Fanboy

Recipient: princessofg
Pairing: Elijah/Billy
Author: Thuri
Rating: R for language
Summary: What if Elijah had never left Iowa, and was as big a fan as the rest of us? (AU)
Author's Notes: Thanks to magickalmolly for help with the idea, and invaluable beta when I got stuck.
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Elijah knew he should probably be embarrassed by just how excited he was. But this was Billy Boyd. Billy fucking Boyd. The hottest member of the Fellowship, and the object of his raging secret crush. And he'd be sitting beside him in a matter of moments, getting his photo taken. Holy goddamn fucking shit. Breathe, Wood, breathe. He seems nice enough, but he'll still probably laugh his ass off if you squeak at him when it comes time to say something, even if he waits until later to actually do it.

It'd seemed simple enough, back home in Iowa. Back when he'd first heard of the convention, first found out Billy'd actually be attending. Buy a ticket, reserve a photo op, and get to meet him. Tell Billy how the movies had changed his life, how amazing it'd been to see them...Yeah. Real easy. Except for the part where he'd have to open his fucking mouth and get coherent words out to the man he'd imagined in his bed a thousand times in the past year.

And holy fuck, it was nearly his turn. He shifted the mix CD he'd made for his crush, scrubbing first one sweaty hand and then the other on his torn jeans. Pushing his glasses back up his nose, he let out a long breath. No turning back now.

Christ. How did all these girls do it? Flirting so easily, getting Billy to laugh, let out that giggle that made Elijah want to laugh in response, made him feel all warm and gooey and...holy fuck, he might as well be a girl, if this was the kind of crap going through his head. At least then he'd fit in. There were maybe three other guys in line, and two of them were at least seventy. The other? No better. His mom was tugging him along and he was crying, obviously up past his naptime.

A handler reached for his backpack, gesturing him forward, and Elijah swallowed hard, watching the floor as he climbed the three steps up to the stage. Last thing he needed to do now was show his usual grace and trip over his own two feet...

But he managed to get himself up, watching the girl in front of him as she asked Billy for a special pose, and kissed his cheek at the end. Fuck. He'd never have the courage to ask for a special pose, and as for a hug or a kiss? No fucking way. Even if he was the goddamn girl he seemed to be acting like just now.

Suddenly, there was no one left in front of him, and Billy was saying goodbye to the girl who'd dared a kiss, his voice Scottish and warm and wonderful and shooting right through him. Fuck, fuck, think of baseball...

Elijah found himself herded forward, and he held out the CD, swallowing again. "Hi." His voice cracked hard. Shit, shit, shit. "Hi. I made this for you....it's got a lot of really awesome bands on it, and some totally classic Beatles tracks."

He honestly wasn't sure how Billy replied, though he heard the other man's voice, and felt himself nodding. But he was so amazed, standing there. They were almost the same height! And his eyes really were that green, and his lips looked so soft...

"Turn toward the camera...there, thank you very much, next!"

It was over? Elijah found himself shaking Billy's hand and wondering if he'd remembered to smile as he accepted his backpack from the handler. He was so distracted by his own thoughts as he headed for the stairs that lead off of the stage, Elijah completely misjudged where the top step was and fell over, hard enough to knock the wind from him as he face-planted onto the ground below.

Fucking perfect, Wood. Just perfect.

There was the sound of hurried footsteps, and then a pair of hands helping him to his feet, and Elijah struggled up, embarrassment making him a bit unsteady. His glasses had come off in the fall, and he glanced around for them in a panic. Not that it would help--he was as blind as a bat without them.

"Think you dropped these, mate," The glasses were suddenly placed in Elijah's hand, and he shoved them onto his face with shaking hands, afraid the body that went with that voice would disappear.

But, no. Billy Boyd was actually standing right fucking there, his gorgeous face a mask of concern and amusement (not that Elijah could blame him for the last -- how fucking smooth was he?), and Elijah felt his own cheeks turn as pink as two roses.

"Yeah, thanks." Everyone in the room was watching the two of them -- fans and handlers and even the cameraman -- and Elijah wished suddenly he could climb into a hole and die. But Billy didn't seem to notice any of it. As calmly as if he did it every day, Billy reached up and straightened Elijah's glasses. And when his mouth curled up into a smile, Elijah forgot to breath.

"Alright, then?" Elijah nodded, too dumbfounded to respond, and he gathered up his backpack again, clutching it to his chest. Then a little lower, because Billy was still smiling, and it was doing things to him. Things more embarrassing than nose-diving off a stage in front of a room full of strangers.

Billy motioned towards one of the handlers, and when the other man came forward, he handed Billy a ticket. Billy presented it to Elijah, and when Elijah could only stare blankly, Billy tucked it into the front pocket of Elijah's shirt.

Leaning in, Billy whispered confidentially, "That's an autograph ticket. But we're no' doing the signings on the stage, so you should be safe." Billy grinned once more, beautiful and bright, and then he was gone, climbing back onto the stage to continue with the photographs.

Elijah felt someone tug gently on his sleeve, and a girl with a sympathetic smile pointed him out of the room. His feet must've touched the ground, but he couldn't swear to it. Dude. He had daydream material for months, now.

 

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