Slashababy 2004 Stories

  FANFICTION: This story depicts real-life public figures engaged in completely fictional, false and untrue activities. It never happened, it never will happen. This story is a work of fantasy and satire which in no way professes to express the truth about the life, thoughts, feelings, desires, opinions, beliefs, activities or sexual orientation of any person mentioned herein.


for shanalle
by kiltsandlollies

Pairing: BB/VM
Rating: R/NC-17
Notes: For the 2004 slashababy challenge, and specifically for shanalle. I hope you enjoy.


"That's quite a mark."

Billy doesn't really belong in the Cuntebago. It's the domain of the Men, and sometimes Cate, too; it's no place for a hobbit. But seeing how it's Billy's fault that Viggo's now sporting the most incredible bruise -- let's not even go into the swelling -- he felt it necessary to enter the battered makeup bus and at least make a show of support. Shirelings represent, as Elijah had nodded on Billy's way out the door.

Viggo seems happy enough to see him, but he's not at the moment able to hold much of a conversation, distracted as he is by the irritated makeup artist forced to fix him up. Billy shifts in the chair next to Viggo and presses on, his voice loud in the silence of the bus, and Viggo makes no move to stop him.

"I suppose Pete's come to talk to you already; he's certainly had it out with us. But it was worth it, don't you think? The waves were brilliant yesterday. And you were doing so well -- better than I did my first go, definitely. D'you know I was terrified? You must know; Dom stopped just short of tacking up pictures -- "

The makeup artist slides between them, smudging colour into the skin of Viggo's cheekbone and blending the bruise away. Billy can't see Viggo around her shape, and so he stands and stretches and prepares to leave.

"We'll make a Black Rider out of you yet, mate," Billy yawns, and circles Viggo to squeeze his shoulder. "Next thing is to get you back into the water as soon as possible. Dom's always saying -- "


Billy stops talking and smiles, the slightly sheepish grin he saves for Pippin, and Viggo takes a breath before he smiles, too.

"It was worth it."

A few more months in, and Billy's not sure anymore what efforts outside the work itself are worth anything. He's gained friendships, true, but the work is harder than anything he's done in his life, and there are days when he wants nothing more than time to himself, away from anything having to do with Tolkien or hobbits or specifically Peregrin Took.

Mostly he's a bit tired of drawing to the surface every bit of innocence that remains within himself in order to make Pippin feel more real. There's no question Billy understands the character like he would a younger brother. But Pippin is not Billy, and it takes time, even after he sheds the costume, to shed everything else. Everything inside Billy sags a bit at night, as if to compensate for the wide-eyed levels to which he rises during the day.

Then there are the evenings when he's so knackered he doesn't even want to leave the trailer, preferring to stretch out on his couch, still half in costume, until sleep overcomes him or, Billy muses to himself one night, until my lord release me or death take me.

It's a man of Gondor who finds him on one of those evenings, but it's not the one to whom Pippin swears fealty. Viggo's knock is persistent, and having recognized its rhythm, Billy can't find the strength or desire to tell him to fuck off. Instead he reaches for the latch and throws it -- the extent of his abilities to welcome anyone into his temporary hovel.

"Not going out?" Viggo asks, crouching near the sofa. Billy shakes his head, yawning again, and Viggo nods. "Feel like company?"

Billy looks at him, and absolutely hates suddenly that he's never been able to read anything in Viggo's eyes. Peering at his lips doesn't seem to help either, as it appears to be a strain for Viggo to even open them to speak.

"Sure," Billy says finally, and with what he hopes is a more welcoming gesture, all open palm and half-smile. "Sure, stay." Viggo doesn't really acknowledge either the words or the gestures, just leaning now against the edge of Billy's couch.

"Your kid's got a mouth on him," Viggo says after a moment, and Billy sees something flash in the air, watches it fall, before he realizes that Viggo's made a ball out of discarded script pages. "Dom, I mean. He's got a lot to say."

"Sound and fury," Billy sighs. "Signifying nothing. He's a good guy, Vig. He just has a bad day, 's all."

"He seems to think you did, too."

"Does he?" Billy's amused by this, but just a little. "Maybe I did."

"Want to talk about it?"

"No -- I mean, yes, but not really. I'm tired. Mostly I think I need a good -- "

It doesn't seem appropriate, even after so many months. They've all traded stories about who's getting more of anything from anyone. No one's been labeled a company slut yet, but only because there's so much competition. But it's still not quite right, Billy thinks, to admit to the baser needs to as focused as Viggo, someone who a) likely could not care less and b) might find the information a little excessive.

"Don't we all," Viggo says after another long moment. "So."

"So." Billy holds his breath, less uncertain than just ... silenced. A bit.

"I'll leave you to it." Viggo rises to stand in one fluid motion. "Gonna get a walk in before the sun's down completely."

Billy watches him go, more awake now than he's felt in weeks.

Days later, Billy and his fellow hobbits are sitting on top of commercial dryers in a hotel, trying to get warm after spending the entire day filming the Midgewater Marshes. Billy's feet have long since thawed out, but he remains in the laundry room with the hobbits and Viggo, talking and drinking and waiting for someone to leave -- so he can, too. Billy hopes it will be Astin who breaks first, and is surprised when it's Viggo.

Well, surprised isn't the word. The word is probably thrilled.

Following Viggo from the room, Billy considers this carefully. He's pleasantly warm now from whiskey and good company, but memory is keeping him from feeling satisfied with the past few days' work. Or the past few nights in general.

