lone black sock fly through the air. He rested, waiting, admiring the sight stretched before his eyes and between his legs. A finely muscled chest, a firm, flat belly with a sun tattoo – and a long, hard cock. Billy swallowed. It looked bigger than it had the last time he'd seen it. The nervousness began to well up in his stomach again and Billy forced his eyes elsewhere. Orlando had a very nice belly button.

"All right. Okay," Orlando said, mostly to himself. The conditioner bottle met the tile floor with a faint thump. Billy watched Orlando's belly button tense and stretch as Orlando reached across to the drawers beside the sink, fishing out several condoms. Billy closed his eyes, shutting out the lovely belly button, and breathed in, then breathed out.

He opened his eyes again to see Orlando selecting one condom from the pile and ripping the red wrapper with trembling fingers. Billy found the anxious shudder of the foil packet incredibly reassuring. He shouldn't have, he knew. Really, he should have been nervous to see how nervous Orlando was; one should want a partner who knows what he's doing with these sorts of things; but Billy preferred it this way. Orlando rolled the slick condom down over his index finger.

"Do you know what you're doing at all?" Billy asked. The answer could be no, he didn't mind.

"...Yeah."

Billy cocked his head, expectant, but Orlando just tossed the wrapper into the bin. "How?" he said after several moments, during which it was clear Orlando wasn't going to elaborate.

"I have a lot of gay friends back home and when they get pissed, they get chatty."

"And when you get pissed with them?"

"I ask questions. I know more than I want to, really." He shuddered at some memory Billy felt sure he didn't want to share.

"But you remember what they said about...this?"

"Most of it. I think."

"Well done, mate. That's some good drinkin'."

Orlando snickered and grabbed up the conditioner. "Thanks. It's sort of interesting, really, knowing..." He coated his condomed finger, set the bottle back down, and waddled closer on his knees. With his free hand, he grabbed one of Billy's knees and pushed it wide. "But I don't know where they go with - ?"

"What do I do with my legs?" Billy joined in the conundrum, legitimately confused right along with Orlando. Before, just bending their knees had been good enough, but this time, they were going with the more full contact approach. "Maybe try it – " Billy lifted his feet from the ground and swung his legs to the right, cock and bollocks flopping to the side. But no, that put Orlando completely behind him and he didn't like that idea at all.

"No, I think more – " Orlando grabbed his knees and directed them back to the upright and locked position. "But then…" He faced the closed gate of Billy's legs.

"I think if I –" Under Orlando's furrowed gaze, Billy lifted one leg and moved to...How the hell do blokes do this? he wondered, and set his foot back down.

He and Orlando sat in silence for a few seconds, both thinking. Then, suddenly:

"Oh, okay, here we go!" Orlando said.

"I've got it!" Billy said at the exact same moment, and he lifted one leg just as Orlando grabbed the ankle of the other. Orlando pulled his left leg out straight as Billy's raised right leg swung across and – slap! – smacked Orlando upside the head. Billy froze, one foot in the air, one foot in Orlando's grasp, and stared at Orlando's stunned face.

Orlando remained motionless, struck dumb, before his mouth widened in a grin. "That was good," he said with a chuckle.

"Aye, I thought it worked quite well." Billy laughed and relaxed. There's the fumbling, he thought. Welcome back, old friend. He planted his feet on the ground.

"Yeah. We'll deal with that later. Okay, I'll just... You ready?"

"‘Course." Billy let his head fall back against the soft towels and waited. Moments later, a soprano's aria swirled to a high note on the radio just as Billy felt a finger touch against his arse. He tensed: That conditioner hadn't warmed any since last time; fucking freezing. Orlando kindly stroked his knee and Billy relaxed against the pressure. Slowly, so slowly, Orlando's finger slid slickly inside. Billy couldn't stop his grimace. God, that felt bizarre. He would probably never get used to that feeling, that first slow push inside. The body rebelled against it; nothing was supposed to be going up there like that; but he remembered from last time that this was worth it. His feet shifted, parting a bit more and allowing Orlando's finger to delve further.

