Warnings: Graphic male/male foreplay, graphic Scottish rig removal, swearing, and casual blasphemy. Also, another cliffhanger and...well, how to say this? This is basically at PWP in the middle of this series. Hey, you got this far with the lads. Now, it's time for some fun. There will be time for more introspection later.

Disclaimer: This didn't happen. Ever. I don't know these people. I just have a thing about men in kilts and wanted to fictionally undress one. No harm is meant and no money is made. This is a non- profit fic for the advancement of Kilt Porn.

Beta: My invaluable Scottish beta Kira, my English beta Roska, and my Grammar Masters Robyn and Jeannette. My thanks to you all!

Beta Supplemental: Reisling, who has the unfortunate ability to identify all my weaknesses � and the generosity to help me improve upon them. I am grateful for your honesty.

Author's Notes: Billy's opinion on bungee jumping comes from the man himself from an interview on BillyBoyd.net. I feel as though I'm sullying his message by turning it into veiled innuendo, so my apologies to him. All due respect, Mr. Boyd, and I do know you weren't actually sleeping with Orlando Bloom in New Zealand. :) My special thanks, also, to Kira for all the information about kilts. I only hope I did them justice!

A sequined bug head thwacked Billy across the face. Dom positioned the exquisite mask on his lap as he crammed himself into the narrow space between Billy and the car door. "Watch it," Billy hissed, ducking his head to the side, which effectively bent it to Orlando's shoulder. Orlando smelled like faded aftershave and wine. He smelled warm.

"Sorry, sorry. But it's a brilliant mask. You gotta admit."

"Aye," Billy said, lifting his eyes to Orlando's for a fleeting moment. He was close enough to kiss. His lips looked soft. Dom finally slammed the door, packing them in tightly.

"That mask is fucking awesome, Dom." Elijah leaned over Orlando toward Dom, squishing them together even more. "If they'd had a contest, you would've won."

"There should have been a contest." Dom admired his mask, green sequins glinting in the car park floodlights. "I should have started a contest and made myself the winner."

"Hollow victory," Sean called from the front seat where he'd been kindly introducing himself to the cabbie.

As Dom, Sean and Elijah continued to discuss the merits � or lack thereof � of dictatorial costume contests, Billy sat beside Orlando, sandwiched in the middle of the backseat. For space conservation, Orlando lifted his arms, stretching them across Billy's shoulders and Elijah's. Billy subtly nestled closer against his body, but strongly resisted the instinct that told him to rest his hand on Orlando's thigh.

"Hey! Hey, guys!" Sean waved his hands, silencing the chatter. "Who gets dropped off first?"

"My place is closest," Elijah offered.

"I think mine's the farthest," Orlando said.

Orlando shifted and Billy thought it might have been a nudge. "Aye, it is."

"So, Elijah, then me, Billy, Dom and then Orlando. That works." Sean turned to give the driver directions.

"Oh, uh!..." Orlando's voice evidently piped up before his mind had figured out what to say. "...I think Dom's house is closer than Bill's."

"Aye, it is."

"Is not." Dom shook his head.

"Is too," Billy said, and heard Orlando's voice in unison.

"You guys," Sean said wearily. "Let's just go with the first order, all right? Everybody, give Orlando some money so he can pay when he's dropped off."

Money suddenly began collecting in Orlando's lap, tossed from all directions, and the cab pulled out of the parking lot and into traffic. Darkness and chatter filled the car. The cabbie's name was Paul and he had lived in Wellington for just over ten years. He was divorced, had a dog named Eli, and loved Meet the Feebles. These facts slipped in through Billy's left ear and shot out his right, sped up and flung by the whirlwind in his mind. He needed to get Orlando alone somehow. He needed to think. Unfortunately, having Orlando so near wasn't helping slow the whirlwind.

The closeness of Dom and Orlando clamped Billy's legs together, thigh to thigh to thigh. Dom's body heat was warm and cozy, but Orlando�Orlando tingled. Distractingly. Almost painfully. Billy was familiar with this phenomenon. The skin of lasses he fancied was always more heated than other people's when they touched him, but now he wondered which came first. Had Orlando always tingled and Billy just hadn't noticed? Or had his skin started tingling during that first date?

"G'night!" Elijah called as he heaved the door closed behind him. They waited a moment at Sean's request, making sure Elijah got into his house safely, or rather that he had his keys to get into said house safely, and as the engine purred, vibrating the back seat, Orlando, Dom and Billy redistributed themselves, reclaiming the vacated space. With an uncertain glance, Orlando reluctantly removed his arm from around Billy's shoulders.

