Posted: December 2003
Title: Getting It
Author: PippinsPeach
Fandom: Real Person Fiction
Genre: RPS
Characters: EW/BB
Disclaimer: Not true at all, as far as I know.
Beta: AirgiodSLV
Timeline: Early October 1999 (training period before filming)
Notes: Written for SlashaBaby fic exchange, Dec. 2003. Pippin's lines are from ROTK (book).
Summary: Elijah's eighteen and on the brink of the best time of his life, but he doesn't have a clue.

*****

Break your stride when I'm walking
Still your breath when I'm talking...
---Dubstar, "Inside"

Elijah shuts the door of his tasteful, still-not-quite-furnished rental house. Beyond his frosted breath on the windowpane, the night is bleak; snowflakes dance in crazy circles behind passing cars. A house across the way catches his attention with a flap of a worn out shutter, and he wonders if there's anyone standing in a darkened room over there, peering out a cold window, unseen, alone.

It's been five weeks now, living on his own in this house he excitedly chose for himself. Still, his hands grip the curtain as he stares at the moonlit, white-capped mountains that ring the city. Solitude. It's supposed to be a good thing, he knows. All his life he's been surrounded by people, considering precious time alone to be a refuge, but now he doesn't know what to do with it, or how to stop wondering if anyone remembers he's here, or why this house feels so huge and empty around him.

Deciding to fill it up and shock the night air with evidence of his existence, he turns on a lamp and lets music blast as he microwaves a snack, hangs up clothes, searches everywhere for an important paper he's forgotten to sign and turn in along the way. Amidst the rude guitar and thick beat, words ring out, but they're not from the CD...no, they're Billy's, brilliantly derisive in his memory, soft and stinging.

Doesn't get it, does he? Not quite as bright as everyone seems to think, then.

Truth is, Elijah hasn't had time to be bright. Today, for instance, he's been too busy deciding whether to call his agent and bail. It's too much, and he's starting to not be able to deal with it. Not the physical challenges, which are like nothing he's ever faced. Not the swords, which he's played with in the past but is now expected to take seriously. Not the costume fittings, not the endless script meetings that no one else is required to attend. Not even being on his own halfway around the world in this strange place where all there seems to be is snow and wind.

No, what he can't deal with is his body and its demands for release it can never have. Especially since it wants someone who'd make his life hell if he got even an inkling of it. After all Elijah's experiments and awkward fumblings with other boys like himself over the years, Billy -- thirty-years-old or something equally impossible -- has slammed into his awareness with quirky humor, his deceptively gentle brogue and a tense focus that slides out through well-defined muscles and shrewd green eyes to make him excel at nearly everything. It's a craving like Elijah's never felt, one that makes no sense, and most of all, one which must remain hidden.

Because Billy can't stand him and has already written him off. It's not just today, either. Not just one eavesdropped-upon comment.

Elijah knows he'll never even get a foot in. Besides the age difference and the fact that they have laughably little in common, Billy's given every indication of being straight as a board. And he's already thick with Dom and Orlando, anyway...the three of them like long-lost brothers, communicating with mischievous looks and quick laughter at jokes Elijah doesn't get. They've had lives, those three. Real lives with struggles and grief, real friends that actually care and stick around, real memories that don't involve characters, traveling, PR and ego trips.

Ah well. Frodo's proving to be an easy role to slip into, but only on top of the other role he's mastered: Elijah Wood, former-child-actor, thrilled to be here, thankful for the opportunity, enjoying his freedom. Articulate and cheerful. Confident, social, respectful of his elders. Ready to throw himself into this and learn from some of the best in the business. Most of that's been surprisingly easy to fake so far, and Elijah's never had patience for self-pity.

But sometimes, like now as Elijah lies bathed in thumping bass guitar and fiercely pumps his cock, thinking about the wrong person to think about, his new life here feels completely unworkable. Afterward, he turns the music up, but it's still too quiet. He goes back to the window, staring toward town, where he knows there's a zillion pubs out in the dark streets. Billy's probably in one of them, wearing that huge sweatshirt he borrowed from Orlando today, eyes alight with some joke. Out with the other two, chatting up the ladies and finding even more in common.