Orlando moved on the towels, his finger still inside, still stroking, and bent forward to lick across Billy's throat. Oh, Billy thought, that's a bit better. He groaned lightly as Orlando rubbed over that fantastic little spot inside him that he'd horribly neglected all these years. That was much better. Orlando's tongue slid down past his collarbone, his nose nuzzling in the curls on Billy's chest. Billy brought up a hand to pet his prickly head. Orlando was being so thoughtful, really; so attentive. If he was like this with lasses, Billy would bet he had a lot of repeat business.

Orlando removed his finger, fumbled with the condom to get his middle finger in beside his index then pressed smoothly inside Billy once more, so gently it created the sort of sensation that Billy suspected could drive a person mad by being so close to pleasure, but still not. He liked two fingers more. Maybe it was the renewed strength. Or maybe it was the size. He felt himself throb at the thought of how something even larger might feel.

Music drifted through the air, light and beautiful, and an expansive sense of euphoria seemed to fill Billy's whole person. Orlando's mouth was currently latched on his right nipple, his tongue flitting across it, and his fingers undulated inside Billy, coaxing the most amazing feelings from his body. This was the best idea Billy had ever had; this was a fucking brilliant pull.

"Good evening to all our late-night listeners. It's just after three in the city of Wellington…" the woman's bright, accented voice replaced the classical music and the mouth on Billy's nipple paused. "Coming up, we have a melody from Strauss." Billy lifted his head to look at Orlando's blank face. "But first, local news and the weather." Orlando buried his face against Billy as they both broke out laughing.

"Oh, aye, excellent choice with the music," Billy joked, lifting a hand to wipe at his watering eyes before resting it back on Orlando's heated scalp.

Orlando laughed and his breath puffed against the wetness still on Billy's nipple, which hardened it in the draft. "Just so you know, I'll be really offended if you remember the forecast tomorrow."

Billy gritted his teeth against the moan that tried to break free when the fingers inside him flexed. "I'll be sure to catch it then," he retorted breathlessly.

Orlando's tongue swirled around his left nipple, his lips brushed through the hair, but Billy kept his ears resolutely tuned to the radio. His back arched involuntarily each time Orlando stroked over that exquisite core inside him, but he was determined to hear and memorize tomorrow's forecast just to annoy him. He wanted to be able to recite it with perfect accuracy. Maybe even with a New Zealand accent if he could manage it. Orlando flicked his tongue into Billy's navel, pressing his lips to his hipbones and sucking lightly. Lips. Lips in new places and god, but Orlando had the best lips. They didn't look that extraordinary, sort of thin, really, but they way they moved, the way Orlando used them... Weather! Billy reminded himself. He was listening for the weather.

"Now, for tomorrow's high temperature we'll have – "

And that was all Billy heard because at that exact moment, hot breath poured over the head of his cock.

The woman's voice continued, but it was just a sound, a counterpoint to the throbbing silence in the bathroom. He wouldn't, Billy thought, and he shouldn't. Though by the way his cock ached at the thought, it evidently hoped he would. Billy's chest tightened and he squeezed his eyes shut, willing Orlando to just back off and not do this, no matter how drunk he might still be.

Another breath ghosted across his moist cock. Billy shivered and, mindlessly thrilled, his cock leapt and bumped Orlando on the chin; his body completely betrayed him. Sure, it would probably feel great, likely more than great, but if Orlando did it, then Billy would have to do it as well, someday, some time. That was the way this arrangement worked. It was equality. What Orlando did to him, he did to Orlando. That was only fair. And so he wordlessly prayed that Orlando would be too timid to do it.

He should have known better than to pin any hope on Orlando's timidity. A tongue swiped across the sensitive head of his cock just as the fingers inside him fluttered. Billy swore under his breath. Stupid fucking Orlando had to go and do it, and fuck, it felt good. A warm, slippery mouth enclosed him, sucked him in. Billy pressed his head hard to the ground. He wouldn't look. He didn't want to look. Just the idea of Orlando, with those great lips of his wrapping around... It wouldn't be an image Billy would get out of his head soon – or ever – and he still had to work with the guy for another month.

