Warnings: Language, casual blasphemy.
Disclaimer: This didn�t happen. Ever. I don�t know these people.
Feedback: That�d be great. Especially constructive criticism.
Archive: List archives; otherwise, just ask. :)
Beta: As always, thanks to my beleaguered betas, Reisling, Kira, Corli and Jeanette.
Billy had no plans. In fact, his day was entirely open until he was to meet Orlando later that night, and so his morning and his afternoon stretched out in front of him, empty, void; at once too long and too short; which was why it was rather puzzling when he found himself awakening early, showering, dressing, and driving steadily toward the stables where he knew Viggo would be with his horse. Billy had never come to visit the stables before and as much as he aspired to one day care enough to learn more about horses, he didn�t. And he certainly didn�t need to know more about Viggo�s preferred method for shoveling manure.
�Looks like fun,� he called over the loud scrape of the shovel.
�What brings you here so early, Bill?� Viggo�s voice held a touch of irritation and Billy wasn�t surprised. Everyone knew that he preferred to be alone with his horse, and he didn�t handle socialization well, especially in the morning. �Did you want something?� Viggo asked, tossing another potent shovelful into the wheelbarrow.
Billy shrugged and gave a tug to a thick, plastic thread that jutted from the horse blanket beneath his arm, draped over the stall�s edge. �Aye, probably.�
Viggo gave a dismissive shake of his head.
�What?� Billy asked.
�You two.�
�What two?�
Viggo threw him a sharp, impatient look and tossed another load of horseshit into the pile. The earthy poetry of that action didn�t escape Billy�s notice; he dropped the plastic thread and his pretenses. �What�d he say when he talked to you?� Billy asked.
�If you want to know that, you�ll have to ask him.�
�But it would be so much easier if you just told me.�
Viggo chuckled tolerantly and exited the stall, wheeling the manure in front of him. He set it aside and grabbed a hay bale, but didn�t say a word.
�Twassock,� Billy muttered. He kicked a small hunk of hay across the floor, watching it scatter into individual straws. �Why won�t you tell me? I wouldn�t tell Orlando, cross my heart.�
Viggo shook his head. �I made a promise.�
�Shite. Nobility is really irritating, Viggo.�
Viggo smirked, but didn�t reply as he threw the loose hay about the stall.
Billy shifted unhappily on his feet. �Can you at least give me an idea?�
�No.�
�But I don�t know what I�m supposed to do!�
�About what?�
Billy opened his mouth, then closed it, realizing he hadn�t thought about that statement before he�d said it. �Not about anything,� he said weakly. �Just our - we�re � we have a...date. Second date.� Billy tried to ignore the swirling spin of his stomach. �I don�t know what to do.�
�What�s not to know? It�s a date, Bill.�
�Yeah, but...�
�But?�
�It�s Orlando.�
�So you want to make it special?�
Billy�s whole face flamed red. Special. Making something special for Orlando � Orlando, Orlando, his boyfriend, Orlando - how silly. �Aye. Shite, that sounds so nancy.�
�That�s not what it sounds like to me.�
�What�s it sound like to you?�
Viggo smiled wryly. �Oh, I don�t think you�re ready to hear that.�
Billy cocked his head, confused a moment, until he caught a suspicion of what Viggo meant. His stomach stopped swirling and dropped. No, he wasn�t ready to hear that at all.
�You write song lyrics, right?� Viggo continued. �Write him a song. Or a poem.�
Billy snorted. �A poem?�
Viggo glanced at him.
�Nothing against poetry, it�s just � a poem for Orlando? He�s...�
�He�s what?�
�He�s...a bloke.�
Viggo grabbed a small, blunt-ended hook and started toward his horse. �I�m not sure romance is all that different with men.� A rough hand stroked across the horse�s smooth flank and over its rump before Viggo lifted its back foot. �From my experience, everyone likes knowing they�ve been thought about enough to inspire a poem.� He took the hook to the mud clumped in the horse�s hoof, prying out the caked dirt.
�I guess...� Billy watched, feeling mesmerized by the chunks of mud that fell to the floor.
