Billy's Best Series 8: Billy's Best Devil

Billy's Best Devil

Posted: November 18, 2005
Title: Billy's Best Devil
Series: Billy's Best
Author: Lemur
Type: RPS
Characters: Billy/Orlando
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: This isn't true. Trust me; I was there when I made it up.
Warnings: Angst, casual blasphemy, swearing and a wanton waste of water.
Beta: My wonderful (and occasionally aggravating in the best way) content beta Reisling. My grammar betas Jeanette and Robyn. And my indispensable Scottish beta Kira. Thank you!
Summary: It's baaaack. The return of the imaginary fragmented conscience manifestation.

*****

If given a scenario such as four young filmmakers sitting down to watch a film together, the casual statistician might state that there exists a ninety-five percent chance that these young men will watch said film in silence, all the better to observe the technique of the art form. If he knew the individual men involved, he'd say fifty-five percent. Maybe sixty on a good day. If he knew the men *and* that it was a film they had all seen before, no chance. The film wouldn't get a word in edgewise.

Orlando wiggled in his armchair, pulling his feet under him. "Oh-oh! I love this part." He glanced at Billy, and then looked back to the screen.

"Holy shit, dude. There's not a single part of this movie that isn't fucking cool as shit." Elijah shoved a handful of salt and vinegar crisps into his mouth.

Billy sat with his eyes locked on the film. "The end isnae cool," he quipped and immediately, the other three leapt in their seats to argue.

"What are you talking about?" Orlando gaped, just as Elijah said, "The ending's awesome, man!" and Dom threw in his own, "That's one of the best endings in film ever."

"But it's the end." Billy accompanied his explanation with orderly hand gestures as if that would make what he meant any clearer.

"Ah! Learning lab." Dom nodded and Billy snorted, knowing what was going to come next. "Billy was just giving us an example of a joke that totally fucking failed," Dom said. "The end of the film sucks because then the film's over, right? Thanks, mate. That was terrible." Dom leaned forward in his seat to slap Billy on the elbow. Billy laughed, but it was uneasy. His jokes had been off all night.

"You already have high marks in failed jokes, don't you, Dom?" Orlando stretched across the table toward his beer.

"I got O grades all the way across."

Billy noticed that Orlando's bottle was near enough that he could easily hand it to him. He looked back to the film.

"Would that be a bad thing, to have O grades in that?" Dom asked, legitimately perplexed.

"Check that out. Man!" Elijah smacked the arm of the couch, restoring everyone's attention to the television.

Billy took a swig of his beer. He slouched down into the big, comfortable cushions of his armchair and sighed. This was a good night, just hanging out with his mates at Orlando's place. This was the sort of night that he'd remember when he thought of all the good times he'd had with his pals in New Zealand.

He felt Orlando's eyes pass over him again and he stared resolutely at the television.

"Oh, this is the worst part," Dom moaned melodramatically as the film faded to black and the credits rolled. "'Cause the film is over."

Elijah dabbed at his eyes. "It always makes me cry."

Billy and Orlando both laughed. When Billy looked up, Orlando smiled at him. "You need a hug, Bill?" he said, and almost winked. Billy laughed distractedly, but he didn't think it was funny.

"Yes, hugs all around," Dom announced. Billy grinned widely as Dom and Elijah both tackled him with alcohol-heavy arms. Over Elijah's shoulder, he could practically see the gears turning in Orlando's mind as he tried to decide if it would be more suspicious or less to join in the hug as well. The hug ended before he moved and no one seemed to have noticed one way or the other.

Dom sat back on the arm of the chair. "Now, beers all around. You have any more, Orli?"

"I do." Orlando laboriously untangled his legs from beneath him and walked into his kitchen.

"Dibs on the bathroom," Elijah said as he lifted his weight off Billy's shoulders. "Dom, find something on the telly."

While Elijah was busy saying his last sentence, Billy darted off the chair, down the hallway and into the bathroom. As he locked the door behind him, he heard a muted "Billy, you fucking Scottish bastard!" hollered after him and let out a chuckle. That chuckle readily faded when he flipped on the light.

The candles, the conditioner, even the towels on the rack; everything in this bathroom was too familiar. He hadn't been in here since...since the night of the Ball. A strange wave of anger flooded through him and he flipped the toilet seat up with a loud clack. The crude, masculine sound of piss hitting water was calming.