A hot slickness closed over the tip of his cock, sealing around the ridge that separated it from shaft, and those were Orlando's lips that had sealed, Orlando's mouth that was closed around him. "Christ," Billy murmured, feeling as though even his thoughts were writhing. Heat spread down his cock like a slow fire as Orlando took him in deeper. Then, Orlando coughed and cold air assaulted Billy's over-sensitive flesh as mouth left cock with a comically drawn out "Blaaaaaggghhh."

Billy opened one eye, daring to peek. Orlando sat back on his heels, lifting his head from between Billy's legs, and rubbed at his throat. "Sorry, mate," he snickered, blushing. "Sorry. That's not you. That's me. Gag reflex." It was an unconscious movement, Billy's legs slowly closing. He didn't even notice he'd done it until Orlando's hand came down on his knee. "Let me try that again," he said.

"Why?" Billy's knees stayed closed. Rationally, he thought maybe if Orlando didn't do any more than he'd done, then Billy wouldn't be obligated to reciprocate, someday, sometime.

Orlando stared at him a moment, then shrugged. His eyes flitted away from Billy's gaze, almost shyly. "It...I mean, it...felt good, right? I can do better than that."

"Shite, mate. This isn't archery. You don't have to learn this for anything."

"I know, but let me try again. Please?" His eyebrows raised hopefully as his bare hand slid downward between Billy's knees.

Billy knew his cock wasn't opposed to the idea, and then, really, no human on earth could keep his legs together with that hand sliding between them. Billy opened himself to Orlando with a sigh and closed his eyes again as a warm body settled eagerly on the floor at his groin. "I'll be better," Orlando breathed. Slick fingers pushed inside Billy again and his mouth fell open in a quiet moan. Then, lips tickled along his shaft.

It wasn't a bad blowjob, but it certainly wasn't the best. The pressure, the suction, the amateur flutters of the tongue; all the ingredients were there, but they were being poured into the mixing bowl in the wrong amounts. Too much flutter, not enough suction. But it put fire in Billy's veins just the same because it was Orlando doing it. It was Orlando going down on him. His cock in Orlando's mouth. He was glad he'd chosen not to look because just the thought, the words lining up to make the sentence in his mind was enough to make his body churn. He writhed on the towels, unable to stop the encouraging mewls that his throat made without his permission. It was really, really time for Orlando to stop.

Billy reached down to push him away and touched a shaking hand to Orlando's forehead to find the skin creased and bent over his eyes. Stop, Orlando, he thought, but the words wouldn't form on his tongue. Instead, his fingers traveled down to the bend of Orlando's jaw, and – "Fuck," he moaned through clenched teeth – Orlando's jaw was open so wide. Lips spread to accommodate his cock. His cock in Orlando's mouth. What if he stayed like this? Stayed in Orlando's mouth, with those talented lips and that wonderful tongue, sucking, licking, moving up and down on him until he came, bursting. In Orlando's mouth.

"Quit," he breathed and managed to push Orlando's head with enough force that Orlando got the point. "Just – fuck..." Billy didn't know where that image had come from, but his entire body tingled and quivered.

"Was that better?" Orlando asked and Billy could have hit him. He wasn't flirting or playing games, he honestly wanted to know. Fucking drama school kid.

"Aye, you get a passing grade, you little shit." Billy squirmed against Orlando's twisting fingers and his voice cracked. "Just brush your teeth before you kiss me."

"Hey!" The fingers stopped. "If I can do it, you should have to kiss me after."

Instantly, Orlando crawled up his body and Billy barely got his lips sealed before Orlando kissed him hard. He grabbed Orlando's waist, to push him away or hold him, he didn't know which, but he could feel him laughing, his sides quaking. "Come on, you pansy," Orlando teased, and pressed against Billy's mouth, his tongue stabbing out, trying to penetrate through tightly closed lips. Billy scrunched up his face, refusing to let Orlando in.

