Cairdeas, Chapter 8

[sophrosyne31.livejournal.com]

Title: Cairdeas, Chapter 8
Authors: sophrosyne31 and sparktastic
Pairing: Billy/Orlando
Rating: Overall NC17, each part rated separately, this part R
Summary: Set in May-June 2007, Orlando and Billy are working on a film together in Scotland.
Disclaimer: If this comes true, we will be very happy, but we rather doubt it will.

A/N: Unbeta'ed, since my valiant co-author and beta has had to go away and I just couldn't wait. Any constructive crit is very welcome; and also, liek, apologies.
Previous chapters are Introduction, Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, and Chapter 7.





Orlando’s still running with thin, hot anger the next morning. Peevishness, irritation, rage scratchy and sulky under his skin. He stomps around his trailer in the dawn light, rubbing palms over his cheeks absently, rather viciously. He’s so pissed.

Billy. He fucking hates Billy today.

The nerve of him, that little, tiny, titchy, false, manipulative—

Coming around last night—

Kissing him and not really kissing him and stopping kissing him that time in the middle of the club. In front of all those people. Talking and not talking. Letting Orlando stay with him and then getting all wound up about it. Start, and stop, and fucking start, and stop—

Orlando takes a big swill of tea and shoves his hands in his pockets. Where’s the bloody assistant this morning? She’s got Orlando’s copy of the new script, how’s a bloke meant to do lines when there’s no script to follow, and he doesn’t know what the changes are, and the day’s already coming unstrung around the edges and it’s only 7 am?

Billy coming around last night, after three days of just letting him hang, just giving him bright, alert, giving don’t fucking speak to me looks every time Orlando came close to cracking and telling him that he’s sorry, he’s upset, he’s upset everything in fact, and he just wanted more of the couch thing, Billy’s couch back in Glasgow and how it’s been. All easy and breezy and good. And the couch back in New Zealand, which in Orlando’s memory (thumbed a few times lately, he’ll admit) is now a glow of sweetness and electric pleasure, all sense and sex, and he doesn’t know what happened at the club with that kiss, but he’s fucked if he’s going to apologise. But then, every time he sees stillness and wariness come over Billy’s face, he wants to just say I’m sorry, I’m sorry, sorry alright?

Coming around last night, arseholed on whiskey and sauntering in through the door, fucking standing there and telling him Shouldn’t let this come between us, you know?. Standing there with his cheeks flushed pink and his lips glossy red and wet from drinking and his eyes anywhere but on Orlando. Looking all fresh and lush and just hesitant enough for Orlando to feel the bite of want, and the nip of bitterness and the jab of satisfaction that this time it’s Billy who wants something. What does he want? He’s telling Orlando he wants nothing more to happen. And Orlando’s going to fucking oblige him, yeah he is.

—Billy fucking leaving when the phone rang, walking out with such a look on his face, such an impossible look, so thoughtful and his pink lips and his eyes all dark—

That kiss? That sudden sweet kiss? That was revenge, right, it was Orlando letting Billy know exactly what he’s missing out on. Orlando hadn’t even known he wanted Billy to want him, or miss him, but now that Billy’s playing this fucking game, Orlando’s going to make sure he knows he ain’t no boy no more, hasn’t been for a long time. He’s not a boy, he’s a man right? and he wants Billy—he wants, he corrects, he wants Billy to know it.

Now he stands in the trailer, looking out the window, waiting for his assistant to come bring him the new words. He bloody needs them.


**


Billy just has a way of sitting, with his head perked up, and his chin firm, waiting for something to happen that he can respond to. He’s so alert, and Orlando’s always liked sneaking up on him from behind, just to test his reflexes, and see, every time, Billy’s neat head turn smiling to see him as he swoops in for a hug.

Or, lately, the back of Billy’s head not turning, set still, as Orlando has faltered and swung away.

Orlando’s been thinking, through the first hours of the day’s shoot, and the first four solitary cups of tea in his trailer waiting for the rain to come and go. He’s been thinking, and his thoughts seem to have swerved rather dramatically.