Viggo gave the horse a caring pat as he moved to the next hoof. �What are you worried is gonna happen?�
�What? If I don�t write a poem?�
�In general. On your date. You seem nervous about it.�
�I�m always nervous about dates.� Billy sat down on a bale of hay and caught himself when it started to slowly tip. He stood again, brushing stray hay from the arse of his jeans. �I�ve just been stupid and I�ve done all this � well, you probably know. Orlando probably told you all about it.� He raised his eyes, but Viggo�s face was entirely unreadable. Billy brushed his arse once more. �I feel like � like I need to prove something. Or something. I don�t know. I just � I don�t want to mess up.�
Viggo peered up at him as he tended to the last hoof, his expression obnoxiously open and understanding, and Billy could practically see his advice in his eyes: Be yourself, Billy. Trust your instincts, and blah, blah, blah. All that rubbish that was easy to say when you weren�t the one involved.
�Don�t worry about it, though.� Billy said. �I�ll figure something out.�
�Sorry I couldn�t be more help.�
�No, you�re not.�
Viggo snuffled with a smile. �Maybe, but I do hope you have a good time on your second date.�
Billy couldn�t account for the oppressive weight in his heart and the rock in his stomach as he backed away from the stall. �Aye, thanks,� he said. Shoulders stooped, he started for the barn door. He barely heard Viggo�s sigh.
�Bill?�
Billy turned to see Viggo standing at stall�s edge, brushing the dust from his hands. �Going by what Orlando told me...� Viggo looked away and Billy could see him planning his words, choosing carefully what he could say without violating a trust. Orlando really had chosen his confidant ridiculously well, the stupid, insightful little bugger. Finally, Viggo�s eyes met his again. �You don�t need to be worrying that much.�
Billy smiled lightly, feeling something warm trickle in his chest. �Thanks.�
Leaving the barn, Billy drove aimlessly until he pulled into the parking lot of a drug store as if that�s where he�d been going all along. He wandered up and down the store�s aisles and stopped occasionally to check prices on beer. He paused for a long time at the display of aftershaves, moving on only when his nose tingled and his head ached from sniffing. He decided his current aftershave was good enough for Orlando.
And Orlando, of course, was the reason he was there. Back and forth, he strolled from one end of the store to the next, searching for something that could catch his eye and keep him caught as the perfect Something to make this second date a good idea, Something to make it perfect. And he didn�t even understand why he felt this compulsion, why somehow, he couldn�t accept Viggo�s far more simple advice.
Of their own accord, Billy�s footsteps slowed as they passed a wall of women�s items in their pink and purples boxes. His eyes, mind, and even breath focused on the bolder reds and blacks of the condoms and lubricants. Billy stopped. And stared.
Warming lubes, spermicidal lubes, scented lubes, flavored lubes; Billy gazed at them. His feet had brought him here, but this didn�t seem like quite the right Something. No, it was too much. History had certainly established a bit of a pattern, but it was too presumptuous. Not gentlemanly. Billy walked on by.
And yet...
He paused, one foot en pointe, and his thoughts completely oblivious of standing mid-step in the middle of a drug store. To buy it would not to be to say when they�d use it. To have it would not be to say that they would shag that very night, the next moment they got together. Will power, self control; for all their youth and testosterone, they could very well go an entire night without even snogging � though, Billy certainly hoped they wouldn�t do that � so this was planning ahead, not expecting.
Billy straightened his leg to let his foot rest flat on the ground, his calf muscle stretching out. And really, why did they use the conditioner? And why did they always retreat to the bathroom? Billy felt he knew those answers certainly enough. To do it anywhere else, in any other way, it wouldn�t be experimentation. To have proper lubrication with them, well, that would be like declaring that they wanted to do it, rather than getting drunk, horny and accidentally falling on each other. And to do it in a bed�
Billy�s stomach swam with nerves and he grimaced at himself. Still so hesitant. Still so bloody afraid, he thought grimly.
Face hard and determined, he walked right up to the display and grabbed the first big bottle of lube his hand fell upon. Then, he grabbed a box of condoms just for kicks. It wasn�t a dozen roses, but it was Something.
Once home, Billy was left with nothing to do but watch the clock tick too slowly toward the time Orlando expected him. Too early, he showered again and began getting ready. He put on one pair of jeans, then changed them. Then changed back. He scrubbed his face in the mirror, shaved closely, then stroked his fingers along his jaw, feeling for any stubble he may have missed. Face turned up, razor against his throat, he suddenly laughed at himself. How many times had Orlando seen him hairy, dirty, smelly and a thousand other unattractive and unflattering ways besides? By shaving and getting all fancied up, he was taking the chance that Orlando might not recognize him at all. He managed to tame the laugh until he�d removed the sharp object from his jugular and by then, he was smooth from cheek to cheek.