Not like it's the first time this has happened. But always before, it's been endurable. Other tight little packs of boys, other movie sets...and Elijah, always set apart, always the star, always the one with experience and the lead role. Special conferences with directors, better pay, better perks. His mom's been right there, or he's been able to go home at night. Tell a joke once in a while, a joke that's on you, his brother has advised in the past. Make them comfortable around you, his mother always agrees, in her own benignly protective way. You don't have to feel guilty for being the star. They're intimidated, that's all.

Intimidated. Yeah, right. What's up with you? Dom brayed out in the dining hall today, after tossing a balled-up straw wrapper at him. Elijah remembers his own carefully precise shrug, his pretense that he didn't hear Billy calling after him as he crossed the room to sit with the writing team again...hey, Dom asked you a question! What's up with you going over there to sit? Think you're something special, do you?

One of these days, Elijah knows, Billy's going to get up and follow him, and then he'll see. The flush on his cheeks, the hardness in his pants. And then there'll never be an end to it. Unimaginable, what the three of them might do to him. From some of the jokes they've told, Elijah wouldn't be surprised if they'd take him to some club, pretend to be friendly, and then the other two would keep watch as Billy bent him over a toilet or something, and...oh, wait, no, that was a few minutes ago, in his mind as he jerked off. Yeah.

Maybe he should run around the block a few times, wear himself out and ward off the fevered dreams and fitful imaginings that always keep him up too late. Most nights they're the same: sweat and heat, Billy's calm sureness, soft laughter and jokes that aren't on him, possessive kisses as he's entered, as he's fucked so slowly that he can barely stand it, as he's held down, as he's fucked some more, hard and deep this time, as he's made to beg for release.

And now what he really needs is a shower, because he's come again, all down his thigh this time.

He wonders what particular brand of masochism this is, being so turned on by someone who doesn't even like you. Someone who stares at you all the damn time, obviously trying to wreck your nerves. Someone who thinks you're nothing but a show-off brat who's sucked off or sucked up to all the right people. Elijah knows better, but there's no way to defend himself without seeming like a top-drawer snot.

Frodo's got the burden of living with the fucking ring, he thinks as he heads into the bathroom and runs a hand absentmindedly under a hot burst of water, testing it. And I've got my...whatever it is. A gift, one of the money men called it once. A career to be proud of, Sean once said in front of the others, going on and on and on as Elijah silently begged him to shut up. He's got a phenomenal ability to engage the audience...you should really see some of his work...you wouldn't believe how self-assured he is, even at his age...somehow he knows what the camera needs without being told.

Eighteen-year-old hands, he's got, strong and callused now, and he's not a child anymore. It'd be unprofessional to find a loophole and get his contract dissolved, and now it would all reflect on him, not his agent or his mother. So he's stuck, too committed to go home. Too proud to call Sean again and hear another promise about how they'll get together as soon as everything's settled with his wife and the house. Too old to cry about all this shit.

Don't mind us, Billy says in his memory from two days ago, bringing back the hot spear of jealousy as Elijah entered the lounge and saw him with Orlando...face to face and cross-legged, palms on each other's knees, repeating words back and forth that made no sense. We'll be out of your way in a minute, Billy said as Dom laughed into his newspaper. Some of us actually have to act, y'know, instead of just blinking our pretty eyes once in a while.

The mirror is almost too steamy now to see himself, but Elijah smears a towel across it, trying not to blink at all. Yes, there are his eyes, wide and weird like they've always been. They've been called everything imaginable, even by Peter, who's gone on and on in the press about finding his Frodo, and the eyes that show everything and nothing. Elijah can see them reddening now, can feel the tears puddling, and he's severe with himself, whispering "stop that" as he moves closer to the mirror. They're his father's eyes, everyone's always said...hypnotic like a calm sea, transparent like an eternal mountain sky, endlessly, deeply, magnetically blue.