He'd tried to crossbreed the Billy he was with the Hobbits with the Billy he was with Orlando. It was a hybrid that nature abhorred. Easy-going, laugh-a-minute friend Billy with easy-going, laugh-a-minute boyfriend Billy. That word. That one word. Billy wished he'd never thought it. Orlando was being too obvious and too overt. They'd be lucky if they'd get through the evening without one of the Hobbits asking, "Hey, are you two shagging or something?"

Orlando had been watching him all night. Billy sighed gruffly and rested a hand against the wall behind the toilet. Every few minutes during the film, he'd felt Orlando's eyes on him and whenever he spoke, he could just feel Orlando trying not to talk solely to him. He listened to him, laughed at all his jokes. Orlando had tried to be alone with him, finding excuses to go to the kitchen when Billy had gone for another beer, and he'd tried to sit next to him during the movie. Like he's my boyfriend or something, Billy thought. This is Orlando and he's my boyfriend. He snorted a laugh as his face blushed warm. It sounded daft and it explained nothing. It made him feel twelve. And female.

Billy lifted the faucet and rinsed his hands. He reached for the soap, careful as always not to drip on the toothbrushes. Two toothbrushes. The water ran and Billy stared at the plastic and bristles, wondering why he felt so sick, wondering why he couldn't look at himself in the mirror.

With a hollow rumble like an empty stomach, Billy felt sharp hooves on his shoulder and a sharp pain through his chest.

You sleep with him and now you won't even talk to him? the Devil asked, its voice slow and dripping, drop after drop, into Billy's mind. Billy shifted his shoulders, feeling that familiar and unwelcome tension knotting his muscles. What kind of friend is that? the Devil said. What kind of *person* is that?

A slag? Billy jokingly replied.

The Devil tapped a talon against his ear. Why did you sleep with Orlando? it asked.

Billy remembered the running faucet and rubbed the soap between his hands, creating lather. White suds coated his skin, bubbles stretching between his fingers. The Devil felt different this time. It was quieter, and somehow, that unnerved Billy even more than the ranting and dancing of last time. It sounded more rational now, more believable. Billy couldn't just shrug it off or brush it away this time. It had grown stronger.

Why did he sleep with Orlando? He slept with him because he was curious. And because he liked him and wanted to. That was why he slept with Orlando. Billy nodded to himself as he rinsed his hands. Those were good enough reasons. Perfectly justifiable.

Are you gay? the Devil asked.

Billy wrinkled his nose in displeasure and jerked his shoulder roughly. No, he answered resolutely. He didn't even want to hear that word. This had nothing to do with that word. Shagging Orlando didn't make him gay, it made him...sophisticated. He was one of those rare intellectual souls who understood that sex wasn't sexuality and one of those truly masculine males whose masculinity went unthreatened when touched by another man. He was suave and smart and modern. Really, it all made him quite cool. But it didn't make him gay.

Are you in love with him? the Devil asked.

Billy stared at his hands, slipping them under the faucet and watching the soap bubbles spin as they sank down the drain. That was the question it always came down to, he supposed.

How do you feel about him? The Devil paced, walking from one shoulder to the other behind Billy's neck, hooves stabbing and piercing.

His hands clean, Billy turned off the water with a wince. The bathroom fell silent. He's my friend, he answered.

And that's all?

Aye. Billy let his hands drip into the sink. That's all.

Does he feel the same way about you?

The sudden, resonating pain through Billy's heart told him this was the real question. His throat tightened. For so long, he and Orlando had been on the same ground in this strange little affair. Billy thought they were having the same questions and the same doubts, but they weren't anymore, they couldn't be. Not with the way Orlando acted the night of the Ball. Not with the way Billy was acting tonight. They didn't feel the same anymore. They weren't the same.

Why have you been so distant tonight? the Devil asked. Why won't you talk to him or look at him? You were the one who thought of him as your boyfriend, so why are you avoiding him?

Billy let the questions flood his mind.

Could it be because you don't feel the way he does anymore? Could it be because you're just his friend and now he wants more? More than you want to give him? More than you even have to give?