With his eyes tensed shut, Billy had no warning before Orlando's tongue swiped flatly and wetly across his lips. He wrinkled his nose and Orlando's tongue swept bluntly across it, leaving it wet and warm. Orlando lapped at his cheeks, at his forehead, at his eyelids until, "Okay! Okay!" Billy laughed, his face wet all over. The minute his mouth opened, Orlando's tongue slipped inside. Billy focused on the flavor of the wine. Orlando sucked Billy's tongue into his mouth just out of spite and forced it against his own cheeks and teeth until Billy couldn't help but notice the dull musk lurking beneath the cherry taste of the red wine. He wrinkled his nose and closed his arms around the slender body now draped entirely across his. He felt Orlando's hands in his hair, save the two fingers still covered in latex that remained politely distant. As the very tip of Orlando's tongue wiggled sinfully against his, Billy decided that if Orlando were ever to truly apply himself and learn how to properly suck a guy off, he had the potential to be lethal.

Orlando pulled back with a final tongue trail across Billy's lips and right up to the tip of his nose. He smiled down at him, a smug, triumphant smile that made Billy certain he deserved to be shoved away and possibly punched. Instead, he slid his hands down to rub Orlando's hips. "You're disgusting."

"Only with a purpose."

Billy accepted one last kiss and looked up at Orlando. Almost instantly, Orlando averted his eyes with an absent smile. He gave a subtle, throat-clearing cough. Billy moved his hands over the smooth skin of Orlando's back, enjoying the feel of him pressed close, and nudged him gently in the side. "Aren't you supposed to be doing something?" he asked. "Get back to work."

"Right." Orlando lifted himself off Billy's body, removing his warmth, and knelt again beside Billy's raised knees.

Billy listened to the sounds of crinkling latex, trying not to think about Orlando's mouth. "I think this takes longer. Than it does with lasses."

"I was thinking about that and I don't think it does, really. I mean, think of all the time you spend just getting a girl going, you know? It can actually take longer than this."

Billy smirked. "Maybe for you."

"Fucker." Orlando laughed and the sound that followed was definitely the sound of latex breaking. "Fuck. Uh...would it bother you if I just – without the - ?"

Billy raised his head to see Orlando gesturing with his bare hand. He shrugged as well as he could on his back and ignored the weird burn that started in his throat. "They're your fingers, mate."

"I think it'll be easier."

With the orchestral radio score that the woman had introduced as Strauss's Kunstlerleben, Billy listened to the audio play of the actions in the bathroom: conditioner bottle top popped, conditioner squirted, conditioner rubbed over fingers and – the sound inaudible to everyone but Billy – the pulse of his own blood between his ears as three fingers twisted inside him and sensation coursed through his body. There wasn't the slick, plasticky slide of the condom, but the gentle push of calloused fingers.

God, Billy thought, stopping the groan only enough to make it come out as a subtle whimper. The stretch hurt. Not an exquisite hurt, or a delicious hurt, but a real, ouch-stop-it-now! hurt. But Billy gritted his teeth and exhaled. This would be worth it, he told himself. It would be worth it.

"You okay?" Orlando asked, his voice low with concern as his fingers stayed focused on their task.

Billy nodded resolutely and he moved his hand to his waning cock, bring it back to full life with just a few strokes that sent enough pleasure through him to counteract the discomfort. Soon, the sharp pain evened out, leaving a dull, ebbing ache, like rubbing a sore muscle after too many lunges in sword practice. His body adjusted and compensated for the invasion. Even stranger, it began to want more.

Is this what it's like for girls? Billy wondered dimly. The slow, sharp burn of an invasion they wanted? A feeling of fullness that can be uncomfortable and unpleasant, but is somehow exactly what the body craves? He'd been with only one or two virgins in his life and, feeling all of this now, he idly wished he could go back in time and be even more patient and caring than he had been the first time around because he understood now why it was such a big deal to them. It was letting someone inside you. He felt so sensitive inside; he swore he could sense the texture of Orlando's fingerprints and the blunt ends of his chewed-off fingernails. It made it so much more real. He'd never even known his body was capable of these sensations and this attention to detail.

