Disclaimer: This didn't happen. Ever. I don't know these people.

Betas: My ever-faithful and ever-helpful content beta Reisling, my grammar masters Robyn and Jeanette, and my invaluable Scottish beta Kira.

Author's Notes: For those who have worried each time that "The End" at conclusion of each chapter is the end of the series, it's not. Believe me, when the series is finished, you'll know. There will be no mistaking it. :)

Dom knows.

With his covers pulled tight to his throat, Billy stared at the endless spinning of his ceiling fan.

Dom knows.

Billy supposed it was a testament to his mindset when he got home the night before that his ceiling fan was even on; the forecast had called for frost.

Orlando and Dom.

Dom and Orlando.

Now it was too cold in his room to get out of bed. The fan kept spinning.

Dom knowing about Orlando.

Orlando not knowing about Dom.

And Billy squarely in the middle.

Billy blinked once at his ceiling fan, then pulled the covers high over his head, rolled onto his side and went back to sleep.

The phone shrieked at him from his bedside table and awoke him two hours later. Billy answered groggily, trying to maintain his level of sleepiness so as to return to it as soon as the phone call was complete.

"I caught fish," Viggo said over the line.

"Cheers, mate," Billy slurred. "I'm well chuffed for you."

"Late night? It's almost four."

"I'm catching up."

"You know, that's not actually possible."

Billy snorted sleepily. "I've done my own studies."

"You should come over tonight. BK's going to use his special fish technique."

"That's brilliant, mate." Billy settled his head more comfortably on his pillow and let the phone balance on his cheek. "I hope it makes you happy."

"You going to be there?"

Billy made a noncommittal humming noise as his eyes drooped shut. The phone toppled off his face to the mattress. He left it there for a moment before sliding a leaden arm down to reclaim it. Viggo's voice returned to his ear.

"...and Sean's bringing his family. Dom said he'd try to come by. Miranda's already here..."

Billy's eyes opened to stare blankly at the wall.

Dom knows.

"You should come. Good food," Viggo continued. "Get out of bed, put some clothes on and come over."

Billy blinked and returned his attention to the conversation. "Are you suggesting that I'm nekkid over here?"

Viggo laughed. "You put such visions in my head. So come over, all right? I gotta start getting stuff ready. Talk to you tonight." The line fell silent and Billy held the phone to his ear until the dial tone began to beep.

He hung up the phone and flopped listlessly onto his back.

Dom knows.

The fan spun, raining down an unwanted, chilling breeze.

Holy shite and Christ almighty, Dom knows.

Billy demanded a retake; a take wherein he didn't kiss Orlando in front of a bright fucking window in the middle of the night, in front of his best mate. But then, if he hadn't, Orlando might still be mad at him. That wouldn't be good either. Shite, shite, double shite. He rubbed a hand down his unshaven face. Really, last night � not his best performance ever.

Summoning energy he didn't have, Billy tossed aside the bed covers and sat up. Then, he thought better of it and grabbed up the warm covers to use as a shield against the cold. He had absolutely no intention of going to Viggo's fish party, but he'd been in bed for nearly eleven hours now and he believed the phrase was "like a racehorse". Donning his draping cape, he stumbled down the hallway and into the loo.

Going to a party where Dom would be. What a bloody terrible idea that was. Billy could just imagine the smug, amused look on Dom's face and all the jokes at his expense. I mean really, Bills, I never thought you'd be one to fancy the pretty boys. Shite, mate, I can't believe you actually kiss him knowing all that vegetarian tofu and sprouts rubbish he eats. Man, Billy, if I'd known you were that desperate, I would have sprung for a hooker.

Billy snorted a laugh as he flushed the toilet and turned to the sink. Dom would be merciless, that much he knew. He had Billy in an entirely awkward position. Hell, Billy was laughing already � he was shagging Orlando; he'd practically put the joke right in Dom's lap! It barely needed a punch line.

He splashed water on his face and looked up at his dripping reflection. It could have been worse, he figured; it could have been Elijah. Yank couldn't keep a secret to save his life.