Slapping on a touch of aftershave, he stepped back and surveyed himself in the mirror. He looked good; there was no getting around it and no going back. He could muss his hair or change into his dirty clothes, but with an eager tension in his belly, he decided he wanted to see how Orlando might react to seeing him like this.
That, and he didn�t have time. He had to leave.
An entire week had passed since the midnight call and he�d not even spoken to Orlando beyond greetings when they passed in the catering tent in the mornings, and they rarely saw one another again for evening farewells. He let that account for the excited restlessness he felt as he parked outside Orlando�s home.
Billy had left his house knowing he looked good, and Orlando, the bastard, had to go and redefine the standard. Orlando looked great. �Hey,� he said, standing in the doorway in jeans Billy knew were his best, a wide belt he knew was his favorite, and a black button-down perfectly fastened at the cuffs. A black knit cap covered his head and Billy recalled a long-ago conversation from before any of this craziness when Orlando had said he thought the Mohawk didn�t look very dressy, especially when it was growing out, as it was now. All of that fashionable accessorizing, however, paled to the minute widening of Orlando�s eyes when he saw Billy. �Nice shirt,� he said appreciatively.
But he�d seen the shirt before. Billy smiled and tried extraordinarily hard not to blush. �Thanks. Yours too.�
�Uh, come in.� Orlando stepped awkwardly out of the way, leaving the door open. �I�m almost ready to go.� He turned toward the closet, then froze and turned back to look at Billy. �Oh, shit,� he said. �Am I the girl?�
Billy laughed, but his nerves stopped it dead before it became real. �Maybe.�
Orlando grabbed his jacket and threw it on over his shoulders. �All right. You drivin� or you want me to?�
�I can,� Billy said, turning his keys in his pocket. He wasn�t sure he could handle being the passenger.
Despite the fact that they�d ridden in cars together countless times, exchanging the roles of passenger and driver freely and without thought, Billy couldn�t make it feel normal as they drove and judging by the way he sat with hands on knees, neither could Orlando. This felt all wrong; painfully, excruciatingly wrong.
Billy�s heart didn�t pound, it thundered, and sweat prickled along his collar. Maybe he and Orlando weren�t that drawn to one another. If they were, this wouldn�t be this hard, would it? Maybe it was just the feeling that he shouldn�t have Orlando that made him want him and now that he got to have him, maybe he didn�t want him anymore. Maybe it was just the rigors of filming and a misunderstanding of a close friendship. Maybe he should never have done this at all, and for god�s sake, who was supposed to pay for dinner anyway?
From the passenger side of the car, he heard a snort, followed quickly by a sudden flicker of laughter.
�What?� Billy turned to Orlando, glancing carefully back at the road and grateful for the noise.
Orlando shook his head, though his cheeks shone pink. �Nothing.�
The silence returned, but it was less dense this time. It had already been broken, so instead, it waited for the death stroke. A second snort preceded another, longer burst of laughter.
�What is it?� Billy insisted. Beside him, Orlando laughed so hard his face was beginning to redden and Billy watched him, smiling and laughing himself. �What?�
Orlando shook his head again and words attempted to come out of his mouth, but lacked the breath to live. �No-nothing,� he stammered finally and the laugh petered out as a long wheeze before starting up again. �It�s just � �
Billy laughed genuinely; Orlando was such a twat. �You do realize I�m laughing at you and not with you, right?�
Orlando nodded. �Yeah, yeah, I know.� He attempted to calm himself only to be jerked by another snorting laugh that made him slap the dashboard and shake his head helplessly. �I�m sorry, I�m sorry. This is just � this is so weird.�
�Shut up,� Billy teased, almost insulted, but when he exhaled, he felt the tension leave his shoulders. If this was a disaster, at least they both knew it. Maybe they could just have a nice meal as friends and be done with all of it. The thought gave Billy a strange feeling of peace, but he didn�t know whether it was relieving or unnerving. �Where do you want to go for dinner, you fucker?�
�Oh, I don�t know.� Orlando�s voice pinched higher as he tried to stop the laughter. �Maybe where we had our first date!� His efforts failed on the last word and he stamped his foot as he laughed � and Billy laughed right along with him.
As they calmly walked into the cozy deli restaurant where they�d had their first date all those months ago, Billy glanced at the small, too-exposed table that had witnessed his humiliation at being stood up, and his evening�s salvation in Orlando�s arrival. He suddenly felt so far removed from the Billy who�d sat in that seat, he didn�t even recognize him.
�How many?� The hostess stepped to them, menus in her hand.