Maybe, Billy replied.

Maybe? the Devil asked incredulously. Why else would you act this way? If you liked him as much as he likes you, why not sit next to him during the film and hold his hand and kiss and giggle? If you like him as much as he likes you, why not make the announcement and be his boyfriend? You're trying not to lead him on anymore. You're trying to be a good friend. That's why you're pulling back. You made a mistake and you admit that. You let Orlando think you felt more than you do and now you're trying to fix it. To go and "break up" would be too much. You were never really dating. It's better this way. Let it fade out the way it faded in. A phase that came and went. It's not a big deal.

Billy watched, unseeing, as a lone water droplet slid from his knuckle to the tip of his ring finger and fell into the sink with a soft plunk. Aye, he said to the Devil. Aye, that's right. That makes a lot of sense. He let out a long breath.

The Devil nodded sprightly. Right then, it said with a grin, and disappeared in a puff of red smoke.

"Bill, come on, man!" Elijah yelled and pounded on the door. "I'm fucking dying out here."

"He's fine, Billy, don't worry," Dom said through the door. "The human bladder can expand to the size of a basketball before it'll explode."

Billy hurriedly dried his hands on the towel and threw open the door. Elijah and Dom both immediately darted in, meeting Billy in a domestic traffic jam. "Dom, you're such an asshole! You don't even have to go." Elijah shoved hard and managed to push Dom and Billy out of his way. The door slammed in their faces and through it they could hear Elijah cackling in triumph.

Billy left Dom trading obscenities with Elijah through the bathroom door and walked into the kitchen. He was certain Orlando was back in the living room; he'd gone for more beers minutes ago. The kitchen would be safe. Billy left the lights off, not wanting the harsh illumination just now, and instead, opened the refrigerator and relied upon the dim glow inside to seek out his beer.

"Hey."

Billy started and turned to see Orlando by the sink. The refrigerator lit only his white shirt and the edges of his limbs. His face was in darkness. He looked like a phantom. "Hey," Billy replied. He stared at the bottles of beer, inspecting them closely and not seeing a one.

The bathroom door opened in the hallway. "All right," Elijah said. "I'm on empty now. I need another beer. Dom, fetch me ale!"

Billy didn't hear Dom's reply because Orlando suddenly swept up beside him, leaning over the refrigerator door. His eyes caught the light and Billy. "Would you wanna stay after?" he whispered hastily. Billy heard Dom's footsteps shuffling nearer.

"Aye," Billy exhaled. Orlando stepped around him to casually grab two beers just as Dom appeared and struck a pose in the doorway. The fading smell of Orlando's cologne puffed across Billy's nose, stirring memories and sensations of too much closeness.

"I'm the tavern wench," Dom said.

"Worst wench ever." Orlando handed him the beers and walked out of the room.

Billy shook his head, trying to clear the fog. The word "no" repeated in his head as the answer he should have given. He shut the refrigerator door and went to the cupboard for a glass. It was time to start sobering up. He didn't want to talk to Orlando. He didn't want to be forced to say things that didn't really need to be said. It's over. I don't want you. I didn't mean it. I'm sorry.

"You giving up already?"

Billy turned to see Dom looking at him, two beers in his hands. "What?"

"You gettin' water, you pansy?" Dom shook his head with a grin and popped the cap on his beer bottle.

"I have to drive home."

"So do I, but we got a few hours left to sober up before Orli kicks us out. Hey, Orlando?" Dom hollered out into the living room.

"What?" came the distant reply.

"Would you make me drive home drunk?"

"No."

Dom gave a satisfied nod to Billy.

"I'd make you walk," Orlando called, and Billy snorted a laugh before he could stop himself.

"Hey, now, you bastard." Laughing, Dom walked out into the living room.

Billy stepped to the sink and slowly filled up his glass, delaying the inevitable. Down in the very center of his body, he felt a tremble that told him he couldn't do this. It was too much. He couldn't look Orlando in the eye and say the things he needed to say. He didn't want to stay and he didn't want to talk to him.

Step by step, the Devil climbed to his shoulder and Billy's body sagged. He couldn't bear much more weight.

Maybe he wants people to know, the Devil said. Have you thought about that?

Billy raised the glass to his lips and forced himself to swallow. The hooves felt sharper this time.