The cab arrived at Sean's house and let him out, then began its far too short trek towards Billy's house where he would be dropped off and separated from Orlando forever. Billy stewed, thinking, calculating. The wine � and Orlando's nearness � impeded his thought processes just enough to make all other options of being alone with Orlando vanish. This was the only cab in New Zealand, the only cab they could use. This was the One Cab and if he and Orlando were to become parted on this leg of the journey, then they would never reach Mount Doom, or anything else they might reach together tonight. Billy loved Dom, but not right now. He was briefly tempted to smash Dom's bug head and shove him out the door of a moving vehicle. It was now every Hobbit for himself.

"Oh, shite." Billy grabbed the leather pouch at his waist and rummaged through.

"What?" Dom asked.

"I left my keys at the place."

"So? Pick `em tomorrow."

"I need them to get into my house, genius," he said lightly, hoping Dom didn't remember hearing a set of keys jangling in his sporran when they'd taken their seats. "I'll just go back. It's not all that far, you know."

"You want me and Orli to come with? We could turn around now."

Billy felt a twist of guilt. "Nah. No reason for you to lose sleep." And the guilt pushed him to say more than he wanted. "I'll make Orlando come along though. Fucking Elf deserves a bit of trouble, don't you think?" At least that way, Billy'd been honest about Orlando staying with him. He was still lying right to Dom's face, but he pretended that that shred of honesty shaved a few millimeters off the giant chunk of deception.

"Definitely. Make him crawl for `em." Dom grinned at Orlando with red wine stained teeth and told the cabbie where to turn, speeding along toward his house. As soon as Dom bid them good night and wobbled drunkenly through his front door, Billy directed the cab back toward the ballroom.

Exhaling slowly with a fleeting glance at Billy, Orlando leaned forward, resting his arm on the back of the driver's seat and setting his chin on his arm. Billy silently agreed with him. This driver knew them by name now; they shouldn't touch each other just yet. Orlando made friendly conversation and within two minutes, he had discovered that Paul's ex-wife Phyllis was an extreme sports enthusiast who ran a rock-climbing training facility in Australia.

"You're not going to try to talk the lot of us into going rock- climbing, are you?" Billy abruptly entered the conversation.

"Sure. Why not? You liked surfing."

"That was a fluke; dumb luck or something. I didn't like bungee jumping."

"You wouldn't even go, you pansy." The passing lights illuminated Orlando's amused face for a heartbeat.

"Aye, I didn't need to. I don't need to jump off a bridge to know I don't want to jump off a bridge."

"I'm with you," Paul agreed. "Jumping off a bridge is just tempting fate."

"See?" Billy nodded toward Paul in the front seat. "Sensible people don't do things like that. Your body doesn't know you're not going to die."

"But that's where the rush comes from!" Orlando countered. "The adrenaline, and the endorphins and all that."

"But you don't have to make your body think it's going to die. There are better ways to get an adrenaline rush."

Billy honestly hadn't meant to make it sound like an offer, but his voice had other ideas. It has said it low and leading, with the emphasis on "better". Orlando's eyes widened and he tried to suppress the grin crossing his face. He glanced at Paul sitting silently in the driver's seat, and Billy wondering if Paul could sense the almost magnetic pull between Orlando and him. It felt undeniable enough to him; he wanted to attack Orlando that instant. The engine hummed and rattled and the streetlights passed.

"La petite mort." Paul's voice punctuated the stillness. "The little death."

Orlando grinned in triumph. "See?"

Billy just shook his head and smiled with a strange feeling of pride. Paul had definitely sensed it.

Paul dropped them off precisely where he had picked them up. "Thanks, mate," Orlando said and handed over the large wad of collected cash, complete with generous tip. "Have a good night, all right?" He slid across the seat and climbed out after Billy.

They stood side by side on the curb, watching as the cab pulled off. Billy turned to Orlando, looking at him blankly. Then, they looked back to the car park to see another white cab pulling up. "Taxi!" Billy called, and behind him, Orlando doubled over laughing.

When they climbed into the new cab, neither introduced themselves nor said a word beyond Orlando's address. Billy knew better now than to try to appear casual with a conversation about sports. This lady driver didn't know they were mates, so they could pretend to hate each other for the duration of the trip, if they so desired. Or they could act like two of those buskers who stand in city squares and pretend to be statues, just on holiday in Wellington, perhaps. Either way, Billy kept his mouth shut.