Sometimes Elijah would like to gouge them out.

~~~~~~~~

He doesn't, though, and he doesn't bail. Over the next couple of weeks, careful politeness becomes Elijah's shield against everything, along with retraining his sleep habits and discovering that he's better at swordwork than he thought. His muscles begin to bulk up a little, defining themselves in ways they never have, and now it's not hard at all to heft the unwieldy canoe paddles or make it through the long walks his trainer puts him through.

If only Sean would knock it off. He's started watching him a little too closely, bringing him coffee, asking if everything's all right. Sure, Elijah always says. Everything's cool. No problem. A quick, breezy smile, a sigh of relief when Sean buys it, every time. Yeah, Elijah always thinks as he watches him go, that's what I need to do, be a diva about it. Whine to Sean, or the set counselor, or Peter himself. No fucking way.

Dialect training remains the thorn in his side, but at least the class is held in afternoons and starts off right away with no time for crap from the others...usually. Today, though, the sun shines brightly outside the windows as their instructor hands them photocopied pages from the book to study and leaves them to it for thirty minutes. Dom and Orlando huddle with Billy in a corner to mark up their pages and argue excitedly about what the blocking might be. Not ten minutes later, they have the first six pages memorized and are trading off lines that aren't even their own, falling into giggles at the wording.

Elijah ignores their banter, concentrating on figuring out how to best emphasize the right words in today's assigned bit. Quality, not quantity, he's learned long ago, and apparently Sean has too, sitting quietly as he is, smiling at him in that weird, new way. Once shooting begins, ten seconds of footage will take over an hour, and all that will matter is delivery. Don't the others know that?

Still, they've made him curious, and he skims through the pages, slightly intimidated by the ancient names and majestic words. None of it yet means anything, though some of the location titles sound familiar from the shooting schedule. The minutes tick by, and Elijah flips back to his originally assigned paragraph, suddenly so over-conscious of his tongue and lips that he begins to worry a little, certain he'll do it wrong.

That's when he catches himself staring at Billy's lips as they shape words under a furrowed brow, broadly delivered with an over-exaggerated stance that makes the others laugh. Pippin's lines are heartfelt in a way Elijah doesn't think Billy has it in him to be. But he'll have the accent down cold. No doubt about it. Since they've been in New Zealand, Dom and Orlando have had to work more than Billy in dialect class, but they're getting it, and even Sean's falling into Sam's strange cadences with little effort. It's only Elijah who's having so much trouble. Like everything else in his life, this is the real deal.

Enough, he tells himself, and he goes back to his page. The words freeze everyone out of his awareness as he speaks softly to check himself, cupping his ear the way he was taught long ago. His concentration is broken by hoots of laughter, and he stops, forcing himself to shrug at no one in particular. "Guess it needs more work. Whatever."

Billy perches on the desk next to him and lowers his voice in a remarkably good American Southern accent. "Try again, little one. They're gonna send old Jim down the river if you screw it up." The others start snickering; this time even Sean laughs.

"Give me a break; that was six years ago," Elijah mutters, glaring at Billy and then at the floor. He knows exactly why that particular movie has been brought up, remembering the stupid British accent he'd been forced to use in a few scenes. "Guess you didn't watch it too close, or you'd know Huck was supposed to be a hick kid from Missouri and faking all that. It was supposed to be bad."

Dom snorts, leaning back in his chair. "Not that bad. That was beyond bad. That was a..."

"Do you ever fucking stop?" The words burst from Elijah, shocking even himself as the other four stare. "It's all the fucking time! Just like on the lake yesterday when you both fell in and thought it was so damn funny...you're wasting everyone's time! If you'd just shut up once in a while and take it seriously, you'd...fuck, man, whatever! I don't know why I'm even bothering."

"Ooh, little puppy's got a temper!" Billy crows, standing up and nodding appreciatively at Dom and Orlando's loud applause. "Thank you, kind sirs. Remind me, next time I fall out of the canoe, to reach over and pull the pole out of this one's arse." He leans on Dom's shoulder, holding one finger up with a quick nod. "And remind me to take that video back. I think it's late."

Elijah looks away. You're the youngest, so you have to be professional, his mind always reminds him. Pay attention, shut up, and do as you're told. But he's crossed a line now, taken them on, and part of him is desperate for it, needing to clear the air even if he ends up getting his ass kicked. "Oh, so what'd you do? Rent it and have everyone over for popcorn and a good laugh?"