"So," he says calmly, squaring his shoulders before sidling up to Viggo in the hallway. Viggo smiles tightly, the lines around his eyes lengthening, deepening so thoroughly Billy suddenly has a vision of licking a broad sweep over them, just to feel the sleep-edged ridges of skin on his tongue. It's a picture so vivid Billy has to blink it away before it does him any more damage.

"So," Viggo answers, much too quietly for Billy's liking, as they reach his bedroom. The key slides home and Viggo walks inside, leaving the door open for Billy to come or go as he likes. As he wants.

"I thought," Billy begins, hovering in the doorway. "In my trailer, I thought -- "

"You thought I wanted to fuck you," Viggo nods. "You were right. You were also tired, which is unfortunately more often than not the case."

"I'm not ... not tired. Not now."

"So," Viggo's smile widens as he pushes the door closed and leans in, just enough that Billy's back meets the wall.

Billy's not often interested in being fucked, to tell the honest truth. While he's fucked two out of three of the other hobbits and one elf, he's not even broached the topic with any of them. But he supposes that's a good thing, because even just from Viggo's approach, his almost too perfectly calm movements and all-seeing, Billy can tell this sort of night would be hard to top.

Billy doesn't expect Viggo to be any more of a talker in bed than he is on set or in the pubs. Viggo's intense concentration is more of a benefit than usual when he's working open the fly of Billy's jeans, working his fingers inside Billy's boxers, working him so slowly and so well Billy's sucking in air between his teeth to keep from rising on his toes and jutting his hips against Viggo's for more friction, more heat, more anything.

Viggo reads Billy better than Billy will ever read him, and his fingers curl around Billy's shaft easily, coaxing and twisting and learning every twitch of Billy's body before either of them are even unclothed. Billy lets out a frustrated noise he would ordinarily bite back with anyone else, and Viggo's law in return is low, almost gentle.

"Yeah, I think," Viggo murmurs. "I think I am going to fuck you, so if there's any objections -- "

"Fuck, no, none," Billy whispers. "Jesus, again, do that again, the bit with -- "

"Maybe," Viggo laughs. "Drop the jeans, yeah?"

Billy's never undressed so quickly in his life, not even that one time Margaret came home early from school and he was upstairs with that blonde girl Carrie --

"On your back," Viggo says, quiet again. "At least for now."

Billy swallows and complies immediately, his fingers drifting toward his stomach, on their natural way to his cock. Viggo catches his hands and presses them into the mattress at Billy's sides, just the smallest correction, and Billy keeps them there, loose and open.

"Again," Viggo repeats. "The bit with -- "

Billy nods, swallows harder this time as Viggo descends, fingers wrapping back around Billy's cock and twisting. When it seems like there can't be any greater feeling, Viggo's raspy tongue -- perfect, Billy thinks in his fog, because where could a voice like that come from if not from off a tongue that rough -- follows the path of his fingers and goes further and deeper and everything more.

Billy's hips rise from the sheets, and then there's another different touch, this time slick, heavy fingers that take a longer time than Billy would like to admit to get used to. And yet Viggo takes that time, doesn't rush anything even when Billy encourages him to do so both silently and aloud.

When they do finally get there -- when Viggo finally pushes and slides and just so fucking sweetly fits -- Billy releases another long-held breath and shivers, more intensely as Viggo's body falls nearer and Billy's cock, trapped wet and hard and in perfect agony, jumps and pulses and aches against him.

And quiet and stoic though Viggo might be, he's still enough of your generic male, Billy thinks, to make some noise. Which he does, especially when Billy lets one leg rise up along Viggo's hip to draw him in closer and harder. The next push inside his body makes Billy see ridiculous, delicious and wonderful things behind his eyes, things like pomegranates and pheasants and the Scottish flag unfurling. He laughs from the absurdity of it all, laughs with exhilaration and release, and Viggo laughs too, because why the hell not.

Viggo's call is earlier than Billy's, and Billy's under no illusion that he'll be in anything close to enough shape to wish him a good day's filming. So when he wakes up alone, Billy's neither surprised nor confused to find himself so.

He wanders through his own morning before Elijah questions his whereabouts last night, and Billy shrugs him off with a smile. Dominic's not nearly as easily deterred, especially after he's already spoken to Viggo.

"I can't fucking believe you," Dominic snorts. "Abandoning your fellow hobbits for a fuck. And not even with Orli. That's just wrong, Billy."

"As you're the authority on all things wrong, I'll accept that," Billy murmurs from under the lip of his mug of tea. "It was worth it."

"This is where you expand on that thought, Billy."

"Don't think so, not this time."

Dominic huffs, and chucks a handful of napkins in Billy's direction. "Will you be over him in time to join us tonight? I can't promise you a shag -- "

"Oh, I'm pretty certain you could, Dom."

"But we are getting drinks and movies in." Dominic waits for a response that doesn't come quickly enough, and another handful of napkins flies through the air. "Oi, Pippin."

Billy sighs. "Please don't."

"D'you want to invite him?" Dominic asks, but his voice is a little off, a little strangely hurt. Billy shakes his head and smiles.

"No more than you'd want to invite Bean, I'm guessing."

Dominic's face flushes, and then creases with his laughter. "Tou-fucking-chy. Alright. So it was just a ... thing. Just last night."

"Most likely, yes." Well. Perhaps. Billy allows his own smirk to pull itself thinly across his face. "But it was -- "

Dominic eyebrows rise a full inch as he waits.

"It was worth it."


Slashababy 2004 Stories