�Two,� Billy and Orlando answered in unison, then glanced at one another. Confirmation, Billy supposed, that Orlando didn�t know who was to be in charge either.
The hostess lead them toward a booth at the back, winding through the free-standing tables and chairs already conspicuously filled with couples � man and woman couples. Billy shifted edgily as he slid into the booth and Orlando slid in opposite him. At the back of the restaurant, the air blew warm from the kitchens and the lights shone a touch dimmer. Back here, it was romantic. This is where Billy�d wanted to sit on his date with Eve and he wondered for just a flash how things might have been different if he had been seated here. Eve wouldn�t have shown; that wouldn�t change he knew; but Orlando wouldn�t have seen him either. They wouldn�t have had their first date. They wouldn�t be here now, having their second.
Turning the menu over in his hands, Billy peered around at all the other couples. Single roses seemed to glow on the tables like little pinpoints of light, showing romance at its most normal and perfect. Nearby, a couple talked in low voices and their hands absently touched across the white tablecloth. Billy swallowed and looked back to see Orlando�s eyes similarly sweeping the room. Their eyes caught for an instant before they both looked back to their menus. They had a rose on their table, too.
�What are you thinking �bout getting?� Orlando asked.
�I don�t know.� Even to his own ears, Billy�s voice sounded flat and irritated.
�Somethin� wrong?�
�Nah. Nothing.�
Orlando�s mouth made the beginning sound of a sentence, but fell abruptly and politely silent when a server came over with a lighter. With a soft �excuse me,� she reached across to claim the candle on their table and lit it with a cheerful, nervous smile that was summed up by the little �in training� ribbon on her nametag. With another smile, she set the candle back down, jostling their rose vase as she did. One petal fell to the tabletop. Orlando picked it up. At the booth just beyond Orlando�s shoulder, a pretty blonde fed her boyfriend forkfuls of her dessert, smiling and glowing. Billy�s nose wrinkled.
Orlando pulled the candle over in front of him and began to slowly burn the flower petal he held between his fingers. Watching the romantic red withering over the flame, Billy felt a smile spring to his lips like sudden inspiration, and a strange sensation tingled in his chest. �You were about to say something,� he prompted.
�Huh?� Orlando looked up from his warped rose petal. �Oh. I forget. Oh, no, I was just gonna ask if you�re really all right, but I sort of already asked that, so nevermind.�
Something shifted then, slowly like the spinning migration of ice cubes melting in a carbonated drink. Billy found himself wanting to touch Orlando�s knees with his own beneath the table, found himself admiring the curve of Orlando�s fingers on the petal and the way the bold silver of his ring complemented the color of his skin.
�Nah, I�m okay,� Billy said. �It�s just � �
Orlando looked up, dark eyes reflecting the candlelight.
�This is a little weird, isn�t it?� Billy said, agreeing with Orlando�s statement from nearly twenty minutes ago now.
Orlando smiled almost shyly. �Very fucking,� he replied resolutely.
Beneath the table, Billy let his knee touch Orlando�s and saw the contact in the soft shift of Orlando�s eyes. �But it�s okay, yeah?�
Orlando spun the now brittle petal twice in his fingers, then tossed it aside and slid the candle back to where it belonged. �Yeah.� He relaxed back in the booth, and under the table, Billy felt his shoe nestle in beside his own. �It�s okay.�
As they ate, they talked, and when Billy let himself forget this was a date, they laughed, too. They talked, and laughed, and carried on just as they always did with one another; sentences and phrases turned hilarious by context and pronunciation, becoming jokes that no one would understand because they hadn�t been there. An occasional bark of laughter would earn the glares of their fellow restaurant patrons, and Billy took a strange, wicked delight in muddling the romantic atmosphere of others with his own.
But despite Billy�s conscious and unconscious efforts to prevent it, the conversation found its way to Dom. There was no laughing then. Billy and Orlando leaned toward one another, talking in soft, earnest voices, and looking more like a couple than they had all the other times Billy had been self-conscious of it. As they talked about Dom, Billy found himself strangely fascinated by the handle of his knife and continually straightened it, making it tidily parallel to the elegant lines on the tablecloth.
�Is he just, like, feeling left out or something?� Orlando asked.
Billy shrugged and straightened his knife. �There was this guy he was with once...I think maybe he fancies you.�
�No, I don�t think so.�
�Right, and you�d be certain?� Billy glanced up. �You can tell when a mate fancies you?�
�Figured you out well enough.�
�Aye. I made it real difficult what with how I kept coming over and stripping nekkid in your loo.� Orlando raised an eyebrow at him and it took Billy a moment to understand why. �Not that I actually fancy you, you prat,� he added, but his face had already caught Orlando�s contagious smile.