He’s still angry. But now he’s remembered that attack is the best defence, and he’s decided to unspool the little insistent thread of desire that’s been coiled up inside him. He knows he wants Billy, and the more he thinks of Billy, and his solidity, his assurance, his cool skin and his sweet mouth (hips under his hands as they kissed last night, Billy’s breath, hands gripping reflexively into his shoulders, hips pushing into his), the more he feels something tugging, spooling taut out of his cock and his heart, tugging him into action.

So now, when he comes up behind Billy, sitting there neatly on the edges of the set, he doesn’t wait for an invitation and he comes in fast. He ducks his head in and takes a mouthful of Billy’s nape, soft skin under the peruke wig and bites right in, even when Billy jerks and cringes. Orlando’s hands come down hard and seize Billy’s shoulders. He lets go with his teeth, and butts his face around to Billy’s cheek.

“You. Come with me,” he whispers.

Billy just sits there, his cheek hot against Orlando’s. He doesn’t say anything. Then he puts his hands on the chair’s armrests and rises. Orlando walks away, towards some outbuildings, and hears Billy’s slow, firm little footsteps behind him.


**


The nearest quiet place is a shed a few hundred feet away from the set. It’s a farmer’s land they’re shooting on, and this is a real shed – hay and everything. In their costumes, with tattered period jackets and pony-tails, Orlando and Billy look very rustic in the dim light.

Orlando turns, when he’s a way inside, and faces Billy. Who’s got a certain look on his face, a sharp, guarded, thoughtful look. He seems uncomfortable in his costume, and lets his arms hang by his sides. Orlando just lets him stand there.

“Orli, listen. I was hammered last night, I just thought—well, it’s better to sort it all out—you know, I just wanted to be straight with you—”

Orlando shifts his balance, where he’s lounging on one leg. He lets Billy see his crotch. The erection there, a thick ridge in his breeches. His hand rests next to it.

Billy stares at it, then continues. “I mean, Kate ringing just then—that was probably for the best, wasn’t it. I thought I should leave you to it. You don’t need more hassles, and neither do I, we’ve both got girlfriend—ex-girlfriend—shite, and…”

Orlando just comes and closes Billy’s mouth with his own. He lays his lips right over Billy’s, and his tongue forces its way in, and Billy doesn’t resist.

He opens his mouth and lets Orlando excavate him.

It’s so wet and sweet, Billy’s hot breath all over Orlando’s cheeks, the heat of Billy’s face against his, smooth and solid flesh. Billy’s tongue sharp-slippery all around, and Billy sighing into it, his shoulders tensing under Orlando’s hands and yeah, his hips bucking forward and a hand coming up to land hard over Orlando’s hard-on. Orlando moans, desire and pleasure and satisfaction and anger all sluicing down his body to his cock and back in through Billy’s tongue to rinse his whole body with delight.

Billy groans back. He grabs Orlando’s hips and replaces the contact at the front with his hips. Stops to peel back the lapels of his long jacket and then shoves himself at Orlando again. Their legs stutter into firmer positions, bracing to push their bodies together at one point only, a fulcrum, grinding absurdly, furiously, until Billy breaks away with his teeth slightly bared and his face flushing.

“Lie down, Bills,” Orlando says, and collapsing to the soft hay on the ground he reaches up a long arm and yanks Billy by the waistband. Billy lands faster then Orlando expected and then for a moment the two of them gaze at each other.

He’s fucking full of blood, thinks Orlando. He’s as fizzing as I am. He looks at Billy in wonder.

I’ll make his blood fucking pound, he thinks, and runs his hand, hard, down Billy’s front.

Then all his thoughts get a bit red around the edges.


**


Orlando wasn’t planning on mauling Billy. That wasn’t the plan. Just… make him feel something. Anything other than this coolness, this jittery back-and-forth, always-in-control, always-out-of-reach composure that’s had Orlando wanting to grab Billy by the head and dig his teeth into his jaw. Orlando just wanted to get his hands on Billy.