Of all people...of all the mates in the world to have found out... Billy supposed he would have chosen Dom himself. He and Dom had bonded quickly and in a way Billy had never experienced with any other person. They were strangers and then, they were best mates, with no awkwardness or distance in between. If a person can be soul mates with someone and not want to shag him, then Dom was his soul mate. He felt he could tell Dom anything. Maybe... Billy swallowed as he towel-dried his face. Maybe he could even tell him this, and maybe Dom would make it okay. At the very least, Dom could make it all very fucking funny, and that would be comfort enough. You know, Bill, I never took you for liking the tall blokes; do you have to stand on a box when you snog him?

Billy's resolve to avoid the party cooled, froze, reversed and transformed to become a strange sort of eagerness to attend. Dom knows. What better person than Dom to find out? The thoughts in Billy's mind raced forward, all wanting to be the first hanged on the gallows of Dom's wit and thereby exorcised, freed from Billy's head before they caused some inconvenient explosion. Billy grabbed his shaver and began to tidy up.

The house smelled cloyingly of fish when he arrived and his greeting at the door was four or five scattered calls of "Come in!", all from people who did not live there. Various mad-dash offerings of wine and dessert covered the paint-splattered crate acting as a hall table. Billy had barely managed to bring his wits, let alone alcohol or cupcakes, so he quickly shuffled past the table.

"Billy!" Elijah called in warm welcome. He trotted over to give Billy a hug. Over Elijah's shoulder, Billy glanced around the kitchen as casually as possible: No Dom.

"Hey, Bill. Have a beer, be at home." Viggo gestured to him briefly before BK slapped his arm and made him pay attention to the fish. The two slimy sacrifices lay on the cutting board, whole and intact, scales, tails, fins, and eyeballs, as if they had stopped flopping about only moments ago. Billy's lips twisted unpleasantly and he thought maybe he preferred not meeting his meal until it was cooked.

Beer in hand, he migrated out of the kitchen, palming a clean fork out of the drying rack by the sink as he went. He slipped it into his coat pocket and kept his eyes scanning for Dom.

He received nods and slaps on the shoulder in greeting as he drifted through the pockets of chatting people. It seemed nearly the entire Rings population had come on short notice, splintering off into small talking and laughing groups that spilled through the glass doors onto the porch. They filled the house with a low murmur and the comforting humidity of body heat in defiance of the cold outside and soft, soulful music wafted from places unknown. Viggo's home was like a whole different world. And standing there, across the room in front of the unlit fireplace, was Orlando.

How fucking prosaic, seeing Orlando across a crowded room. By a fireplace, no fucking less, which Billy thought had to be something from some sort of fairy tale, even if he couldn't remember it. And yet, the stereo played the blues. All wrong. Surely, the music should be something altogether more tinkly and romantic; something that a fifteen year-old girl would like.

Orlando glanced up and immediately did a double take, his eyes betraying his elation. Orlando smiled at him, and Billy had to smile back. Infatuation was a dangerous thing, Billy decided. Looking at Orlando, he felt light and airy, filled with bubbles, and that being the case, he thought he should perhaps be concerned about the amount of oxygen reaching his brain. He could smitten himself straight into a stroke.

Billy watched, heart fluttering in what was probably a potentially fatal arrhythmia, as Orlando's dark eyes returned to Miranda. He tapped his foot anxiously. Dom, he thought, where are you? I'm standing here, making googly eyes at a mate in front of all our coworkers. Help me out here, you bastard.

He continued on through the house, looking for the face he knew well and the voice he knew even better. Smiling ruefully, he tried to prepare himself for whatever joke Dom would make first. Maybe he'd hand Billy a quid and thank him for the peep show. Or maybe he'd teasingly invite himself into a threesome. At least, it had better be teasingly because Billy didn't need to search his soul too deeply to know that whatever it was he wanted with Orlando, it didn't involve sharing.

From around the corner, Billy heard a familiar raucous laugh. He smoothly moved into the next room � a bedroom turned art studio, by the looks of it � and saw Dom laughing on the floor with Karl, his back to the door. Hearing his mate's reassuring voice, hearing his laugh, Billy's mood suddenly turned. A thousand words battered almost violently at his mind, demanding to be spoken aloud, and not a single one was a joke. His heart seemed to tighten painfully in his chest and his footsteps halted as if struck by the starkness of his feelings. Every fear and doubt he had ever had about Orlando came rushing back to the forefront of his thoughts; a flood wanting and waiting to break free. Now that the opportunity presented itself, now that it sat before him, he realized just how badly he wanted to talk to someone. It was a physical presence all at once more intense and suffocating than the Devil had ever been.

