ext_377402 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
shellies.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fellowshippers2004-02-01 05:54 pm
shellies.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-02-01 05:54 pm
Good At Falling, BB/DW PG
Title: Good At Falling
Author: Shelly
Pairing: Billy/David
Rating: PG
Summary: Wherein Billy falls, talks, and falls again.
Website: Little Things
Disclaimer: Never happened.
Notes: My birthday gift to the lovely![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
andrealyn. I can't write Sparrington, but I do hope you'll enjoy this. *smooches* Thanks to captnobvious for the beta.
To say he feels silly would be a gross understatement. As Billy rolls off of the pile of (fake) wooden logs and sticks, for probably the fourteenth time that morning, his scarf catches on a branch and he is yanked backwards, left dangling slightly before finally falling onto the floor mats arranged to catch his fall.
Yes, he feels quite silly indeed.
It wouldn’t be so bad if his role in this scene were more involved. But, no, most of this scene is actually performed by Fon, or stunt doubles who aren’t afraid to roll around in flames.
Billy’s only real responsibility this morning is to roll off of the stack of logs over and over again until Peter is satisfied with a close-up. Which would be easy if his director weren’t such a perfectionist.
As Billy climbs the platform again, he wonders if David feels as daft as he does. But, probably not. All David has to do is lie in his gurney and look hot.
Look hot?
Surely that was just a bad pun. Hot as in, actually hot. Temperature. Not like, attractive. No, Billy surely doesn’t think David is attractive.
Well, that isn’t entirely true. He isn’t unattractive. No, David is a fine looking man, certainly. A-list casting. Quite the perfect Faramir, indeed. In fact, Billy can’t think of a better man to be playing Faramir, with those soulful blue eyes and full lips, open slightly in the painful agony of –
“Billy?”
Oh, right. Acting.
Billy shakes his head, clears his thoughts and climbs the stack of wood once more.
“You did well today, Billy,” David says, as the cast and crew clear out for lunch. The two make their way to the catering tent together, and Billy looks up at the taller man in disbelief.
“You’ve got to be kidding.” Billy offers a self-deprecating smile. “All I did was fall, David. It was absolute rubbish.”
David stops walking, runs his hand through Pippin’s curls, lets the hand linger on Billy’s dirty cheek before resuming his stride.
He looks over his shoulder at Billy and smiles as he walks away. “Yes, Bill, but you’re good at falling, aren’t you?”
Having drinks with his cast mates isn’t something Billy is foreign to by any means. However, having drinks with David is something he has never done before. At least, not just the two of them, not alone. Alone. With David.
As Elijah would say, ‘no biggie.’
So Billy buys David a pint of the finest New Zealand ale he can afford, which ends up being Foster’s – which is actually Australian, but then, David is Australian so it works out, right? And Australia is practically New Zealand, isn’t it? But, then again, that’s like when people say how Ireland and Scotland are practically the same thing, and God only knows how angry that makes Billy. So, nevermind.
I have to learn to stop thinking so damn much.
Billy, for the second time that day, shakes himself out of an embarrassing reverie, but this time it isn’t Peter’s exasperated expression that he meets, but David’s grin. David has a nice grin.
“I do believe, Billy Boyd,” David says with that wide grin, “that you are more of Peregrin Took than you’d care to admit.”
Billy blushes and looks into his (Australian) beer.
Billy’s rightfully pissed. If he thought about it, it probably isn’t the smartest thing he’s done in a while. But, like most pissed young men, Billy isn’t doing too much thinking.
Rather, Billy is doing what he always does when he’s pissed – he is talking.
Incessantly.
“I do think you’re great, Faramir, really I do. So fucking—” he pauses, looking for the right word, “fucking noble, man!”
Billy has also confused David with his role.
“I mean, who else resists the Ring? Well, Sam resists the Ring, ultimately, and I suppose Aragorn does, as well. And there’s that bit where Elijah offers it to Cate – I mean, Galadriette – er, Blanchett. And she resists it, too. So maybe that was a bad example, Faramir, but —” Billy pauses again to take another sip of his (seventh) glass of Australian beer and grins. “I still think you’re great.”