�Maybe he fancies you. You thought of that?�
Billy snickered. �Right.� He settled back in the cushions, letting his smile die naturally as he watched the candle�s reflection on the polished silver of his knife handle. �It�s strange �cause I feel like I...I feel sort of...severed. It doesn�t feel right not talking to him.�
�You guys are tight.�
Billy could feel Orlando�s eyes on him. In the candlelight, the restaurant felt warm and close, and the booth intimate. With the voices of the others becoming a soft, indistinguishable murmur, Billy could almost imagine he and Orlando were alone. �Aye, we are. Were, maybe. I dunno.�
�Are.� Orlando�s voice lay down firm. �It�s not over or anything, mate. Don�t be so dramatic. We�ve still got a few weeks to shoot. He�ll come around.�
�To what?�
Orlando looked down a moment and straightened his own knife. �I think � The way he was talking... To me, it sounded like it sort of hurt that you didn�t tell him.�
�Aye, I know.�
�Why didn�t you tell him?�
Billy glanced up, but Orlando�s gaze stayed on his silverware, pushing it gently with his index finger. Knowing him as he did, Billy could see the tension in the casual body language. �I don�t know,� he confessed, feeling small and na�ve. �Scared, I guess.�
�I understand that.� Orlando lifted his gaze then, and Billy couldn�t believe how easy it had been to earn that kind, open look. Honesty, what a magical thing.
�What�d you tell Viggo?� Billy asked, smirking lightly.
Orlando sat back in the booth and crossed his arms. �What�d you tell Viggo? He said you came by.�
�Oh, that�s such shite. That bastard.�
Orlando laughed. �What are you doing, man? Are you scamming on my confidant?�
�Well, he�s a good one. Wouldn�t tell me a thing, that bastard.�
Orlando nodded with a smug smile. �I can pick �em.�
�What�d you tell him?� Billy knew it was starting to sound like a plea.
�You tell me and I�ll tell you.�
Billy held Orlando�s eyes for a long moment, then frowned. �Fine. You want to go to a film, you prat?�
Orlando grinned. �Sure, you arse.�
They paid � rather, Billy paid and Orlando left the tip � and strolled down the road to the cinema, silently following the blueprint established by the first date. They mutually decided to see a romantic comedy, as if both influenced by the knowledge that this was a date and therefore, they should do date-like things. It ended up being advantageous because after spending two hours watching a woman act completely out of her head for a bloke, Billy remembered quite clearly why dating Orlando had such appeal. When the girl behind them sniffled into a tissue during the sappy climax, Billy and Orlando exchanged a roll of the eyes and Billy rather liked not having to pretend he thought it was romantic. It was quite a pleasant night out at the cinema with a mate, despite the fact that Billy spent the whole time wondering if he should hold Orlando�s hand, if men did that sort of thing with each other at movies.
�Walk in the park, then, eh?� Orlando said as they strolled out into the night air. He hitched his jacket up higher around his shoulders.
�It�s a better night for it, at least.� Billy followed Orlando�s lead, crossing the street toward the park.
Soft lights dimly lit the whole deserted expanse of grass and trees. Stars twinkled overhead and crickets chirped sweetly along with a few confused birds still singing here and there. Romantic, that�s what it was, and Billy wanted to hold Orlando�s hand. It was a sort of feverish longing, so much more powerful than the playful thought in the theatre. But was that allowed? Did men walk and hold hands? If so, should he really be the one to initiate it? After all, Orlando was taller, so maybe he was the one who was supposed to decide these things. Or maybe they were supposed to discuss them or something. Or maybe gay blokes had some sort of system of signals they used to make sure what they�re going to do will be accepted. It can�t be as uncertain as it is with women.
Their hands brushed and taking a deep, fortifying breath, Billy went for it. He lightly touched Orlando�s hand with his little finger and slid their palms together. His heart clattered wildly in his chest, and Orlando�s fingers tightened on his. For a moment, Billy felt self-conscious and stupid. Walking through the park, holding hands with his mate, just another guy he hangs out with on the set from time to time. What kind of mates hold hands, really? Billy�s shoulders felt big and his hands felt rough and hairy; they were two men. Holding hands. Didn�t one of them need to be delicate and soft for this to work? Even for his less than average height and Orlando�s better than average looks, neither of them was delicate or soft. Orlando�s hand was large and his skin calloused against Billy�s; as much as Billy�s own was for him, no doubt. One of them really needed to be girlier for this to feel natural. Strolling along the path, Billy imagined they must resemble two great, hulking Orcs lumbering along, hand in hand. Looking ridiculous and ungainly, no grace or beauty and definitely no femininity.