Maybe he wants to have that meeting of the Fellowship and make a big, happy announcement. Maybe he wants to tell everyone that you're his boyfriend. He has always been more comfortable with this than you are.

That's not true, Billy thought in reply. I thought he was, but he wasn't. He wouldn't have freaked out like he did if he were.

Why do you think he did that? it asked bluntly. What made him do that?

Billy turned the glass in his hand. The water rippled and spun with the movement. He'd thought about this a hundred times and never had an answer. Why did Orlando do that? he wondered.

The night ended with a yawn, namely a long, exaggerated one from Dom followed by a short explosion of swear words. "Fuckshitdamnarsebollocks, I'm tired. I'm leaving." Billy waited quietly as Elijah and Dom gathered their things and said their farewells. Orlando glanced at him and Billy knew he could get out of this. The Devil whispered to him that he could just leave with the others and not have to talk to Orlando or look at him anymore, but Billy couldn't. As much as he might want to, he knew that was cowardly. Just as they were all about to leave, Billy claimed he had to piss like a racehorse and hid in Orlando's bathroom until he heard two cars drive off into the night.

In the bathroom, he gripped the edge of the sink. He could hear Orlando moving around the empty house, floorboards shifting and creaking. He splashed water on his face and the Devil handed him his resolve. These things happen, it said. This is no one's fault. You can't change Orlando's feelings any more than he can change yours. It's unfortunate, it's regrettable, but it's not your fault. These things happen. You can still be friends.

Billy looked in the mirror and the Devil looked resolutely back. It rubbed his shoulders like a boxing coach. You can get through this, it said. Billy took a deep breath, dried his face and left the bathroom.

He swaggered into the living room with forced nonchalance. As Orlando gathered up empty crisp bags, Billy flopped down into a chair. "What'd you need?"

Orlando looked up at him, his eyebrows drawn low and worried over his eyes. "You okay?"

"Aye," Billy said with a casual shrug. "Why?"

Orlando folded the empty bag with a loud crinkle. "I don't know. You were acting kind of weird tonight."

"You invited everyone over for beers and a film. I didn't know there was anything special I was supposed to be doing."

Orlando looked at him blankly, then shook his head. "There wasn't, mate, never mind." He crumpled a second empty bag. "Do you wanna..." he began with a self-conscious shrug, "I mean, would you want to stay over or something?"

Billy's breath stumbled. "I don't know, Orlando. I'm not really in the mood tonight."

Orlando turned to him with a raised brow and an expression that showed just enough of shock and hurt to make Billy's stomach clench. "That's not what I was offering," he said flatly. "I am capable of controlling myself around you, you know." As he turned back to gathering rubbish, he rolled his eyes and Billy felt anger heating his face; he hated when people did that, when they just rolled their eyes and dismissed him like that.

"Sorry. I was just basing it on history. When we hang out, I can never tell." Billy aimed to sting and was dead on the mark.

Orlando's face tensed and the tips of his ears began to redden. "Should I come up with a warning system or something so you'll know?" Sarcasm turned his usually pleasant voice acidic. "I could use flags, maybe. Smoke signals? Have a preference?"

"Smoke signals would work for me."

Orlando laughed joylessly and nodded. "Right, I'll get right on that." He kicked a sofa cushion back into place.

Billy gripped the arms of his chair. "Was there anything else?"

Orlando shook his head and nudged the other cushion with his knee. "No."

"Can I go, then?"

Orlando's eyes flashed to him, wide and offended. "Am I keeping you?" he asked sharply. Billy swallowed, but kept his face neutral. Orlando waved him off with a handful of empty crisp bags. "Yeah, mate, fucking go if you want."

"Jesus, you don't have to get mad about it."

"I'm not mad." Orlando snatched up the last of the foil bags and smashed it into his hand with the others. "If you have someplace you need to be, then fucking go." He shoved the bags under his arm and gathered the dirty glasses with a rough clink before walking into the kitchen, leaving Billy behind.

Billy eyed the front door. He wanted to leave. He wanted to run. He hated this conversation, and right now, he hated this house. But he couldn't do it. As much as he loathed this conversation and this house, it felt so, so good to yell at Orlando. He propelled himself out of his chair and stormed toward the dark kitchen. Why didn't Orlando ever turn on the pissing lights? "Come on," Billy growled, trying his best to sound like a peacemaker. "Don't be an arsehole."