"Oh yes, that's what we do for fun, watch in stunned awe at your brilliance," Billy replies, and then he kneels, glancing at the photocopies in his hand just once before bowing his head. He speaks softly this time, rooting Elijah to the ground by the emotion in his eyes. "Here do I swear fealty and service to Elijah Wood, Little Lord Movie Star of the High Horse, to speak and to be silent, to do and to let be, to come and to go, in need or in plenty, in peace or in war, in living or dying, from this hour henceforth, until my Lord release me, or death take me, or the world end. So say I, Peregrin son of Paladin, of the Shire of the Halflings."

Elijah can barely breathe, fascinated. So that's Pippin, he realizes, staring back. Damn. Meanwhile, Dom's laughing, arms crossed as he looks down and nudges Billy's knee. "Hey, I'll be the flower girl, but he'll have to be his own ringbearer. And anyway, you forgot 'for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, as long as we both shall live'. Love and cherish and all that rot."

"Right, so I have. Maybe they'll fix that in the script." Billy is still on one knee, but then he laughs, and the accent's back to his own, thick and swift enough to drown in. "Maybe he'll pass that along, next time he sits with 'em at lunch." He scoots perilously closer, and Elijah somehow manages to back away. "What's wrong? You don't want to marry me?" Dom and Orlando have fallen on the floor, draped all over each other against the podium, giggling, but Billy composes himself with an eyebrow-waggling leer. "The young prince doth offend me! Let's get on with the kiss-the-bride part!"

Elijah tries to laugh it off, paralyzed into inaction by the racing of his blood. He has no idea what Billy might do next, how he will react, what he'll think if he gets closer and sees the erection that's come to visit right on cue. If he grabs him around the waist and feels that hot thickness against his cheek...oh, that can't happen, so as soon as Billy makes a move to get up, Elijah sends him sprawling with a shove, narrowing his eyes. "Bring it on," he says roughly. "Do it or shut your fucking mouth."

"You want this?" Billy asks as he scrambles to his feet, and the others remain motionless as green eyes lock onto blue, never wavering. Elijah's breathing is tight, but he lifts his eyebrows quickly in challenge when he feels light fingers on the side of his neck, a whispertouch that sends shivers through him as Billy clasps his shirt collar in a loose hold. "Maybe you oughta be on your knees for it."

"Billy, that's enough..."

"Stay out of it, Sean." Elijah pulls his coat off the back of his chair and folds it into an awkward bundle to kneel on, never taking his eyes off Billy, and when he drops, he smiles in fierce triumph. "C'mon. You said on my knees, and I'm on my knees. What's the fucking problem?"

"Nothing. Just waiting for you to get comfortable." Billy moves slowly, unbuttons the top button of his jeans, and for a moment Elijah thinks he really might have to follow through with this. He stares forward, ashamed of wanting that heat in his mouth, wanting to suck on it as it pushes in and out, wanting strong fingers on either side of his head, buried in his hair. Audience or not. "Are you sure about this?" Billy continues, a bit of a smirk on his face. "'Cause I don't want to be hounded with some lawsuit..."

Billy's interrupted by Sean, who steps between them and pulls Elijah to his feet. "Enough, guys...Jesus Christ, what are you gonna do if someone comes in here and sees this, huh? Quit making idiots out of yourselves." Elijah steps back, refusing to look at any of them. "I've sat by and watched long enough," Sean continues. "Shooting starts next week, and it's time to knock off the bullshit. You both bluffed, and you both win, all right? Cut it out."

Oh fucking hell. Elijah turns to Sean, feeling himself break out into a sweat. Everything has just become so much worse. "Look, mine needs more work, and I'm not prepared," he says, rubbing the side of his neck as he wraps his coat around himself. "No sense in me wasting everyone's time. Sean, call me if he says anything I need to know or if the schedule changes."

As he walks out, the silence behind him is broken by Orlando's stunned voice. "Well, who's he think he is, anyhow, walking out on mandatory classes?"

"He's a closeted mess, that's who." Elijah stops just outside the door where they can't see him, frozen in shock as he hears Dom's low, gravelly voice. "P'raps you ought to set that to rights some night, Bill."

"Oh, after you, please. I can't stand his music, for one thing, and you play the same crap all the bloody time. It's destiny. Love in the stars."

"Age before beauty..."

"Pearls before swine...ah ah ah...quick, who said that? Five seconds or five pounds!"

"Guys, can it," Sean says, and this time, he sounds exhausted. "He's the lead, after all, and he's still got time to quit. And if he does, whoever causes it will be on the next plane out behind him, believe you me."

Elijah's brain buzzes with Dom's words...a closeted mess...and tiny holes begin to burn into his vision, searing it. Gingerly, he steps away from the door and leaves the building. Snow is falling in mean little flakes that bite into his neck as he breathes shallowly and begins the long walk home.
~~~~~~~~