Ahead of them, a part of the sidewalk had been eroded by wind and weather, creating a small pool of standing water, collected from whenever the last rain had been. Billy and Orlando walked to it and in nearly the same instant, they both leapt and splashed down in it, covering their legs and each other in dirty, stagnant water. Billy grinned and he and Orlando swung their linked hands as they continued on their way, feet squishing wetly in their shoes. Nope, not graceful by a long shot.
Their aimless strolling took them to a path narrowed by trees, literally silver-blue in the moonlight. The romantic atmosphere was beginning to be obscene and Billy felt grateful. It made everything look and feel so right. He none too gently shoved Orlando back toward a tree, impulsively taking advantage of the privacy.
Orlando flirtatiously raised his eyebrows and leaned back against the trunk in such a way that not only invited Billy to stand closer, it nearly demanded it. Billy stepped forward and touched their mouths together. Orlando�s hand instantly rose to the back of his neck, stroking, cradling, and sending a wave of goosebumps all across Billy�s skin. How could chilly hands make him feel so warm?
A thrill slid through Billy to know they were in public. As unlikely as it was that someone would come loping down this deserted, slightly non-existent path this late at night, if someone did, they�d see that this man, this tall and sensual creature, wanted him. Hobbit or no, Billy felt ten feet tall.
�What�d you tell Viggo?� he whispered against Orlando�s lips.
Orlando laughed softly. �Why do you want to know?�
Honesty, Billy thought. It had been working so well all evening. �I want to know what you think about me.�
Orlando�s expression softened just enough to make Billy ache. �Why don�t you try asking me, you idiot.�
�How do you feel about me?�
�That�s not the same question.�
�I don�t want to argue semantics, man.�
�Well, you can�t change the question.�
�Tell me anyway.�
�You first.�
Billy didn�t. Instead, he gently nudged Orlando�s mouth open and kissed him. He figured that summed up his sentiments well enough anyway and it avoided revealing any potentially embarrassing details. Their mouths parted and Orlando�s forehead lowered to rest against Billy�s. He smiled as if he were about to say something, but instead kissed Billy again sweetly with closed lips.
�I really like you,� Billy breathed, and heard the words before he realized he�d said them.
Orlando smiled and his eyes flickered down to Billy�s traitorous, if honest, mouth. �I really like you back,� he said.
Billy�s heart tugged and there was nothing for it but to kiss Orlando again. And again. And again. And somewhere, suddenly, in the turn of a head or maybe the shift of a foot, they were no longer suitable for public consumption. He felt his blood run hot and forced himself to pull back. This wasn�t the sort of snogging one did in a place where children played football in the sunshine. �We should probably go.� He cleared his throat when his voice came out raspy and heated. He stepped back a bit, touching a finger or two to his used lips. �So, what do you want to do now?�
�We went to the pub last time.� Orlando�s voice was oddly flat and a glint in his gaze made Billy suspicious that it wasn�t a suggestion given with much enthusiasm. Orlando licked his lips, but didn�t move and didn�t say anything more.
Billy knew one thing had changed since the first date: Orlando wasn�t going to start anything now. He wasn�t going to be the instigator; not after all the things Billy had said, even if he hadn�t meant them. If Billy wanted him, he was going to have to show him.
�Right,� Billy said. �Back to yours then, maybe?�
�Yeah, okay.� And Orlando readily pushed himself away from the tree. Billy threaded their fingers together again.
As if planned, they dropped hands when they reached the light of the street.
At Orlando�s home, Billy stood awkwardly as his host unlocked the front door. With the click of the knob, Orlando swung the door open. �Do you want - � he began, then quickly amended it. �Oh, get the fuck in here, mate. Why am I asking?�
��Cause you�re a gentleman? Nah, that can�t be it.� Billy followed him inside.
Orlando tossed his keys on the table. �Beer?�
�Aye, thanks.�
Orlando returned with two beers and caught Billy at the door. The deadbolt clacked loudly as Billy slid it into place and he heard Orlando snicker behind him. Playing along, he turned and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, but locking them in wasn�t what he was doing.
He was locking everything and everyone else out.