A fourth finger joined the three and Billy's jaw tensed against the new wave of biting pain. Orlando kissed his shoulder and murmured something that sounded comforting. Billy couldn't quite understand it, but the breath against his skin was comfort enough. Billy rode out the wave, waiting for the stinging burn to end as he knew it would, and relied on the knowledge that they must be ready soon. Surely, he must be open enough for Orlando to fit in now. He felt wide open. Wide open and ready. But Orlando's fingers – his hand – continued to push in and slide out, turning this way, then that, widening him, opening him, and when the pain finally subsided, the feel of it was insane.

Tingling warmth buzzed through Billy's entire body, matching the pulse of Orlando's fingers, and every push felt *good*. He moaned and lifted his hips, unconsciously creating a rhythm with Orlando's hand. The music vibrated in the room, a cello's low, resonate tones. Fingers swirled against the nerves inside him and colors swam behind Billy's eyes. He felt something hard rub against his ankle. Orlando groaned, deep and quiet like he was biting his lip, and his cock pumped against Billy's anklebone, desperate for friction. As well he could, Billy bent his foot up until he felt it bear the weight of a cock with heavy bollocks against his bent toes. He wiggled his foot ineffectually, but Orlando gasped all the same. He rocked his hips as Orlando's hand pumped into him again.

Billy could have come from just this, just the width and the hardness of those four fingers inside him and the feel of Orlando so turned on by him that he was humping his ankle like an animal in heat. He whimpered, long and loud, forgetting to care how girlish he might sound, and licked his lips sloppily, leaving his mouth wet. He let out one last grunt and when it seemed his cock might burst, he shoved Orlando's hand away. "Stop. Real," he panted. "Do it for real."

Fingers wiped off beside his head, the rip of a condom wrapper, the popped lid of the conditioner bottle and then, a pressure against his opening, not fingers. Billy wrapped his legs around Orlando's waist; no fumbling, like they knew where they belonged.

"Tell me if I hurt you, okay?" Orlando whispered.

"I will."

And he pushed in.

Orlando felt so much bigger this way. Bigger than he had in Billy's hand, bigger than he had against Billy's body. There was discomfort, and the pause and shift of hips and legs to accommodate Orlando's length and width when inner muscles barred the way, but there wasn't pain anymore. At least not in the sense that Billy understood pain because it did hurt – it was an incredible force, a stabbing, piercing sensation – but he wanted more of it because what lay beyond it and teased at the edges of it was incredible, driving to the very core of what felt good. Redefining "good". Nearly all the way in, Orlando wriggled his hips, adjusting, and Billy felt the cock inside him change pitch and slide in more smoothly, slipping deeper. The push inside stopped with the weight of Orlando's hips flush against Billy's backside. Orlando collapsed forward, his arms on either side of Billy's head, bracing himself. Billy gripped Orlando's sides, which remained still and tight with held breath. He opened his eyes to see Orlando's own clenched shut and tense. His whole body vibrated.

"Feel different?" Billy asked. He was not surprised to hear his voice sounded strained.

"Yes," Orlando ground out.

"Feel good?"

"Yes." Orlando exhaled in a deluge that poured over Billy's neck and shoulders. "You?" Orlando's hips moved just slightly and deep in, his erection grazed the sensitive spot inside Billy.

Billy let out a curt moan and bit his bottom lip. "Better than surfing." Retreating into the darkness behind his closed lids, Billy saw Orlando's head turn, looking away as he relaxed his arms and eased down to rest his head on Billy's shoulder.

Chest to chest, Orlando pressed against Billy and slowly lifted his hips, finding a comfortable angle. Billy shuddered as he slid out and then, flex of hips, he slid back in. The motion forced Billy's eyes backward in his head with a fantastic sort of delirium, and an instruction from the conditioner bottle sprang into his mind: Repeat as necessary.