Water beats down mercilessly from the shower faucet, and Elijah's eyes are as dry as the grit of cleanser on the tub's wavy surface. Every time he tries to remember the dialect assignment from earlier today, he snags himself on troublesome, wily vowels that mock him as they slip away. It's not until he gives up that he notices the way his hands are shaking, the way he can't seem to breathe correctly.

He's a closeted mess, that's who.

Right, that's what we do for fun, watch in stunned awe at your brilliance...Little Lord Movie Star of the High Horse.

He's the lead, after all, and he's still got time to quit.

The water's grown cool, and finally Elijah forces himself to step out and dry off. Rubbing his eyes hard enough to see stars, he takes a moment to watch as tiny kaleidoscopes of color dance before his eyes when he pushes the right way. After a moment, even that loses its pleasure, and he sighs, pulling his terry-cloth bathrobe over aching muscles.

When he returns to his bedroom, Billy's sitting on the bed, flipping through a magazine. "Hi. Sit down a minute? I need to talk to you."

Elijah blinks hard, finally forcing a scornful laugh. "Oh yeah, just break into my house while I'm in the shower. Nice."

"You left it unlocked." Billy says it indifferently. His eyes roam up and down, comfortable, serene. "Nice place you've got. Too bad you've never invited me here. But I don't feel singled out. You never invite anybody, do you?"

Elijah brushes past him to the dresser, finds clothes, stares at a pair of socks until he can't see the pattern anymore. "Yeah, right, like any of you would come?" He's beyond tired of this, tired of their caustic jokes and roughness, and after this afternoon, he knows it's going to be unbearable. "Lemme guess, Sean told someone about what happened today, and you've been ordered over here to apologize. But you don't mean it, and you're only doing it to save your ass. So save it, and save the apology, too."

"No." There's a worn look about Billy now, a careful consideration on his face as he looks up. "Sean did say a few choice things at dinner, but I'd already sort of decided we've gone too far, especially since...you really don't get it, do you?"

"Get what? What the fuck am I supposed to get, that you say that to me all the time? What, that you all hate me? Yeah, I get it."

"We don't hate you, Elijah. Far from it."

"Could've fuckin' fooled me." It isn't fair, Elijah thinks with a rebellious glare at the floor. Not fair at all that instead of wanting to pick Billy up by his shirt and haul him out of the room, what he really wants is to go to sleep and be awakened by another surprise visit, in the dark this time. To wrestle with Billy, struggle just enough. To lie breathlessly with just a shade of fear, the rip of a condom wrapper, the squirt of lube...the anticipation, the knowing, the need...but no. "Yeah, that's why you've all been so much fun to be around."

Billy takes one of Elijah's pillows into his lap, smoothing his hand over its flannel surface deliberately before he speaks again. "No, we really don't. Look, you're right: we are wasting time, and maybe I'm trying too hard to get into character. Have to play young, y'know, and it's not easy to do that when you're actually older than everybody. Dom and Orli get me in the right frame of mind, that's all. Anyway, today was too far, and we didn't realize you were..."

"I'm not gay, so don't assume I am just because I...did what I did today." Elijah's taken slightly off guard by Billy's honest words, and he can feel his anger sliding off, melting away into exhaustion. "Because I'm not." Not entirely, his mind continues. Not all the time. Just most of it.

"Well, I am," Billy replies candidly. "Won't speak for the others, though. It's up to you, whatever you want to say, but it might help you relax a bit if you'd quit denying it." He nods toward Elijah's crotch, raising his eyebrows. "For one thing, that's happening all the time, isn't it? Even in that robe I can see it, but...well, maybe you ought to wear looser pants."