Orlando gestured widely with the dirty glasses in his hands and the crisps bags still wedged under his arm. "You said you wanted to leave. I said you could go. How is that being an arsehole?"

This time, it was Billy who rolled his eyes. "That's shite and you know it. You're fucking overreacting."

"I'm not overreacting."

"Like you're not mad? You're absolute shite at not being mad, you know that?"

"Hey, Bill, how does this signal work for you?" Even in the dark, Billy could see which finger Orlando had raised.

"Oh, and that's not overreacting. Right." Billy shook his head, his hands already trembling with rage.

"Jesus, Billy, what the fuck is wrong with you tonight?"

"Don't even fucking do that. Don't try to make this into something *I* did."

"Then, don't fucking talk like I make you be here!" The glasses clacked together hard as Orlando tossed them down into the sink.

Billy stared at him, feeling a violent tension in his body. "I didn't."

"Yes, you did," Orlando said, his voice steely calm and unnerving. "'Can I go now?' Like I'm your mum or something." Wadding the foil bags in his hand, he threw them as hard as he could at the bin. They split mid-air and Billy heard the scattering of crisp crumbs all over the floor. "Fuck." Orlando leaned back against the counter, just a form in the dark, angry breaths huffing through his nose. "I don't give a shit what you do, all right? Do whatever the fuck you want."

Anger flamed in Billy's throat and heat rose in his face. He didn't understand how he could feel so furious at Orlando and at the same time, want so badly to hug him. "Okay," he said, and slapped a hand against the doorframe. "Have a good night, all right?"

"Piss off."

Like a deer running from a predator, Billy bolted down the front walk. He yanked open his car door and climbed inside. Anger and emotion coursed through him, making his hands shake. His fingers stuttered over his key ring. His keys dropped to the floor. He bent to retrieve them and when he sat back up, his head slammed hard against the steering wheel. "Shite!" He hissed and rubbed his head. "Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks!" He pounded his feet against the floor and sighed roughly through gritted teeth. And paused, massaging the bump on his head. He breathed in once and breathed out.

Wetas chirped outside the car accompanied by that low level and indefinable hum of nighttime. Billy's breaths, heaving in and out, seemed cavernous. With a flick of its forked tail, the Devil leaned against Billy's ear. You knew it would be like this, it said. You knew it wouldn't be pretty, but it's over. How does it feel?

Billy felt sick. He felt furious and nauseated and sick. He gripped the steering wheel in a vice grip.

How else could this really end? the Devil continued comfortingly. It paced contentedly back and forth on Billy's shoulder as if it were its victory lap. This is for the best. Where could this really go? It would only get worse if you let it continue.

Why did I want to hug him? Billy asked the Devil suddenly.

The demon's little red face went surprised and expressionless for a moment. Uh, it said, scrambling for an answer to a question it hadn't anticipated. A hug goodbye, a clean break. Very compassionate of you.

But Billy knew that wasn't it. If he'd hugged Orlando, if he'd let himself, it wouldn't have become goodbye. If he'd hugged him, he would have wanted to kiss him. Why would I want to kiss him? Billy asked the Devil.

The Devil squirmed and coughed. He didn't even try to sell Billy on the notion of a goodbye kiss.

Why would I want these things?

Well, Orlando is a very attractive young man and he's obviously...accepting. It's experimentation, the Devil said. Curiosity.

Billy shook his head. But I'm not curious anymore.

He and the Devil stared blankly at one another. The Devil opened his mouth to speak, but could think of nothing to say. Billy's fingers grasped the door handle.

Still, the Devil insisted suddenly, no good can come of it. It's doomed. Just think about it. You're friends - more than that, you're co-workers. Have you thought about any of that?

I've thought about all of that. Billy opened the car door.

Wait! the Devil shouted and grabbed onto his collar to stop him. What are you going to say when you get in there? You may not like how it happened, but you've got an out now. If you leave, it'll be resolved. No more wondering or worrying. No more me! Wouldn't that be worth it? Think how irritating I am. You could focus on work like you're supposed to.