Sweat collected between their bodies with a thick humidity as they fucked. Billy's hands wandered restlessly over every part of Orlando he could reach. Back, shoulders, arms, waist, but it was when he realized he could reach Orlando's arse, could reach down far enough to feel him thrusting, that one hand stayed there, no matter where the other traveled.

Billy's breath hitched as he felt Orlando's arse rise against his palm at the same moment Orlando's cock slid a few inches out of him. Then, the arse in his hand tightened and thrust forward. Billy's body lurched as heat and hardness slammed into him. He grinned. Feeling it from both sides, it was raw and crude. It was obscene and indecent. It was so fucking good. "Fuck me harder," he whispered. He barely sensed the blush in his cheeks, but he definitely felt the tingling thrill that spread through him with the very coarseness of the words.

Orlando groaned, low and primal, and braced his arms against the ground to raise himself off Billy's body. With the new angle, it definitely wasn't Billy's imagination that the rhythm inside him grew more feral. More fun. Better. His chest cooled as the sweat evaporated, exposed to the open, candle-warmed air. Orlando's arse thrust out of his reach now, so he let his hands slide over Orlando's flexed shoulders and down to find a smooth, damp chest and sharp nipples. He pinched and Orlando made a growling sound deep in his throat, but Billy's hands continued downward, stroking across that charming belly button, before grabbing firmly onto his own cock. He tugged on his hard flesh, easing off the almost intolerable mounting tension.

Orlando pumped in steadily, rhythmically and Billy let out a low, moaned vibrato with every beat. The sound would have embarrassed him had he been aware of it. He'd never made a sound like that before. But he couldn't stop making it.

He gripped himself, jerking his fist up and down frantically. His bollocks tightened, his body tightened, so tight that even his breathing halted, his lungs paralyzed by pleasure, and he gritted his teeth. He groaned long and desperately as his climax rose, a volcanic heat surging from his bollocks until the first rush of fluid erupted over his hand. Orlando gasped and Billy opened his eyes, completing a circuit he hadn't known existed. They connected at arse and eyes. Electricity jolted through one then the other and back around. Too much. Far too much.

"Jesus, God. Sorry!" Orlando panted, and clamped his eyes shut. Trembling, Billy slammed his own shut. "Shit." Orlando pulled out and sat back. He tried to touch Billy's thigh comfortingly as he moved away.

Billy stroked himself lightly, and his body shook with a strange, uncomfortable buzz. He sat up and his arse protested immediately. His head spun. He listed to the side to avoid tender places and grabbed his head. Too soon to be sitting up, but he didn't want to be lying on the ground, exposed and laid out like that. He wiped off his stomach as if that would erase the evidence. His stomach turned. Orlando sat cross-legged in front of him, hands to his head like he was trying to squeeze his thoughts out of it. "Fuck," he hissed.

Billy glanced down. Orlando was still hard. "Why are you sorry?"

"Because...just - Fuck." Orlando growled at himself in frustration and rubbed his forehead roughly. "Jesus, I am such a fucking wanker." He squeezed his brain again, hiding his face in the same motion.

It was not the best post-orgasm moment Billy had ever had. He preferred when his partners didn't fall into apologies and frustrated self-deprecation during sex, but as embarrassed and defenseless as he felt, he could recognize, even from the outside, the peculiar presence of the Devil. He didn't know what Orlando's Devil was saying, but it didn't matter. The Devil was always wrong.

"You're not a wanker." Billy wanted to swat Orlando's shoulder and dislodge the Devil, but it was possible Orlando hadn't fabricated an alternate personality for his questions and doubts. Or at the very least, Orlando's Devil might not be standing on his shoulder right now. "Well, no, you are a wanker, but that's never bothered me before."

Orlando laughed weakly and let out a long sigh. "I'm sorry, mate. I'm – I'm such a... I'm an idiot."