Everything he'd done this year had been so unlike him in so many ways, and yet more like him as well, as if he'd shrugged off the yoke of who Billy Boyd had always been and had become who Billy Boyd really was. But then, he feared how Orlando fit into that. Was that who he really was, too? Was it time to buy rainbow bracelets and find a few parades to march in? Billy felt almost frightened by the sudden wave of longing that swept through him; he wanted so desperately to talk to a friend, to Dom. He wanted to talk to someone who wasn't his own Devil.

Karl stood, his and Dom's empty beer bottles closed in his hands. "Hey, Billy," he said as he passed him. "I'm going to grab a few more beers. Get you one?"

Billy shook his head and raised the half-full beer still in his hand. "Got one. Thanks." Karl walked into the next room, where several voices cheerfully greeted him.

Taking a deep breath, Billy put a casual half-smile on his face and strolled around to stand in front of Dom. "Hey, Dommie," he sighed, as he lowered himself to the ground.

Dom looked up at him, his eyes hard enough to shatter glass. "Orlando's in the living room." His voice was flat, and a heartbeat later, he stood and strode out of the bedroom.

Billy froze, crouched awkwardly with only one arse cheek touching the hardwood floor. Slowly, the talking in the next room swallowed the departing squeak of Dom's trainers. Well, Billy thought as his lungs regained air, he hadn't prepared for that.

His mind fought for purchase, but slid helplessly from one thought to the next. Dom was...mad? Billy knew Angry Dom quite well and that was the very pinch in his voice and the cut of his words. The flood that had wanted to rage and the emotions Billy had wanted to purge ebbed wretchedly back inside him, accompanied by brand new fears and doubts. Dom was mad. Because of Orlando. "Orlando's in the living room," he'd said, clipped and sharp. Billy had never before felt so wounded by words. Wounded, betrayed, and really, really fucking pissed off.

Billy shoved himself to his feet, feeling his body tighten in a rage. Where did Dom get off being angry about this? It wasn't any of his bloody business in the first place. Billy's fingers whitened with his grip on the cold glass of his beer bottle as he slowly walked out of the bedroom. The laughing and talking seemed unnaturally loud and out of place now. He spied Dom disappearing into the kitchen with a backward glare in his direction. Of all the fucking overreactions; Billy rolled his eyes. He shook his head as he pretended to admire some abstract piece of art pinned to the wall. Dom was such an arsehole. It wasn't as if Billy had done any of this on purpose.

A snickering body slammed into him and Billy instinctively protected his drink from splashing on the painting. He spun around to see Bernard looking about two cocktails past pissed. "Oy, mate," Billy scolded jokingly, biting his temper into check. "Why are you always running into me?"

"`Cause you're there." Bernard nudged Billy again and the stunt people who'd been standing with him laughed.

"Ah, I see," Billy said as he turned back to the painting. "Like Mount Everest, then." He let Bernard and the others drift away, consciously letting an opportunity for conversation slip past him. It wasn't any of Dom's business who Billy kissed and where anyway. Billy shook his head. His jaw felt tight enough to bite the neck off his bottle. Was it because it was Orlando? Was it because they hadn't told anyone? If he announced to everyone here his big secret, would that steal Dom's righteous angry thunder? Oy, everyone, I've snogged Orlando! Wild, untamed snogging, that's right. Not that any of you should even sodding care!

A little form stepped up beside him, pretending to admire the same painting. Billy looked over, then down to see Ali, Sean's daughter, standing beside him with her eyebrows turned down and her bottom lip jutting out as she mimicked his grave expression. "Oy, now what's this, wee darlin'?" Billy called, letting every high and low of his accent come through bold as brass. She laughed at his voice, as she always did, and grabbed a hold of his hand, swinging it back and forth with the rhythm of the music. "Aye, you wanna dance, do you?" It was a good thing, perhaps, that children couldn't detect apathy; Billy didn't exactly feel like dancing, but Ali didn't need to know that.