One leg out the car door, Billy stopped. A high-pitched ding sounded over and over, chirping at him to either take his keys from the ignition or close the blasted door. This could be the end of it, he realized. It was a bit messy, but easy enough. He looked up at the light still glowing on Orlando's porch and couldn't help but think that this ending didn't feel right. This wasn't the right place to fade to black and roll credits. But even a flawed ending was an ending.

I'll make a deal with you. The Devil held onto him desperately. Give it five minutes. If Orlando turns off his light and goes to bed, we leave. If he doesn't, if he's still awake in five minutes, you can go inside and say...whatever you want, even though you don't have a clue what that would be and it might just make things worse. Deal?

Billy breathed in deep. Deal, he thought, and closed the door to stop the chirping.

In the darkness of the car, Billy stared. He watched the moths fluttering around Orlando's porch light and waited for it to turn out. He glanced to the side of the house where the window of Orlando's bedroom cast an elongated rectangle of light on the grass. When Orlando went to bed, one or both would turn off. Sometimes, he forgot about the porch light.

The Devil sat staring, too. It had relaxed, settling into a cross-legged position on Billy's shoulder. It sighed and propped its head upon its hand. So, if he's still awake, what are you going to say? it asked.

Haud yer wheesht, Billy replied harshly, silencing it.

Sorry. The Devil went back to staring.

Moths pinged their little bodies against the bare light bulb on Orlando's porch, their wings visible only as fluttering blurs around them. Billy thought about nothing but moths. They were nighttime butterflies; the same sort of insect, except they only come out at night. He'd heard once that they taste like peanut butter. Seemed to him that it would be peculiarly unpleasant to have a moth stuck to the roof of your mouth.

The porch light went out.

Billy let out a breath. He let his eyes fall to the darkened dashboard. His chest felt hollow.

It's for the best, the Devil said.

Billy lifted his key to the ignition and slid it in. Suddenly, a diffused light flicked on, illuminating the car. Billy looked up. Orlando had turned on the kitchen light and was, even now, sweeping the floor, broom in hand, right in front of the window. The hollow in Billy's chest sank further. This was worse. This was harder. He took the key from the ignition and grasped the door handle, but he couldn't make himself turn it. For a long moment, he just held the cold metal. Go, he told himself. But he couldn't.

Grimacing, he lifted his hands to the wheel and let his forehead fall against it with them. The Devil sat silently, waiting, and Billy felt nothing but fear. It rolled in his stomach and pounded in his heart. He was sick with it. And he knew why. He'd kept the thoughts at bay, but now, when he needed to go inside and deal with them head-on, they broke through the dam.

The sudden widening of Orlando's eyes when they'd met his, the panic in them, the feeling of him pulling out so abruptly; each sensation had been magnified by time and an effort to avoid recalling it. The more Billy tried not to think about Orlando's face and his voice when he'd said "Jesus, God. Sorry!" and pulled out, the more the words and images grew in intensity until they were a physical force in his mind. He didn't know why Orlando had done that. He couldn't explain it, he didn't understand it, and he didn't know how to feel about it. But what scared him most was how he'd dealt with it at the time. He'd been embarrassed and confused, but still he hadn't teased Orlando or even attempted to make jokes. He'd just held him and gotten him off. Comfort and completion; that was what had mattered to him then. Not saving face, not getting a laugh. He just wanted to make Orlando stop feeling bad. That wasn't the way this started. Orlando could keep his bungee jumping and his skydiving, because sitting here outside Orlando's home in the middle of the night, Billy felt more terrified than he possibly could doing either of those. And here, he didn't have a parachute.

Absurdly, he started laughing. A mirthless laugh, a laugh all of confusion and anxiety, but one that calmed him and dispelled the last traces of anger. The Billy of two years ago suddenly decided to visit the present and what a shock he'd received. Billy snickered against the steering wheel. Two years ago, he'd been playing around with theatre troupes and not concentrating, simply relishing in the freedom of no longer working nine-to-five like a suited sot. He'd had the same friends since grade school and a girlfriend who was nice and pretty, if a bit dull in retrospect. Now, he was sitting in a car in the middle of New Zealand - a country he was pretty sure he'd barely heard of before - acting in one of the largest film productions in history with a slew of new mates and instead of a girlfriend, he had an odd, dysfunctional, continually baffling series of trysts with a bloke who currently made his living wearing a blond wig and tights. And he had numerous conversations with an imaginary Devil on his shoulder.