David watches Billy ramble with a bemused expression, blue eyes never once filled with anything but laughter. He sips his (second) Australian beer and smiles.
Billy is still talking as they leave the pub. He and David are walking shoulder to shoulder in search of a taxi. Billy’s a bit too distracted to actually hail one, though, and is grateful when David opens the door to the car – which came out of nowhere, Billy swears – and gestures that Billy get inside.
In the taxi, Billy’s thigh presses against David’s. Billy feels small and, due to his unfortunate drunken diarrhea of the mouth, says so. David grins again, “I’m sure you’re not all hobbit, Billy,” he says, and Billy’s not sure if it’s the beer that turns that into innuendo in his brain.
Regardless, Billy thinks he may be getting somewhere.
They approach Billy’s house eventually, having taken longer than normal due to Billy’s drunken directions. He gives David a sheepish smile. “Next time, you’ll know where I live.”
When the cab pulls up to the house and parks, Billy turns to David. “Would you like to come in, noble Faramir?”
David’s blue eyes are filled with something that Billy would like to call desire, but then they turn apologetic. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Billy.”
Billy’s face falls and, instantly, he feels more sober than he’d like. “Oh, alright then.”
But then David’s hand is on Billy’s chin, forcing him to look up. “But next time, when I know my way to your house, Billy,” David whispers, “I won’t be so willing to resist.” And he places a soft kiss on Billy’s lips, which are suddenly on fire.
Which makes sense, because David is so hot.
David pulls back and speaks again – which is nice, since Billy’s done his share of talking for the evening indeed. “Now I’ll help you to your door, should you fall.”
Billy is awfully grateful. After all, he’s quite good at falling.
End.
Author: Shelly
Pairing: Billy/David
Rating: PG
Summary: Wherein Billy falls, talks, and falls again.
Website: Little Things
Disclaimer: Never happened.
Notes: My birthday gift to the lovely
andrealyn. I can't write Sparrington, but I do hope you'll enjoy this. *smooches* Thanks to captnobvious for the beta. Good At Falling
To say he feels silly would be a gross understatement. As Billy rolls off of the pile of (fake) wooden logs and sticks, for probably the fourteenth time that morning, his scarf catches on a branch and he is yanked backwards, left dangling slightly before finally falling onto the floor mats arranged to catch his fall.
Yes, he feels quite silly indeed.
It wouldn’t be so bad if his role in this scene were more involved. But, no, most of this scene is actually performed by Fon, or stunt doubles who aren’t afraid to roll around in flames.
Billy’s only real responsibility this morning is to roll off of the stack of logs over and over again until Peter is satisfied with a close-up. Which would be easy if his director weren’t such a perfectionist.
As Billy climbs the platform again, he wonders if David feels as daft as he does. But, probably not. All David has to do is lie in his gurney and look hot.
Look hot?
Surely that was just a bad pun. Hot as in, actually hot. Temperature. Not like, attractive. No, Billy surely doesn’t think David is attractive.
Well, that isn’t entirely true. He isn’t unattractive. No, David is a fine looking man, certainly. A-list casting. Quite the perfect Faramir, indeed. In fact, Billy can’t think of a better man to be playing Faramir, with those soulful blue eyes and full lips, open slightly in the painful agony of –
“Billy?”
Oh, right. Acting.
Billy shakes his head, clears his thoughts and climbs the stack of wood once more.
“You did well today, Billy,” David says, as the cast and crew clear out for lunch. The two make their way to the catering tent together, and Billy looks up at the taller man in disbelief.
“You’ve got to be kidding.” Billy offers a self-deprecating smile. “All I did was fall, David. It was absolute rubbish.”
David stops walking, runs his hand through Pippin’s curls, lets the hand linger on Billy’s dirty cheek before resuming his stride.
He looks over his shoulder at Billy and smiles as he walks away. “Yes, Bill, but you’re good at falling, aren’t you?”
Having drinks with his cast mates isn’t something Billy is foreign to by any means. However, having drinks with David is something he has never done before. At least, not just the two of them, not alone. Alone. With David.
As Elijah would say, ‘no biggie.’