He set his beer down on the nearest crate and extended his other hand to Ali's grasp. What they did couldn't really be called dancing anyway. It was more a sort of wild twirling. Gripping her hands in his, Billy pulled her into the air so she spun around like a blade on his ceiling fan. She giggled and squealed, and otherwise did a great job of clearing an Ali-length radius all around them. Others at the party laughed with them as they kicked their feet and wiggled, Billy aping Ali's every dance move even if it didn't match the rhythm of the bluesy song from the stereo. Fueled by his disgust with his whole, messy situation, Billy danced with abandon, not caring what the others thought, not thinking about anything but mastering that little twist Ali managed to do with her shoulders. Fuck `em all, he thought...I'm dancing! The smile expanded in his chest before slowly making its way to his mouth, curving his lips in an unconscious grin. Ali clambered against him and he stopped to heave her into his arms. She was a bit too big to be held, but he enjoyed the way her arms wrapped around his neck just the same. She laughed, squealing happily � and rather loudly � right in his ear. "Ooch. Hod yer wheesht, hen," he said wincing with a smile.

Ali squinted her eyes, peering at his mouth as she reached up to tug on his bottom lip, looking inside as if she could figure out his accent by sight. "Does everybody talk like you where you're from?"

"Aye, they do," Billy replied, as best he could with only one lip at his disposal. "All of `em."

"They don't speak English?"

"No." Billy shook his head very seriously. "They speak Scottish." He grinned and Ali snickered into her hand.

"You're not teaching her to swear, are you?" Sean stepped over to them, tucking a strand of Ali's hair behind her ear.

With a shrug, Billy handed the little lass over into her father's arms. "Just a little. Nothing too hard, you know. Preliminary swearing."

"Well, if that's all..." Sean laughed and escorted Ali off to wash her hands for dinner.

Billy turned back to the painting, but his eyes stayed peering toward the side. As he expected, within a few feet, Ali turned around to look at him, hand still closed in her father's grasp. Billy quickly turned to her, eyes crossed and tongue stuck out. She giggled and kept moving � until she turned back in another few feet to see Billy wiggling his lips like a fish, hands waving at his neck as gills. She grinned and kept moving, looking back each couple of steps for a new face until Sean finally succeeded in herding her into the bathroom. As her happy grin disappeared behind the door, the smile hadn't faded from Billy's mouth yet.

And it still hadn't faded when he turned to see Orlando, sitting in an armchair, watching him with the softest expression Billy had ever seen. His head rested on his hand, an absent smile on his lips, and his eyes were so brown and so deep they seemed like gateways to another world. A world where Billy was so charming and handsome that his very presence, even the simple sight of him was enthralling, enchanting, perfect. As soon as Orlando noticed Billy looking at him, the expression vanished. He ran a hand through his Mohawked hair and rolled his eyes at himself before smirking, his gaze cast almost self-consciously toward Billy.

Had Dom been there, Billy might have punched him in the face. This was why Billy needed him and why he'd wanted to talk to him. He needed someone to see that look in Orlando's eyes and tell him how to walk away from it. Or perhaps just tell him why he should walk away because declarations of sexuality clearly weren't working any more. Billy felt as though he were on the edge of something, dancing around four-letter words that weren't curses but oaths, and he was beginning to feel a tad unnerved. He could have used a friendly ear, but no, Dom had to be a total fucking arse about it.

Billy breathed in and breathed out, glad to hear Ali's laugh returning to the room. For a moment, he considered carrying the little lass around with him for the duration of the evening. She could very well prevent a bludgeoning.

"Hey, Orli."

Billy looked over to see Elijah walk out of the kitchen, shaking a pack of cigarettes. Orlando stood to join him and the two of them went out, lighting up just outside the glass doors amid the others in the exiled smoking crowd on the porch. Billy insinuated himself into a small group listening as John told a long, overblown story, camouflaging himself while he watched Orlando and Elijah chatting. He didn't know why he was watching or what he expected. It was more that he liked the strange tingling in his body when he looked at Orlando. As unsettling as it was, this strange, almost bubbling lightness in his limbs, he liked it; he almost craved it, like this was the feeling of being alive. Elijah tugged on Orlando's sleeve, pulling him from the porch just as Orlando glanced up, finding Billy through the glass and other party-goers, despite his human cover. In a hurry, Billy looked back to the group and laughed along with them at whatever joke John had just finished, but he'd seen what he supposed he had been waiting for: Orlando wanted to see him, too.