"I'm going barmy," Billy chuckled to himself. Life liked to toss out the most fascinating curves and bends in the river, this he knew quite well. This, as much as it made his stomach drop, was just another bend. Just another twist in this nutty adventure. He'd dealt with worse; he'd deal with this.

With a swallow and a lurch in his heart, Billy stopped laughing. He pictured Orlando lifting his bag from the conveyor at the airport when they'd first arrived. He'd turned to give Billy an excited, nervous grin. Like they were beginning an adventure together. Billy's new philosophical perspective crumbled: he could take comfort in knowing he'd get through this, but he still had to get through it.

It pained him to think about that eager smile at the airport when the sharp, angry look Orlando had given him tonight still burned. It was such a warm, comforting memory and he was in danger of tainting it beyond repair. He could ruin it by making it into a memory of someone who *used* to be a friend. If he had to get out of this situation they had created, he wanted to do it without hurting Orlando. Orlando was his Sam; the one who began this adventure with him. The one who should finish it with him, too.

Smoothly, Billy's heart calmed and his stomach stilled. The Devil evaporated. Billy opened the door and stepped out.

Watching his feet as they moved step-by-step back toward the house, Billy pocketed his keys and straightened his jacket. His mind was simultaneously blank and racing so fast he couldn't keep up; racing by with no single clue as to what to do once he got in there. With a tense hand, he turned the doorknob. The front door opened and for one instant, he was annoyed. What kind of twat turns off his porch light, but doesn't lock the door?

The tinkle and slosh of water drifted out of the kitchen and Billy took measured steps through the living room. When he rounded the corner, Orlando saw him from where he stood at the sink. It was just a glance, a raise of the eyelashes to recognize an intruder, then he looked back to the dishes. Wordlessly, Billy entered the bright kitchen and stood for a moment, watching. Orlando's jaw was set tight, even more defined and angled when he was angry. As he continued to rinse out beer bottles and scrub used glasses, his shoulder blades shifted and showed against the cotton of his paint-splattered t-shirt. Billy wanted to hug him. He wanted to wrap his arms around Orlando's waist and rest his head against his back. And the moment he realized that, he wanted to run, leave, and not feel these feelings anymore because he knew he was right. This wouldn't be goodbye.

Billy stepped forward and hoisted himself up to sit on the counter beside the sink, removing the temptation of an embrace and an escape. From here, he was taller than Orlando. He felt a few drops of water soak into his jeans, but ignored it. He stared down at Orlando's hands covered in foaming dish soap, scouring the dishes with a sponge. His sponge strokes were harsh and deliberate.

Billy reached out a hand and clasped Orlando's shoulder. Orlando's face didn't soften; his expression was still all closed angles and lowered lashes. Billy raised his first finger and touched it lightly to Orlando's neck, caressing. His heartbeat quavered. This isn't how you touch a mate, he told himself. This isn't how you feel about a mate.

The running water splashed with Orlando's hands, but he moved the sponge less harshly over the glasses. Careful to keep his balance over the sink, Billy took Orlando's head between his hands in a gesture more suited for the football field than the kitchen and pulled him toward him to kiss the fuzzy top of his head. He pressed his lips to the short-cropped hair and closed his eyes.

A heartbeat later, Billy leaned back. Orlando turned off the water and looked up at him, his eyes still caged and sharpened by hurt. Billy could think of nothing to say. Sparse stubble prickled against his fingertips as he slid his hands along Orlando's jaw and tilted it up. It was so different to see him looking up instead of down. Orlando's wet hands fell still. Billy just touched his mouth against his, finding his lips warm and soft, and when Billy nudged with his tongue, Orlando let him in.

Only rarely in his life had Billy kissed someone so intensely, so profoundly that he forgot where he was. He kissed Orlando and all he felt was lips and warmth and tongues. The slick, wet slide of tongues, moving so deeply into one another, he felt open and defenseless, mist-minded and dazed. Far in the distance, water dripped off Orlando's fingers into the sink with a muted plink... plink... plink.

Pulling back and panting slightly, Billy stared into Orlando's wide-open eyes. The anger was gone; confusion remained, but Billy couldn't be certain that wasn't just reflected from his own eyes. He stroked a hand against Orlando's face, his thumb tracing the elegant rise of a dark eyebrow. Blushing, he diffused the motion by sliding his fingers up to rub the stubble dappling Orlando's head. "You need a shave," he said with a quirk of a smile.

The corner of Orlando's mouth tugged up in reply. "Yeah, maybe."

Billy kissed him again, a short, soft peck. He felt a tingling sense of euphoria and nausea that made him think of bridges burning.

"Hey, Orli, you still awake?" Three rapid knocks on the front door followed Dom's holler through the living room.

"Shit!" Orlando hissed. Billy leapt down from the counter as Orlando roughly dried off his hands. "Shit. I'm in here!"

Billy wiped his mouth and strolled casually after Orlando into the living room where Dom stood at the open front door. "Close the fucking door, man," Orlando said. Billy hoped he only sounded breathless in context. "You're letting in all the moths." Two large grey moths shot past him to tap happily and futilely against the end table lamp.

Dom swung the door shut. "I forgot my jacket. Didn't want to leave it for tomorrow since we're filming outside on Monday." His eyes darted to Billy. "I think it ended up behind the sofa cushions."

"Ah, okay," Orlando said. "Help yourself." He stepped out of the way of the sofa. Billy glanced at him and he glanced back. Billy wiped his mouth again. Seeing him, Orlando shot a shaky hand to his lips and wiped his mouth, too.

Dom walked around them and sure enough, with a good, long tug on a hidden red sleeve, his jacket emerged from the Cracks of Doom in Orlando's couch. "Right, then." He balled up the jacket under his arm. "You stayin' longer, Bill?"

Billy knew this was exactly the wrong time to leave. "No," he answered quickly. "No, I'm leaving now." He smiled at Dom, but couldn't find the courage to look at Orlando.

Dom shook his head and seemed to smile down at his shoes. "All right. Night, Orlando."

"Aye," Billy agreed. "Good night, Orlando."

"Night, Dom." Orlando's eyes drifted uncertainly over Billy. "Good night, Billy." He closed the door behind them.

Heart hammering, Billy walked calmly beside Dom to their cars. He tried to think of words, a joke, a verbal formation of sound of any variety, but his mind was empty and his lips kept smiling tensely.

"Were you two still hanging out?"

Billy glanced over at Dom. "Hm? Ah..." He shrugged and slid his hands into his pockets. His fingers closed around his keys. "I forgot my keys. I was about to leave, then I noticed I'd left my keys here, in there."

"You do that a lot."

Billy chuckled and fidgeted with his key ring around his index finger.

Dom's feet scraped across the pavement and stopped abruptly at his car. He looked at Billy over the hood. "I told 'Lijah he should have his keys stapled to his bollocks. Maybe you should, too."

Billy pushed a laugh out of his uneasy body. "Aye. Right. I should. Don't think I will, though."

Dom smiled a bit harshly and looked away. "Have a good night." He opened his car door and sat down inside.

Billy climbed into his own car, sighing with relief that Dom seemed not to have noticed anything. He and Orlando must have hid it well enough. He paused, key at the ignition. Orlando stood in the window, back to washing the dishes already and casting discreet looks out at them as they left. Billy knew that nothing had been resolved.

But Orlando let him kiss him and Billy supposed that meant things were okay. He looked back to his keys, illuminated by the rectangle of light beaming through the kitchen window.

"Oh, god." The words spilled from his lips and the sensation of sinking, blood draining from his face, slipped through his body.

From outside, through the dark night, the light from the kitchen glowed bright and clear, drawing the eye, showing inside Orlando's house like the screen of a television set. He could see everything; he could see Orlando perfectly as he washed the dishes.

He and Orlando had kissed in front of the window.

Billy's eyes flashed to Dom's car beside him. Dom met his gaze for only a second as he turned in his seat, looking behind him to back up. Just as quickly, he looked away. His tires crunched over gravel and he sped off, reduced to red taillights in Billy's rear view mirror.

Billy stared straight forward and tried to breathe.

*****

THE END

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