So Billy buys David a pint of the finest New Zealand ale he can afford, which ends up being Foster’s – which is actually Australian, but then, David is Australian so it works out, right? And Australia is practically New Zealand, isn’t it? But, then again, that’s like when people say how Ireland and Scotland are practically the same thing, and God only knows how angry that makes Billy. So, nevermind.
I have to learn to stop thinking so damn much.
Billy, for the second time that day, shakes himself out of an embarrassing reverie, but this time it isn’t Peter’s exasperated expression that he meets, but David’s grin. David has a nice grin.
“I do believe, Billy Boyd,” David says with that wide grin, “that you are more of Peregrin Took than you’d care to admit.”
Billy blushes and looks into his (Australian) beer.
Billy’s rightfully pissed. If he thought about it, it probably isn’t the smartest thing he’s done in a while. But, like most pissed young men, Billy isn’t doing too much thinking.
Rather, Billy is doing what he always does when he’s pissed – he is talking.
Incessantly.
“I do think you’re great, Faramir, really I do. So fucking—” he pauses, looking for the right word, “fucking noble, man!”
Billy has also confused David with his role.
“I mean, who else resists the Ring? Well, Sam resists the Ring, ultimately, and I suppose Aragorn does, as well. And there’s that bit where Elijah offers it to Cate – I mean, Galadriette – er, Blanchett. And she resists it, too. So maybe that was a bad example, Faramir, but —” Billy pauses again to take another sip of his (seventh) glass of Australian beer and grins. “I still think you’re great.”
David watches Billy ramble with a bemused expression, blue eyes never once filled with anything but laughter. He sips his (second) Australian beer and smiles.
Billy is still talking as they leave the pub. He and David are walking shoulder to shoulder in search of a taxi. Billy’s a bit too distracted to actually hail one, though, and is grateful when David opens the door to the car – which came out of nowhere, Billy swears – and gestures that Billy get inside.
In the taxi, Billy’s thigh presses against David’s. Billy feels small and, due to his unfortunate drunken diarrhea of the mouth, says so. David grins again, “I’m sure you’re not all hobbit, Billy,” he says, and Billy’s not sure if it’s the beer that turns that into innuendo in his brain.
Regardless, Billy thinks he may be getting somewhere.
They approach Billy’s house eventually, having taken longer than normal due to Billy’s drunken directions. He gives David a sheepish smile. “Next time, you’ll know where I live.”
When the cab pulls up to the house and parks, Billy turns to David. “Would you like to come in, noble Faramir?”
David’s blue eyes are filled with something that Billy would like to call desire, but then they turn apologetic. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Billy.”
Billy’s face falls and, instantly, he feels more sober than he’d like. “Oh, alright then.”
But then David’s hand is on Billy’s chin, forcing him to look up. “But next time, when I know my way to your house, Billy,” David whispers, “I won’t be so willing to resist.” And he places a soft kiss on Billy’s lips, which are suddenly on fire.
Which makes sense, because David is so hot.
David pulls back and speaks again – which is nice, since Billy’s done his share of talking for the evening indeed. “Now I’ll help you to your door, should you fall.”
Billy is awfully grateful. After all, he’s quite good at falling.
End.
no subject
great job.
Re:
no subject
Thank you for posting this, it was much enjoyed and I adore rambling!drunken!Billy so so so much!
MWAH!
Re:
thank you! i love david, too and i'm glad you liked this :)
no subject
Re:
thanks for reading!
no subject
I heart fics with David. There aren't nearly enough of them. And when you add my favorite Billy... <3
Re:
no subject
Re:
but thank you, glad you liked this!
no subject
eeeeee! oh my god, it's so DAVID! AND BILLY! And damn amazing analogies and metaphors and a lovely flow, and I am *such* a sucker for drunk-fics, and eeee! So. Fucking. Good.
I love it. Thank you lovely!
Re:
im so glad you liked it! i was like, what can i write for andrealyn that ISN'T jack davenport...hmmm....
i really enjoyed writing this, so thank you for (unknowingly) encouraging me to write this pairing :)
*hugs and squeezes you*
Re:
*cough* yeah!
no subject
Re: