On his birthday, Billy Boyd was slouched on a Heathrow bound 747. He had a headache like a tightening belt around his cranium and the stomach of an extremely hung over 30-year-old man.

Oh, Christ.

He was 30.

He could feel his muscles weakening as he sat there. Could feel a paunch developing underneath his shirt. He wanted to stand in the aisles and scream to the other passengers 'Yes, I may be 30! But I moisturise! I get pedicures! I jog and I listen to bands you've never even heard of! I'm the youngest, gayest, coolest 30 year old fucker you're ever gunna meet so pay no attention to the wrinkles!! Ignore the encroaching dementia! I've still got almost complete control over my bladder and I'm not afraid to use it!!!'

Instead, he sighed, fiddled with his sick bag, trying to make it look as though it was out of boredom, and not out of impending necessity. He feared that when the time came (and it was coming, oh yes. It was coming. The gurgling in his stomach said it was coming soon), his aging body would not be able to reach the little microwave popcorn-like bag in time.

Microwave popcorn? Fuck. Bad move. Think of neutrals. Think of neutrals. Non-food items. Neutral Non-Food Items. Palm Trees. Computers. Vases. Underwear. Floors. Beds. Sex. Last Night. Rum and Strawberry milk cocktails at Malcoms House - FUCK!!


The little girl next to Billy didn't look too impressed with him. He tried to manage a reassuring smile. She glowered at him, and turned to her Mother next to her.

"Mummy, that man is sweating and he smells like feet."

"Agatha, sshhh. Don't upset the sick man anymore. We'll ask the nice hostess if maybe there's another seat we can sit in until we land in Heathrow, ok?"


And with a scathing, triumphant smile, the little girl packed up her Powerpuff girls colouring-in book and complimentary crayons given to little Bitch patrons of United Airlines and waited patiently for her Mother to fix things.

Soon after, Billy was left in peace - and now he had 2 extra sick bags. Needless to say, he passed on the morning tea meals being served.


Billy's gate at Heathrow Airport was dead. There were a few people wandering around, but apparently August flights to New Zealand were not high on peoples holiday itineraries nowadays. He perked himself up slightly with the thought that he would actually be chasing summer to the southern hemisphere, and it meant no winter until the following  May, and this gave him the energy to try and spot hot guys. He didn't outwardly perk up, of course, but on the inside he felt about three-tenths on the way to not being clinically dead. As he sat, slumped and sweating but feeling marginally better, he remembered that he had been instructed to look out for someone (or something) called Orlando Bloom. How exactly one spots an Orlando Bloom seemed to not really be an issue with his instructors and because of this, Billy assumed that an Orlando Bloom must be either freakishly tall, ugly, circus-like or otherwise insane. He kept a half hearted eye on the few people that bustled around him, not particularly keen on meeting someone whose name was more ridiculous than a Youth Boys Choirs rendition of 'Get Your Freak On'.

All thoughts of freakishly tall, ugly, circus-like or otherwise insane youth choristers were immediately zapped from his mind as he spied the most beautiful man he had ever seen. He was perfect. He was truly perfect. God, what Billy wouldn't give to be stuck in a holding pattern with this creature. Wait - was he? He was! He was coming to Billy's gate!!

Billy watched the young man closely. The young man had deliciously delicate features - olive skin and the most perfect cheekbones. Cheekbones like that could start a war. Cheekbones you just want to slide off. Billy shook his head. He thought about it a moment longer. Delicate features. Tall, too. Beautiful slim hips. Wild dark hair, curling and untamed. He suggested.elfishness...to Billy. Elfishness. Elfishness.

Suddenly the penny dropped, and Billy stood up so fast he got a head spin. His bag fell from his lap and his Discman, various cds and books skidded all over the floor. The commotion attracted the attention of the few people waiting in the lounge. The beautiful boy included, but he quickly looked away, blushing. Billy was too busy gathering his way-too-cool-to-belong-to-a-30-year-old cds into a small pile to notice that the younger man had given him a thorough, if quick, checking out. Finally sorted, Billy stood and tried to gather courage to cover the few steps that separated them. Billy watched. He was beautiful. It was painful. Billy felt short, and ugly, and cheekbone-less. Nevertheless, he bravely stalked up to the turned back, and before he had time to become mesmerised by that perfect, graceful neck, the man turned around.

This was it. "You wouldn't be.Orlando Bloom, would you?"

"Oh my god! You're a hobbit! Billy!"

And somehow, inexplicably, beautifully, he fell into Orlando's embrace.

It took every iota of self-control to not grab the perfect, firm elf arse.


The plane trip that followed was long, and drunk. They got into the free champagne fairly early on, and didn't really stop until 15 months later, when they were back in their own countries, and houses, once again.


That 15 months was an interesting one, for many, many reasons. Not one of the fellowship left New Zealand with his heterosexuality intact (at least, they left with it in varying degrees of actuality). It was a strange time -they felt as though they were caught in their own private world. They imagined it was almost like the free love of the 60s, only without the long hair and a not quite so much Bob Dylan. And though various alliances formed rather quickly, they were not totally steadfast. Dom had his eye on Elijah from the start, but that didn't seem to prevent a balmy evening in May during which the backs of his knees made very thick friends with Billys shoulders. Nor did it stop the rogering that Orlando gave him. And the rumours about Dom and Viggo abounded, though Viggo was much too much of a gentleman to ever admit it and Dom didn't want to look as much as a slut as Orli, who had slept with 5 of fellowship and made no bones about telling everyone. 5 people, some married, some teenagers, some middle aged artists - but no Scots. Billy and Orlando had remained very good friends, and often found each other to be a sensitive and understanding listening post in times of need. And yet in spite of all this, there was about as much Boyd-Bloom humping in New Zealand, as there was international talent that hadn't been claimed by the Australians. Not a whole lot. What they didn't know, however, was that underneath the sensitive and understanding façade were two horny, erect, jonesing males who wanted to fuck the dickens out of each other but were too scared to admit that it was more than a passing attraction. So they did nothing.

One Saturday evening, Billy watched as Orlando tried desperately to rope Bean into sex once more. Orlando was a shameless public seducer, though always seemed to have the decency to never parade away with his prizes. He waited until everyone was occupied with whatever boring, non-sexual activity it was that they were pursuing for the evening and then lead the man off for a night he wasn't likely to quickly forget. Orlando was good because Orlando was versatile, easy going and a good, good lay. But this night, Bean wasn't biting. He was having a sad night, he wasn't really married any more, and he just wanted to go to bed. Alone.

So Orlando sat, fiddling with his hideous shirt, and quietly sulked while everyone talked around him. Billy watched, and almost got the courage to go and sit by him on 5 separate occasions, but even as he could feel his body beginning to move, he chickened out. He felt small, and still cheek-boneless. Though it was still some consolation that Astins bone structure was even poorer than his own, and he'd had a shot at Orli.

It was amidst this self-analysis that Dom came and plonked himself down next to a very-slouched Billy, causing the tumbler of scotch resting on Billys tummy to spill, staining his very young, very hip shirt. "Hey, ya wanker! This is a fuckin new shirt!" Dom shrugged and pathetically pawed at Billys shirt with his hand, as though the action would clean the stain up. Billy shooed his hands away and just left the stain. He was feeling dejected. After 5 months of masturbating over Orlando, when everyone else from Sean Astin to the guy inside the puppet Bill the Pony had merely to glance sideways at him, he figured he was owed one really good night of making a show of his dejection and misery. "Just go and tell him how you feel, mate." "Fuck off." "Bill! He's not going to make the first move - it's Orli. If he was going to, you'd have been fucking on the plane on the way to New Zealand. You're going to have to take the initiative and proposition him." "That's fine for you to say! You've had him. He just doesn't want me. Why would he? I'm old, and I have inferior facial bone structure."

Dom sighed an exasperated sigh, and came within an inch of beating Billy about the ears with his shoe. He could see that he was going to have to take action. And soon.

"Orlando! Orli, come here, please." Orlando looked up as Dom beckoned him over. Billy wanted to be elsewhere. Orlando sauntered over, sex in an ugly, ugly shirt, and slouched down on the other side of Dom. "Yeah?"

"Billy likes you." "DOM!-" "Shutup. It's true. And I think you like him back. And none of us understand why it is the two of you've not done it yet."

Orlando looked as though he'd had the shards of Narsil inserted in him.

"I." The following few minutes found Orlando doing his guppy impersonation, stumbling over words that usually came so very naturally to him. He was a born sleaze, excellent at picking up and a self-confessed master at controlling his behaviour. So why was he finding Billy so impossible to sleep with? In the end, Orlando went for honesty. It was not something he often did, and truth be told, not something that he did all that well when it came to relationships. "Bill. I'm attracted to you. Really. But - " "But, I'm a 30 year old fag without cheekbones, right? And ok! Maybe I *do* own a couple of Thompson Twins CDs - " "There was more than one?", Dom interrupted. A pointed glare told Dom to drop it. "And, perhaps I don't have the fullest head of hair - but it's genetic! My dad was bald by my age! So you just thank you're lucky stars I'm not a total bowling ball yet! And while we're at it - " This time, the interruption came from Orlando himself, who had lunged across Doms lap to grab Billy's face and kiss him thoroughly.

It felt good.

"Dom, William and I have things to discuss. Will you leave us?" "Done. See ya, kids."

And with that, Dom sprinted off to rugby tackle Elijah (who was already lying on the floor, but never once complained - good sport, really) and get back to where they should have been half an hour ago, before he was needed as counselor and cupid.

"How'd it go?" Elijah managed to ask Dom between licks and kisses. "Yeah, alright. They're discussing it now." "Oh, really? Cuz if that's discussion, I feel a definite argument coming on, Dominic Monaghan."

Billy and Orlando stayed tucked away on the lounge all night, kissing softly and talking about things they'd never thought to say before.


15 months later, when they were sober and back in their countries, and houses, they found they missed each other. It took them 2 weeks of being apart to learn that a thorough discussion was evidently a necessary part of their day to day lives.

Merry Christmas!!!!