His hands are all over him now, and his teeth, yeah they’re digging in deep. Into Billy’s neck, his shoulder, hands ripping away the jacket and the shirt to expose a pale pectoral, a nipple and that’s in his mouth too, and his hands, where are they they’re on hips Billy’s hips all sharp and hard beneath palms which are pulling and pushing, wrestling and tugging, Orlando doesn’t know what they’re doing, he’s too ragged with sensation and Billy’s mouth rubbing down the side of his throat, yeah, yeah...

“Oh Jesus—” says Billy, and Orlando doesn’t even hear the words, just feels the thicker breath against his jaw.

Hands inside Billy’s pants now, a thick solid cock in one palm, dry and where’s the—Orlando grips hard, like he’d like someone to grip him, and Billy squeezes tighter against Orlando’s body, then they’re turning, Billy’s on top and Orlando’s hand is trapped between Billy’s cock and his own thighs, yeah that too. Billy shoves down hard, hot hard bones and muscle, and they both gasp and open their eyes.

Billy’s face is so close, Orlando can just see the fine lines around his eyes and the droop of his lips at the corners where his mouth is open, panting, and part of Orlando thinks, That’s Billy, that’s Billy, and the other part thinks See what you’re doing to him, fucking yeah.

And he lunges up and kisses Billy hard. Billy just kisses back, and all through Orlando runs something that might be joy, if he could just concentrate.

But then Billy backs off, and Orlando’s mind flashes Not again, not fucking again! He surges forward and grabs Billy by the shoulder. Pulls him down again, and rolls, and traps him underneath.

“Orlando, I don’t think—I mean, I want to, but—”

“You do. Yeah?” Orlando ignores the fact that Billy could shove him off if he wanted. He likes the drama of all this. He even likes the fact that his costume, its scarlet coat and pale shirt, is hanging off his shoulders and his hair is trailing down. He likes everything about this moment, especially the nasty rush of desire that makes his hands shake when he lays them softly against the balls of Billy’s shoulders. It’s been a long time since he felt anything like this. He lays his hands, deliberately, on Billy’s thighs. Pushes them apart.

And Billy lies there, looking at him. Orlando sees the blood flushed in flat veins on Billy’s forehead, the soft openness of his lips. The way his hands, sinewy and furred along the sides, clench into each other. Billy’s gaze, adult and considering, and a bit hectic too, that’s for sure, Billy definitely wants to fuck and why does he keep stopping every time, I mean, I didn’t want to either at first—I didn’t know— but—

Orlando just sits there between Billy’s legs, looking at him and feeling his cock still hard in his pants and his hands growing soft where they rest. Billy looks back at him, and Orlando wishes once more that he had new words.

Everything feels false, like a performance—the hay, the costumes, the way he’s putting on some kind of face here, that’s not right is it? With Billy? With Billy staring at him with both want and guardedness on his features, something like care and fucking hell, pity? Orlando doesn’t want pity, he wants something more easy, more sincere, all the easiness of Billy and beer on the couch and curries and Billy’s arm resting heavy against his and the joy Orlando’s felt squinting sideways to Billy’s bright profile. All the joy of Billy. Right now he has lust, and power, and electricity hardening his muscles and his cock even now, but he doesn’t have joy.

They keep looking at each other, and Orlando feels desire sluice out of him, just like that.

He clambers up and stands. Billy doesn’t move. He just lies there, his clothes rucked and his chest breathing hard and his mouth slightly open still, wet, and his eyes full of kindness.

“Just—forget this, can you? I don’t—I’m sorry, Billy,” Orlando says, and walks out. He's aware of slackness in his limbs and a terrible sad heavy line to his mouth. Outside in the brief sunshine, the script girl is looking for him. He can't see, in the sudden dazzle of light, but he puts out his hand.

Comments

[darknightjess.livejournal.com]

I could just knock their damn skulls together!!!!!!!!!!!
Hard headed damn boys!!!!!!
ARGH!!
Oh yea, excellent chapter by the way! YAY!

[pecos.livejournal.com]

Just excellent. Thank you very much!

[sophrosyne31.livejournal.com]

Why thank you, and yes. Orlando is just throttleable.

YAY! for their numb-skulled dithering and secks! *cough* I mean, thank you!

[sophrosyne31.livejournal.com]

Shouldn't that be me saying Thank you?

Thank you!