As he nonchalantly made his way toward the porch, Billy forced himself to acknowledge that he was a damn puppy. Orlando didn't even have to speak any more; he gave a look and Billy would do anything, just to be around him. Perhaps that worked out well, though. Orlando did talk about missing his dog sometimes.

Dom, you unimaginable bastard.

Casually, Billy slipped through the conversations and stepped outside. His feet reverberated softly on Viggo's wooden deck and pissing bollocks, the wind was cold! It bit right through his jeans and jumper, nipping his skin all over. Warm days followed by nights that would freeze the wool off a sheep; New Zealand was a nutty fucking country.

Gripping his ever-colder bottle of beer, Billy walked to the railing and looked out. As his eyes adjusted to the relative darkness outside the house, he made out a white shirt and a pair of jeans � standing side by side. A few seconds more showed it to be Orlando in white, the wind blowing his scarf behind him like a tail, talking to Elijah. Behind them, a fallen tree stretched out, monstrously large and weathered. Most of the trunk and branches had been sawed off years ago by the looks of it, but the root-fingered end remained, reaching out toward the dark woods beyond it. Billy could only hear the intonations and high pitches of their words. And Elijah's laughter. Orlando was making him laugh.

"Hey, Bill. Want to give us a hand here? I'm putting the hobbits to work."

Billy turned at the voice and a large clay mixing bowl was dropped in his hands. He barely had time to steady his beer before he was forced to abandon the bottle on the railing and fully grasp the bowl. Shards of vegetables and the occasional apple core filled it to the top. Billy looked up to see two more bowls occupying Viggo's hands � and Dom standing right behind him with a third and fourth bowl. Dom looked away and his jaw jutted with an impatient sigh, as if he couldn't believe his bad luck.

Billy looked to Viggo, thinking along similar lines. "What is this?"

Viggo paused to glance in as he passed through the door. "Apple core," he said matter-of-factly.

"Oh, right." Billy pitched his voice high on the edge of cheerful, sarcastic revelation. "Where I come from apples don't have cores." He followed Dom and Viggo off the porch. "Where are we going?"

"Into the wild," Viggo answered, stepping barefoot into the cold grass.

Billy kept up obediently, eyeing the mixing bowl's innards. Vegetable discard, all of it. Scraps of yellowed lettuce, the shaved skins of what looked to be a year's supply of carrots, potato peels, and yes, apple cores. All of this couldn't possibly be from tonight, and judging by the faint but unmistakable overly sweet scent of rotting fruit coming from deep in his bowl, it wasn't.

"You need any help?" Elijah called as they neared the fallen tree. The wind carried his voice carried to them. Orlando looked at Billy, then what appeared to be an anxious hand flew to his mouth to shift his cigarette and he smiled lightly. Billy didn't return the expression; instead, his eyes flashed to Dom, wondering if he'd seen. Dom stared straight ahead, walking fixedly toward Orlando. Billy's breath seemed to shorten in his chest. If Dom were to tell Orlando what he saw, if he were to say something to Orlando � Billy didn't know what would happen, but he didn't like it. Instinctively, on a primal level, he didn't like it. Dom clearly wasn't interested in understanding.

"Sure." Viggo set one of his bowls in Elijah's outstretched hands. "Orlando, take one of Dom's bowls."

Billy watched, his feet moving mindlessly forward, as Orlando stubbed his cigarette out on the bark of the tree, pocketed the butt, and stepped forward to accept a bowl from Dom. "Thanks, Orli," Dom said brightly.

"What are we supposed to do with this?" Orlando turned the bowl in his hands. His nose wrinkled when he took an ill-fated whiff.

"Throw it around." Viggo's voice came disembodied from the forest before them and one by one, they marched into the trees, each armed with a bowl. Sticks snapped beneath Billy's feet and he stumbled over uneven and unseen ground. He blinked, trying to clear the dark from his eyes, but the dark wasn't in his eyes; it was in the woods, and there was nothing to be done about it. "Not all in the same place," he heard Viggo say somewhere a few feet ahead and a little to the right. "Spread it out."

"The animals will like it like this," Dom replied to the criticism, his belligerent wit ready as ever. "It's like a little all-you-can eat buffet."