In the new silence, Billy detected the faint music crackling from the car's speakers. The radio played a light, airy love ballad, sickeningly saccharine and cheesy. Orlando's white suit rendered him a ghost in the shadows, and the passing lights yielded only a silhouette of his face. But even in the dim, Billy saw the hand reaching for his and lifted his hand to meet it. Their joined hands came to rest on the warm wool covering Billy's knee and Billy listened to the radio in the absence of ineffectively casual conversations. He was forced to roll his eyes at every refrain about `right next to me is too far away' and `I feel you all through me' because his heart reacted far too much for his taste. Already, it beat in his throat, making it difficult for him to swallow or even breathe. This was so stupid. He felt like a sodding girl. But a lucky girl, nonetheless.

As the cab drove off, red taillights disappearing in the dark, Billy and Orlando collapsed against the wall of Orlando's home. Orlando's tongue swiped across Billy's and the richness of the wine Billy had lost hours ago by over imbibing exploded across his taste buds, sweet and luscious like cherry pie. Even with the distracting feel of Orlando's body warm and firm against his, he was very aware of the porch light above their heads, illuminating them like a solar flare. From the outside, he knew it must look pornographic: two men kissing, their tongues meeting visibly between their mouths, slowly, sensually, with no attempt at propriety or concealment. With one eye, he squinted up at the light, then quickly returned his attention to the more insistent concern of Orlando's tongue flicking rhythmically into his mouth. It felt too bright for this � and it definitely felt too bright for that low, hungry sound Orlando just made.

"Inside," he breathed between kisses. He felt Orlando smile against his lips.

"But I left my keys at the place."

"Then, you're breaking a pissing window."

Orlando laughed lightly and stepped to the door, fidgeting with the key in the lock. Billy followed. With their own agenda, his arms slipped around Orlando's waist and his mouth kissed the back of his neck, just at the base of his Mohawk. The keys hit the pavement with a loud jingle. "Fuck, mate." Orlando arched into the arms holding him and turned his head to expose more of his neck to Billy's lips. Billy slid his hands across Orlando's flat stomach, gripping the belt buckle so tightly it would surely leave an impression in his palm. He licked at Orlando's neck, dimly noticing freckles on the skin and lapping his tongue across them.

Orlando turned in his arms and they fell against the wall once more. Orlando attacked his neck, pushing aside his shirt to suck at his collarbone, leaving Billy dizzy. Tonight was going to be amazing. Billy felt that so certainly, it was at once boldly thrilling and starkly terrifying; he wasn't used to recognizing an eventful moment as it happened. There was no distance, no detachment. He was here in the moment with Orlando pressed hard against him, wanting Orlando so much his thoughts wouldn't flow smoothly or linearly and he knew he would never forget tonight. He was dancing on fucking cliff's edge.

His slid his hand up the back of Orlando's head, cradling. "I have a question I want to ask you, mate," Billy said, raising his chin to let Orlando's tongue get at his ear lobe.

"You're not going to propose to me, are you?"

Billy snorted and his laughter caught him completely off-guard. He quickly tried to think of a witty retort, something to trump the joke, but damn him, the lad had been funny when he wasn't expecting it. He had to settle for a harmless insult. "Nah. You'd look shite in a wedding dress."

Orlando's laugh was just a puff of faintly amused breath against his neck and Billy knew his reply hadn't deserved much more.

"I was wondering what you told the lassie."

Orlando leaned back, looking him in the eyes. "What's a lassie? Oh, the girl? At the ball?" He moved forward again, not licking, but nuzzling, listening. Thinking.

"Aye." Billy rested his head against the brick behind him. "She walked away. What'd you tell her?"

Orlando's nose touched against Billy's throat, brushing lightly. "Does it matter?"

"No."

The nose against Billy's throat feathered once, twice over the juncture of neck and shoulder, making Billy shiver.

"I told her...I thought I was with someone."

Billy's stomach flipped as lips pressed softly against his skin. "Wait...Did you actually say `I think'?"

Orlando lifted his head in thought. His eyes narrowed, turned upward into his memory and the edges of his mouth had already begun to curl. "Yeah, I think I did." His sentence ended with wine- tinted teeth in a wide, laughing smile.

"`I can't dance with you because I think I'm with someone.' Shite, mate, she probably walked away because she thought you were fucking barmy."

Orlando's laughter subsided and he raised his eyes with a coy smile. "Well, at least she walked away, right?"

Billy closed his hands around the alluring, narrow waist so near to him. "Aye." Dark-lined eyes dropped to his lips and Billy quirked his mouth in a small smile, feeling bold under that stare, feeling sexy. "It's just funnier if she thinks you're mad."

Orlando cocked his head, his left eyebrow rising, and Billy understood the unspoken words completely: Maybe I am, mate. And he shrugged, silently answering back. If you are, then so am I.

The wetas chirped and the air around them felt warm and calm as Orlando pressed forward, bending his mouth to Billy�s once more. The air grew warmer still. Billy pushed open Orlando�s jacket and insinuated his hands inside. Orlando breathed in and Billy felt it against his palm, the body expanding and retracting with a slipstream of smooth, fluid fabric beneath his hand. �Fuck.� He gasped against the sweat of Orlando�s neck, between frantic kisses. Fuck, fuck, fuck, this felt great. He raised his knee and hooked it on Orlando�s hip, forcing him closer between his legs where Billy wanted him. Moaning against Billy�s mouth, Orlando gripped his shoulders. With every pulse of his kisses and the renewed energy of his lips, he shoved Billy against the wall, pushing him hard against the wood paneling. It almost hurt, but Billy loved it. He relished it because he knew those shoves were all that was keeping Orlando from tearing his clothes off right here. Already, his long fingers tugged at the collar of Billy�s shirt, straining the buttons. Billy had never felt so fucking wanted before. �We have to go in.�

�No, we don�t.� Orlando took his lips again, stealing his breath.

Billy let his tongue play messily with Orlando�s and gripped him all the tighter with the leg around his hip. �Should we- ? Ah!� Billy gasped as Orlando nipped maddeningly at his bottom lip. �Can we- ?� He raised his chin, forcing Orlando�s lips to attack his neck instead of his mouth, but it didn�t make the words come any easier. �I want-� Orlando slid upward, his body rubbing against Billy�s with delirious friction, and reclaimed Billy�s mouth. With a frustrated growl, Billy clamped Orlando�s head between his hands, stilling him. �Stop distracting me.�

Orlando swiped a pink-stained tongue across the small dip beneath Billy�s nose. �You sure?� he asked in a serious voice. Orlando lifted his eyes to meet Billy�s and Billy realized he didn�t need to say the words after all. The black of lust had almost entirely swallowed the brown of Orlando�s irises, but his eyebrows bowed over his eyes. He almost looked worried. He knew what Billy wanted to say.

And the fact that Orlando looked and sounded nervous should have been a warning, especially since he was evidently distracting Billy from the words to keep him from saying them. Great, Billy thought with a small frown, now Orlando�s playing the Devil. He wanted Orlando. Why did it have to be more complex than that? And Orlando wanted him, too, that much was unquestionable. Orlando�s hands trailed all over him, as if he just couldn�t stop touching him, and Billy could feel him growing hard against his stomach. So, his reticence could only be...

�Are you scared?�

�No.� Orlando�s faced screwed up in displeasure as he pressed another kiss to Billy�s temple. �Aren�t you?� He was apparently still too drunk to realize that those two responses didn�t exactly fit together.

�Not really,� Billy replied, because something � his testosterone, perhaps � wouldn�t let him say the truth, which was that the churning, fluttering feeling in his belly could only be nervousness and fear. As much fun as there was to be had in all this, there was even more to be lost if it all went wrong.

And more troubling still, he felt the strangest, most daunting intuition tickling at his mind. He felt tense and torn with a primal, instinctive pull to give himself to Orlando. His body yearned in a way that made him think of Orlando�s fingers slipping inside him, stroking him. He wanted to feel that again. But he could tell that it wasn�t fingers he wanted, and his stomach flipped. He stared at the even stitching on the shoulder of Orlando�s jacket and shrugged before leaning in to kiss Orlando�s throat and his jaw. He knew he was only distracting himself now. His leg felt too perfect wrapped around Orlando�s hip, it felt too right to have Orlando between his legs and it unnerved him.

Billy closed his arms around Orlando�s waist, hugged him close, and felt Orlando place soft kisses against his ear even as he touched kisses of his own against Orlando�s neck. A hand slid down Billy�s hip and over the curve of his arse before gripping and supporting his raised thigh, keeping it locked resolutely around Orlando. �Do you...� Orlando began. His swallow sounded loud in Billy�s ear. �Do you want to go inside, then?� So many questions hidden within that one, insignificant question.

Billy nodded against Orlando�s throat. �Aye,� he said. �I really do.� Confusion crept into his voice, plain to hear, but he meant what he said.

Orlando pulled his body from Billy�s and turned to pick up his dropped keys. Billy set his leg back on the ground and let his gaze fall there as well for a moment before he shook his shoulders and forced the actor in him to throw out a bit of nonchalance. He let out a breath and raised his eyes.

Orlando left the door wide open behind him as he entered. �Come on in,� he said, as if an invitation was needed after what they�d just surreptitiously agreed to. Billy followed Orlando across the threshold.

In the darkness inside, the porch light once again graced his vision, burnt on his retinas and dancing in the black until his eyes adjusted to recognize lamps and sofas, a table here and there. Billy watched Orlando's tall, listing form head toward one of the lights. The impending threat of illumination drove him to action.

"So, uh, where do we want to do this?"

"Oh." Orlando paused just as he reached for the lamp, but he didn't turn it on. Apparently, he didn't want to have this conversation in the light either. "Bedroom, maybe? Or, uh, I don't know. Bathroom? But that's not very..."

"Bathroom."

"You don't want someplace more...?"

"Bathroom," Billy repeated, and his mind chanted it. Bathroom, bathroom, bathroom. That was where these things belonged. The bedroom was just too...

Bathroom. Definitely the bathroom.

"You sure? I mean, we can go wherever you want. It's not like � "

"Shite, mate, I'm too pissed to discuss this all out. Are you always this chatty when you're trying to get a leg over?"

"No. I don't know. Am I talking a lot? Yeah, then. Maybe."

"Well, I'm going to the bathroom. You show up whenever you're done talking."

Billy strolled down toward Orlando's loo, setting a hand on the wall to walk straight. He stepped onto the tile floor and chose not to turn the light on. Already in his mind, this was a place for darkness. Or rather candles, which, he noted in the dim, Orlando hadn't taken out of the room yet, the lazy little tosser. Or perhaps pervy little tosser, depending on why he hadn't taken them out.

Billy leaned casually against the counter, trying not to twitch with nervousness. Suddenly, music boomed from the living room; the bass line pulsed beneath his feet. A half a second later, it was reduced to a whisper. "Sorry!" Orlando called, and then the distinct scattering fuzz of a tuning radio drifted down the hallway.

Unless Billy was mistaken, and he wasn't, Orlando was out in the living room trying to find a decent radio station to put on while they... It was a nice thought, really. He rubbed the back of his neck restlessly. He tried not to think. Thinking brought images, thinking allowed for perspective and reality. Thinking summoned the Devil.

Billy massaged his forehead and grabbed up the lighter on the counter. After a few fruitless turns of the wheel, a flame shot up from the blue plastic cylinder. He bent it to the first candlewick, watching it spark and spit to life. No thinking. Thinking, bad, he reminded himself. He didn't want to think about bedroom versus bathroom, or what music to play. He just wanted to be shoved against a wall and fucked. Well, no, not shoved against a wall and fucked; not at once. He'd hadn't entirely figured out how he and Orlando were going to fit together just yet and fucking up against a wall definitely seemed like an advanced position, so what he really wanted was� He wanted to not think. At all.

The radio settled on a lilting symphony. The volume rose and the choral piece wafted around the bathroom, augmented and reflected by the tile. Billy snorted a laugh and nearly burned himself with the lighter. He hoped the song would change soon or they'd be shagging to gospel.

The candles lighted and shadows licking the ceiling, he took off his jacket to lay it neatly on the counter. He expected Orlando to waltz around the corner, but he didn't. For several seconds, Billy stared at the black void of the door, waiting. If Orlando chickened out now, Billy was going to march out there and kick him in the pretty white teeth.

"I have a crap radio. I only get, like, two stations." Orlando appeared around the edge of the door, his white jacket thrown over his arm. He unbuttoned the collar of his shirt. "It's either this or that heavy metal thrash angry bastard type music."

Billy nodded vaguely and knew instantly that Orlando had been out in the hallway mentally preparing himself. "It's very...romantic."

Orlando's arms flopped to his sides in defeat and he frowned before laughing lightly. "Fuck, I don't know what I'm doing, mate." He opened the cupboard and deliberately threw a towel at Billy's face.

"Yes, you do. This is very nice." Billy unfolded the towel and laid it out on the floor like they'd done last time; that had worked well. "I'm sure the lasses just love this routine."

"It's not a routine! You said I was talking too much, so I thought if there was music playing, I'd stop talking too much. Fuck off."

"What? I like it."

Orlando looked at him askance, his eyes sharp. Seconds later, a bright smile split his glower and he laughed. "Whatever. Fuck it." Rubbing a hand over his face, he dropped his jacket on the counter on top of Billy's. "You don't know what you're doing either, so there."

"It's a good thing we're pissed, then, aye?"

Orlando snorted, chuckling. "Aye."

They stood in front of one another, both leaning with faked casualness against the sink's counter. And the towels loomed. Beckoned. Billy didn't know if it was just the drunkenness talking, but the towels really did look quite comfortable; soft and downy and warm.

The choral piece ended and a lone piano ascended through a series of opening chords. Billy wondered after the composer, the name of the piece, why it was written and when. Was the maestro a Kiwi? Was he still alive? Was he even a `he'? But most of all, he wondered how an instrument of wood and wire could so completely change the feeling in a room. One echoing piano pulse ago, the room had been awkward and bizarre; two lads trading barbs in a bathroom absurdly lit with candles. Now, the air felt denser, the world smaller, and the absurd bathroom felt romantic.

Billy cleared his throat and took a step forward. In the candlelight, the outline of Orlando's face glowed orange; his eyelashes lowered, black streaks in the gleam. Inhaling deeply, Billy breathed him in. Sweat and cologne and the little foam castle with that sharply soft scent of Orlando's skin. Wine-tinged breath puffed hotly against Billy's mouth. Orlando leaned closer, then he pulled back, his eyes raising to Billy's, as if asking for permission. They glimmered darkly with reflected flame, uncertainty and desire mingled. He leaned forward, then back again, stiltedly, timidly, as if he was afraid of making a mistake, as if this was their first real kiss. He was so convincing that Billy found his heart lurching each time Orlando's lips neared, and when they finally touched, he exhaled through his nose into the kiss with a captured breath he hadn't known he had.

Orlando slid his hands up to the collar of Billy's shirt and for a moment, his fingers just touched lightly against his throat, gently pushing his chin up and deepening the kiss. Billy forgot not to think. His mind cleared completely of everything but Orlando. This was the beginning of the moment that he would recall for the rest of his life; he should be taking mental notes, recording feelings and perceptions. But he forgot to try to remember.

Billy reached up to unbutton Orlando's shirt. His fingers fumbled with the first button, they were trembling so much. He scowled into the kiss and tried again. Once again, the little nub of circular plastic evaded his efforts by slipping through his fingers with a faint plink. He pulled away from Orlando's lips. "Hold it, hold it." He glared at the obnoxious black button and shoved it roughly through its fabric slot. "Ah. There."

His hands braced on Billy's shoulders, Orlando tilted his head, peering down the front of his shirt. He looked at Billy. "You better now?"

"I don't like your shirt."

"Okay." Orlando tugged the hem from his trousers and lifted the shirt off over his head, tossing it into the bathtub.

"Much better. Thank you." By his eye line, Billy was apparently addressing Orlando's sternum. His gaze swept over the somewhat familiar landscape of flesh and nipples. The candles cast strange, undulating light patterns across the terrain, highlighting the bend and cut of muscle and bone. Thin, but beautiful; hard, but touchable. And Billy wanted to touch him, but Orlando stayed distant, several feet away at the edge of the tub and when Billy looked up, he found him watching him, examining.

"So," Orlando said with slight confusion on his face, "with all this gear, is there a way � is it all supposed to be folded neatly or something?"

Billy glanced down at his kilt and dress shirt. "What, like, is there a proper way to take it off?"

By way of an answer, Orlando grinned, his tongue touching against his front teeth. So fucking flirty.

"You have to do it," Billy said.

"Huh?"

Billy nodded, his face the picture of seriousness. "That's a rule. I'm not allowed to help."

"Right," Orlando said skeptically, then straightened his posture with a distractingly graceful arch of his nude shoulders. "What am I supposed to be doing, then?"

The lightness of laughter filled Billy's head, but he didn't even smirk. Keeping a straight face was a gift of his. "Shoes first, naturally." He tapped his toe noisily on the floor. Clop, clop, clop.

Orlando's gaze narrowed shrewdly. Then, he rolled his eyes, just so Billy wouldn't mistakenly think he was enjoying this and lowered to his knees. Billy leaned lightly on Orlando's shoulders as first his left foot then his right was lifted and the black dress shoe removed. Orlando tossed them unceremoniously into the tub to get them out of the way. "And your socks while I'm down here, I suppose." He looked up from his knees. His eyes were dead steady, locked on Billy's, faking the confidence again � at least Billy thought he was faking it; it was hard to tell. His lips stayed parted, tongue glistening behind white teeth and that much was most certainly deliberate.

`I could get on my knees.' Billy was the one who'd accidentally said it, but he knew they had both had the same mental picture leap into their minds. And he knew that Orlando could guess exactly where his mind would go to have him down there, on his knees. He must be majorly pissed if he's even thinking of trying that, Billy decided. A nervous waver flitted through his body.

"Aye. Would be kind of silly any other way, wouldn't it?" Billy answered.

"Oh, aye. And all Scots are really practical, right?"

Strong hands gripped Billy's ankles and kept firm contact as they slid all the way up to his knees. Billy cleared his throat to hide a shiver. "Of course." Keeping the same divine contact, Orlando slipped his fingers inside the edge of Billy's hose and rolled it down to his bare feet. He tugged it off the toes and threw it over his shoulder into the tub. Then, he gave the second sock, the second leg the same impeccable treatment. Billy couldn't remember ever having such a glorious time removing his rig before. Usually, it was such a boring affair. He was brilliant to have had this idea.

"When's the kilt, hm?"

Billy looked down to see Orlando waiting patiently, his hands resting politely on his thighs. But his eyebrows wiggled with mischief. For that alone, the kilt wouldn't be next. "Shirt."

Orlando stood and stepped close. His warm hands glided up Billy's chest to the collar of his shirt. Drunken fingers fumbled with small buttons and in moments, Orlando was snickering at himself, muttering under his breath. "Fuck. I don't like your shirt either." His knuckles bumped against Billy's chest as he fought with each successive button before finally grabbing Billy's wrists and unfastening the buttons on his cuffs instead. Billy raised his arms, heeding Orlando's silent suggestion, and the feather-light fabric swept up his body and off into the bathtub. Orlando made a soft noise, a rush of air from his lips, and patting down his hair with one hand, Billy looked up to see dark-lined eyes literally raking over him.

"Now, I rather like the kilt like this." Orlando moved near. He met Billy's eyes and used his height to tower over him, looking down at him across the bridge of his nose. Billy's hands settled on Orlando's waist, sliding down hot skin until they collided with the top of the trousers at his hips. Orlando breathed in and Billy felt the air stolen from his own lungs. "What's next?" Orlando asked.

Billy's hand drifted up Orlando's side, feeling him shudder at the edge of ticklish, and slid over the angular curve of Orlando's shoulder up to the back of his neck where it fit so perfectly against his palm. It was a hard journey with none of the softness he'd so desired in lasses, but he took it anyway and savored it. "Sporran," he whispered seductively.

"What the hell's a sporran?" Orlando whispered seductively in reply.

"This, you ninny. This is a sporran." Billy stepped back to allow Orlando a clear view of the tasseled leather pouch hanging at his waist. "It holds everything down, the sporran does. It's very important. Blokes use it like a � like a purse. Keep stuff in it, like change and the like. Fits a hip flask of whiskey. Kilts don't have pockets, you know."

"Fascinating. How do I take it off?"

"There's a bit in the back." Billy waggled his arms, gesturing vaguely behind him. Orlando reached around his waist, leaning into him. Billy pressed a light kiss to Orlando's shoulder, the part of him nearest his mouth, just as he felt the sporran's buckle suddenly release. It hit the tile with a loud wallop. "Hey, careful. That's my � well, it's not my best one, but it's a good one."

Orlando immediately ducked to pick it up. "Sorry, sorry." He dusted it off gently, though it clearly hadn't attracted dust during the fall, and turned it over in his hands, checking for damage on the rigid leather. The tassels flopped and dangled over his wrists. "I think it's okay. This is so cool." He lifted the flap and peered into the pocket, which was empty save for Billy's ambiguous keys. "Okay, anyway." He tossed the sporran gracelessly behind him where it knocked over the bottle of conditioner and landed on top of Billy's shoes with a metal-scraping cacophony. He tensed at the clatter and turned back to Billy with an apologetic grimace on his face. "Sorry."

Billy just shook his head. "You're lucky I didn't have whiskey in there."

"Why do you think I checked inside first? Belt's next?" He tugged at the leather strap and gently licked his way into Billy's mouth, not giving him time to answer, not wanting to wait. The answer would probably have been `yes' anyway, regardless of what he asked, provided he asked it like that. `Billy, do you like showering in your clothes?' Lick. `Yes.' `Billy, would you jump off the nearest bridge with a bit of elastic string tied to your ankles?' Lick. `Yes.'

It was strangely intimate to have Orlando sliding the leather from the belt loops while they kissed. It tugged Billy's hips forward, pulling his center closer to Orlando's body, and Orlando's hands were so near where he wanted them, but only teasingly. A preamble. Orlando pulled the belt loose, tossed it in the tub. His lips tore from Billy's with an audible sound of broken suction and a whimper; Billy didn't know from whom.

"I have to know, mate," Orlando said. His voice was at least an octave lower. "What do you wear under a kilt?"

A slow grin warmed Billy's features. "Why don't you just find out, then?"

Orlando's eyes lit with an eager gleam. His gaze never leaving Billy's, he leaned to the side, his body slowly bending at the waist. His trousers slipped a bit to show a flash of hipbone. Billy breathed as subtly as possible, but his heart drummed with such force, he could perceive the vibration in his chest when he looked down. Orlando's hand drifted downward, brushing lightly over soft wool until it reached the hem of the kilt. Billy swallowed, watching Orlando's eyes, forcing himself to bear the intensity. Fingers ghosted against the outside of his knee. Calmly, Billy raised his arms to take a hold of Orlando, gripping him for support as the hand conformed to his knee, every inch of palm pressed against him. Orlando licked his lips anxiously and Billy exhaled a short laugh. All this excitement over a kilt. Crazy Sassenachs.