"Whatever." Elijah stares at the bottom edge of the bedspread, thoroughly embarrassed. He's been caught, and they all know. Might as well go for broke, then. "So if that's not the problem, and you don't hate me, then what? Why can't you just leave me alone?"

To his surprise, Billy smiles then, a hesitant smile, but it's there. "Because we can't! You're one of us now, or you're supposed to be." Enthusiasm fills his voice, gives it a lilt that threatens to hypnotize, seduce. "We've got off on the wrong foot at some point, and it's no wonder you think we hate you. But we've only been..."

"What? You've been what?" Elijah asks this tiredly, wishing he had the energy to yell, but he just doesn't. It takes all his energy just to keep his voice level. "Just teasing, right? How many times do you think I've heard that over the years, huh? You think it's fun? 'Cause it's not. But maybe you know that, and maybe that's what you really want, to fuck with my head and make me look bad."

Billy shrugs, but his lip pales as he bites down on it. "Not at all. Look, Dom thought you were full of yourself, and we were trying to knock you down a little and get you to...I don't even know what, because you're leagues above us."

"Yeah? Then what was all that crap the other day in the lounge about how some people have to act, and I don't? Because that's crap. Just because you've been to drama school..."

"I know." Billy shifts his weight on the bed, digs into his pockets. "We're the ones who have to try so hard, with our technique and little tricks, and slogging through the books as best we can. Meanwhile, you just are Frodo in those read-throughs...you just become him and please them every time, and it seems so easy for you. That's what...look, I was wrong to say that, and I certainly didn't mean you couldn't act. Rather the opposite."

"Well, in case you came over here all worried about getting fired and sent home like Sean said, don't." As soon as Elijah says it, Billy's silent, amused smile floods a rush of heat through him, makes him fumble for what to say next as he flexes his toes in the heavy shag carpet. "I'm not gonna run and tattle like some kid."

"Oh, I wasn't worried about that. Because you're no kid." Casually, Billy gets up and comes around the end of the bed, and his hand finds Elijah through the folds of terrycloth, stroking lightly. "You're not going to stop me, are you? Like I said, I've noticed. And I've noticed that it's mainly around me." Edging forward, he keeps his gaze steady, moving his other hand around to cushion the back of Elijah's head as he presses him against the wall, breathing lightly underneath his ear. "You would've sucked me off right there in front of them today."

Elijah can't move, can't allow this, can't stop it, can't do anything but moan and nod. There's movement around him as he's slowly turned, and suddenly Billy's warm against his shoulders, murmuring some kind of rhythmic humming into his ear. Dimly, Elijah remembers the room being sort of cold before, but now he's sweating again, losing himself in the warmth of the slightly broader chest behind him, held up by a surprisingly strong arm as his bathrobe falls to the floor and his erection springs up to heat the air, heat the room, heat the entire world as he leans his head back.

The air seems charged now, taken up with Billy, cool fingers everywhere now on Elijah's skin, around him, exploring him. One hand slips behind, tentatively, growing more sure of itself as the seconds pass, and Elijah stumbles backward, hearing a whimper emerge from his throat. "Easy now," Billy whispers, his touch as sure as spring rain. "I'm sorry...I'm sorry for all of it. Relax and let me do this for you."

Anything, Elijah's traitor brain sighs. Anything, just don't stop that. Tie me up, mark me as your own, fuck me into next week. Just do not stop.

"You said that out loud," Billy chuckles, and Elijah blinks with a sudden gasp, wondering how much. The hand on his cock stops, one finger trailing from tip to base as if it's contemplating what to do next. "Just my speaking puts your guard up, doesn't it?" A low sigh, fingers curl around again, and god, there's that gentle voice next to his neck. "Don't be scared, 'Lijah. It's all right. Let me make this good."

Logic tells Elijah that it has to be a trick, that they've planned this and can't wait to have something to dangle over his head. But his body doesn't give a damn because a light caress on his hipbone makes him shudder as he realizes that he's being moved to the bed. He doesn't fight it, just sinks back awkwardly, jolted back into awareness by careful stroking on his inner thighs as they're pushed apart, the softness of short hair against his shoulder, Billy's hand, smaller than his own, around his cock, moving with deft assurance that matches a kiss, pushing him back.