Footsteps crunched behind him and Billy squinted, trying to make out the white of Orlando's shirt. He couldn't see anything and so he set to scattering his vegetable matter. Apple cores and spoiled lettuce hit the forest floor with a leafy whisper. Step by step, he moved blindly through the trees, hefting his bowl to toss out portions of the contents every few feet. This was pretty weird, even for him. He kept his ears tuned for hushed voices, wondering and worrying if Dom had found Orlando in the darkness, even when Billy couldn't.

"Hm." Viggo's hum startled Billy by being closer than he thought it should be. "You're all very quiet tonight. Did we run out of beer?"

"This is serious business," Billy replied lightly. He knew both Dom and Orlando could hear him. "We need to concentrate."

"Ah."

"What is all this rubbish?" Orlando's words filtered to them from somewhere to the left and Billy turned, once more trying and failing to see him through the darkness.

"Scraps." A loud clomp of debris hit the ground, punctuating Viggo's answer. "This way, everything gets used, either by animals or by nature herself. It all goes back to the earth."

"Is it supposed to sit this long?" Elijah asked.

"Uhh...no," Viggo said, almost sheepishly. "I've been busy."

"This is like the stuff you eat, isn't it Orli?" Dom teased. Billy's spine stiffened.

"Oh, yeah." Orlando's reply came blithely and from nowhere near Dom. "You know how I love my rancid lettuce."

They all laughed, but Dom laughed more than Billy thought was entirely necessary.

Billy emerged from the forest first, entering what little of the house's warm light managed to reach out this far. He dropped his bowl on the ground. Orlando walked out next, dropping his bowl on top of Billy's. Billy couldn't stop or ignore the sudden tug in his chest. Orlando pulled his scarf tighter around his neck and clamped his likely freezing hands under his arms. All the while, his dark, glittering eyes stayed locked on Billy's. "Hey," he said softly, and immediately silenced when the snap of a twig heralded Dom's approach. Elijah followed a moment later and when Dom slung an arm over Orlando's shoulders, Elijah did the same with a cheeky smile.

"All right." Viggo walked out of the woods and collected the towering stack of empty bowls. "Thanks, guys."

"How's the fish comin'?" Elijah asked.

"Almost ready. BK gets the final call. Here." Viggo handed Elijah and Dom two bowls each. "Help me inside."

"Sure." Elijah separated from Orlando and Dom, but before he could distance himself entirely, Dom followed him and placed his bowls with the others in Elijah's hands. "Jerk off," Elijah laughed. "You comin', Orli?"

Stay, Orlando, Billy thought, hoping somehow Orlando would hear him. I don't know what I'm going to say or do, but stay.

"Nah," he answered Elijah. "I'm gonna have another smoke."

"You'll need these then." Elijah paused, shifted the bowls against his hip, and pulled the pack of cigarettes from his jeans pocket. He tossed them over to Orlando. "Don't smoke all of `em, you prat."

The pack landed in the wet grass, closer to Billy than Orlando. "Nice throw, mate," Orlando called and received a distant "Fuck off!" in reply. Billy claimed the cigarettes and Orlando took them from his open hand, shaking lose a few clinging drops of dew from the plastic packaging. Billy's heart stumbled in its rhythm when their hands smoothly and coolly touched. A damn puppy, he thought to himself, and glanced away self-consciously � to see Dom watching him. In an instant, Billy tried to make his features hover between impassive and "it's none of your damn business". For his part, Dom's face was inscrutable. What was that look? Jealousy, disappointment, revulsion? Damn it. Why must facial expressions be interpretive?

A flame lit up in the dark, almost blinding by comparison, as Orlando lit his cigarette. He inhaled and a cloud of gray smoke rose into the air a moment later.

"Hey." Dom nodded toward Orlando. "Can I have one?"