Orlando's hand slid upward, disappearing beneath the patterned wool. The hem held on his slender wrist and rose with it, gliding higher as Orlando's touch burned a path up Billy's skin. Billy's thigh trembled as gentle fingertips grazed lightly over hair and flesh. The budding smile on Orlando's face grew with every inch surpassed until finally, it widened into a thrilled grin as his palm came to rest on a warm, nude hip. He licked his bottom lip, leaving it wet and shining in the candlelight. "Cool," he said. He stood tall again, one hand coming to rest on Billy's waist while the other stayed right where it was with fingers just beginning to curve around the swell of Billy's arse. "Now, how do I take it off?

"Uh...well." Billy looked down to his waist. Removing a kilt was a difficult concept to explain. "There's buckles at the sides. You...unbuckle `em." Or maybe not so difficult.

Orlando set in on the buckle at Billy's right hip. His fingers stumbled over the leather and metal. Billy grinned at the consternation collecting between Orlando's angled brows. "Mind the pin." He reached down to grab the sharp pewter kilt pin piercing the fabric at his knee. Orlando very clearly loved the kilt. Billy very clearly loved that Orlando loved the kilt. But they might both like it less if the kilt stabbed Orlando.

With a clack of metal, the buckle came free and Orlando let out a triumphant "Ah!" before quickly attacking the next one. The left buckle fell open much more easily and Billy's throat went dry as his kilt slipped heavily to the floor. He felt exposed and bared to Orlando's eyes, naked in his desire. But Orlando ducked down and gathered the woolen tartan from the floor.

"Shit, sorry. Is it supposed to be folded in a special way or something?"

Billy pursed his lips, frowning. He was standing stark naked and aroused in the middle of a candlelit bathroom and Orlando was worried about the fucking kilt. Billy snatched the plaid from his hands and tossed it into the bathtub with the rest of the clothes. "No," he said shortly.

Orlando's eyes widened in apology. "Just checking." Then, he smirked slyly.

"Wanker."

"Hey, you were the one who said there was a special way to undress you and all."

"Right." Billy barely heard him. His sole focus was to get Orlando equally naked. "So, now, is there a fancy way to undress an Englishman?"

"Uh...turn around three times, do a jig, spit on a cat, I don't know." Orlando shrugged. "Drink some tea first maybe."

"How about I just take your trousers off?"

"That'll work for me."

Billy grabbed Orlando by the waist and quickly undid his belt. The backs of his hands bumped against a tight, tattooed stomach as he bungled first with the buckle and then with the button at the top of Orlando's trousers. The button that was only inches from his cock, a growing bulge beneath white fabric. Billy pushed the button through the hole with his thumb and felt Orlando's stomach tremble against his hand. He glanced up to see Orlando watching his own waist, waiting for Billy's next move. His chest rose and sank, air flowing steadily in and out, waiting, anxious. Billy smiled mischievously to himself; oh, the power he held in this moment.

He gripped the zipper tag between two fingers and Orlando inhaled sharply with the first faint brush against his cock as Billy's knuckles turned, rubbing. Slowly, Billy lowered the zipper. The unlocking of the teeth buzzed in the room, louder even than the piano strains still dancing in the air. An undefined shape, hardening and impatient, pressed against the fabric as Billy's fingers descended, taking the zipper with them. The shape rose outward when it had the chance, proving to be, not surprisingly, a cock, but surprisingly unimpeded by boxer shorts. It appeared they were both hanging free tonight. Billy raised an eyebrow at Orlando.

"You can see boxers. Through the trousers," he explained.

"This is much more convenient anyway." Billy hooked his hands around Orlando's waist, slipping his thumbs inside the waistband, and pushed down, letting gravity take the trousers to the floor. For an instant, he was tempted to scramble to collect them from the tile and lovingly fold them in some ceremonial manner, but he was too distracted by the trousers actually being off. They hadn't really done this before. They'd been naked as a result of various activities, but they'd never just stood in front of one another.

Naked.

~~~

To be continued in Billy's Best Pull, Part 3

Scottish slang dictionary:
Sassenachs � an affectionate term of abuse for the English.
(Thanks, Kira!)

French dictionary:
Le petit morte = directly translated "the little death", which has long been reported to be a euphemism for "orgasm".