"Come here." Billy moved forward and, wrapping an arm around Orlando's shoulders, he tried to urge him onto his back. Orlando complied. When Orlando's hands left his head, Billy could see how red his face was. And when they touched the floor, he could feel how fucking cold the tile was. Orlando let out a small yelp. "Ah, shite," Billy said. "Back up. Over here."

Orlando snickered as they wiggled themselves ungracefully back onto the towels. Billy stretched out onto his side and Orlando came to rest on his back, his head cushioned on Billy's bent arm. He looked small and vulnerable, which Billy thought was rather amusing considering that he'd been the confident one through everything. For god's sake, Billy thought, I just said "fuck me harder" out loud. Why is *he* feeling embarrassed?

Billy took in a breath and tried not to look like he was mentally steeling himself – and he wondered if that's what Orlando had been doing all this time: Taking small moments to ready himself to be the one in charge, and Billy had just never noticed.

He leaned down and touched his mouth to Orlando's. Orlando opened to him, and Billy was surprised to feel his lips were a touch softer and gentler than usual. Still a startlingly good kisser; just wonderful in a new way. Interesting. Billy slid his hands over Orlando's chest, slipping through the sweat to find a nipple and rub it beneath his thumb. Orlando moaned into his mouth and one hand came up to stroke along Billy's arm, encouragingly, but awkwardly. He was so unfamiliar with not being in control. Orlando's other hand reached down to grab himself and Billy kindly batted him away; he was the one in control this time. Orlando shivered and nipped at Billy's mouth when Billy grinned at him. "That's just mean," he said with a smile in his voice.

"Payback," Billy replied, and slid his tongue back into Orlando's mouth to silence him. He gripped Orlando's cock with the full grasp of his hand – and startled the hell out of himself. When had he gotten the courage to do that? He'd touched Orlando's cock before, but not alone, not like this, not just his hand and Orlando's cock. Shite. His heart lurched. He slowly slid the condom off and hoped his hand wasn't shaking. Then, it was just Orlando's skin against his palm, hot and hard. Orlando's tongue flicked out against his lips with a desperate groan. He was past wanting slow, gentle touches. Ignoring his nervousness, Billy gripped and began to jerk him off.

Kissing became Orlando's second priority. Billy kept his mouth on his, licking across his lips, and when he could, Orlando sloppily licked back, but most of his attention was turned to pumping his hips and fucking Billy's hand. Moisture slicked Billy's palm and eased the way as he rocked his fist, meeting and pushing with Orlando's thrusts. A thick, heated shaft in his hand that wasn't his own; it gave Billy a feeling of vertigo, and when warm fluid burst onto his fingers, he felt dizzy. Wetness struck even as high as Billy's throat and he found it didn't disgust him. Orlando let out a long breath, and then inhaled desperately. He sounded overwhelmed.

Billy wiped his hand off on the towel and didn't really care that he hadn't gotten his hand completely clean. He closed his arms around Orlando and they breathed together, chests meeting and falling. He tried to think of something to say, but he knew any word would break or cheapen the quiet uniqueness of this moment. He didn't want to make a joke or a witty observation, he just wanted to hold Orlando and breathe. In silence. Silence was the only proper response; let the flowing violin claim the air. But Billy and Orlando were never very good at silence.

"I'll fall asleep if we stay here much longer," Billy said.

"Go ahead. I think I already did."

"I hope not. What would that say about me?"

"Says something very good about you, if you think about it."

Orlando raised his head and turned to look Billy in the eyes. He shifted his arm to stroke a hand through the curls atop Billy's head and there was a tangible affection in his gaze that Billy could feel flowing over him. Orlando's irises were black as pitch in the flickers of candlelight, but softer and far gentler. Billy felt admired, and loved, and a hundred other things he liked feeling. Looking at Orlando, bearing the gaze, he felt even more naked and Orlando suddenly looked more stripped and bare than anyone Billy had ever seen in his life. He kept his own gaze locked resolutely on Orlando's, hoping that something of what he felt, even if he didn't know exactly what it was, poured out of him as well. He fought the urge to teasingly ask, "What are you looking at, eh?" because he knew Orlando would look away and laugh. Whatever was in his eyes right now, whatever could be seen in them, he wanted Orlando to see it because he knew he'd never be able to say it.

Orlando's lips curled in a small, contented smile. He continued to smooth Billy's hair sweetly, then his eyelashes lowered, hiding his eyes, and one brow rose. "I think I want to take a shower. You up for it?"

"No. I'll take a shower, but I'm not going to be up for anything for a while."

"Oh, good god, me neither." Orlando laughed weakly. He hauled himself up into a sitting position with visible effort and pulled a reluctant and groaning Billy up with him.

With heavy limbs, they tossed their clothing – carefully collected in the bathtub – onto the floor and reclaimed the tub. Thick steam rose in the room as the shower rained down across Orlando's shoulders. In front of him, Billy patiently waited his turn with faked impatience on his face. The tub was too narrow for both to fit under the showerhead at once and Billy had graciously allowed Orlando to go first. He rather enjoyed the sight anyway. Orlando stood beneath the hot spray, washing away all traces of sweat and seed, ruffling his hands through his soaked Mohawk and making it stand up like a rooster's comb. The water flowed in a lovely, smooth path over Orlando's chest, down his tight stomach, to dip briefly in that handsome belly button, before slipping down to his cock. When he was sure Orlando's eyes were closed against the water, Billy gazed at the cock now hanging calm and satiated between Orlando's thighs. It was softer now, and smaller, but a smile leapt at the corner of Billy's mouth just to look at it. It had been inside him and he had touched it. It was like he and Orlando's cock had a secret between them now, a special sort of relationship. He knew it was a completely bizarre feeling to have, but he just let himself have it and thought nothing more of it.

Orlando scrubbed his face briskly then stepped toward Billy. "Your turn."

Billy quickly raised his eyes and poked Orlando in the belly for good measure as they jostled past one another. The heated water pounded wonderfully against his skin and he knew the time had come to make a fool of himself. The night was wearing on and he didn't have much time left as it was if his sex-driven blue streak hadn't done it. His back to the shower, he bent over, bracing his hands on his knees. The water surged against his lower back, flowing over his arse and between his cheeks to soothe overtaxed skin. He sighed, feeling the conditioner rinsing away. He half expected steam to rise from where the hot water met his even more burning arsehole.

Orlando let out a soft laugh. "Aw, baby," he cooed sympathetically, and petted Billy's damp hair.

Billy peered up at him to see a wide-eyed, already apologetic expression on his face. "Don't call me ‘baby.'" His lips twitched on the endearment; Orlando called him ‘baby.' Hilarious.

"I'm sorry." Orlando blushed red. "It just came out."

"Don't start just coming out either. I have a say in this, too, you know."

Orlando nodded once with a smile. "Don't worry. I'll talk with you before calling for a meeting of the Fellowship or anything."

"That'd be great. Elrond'll get up there: ‘Legolas and Pippin have a very important announcement to make.'"

"Shit, that'd be hysterical." Still giggling, Orlando lowered himself carefully to sit on the edge of the tub. "Ah, god. My legs are totally giving out on me. Sorry, mate. I'm not usually like this after."

Billy turned to him with a narrowed gaze. "Really?" he said flatly. "I'm always like this after. Arse-first in the lass's shower."

Orlando's face disappeared behind a cavern of wine-pinked teeth as he laughed, gripping the bathtub's rim for support. Billy chuckled as best he could in his hunched position.

"God, we're nuts." Orlando rubbed a wet hand over his face and his wide, brilliant smile. "But you're okay, yeah?" His smile closed, and his eyes clouded with concern as he met Billy's.

Billy nodded. "Yeah."

A harp feathered and trilled melodically through the radio. The music was far too fluttery for this moment; it didn't fit at all; but Billy ignored it. He paid more attention to Orlando's hand on