"Sure thing. They're `Lijah's." Smirking, Orlando slipped a cigarette out of the pack and handed it to Dom, but when he reached into his pocket for his lighter, Dom shook his head and made a faint negating sound. Orlando paused. Stepping closer, Dom slid his hand around Orlando's neck and pulled him forward. Holding his cigarette steady, he pressed the tip against the glowing red of Orlando's until the heat spread. From where he stood, Billy could see the cant of Dom's hips, edging him nearer to Orlando's body, and he didn't like the noxious heat that formed in his belly. But he didn't look away. Dom wanted to make him angry or find his buttons and dance on the fuckers. No good. Billy wouldn't reveal a thing. When Dom pulled back with a smug smile, Orlando laughed and Billy had conclusive proof that Dom hadn't told him anything: Orlando didn't understand that Dom was being mean. Billy laughed, too, confident that only Dom would hear the sharpness in it. Dom's eyes flickered serenely back at him and he ambled away from them, back toward the house. Billy watched him crossing the yard. Screw you, Dom, he thought, and turned to Orlando.

Orlando was gone. Billy spun around, looking for where he'd gone, and he spied a wisp of smoke drift up from the monstrous roots of the tree. The wind howled across his ears as he traipsed over the grass. Peering through the thick, arching roots, he saw Orlando crouching with his cigarette glowing dimly between his lips. Billy squatted on the broad, stretched out limbs, feeling prehistoric specks of soil grinding beneath his shoes. His knees creaked and throbbed from the awkward pressure, but he wouldn't move. A touch of penance, he figured.

Orlando shivered, his breath puffing out of his mouth in a cloud of white even without the aide of a cigarette. Billy had a sudden desire that he instinctively tried to quench. He shouldn't do these things, not here, not now when everything was still so uncertain. Do it, he told himself. Just move. He didn't know how he'd explain it should anyone find them, but he didn't care; he knew where his priorities lay at that exact moment and he was going to act on them. He tried not to think about how Dom, how the way Dom touched Orlando might be influencing his choices. He pushed his foot off the root below him as he grabbed the one above and swung his far leg over Orlando's shoulders. "Scootch forward," he said.

"What are you doing?"

Billy thought it should be rather obvious as he slid down behind Orlando, seating himself in the natural crook and bend of the roots. Orlando was cold, so Billy was doing what any boyfriend would do for his...boyfriend? "Nothing," he answered. "Scootch forward." Situating his backside comfortably on the dirt and bark, Billy stretched his legs out on either side of Orlando's hips and wrapped his arms around his waist. Now, Orlando needed to act. He needed to lean back against Billy's chest. But Orlando didn't move.

Well, this won't work at all, Billy thought with a nervous twist in his innards. With Orlando so far forward and Billy's arms gripped around his waist, it looked more like they were performing the Heimlich Maneuver than embracing and Orlando wasn't going to get any warmer all the way up there. "Aren't you cold?" Billy asked.

After a moment and a sigh, Orlando leaned stiffly against Billy. His broad back met Billy's chest at the exact space of a heartbeat and the beat felt all the stronger for it. This was so much warmer. Billy rested his hands more comfortably around Orlando's waist, making sure his arms gave some coverage and body heat to Orlando's as he hugged him closer. Now that his knees were eased, Billy's heart started to ache just a little. He closed his eyes to it.

"Bill?" Orlando said. "What are we doing?"

Billy felt the rumblings of his voice through their connected bodies. "Hm?"

"What are we doing?"

"Right now or in general?"

"In general. Right now. Both, I guess."

Billy opened his eyes, staring into the dark woods before them. The confusion in Orlando's words stopped any joke he'd wanted to make dead in his throat. "I don't know," he answered. "But I don't want to stop." Never before had a single sentence made him feel so naked; the words had slipped from his lips without permission. He coughed. "Uh, do you?"

Orlando didn't answer. Orlando didn't make a sound, and Billy was startled by the sharp pull in his chest. Suddenly, he could imagine having to awkwardly stand up, untangle himself from tree roots and Orlando's limbs to walk away like a total arse. He could imagine Orlando wanting to stop. At that thought, he felt something strange, something very akin to tears rising, not in his eyes, but in his whole body; a weighting, deepening sensation of sadness. If Orlando wanted to stop, Billy knew with humiliating certainty that he would cry about it. Not here, never here, but he would. He would cry, and he would hurt.

"No." The word billowed into the air with Orlando's breath.

"No what?" Billy choked. "No, you don't want to stop or no, you do?"

"No, I don't want to stop." Orlando laughed slightly and shifted against Billy's chest. He huddled nearer.