"Maybe we should..." Elijah begins, but his words fade into a low cry as a warm palm flattens gently on his chest, soothing him. Time seems to stop, and the hand moves, joining its partner to grip Elijah's wrists, pinning them to his sides as Billy begins to suck, tight and gently tugging. Everything begins to fall away, and it's not long until Elijah can do nothing but arch upward, crying out, shaking uncontrollably as he floats away into Billy.

When he's finally able to move, he finds himself relaxed into a warm arm around his shoulders, and he stares at Billy's unfamiliar chest, running his fingers lightly through the sparse hairs. "I lied earlier," Billy finally says, probably more to break the silence than anything else. "Sort of, and in a way I didn't. We really did get together to watch some of your films. But I lied, the way I said it. Letting you think it was a big laugh."

Elijah doesn't answer but gets up, needing suddenly to piss in the worst way. When he returns from the bathroom, legs still trembling, Billy's got his coat on, and his face is red in the dim light of the bedside lamp. "Sorry. I really didn't come here intending for that to happen."

"Are you saying you wish it hadn't?" Everything seems different now, and Elijah feels as if he might say the wrong thing and make Billy vanish in a poof of smoke. "Because I'm glad it did. And you don't have to leave. I mean...you did...I haven't...it isn't quite fair to you, is it?" He looks away, suddenly shy as he contemplates what Billy might ask of him in return. "I mean...unless you're busy and want to get out of here...and it depends on what you want, because I don't have..."

"Ssh. Stop it." Billy lifts one finger to Elijah's lips with a slow smile, and they stand together for a long moment, motionless until Billy moves so close that their noses touch, and then he leans forward, eyelashes delicately flickering over the goosebumped skin of Elijah's shoulder. A sudden shiver jolts through Elijah, and when Billy looks up with that smile, it's hard to breathe. Finally, Billy steps back, bracing himself on Elijah for support as he shrugs out of his coat and motions toward the bed. "C'mon."

So Elijah does, watching curiously as Billy removes his clothes, stacking them in a careful pile. The sweatshirt isn't Orlando's after all...a new one? Billy takes his socks off, returns from the bathroom with a cup of water, eases slowly into the bed next to him. This is nothing like Elijah's fantasies, nothing at all, but it's somehow better, and he doesn't understand how it all came about. "Don't you want me to..."

"No. Shut off the light." Billy's arms glide around Elijah's body like ocean waves on the hottest summer day, drowsily washing over everything. "We'll settle accounts in the morning, sleepy. Right before we talk about Orli and Dom and how we're going to fix them proper tomorrow, you and me. And then we'll talk about you learning to take a joke without feeling all attacked and awful about it."

"Right..." None of it seems to matter, really, not now. Covers are being pulled up over his shoulder as Billy's lightly-muscled body settles in next to his back, and Elijah laughs then, turning over to look at him. "You got it, man...I would've done it. In dialect class today, when you made me get on my knees like that. I really think I would've done it."

Billy's kiss turns into something urgent and hungry before he breaks away with a grin. "Did you see Sean's face? You blew all their minds, but I thought he was going to have an aneurysm."

"Yeah, and I'm almost sorry."

"Ah, I knew it," Billy says wisely. "The rest of us have to watch ourselves, but not you, do you? Rather snotty of you to rub it in." Something shifts inside Elijah, and he swallows hard, but then Billy pokes him, tickling. "No, don't do that...try again. How about, 'piss off, bastard'? Think you can say that?" He pauses, waiting. "See? This is what I'm talking about. Tell me to piss off."

"How about, 'Fuck off' instead?" Elijah asks, and then he smiles ruefully as he feels a light kiss on the side of his head. Because he does see, and the more he sees, the more he realizes how wrong he's been about everything. "Or, how about, 'I've been a paranoid little shithead'?"

And now he's got Billy laughing in high-pitched giggles, and that's the funniest of all, watching crinkles frame his eyes as he slinks an arm over Elijah's hip. "Go t'sleep, little shithead," he says affectionately. "We've got an early call tomorrow."

*****

THE END

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