Billy breathed an almost overwhelming sigh and tightened his hold around Orlando. At once, the tension seemed to evaporate from their bodies and they relaxed against one another. Orlando formed to Billy's chest and Billy's knees embraced Orlando's loosely. Chilly hands tangled across Orlando's middle. The wind whistled around the roots of the tree, but ensconced in their little hideout, they were still and warm, wonderfully warm.

"So," Billy said after a long, pleasant silence. "How's your day been?"

Orlando huffed out a laugh. "Rather shit until now. You?"

Billy moved his thumb over the back of Orlando's hand. "The same," he said. Grabbing the ends of Orlando's scarf, he lifted them to the stubbled sides of his head. Orlando laughed as Billy rubbed and scrubbed the soft fabric across his scalp, completing the task of warming him up.

"You nutter," Orlando said with a smile in his voice.

A sharp whistle broke through the wind followed by Elijah's voice. "Orlando! Billy!" He whistled again, a spiraling trill of a sound like one used to call a dog. "Here, boys! It's time for dinner!"

"Fucker," Orlando muttered as he clambered out of Billy's embrace. He turned and offered his hand.

As the cold wind beat against them once more, Billy hesitated at Orlando's side. He looked at the house glowing dimly in the distance. If Orlando were a girl, Billy would take his hand, or put an arm around his waist and walk inside � gossip and wide eyes be damned, and let Dom think whatever the hell he wants. But Orlando wasn't a girl. Orlando was Orlando, and Billy couldn't just stroll inside, hand-in-hand with his mate. Could he?

Orlando seemed to stall, stubbing his cigarette out with slow, deliberate presses against the tree bark. Billy watched him, then met his eyes to find they were mirroring the same searching, uncertain expression.

"Mmmm, fish," Billy said.

Orlando laughed and started for the house. "Mmmm," he mimicked. Billy kept up with him and side-by-side they walked back, letting only their shoulders touch from time to time as they moved. No one seemed to notice.

Standing in the crowded food line, Billy unconsciously frowned at the fish sizzling on the plate. Though sliced and spiced, they stared up at him with clear black and now well-cooked eyes. "Did you see it on the cutting board earlier?" Orlando whispered, his eyes still on the fish even as he leaned closer into Billy's personal space. "I don't think I like meeting my fish before I eat it."

"What an impersonal bastard you are."

As the line shifted, Billy and Orlando continued forward and each grabbed a dish. Bowls, naturally. The dishes didn't match and neither did the glasses. Most people ate off plates while others, the stragglers, were left with bowls. Ceramic, porcelain, glass, and wood; no paper and nothing disposable. The forks went quickly and everyone else got spoons while a few slow-footed souls had no choice but to accept chopsticks. Billy had no sympathy for them; by now, everyone should know that if you want a proper set of silverware at Viggo's parties you either bring your own or steal it early.

"Fuck." Orlando claimed his utensils. "How do you eat fish with chopsticks?"

"You skewer it," Billy said, as he smoothly pulled his pilfered fork from his pocket.

"Oh, you bastard. You cheated."

"I didn't cheat. Shite, mate, it's not my fault you can't remember the rules of Viggo's house." Billy leaned over the table to grab a roll and when he moved to set it in his bowl, he found a gruesome fish head staring up at him from his bed of vegetables. Orlando heaped some rice into his own bowl and made a hasty and snickering retreat to the end of the line.

The party scattered over the floor and what furniture Viggo had to offer. A large conversation began, involving at least ten or fifteen people, each one throwing in their own story from another film set or from their cubicles if they were one of the poor schlubs who'd tried the nine-to-five game. As Billy and Orlando ate, talking and listening, sitting together on the couch with Karl and Bernard, their knees touched. Billy marveled how no one seemed to find that odd. Apparently, no one could see it wasn't one-sided. They saw Orlando's knee touching Billy's or maybe Billy's touching Orlando's. They didn't understand that Billy and Orlando were touching one another.

Except, perhaps Dom did. When Billy dared to glance at him during Viggo's long-winded joke, he saw a flicker of emotion cross his face. He knew Cheeky Dom and Belligerent Dom, and he'd had a few unfortunate exchanges with Angry Dom just tonight, but this one was new and he looked away from Billy before Billy could look away from him. Pain struck Billy's heart even as his entire being seemed narrowed to the small stretch of skin and denim touching Orlando.