The weather is crap, the caterers don't show until half three, and the leads are both suffering from allergy symptoms. It's a typical, brilliant First Day on the Set of a Movie Shoot. Or so Dom quips, in an attempt to bring up Billy's mood. Not that it works, mind, but Dom would like to think that there is still room for improvement. After all, isn't this the way these things tend to go?

By six they are losing light and have not accomplished much. Dom knows that Billy will stay up half the night with the raw footage, trying to salvage whatever he can.

The next few days, by contrast, go slightly better. Schedules are hammered out, actors adjust, and a new caterer is hired. Dom does as much as he can to keep the filming hours clear of delay.

In addition to working with a crew made up of friends and decent filmmakers they've got a cast riddled with equally familiar faces and even guest spots for themselves. He's surrounded by friends and they're all together in Florida having a decent time on a studio's budget.

Which is enough, Dom tells himself. He takes a deep breath, rearranges his script (which is falling apart and covered in doodles), and charges into the next take.

Billy chooses that precise moment to try to get between a soundman and a cameraman who are arguing over wiring. Dom circles behind them, worried about losing more time.

"Belt up, now, we all know it's hot, but this isn't a problem. We can run that set of cables down around the right side there and that keep them out of the way of the tracks for camera three, even if we decided to change the angle, which we haven't," Billy says, gesturing.

It takes a while, but eventually a compromise is reached.

"Fuck's sake," Billy mutters, walking out of earshot with Dom. "I need a drink."

"It's noon."

"I don't care if it's seven in the morning. Scotch, please. And a shoulder rub."

Dom smirks. "I didn't see anything about that kind of service in my contract."

Billy breaks a smile.

Yeah, Dom could get used to this again.

By the time they break for lunch, Billy is sweaty and red around the eyes. Stressed still, perhaps? Of course, that might be normal, now. It might be that Dom hasn't been around him enough recently to notice these changes. In the years since New Zealand Billy has gotten softer, Dom has to admit. His hair's thinned. He's gained a half dozen lines around his eyes and mouth. He's still beautiful.

"We're not going to be able to finish the hiking scene today," Billy announces, bringing Dom away from his thoughts.

"Why not?" Dom asks.

"By the time we get the equipment where we need it to be—which is on a pretty steep bit of hill if you recall—the light won't be right for the time of day we're trying to get across. Besides, I'm not even sure if we can get consistent wide shots after the fact—"

"We'll get the wide shots. But the lighting; I thought we'd sorted that. Why didn't you bring this up earlier?"

"I bloody forgot. I just forgot. I thought we might switch it round with the pet store sequence, if all else failed."

"But that's not possible. We didn't book the pet store for today."

Billy's shoulders sag. "Fuck."

Dom watches him. "You look like shit."

"Saint Dominic, always there to bring one up from dark depths," Billy groans, muffled because he's dropped his head into folded arms.

Dom pulls him up. "We're done for today." When he begins to protest, Dom cuts him off. "Rather, you're done. You need sleep. And tomorrow, I'm going to take care of your end of things and you're going to have a lie in."

"You know I can't do that."

"I'll tie you to the bed, Boyd. I'll bar your windows and doors. I'll set a watch on the driveway."

Billy grins, showing a bit of a blush. "Now that's a threat I haven't heard for some time."

Dom hadn't meant it that way, which is surprising. And then he realizes that they're standing very close, chests almost touching. Like that, with the warmth between them and the hollow whirring of fans coming from every corner of the trailer filling his head with charged noise, Dom's cheeks grow hot. He scratches his nose.

"Sleep for a bit," he says, motioning to the couch. "I'll get as much of the hiking scene as I can."

Billy visibly hesitates, then sifts a hand through his hair. "No more than two hours, yeah?"

Working through the most difficult shot of the week without Billy is a chore, but Dom manages it admirably. They might actually pull a scene out of it yet, he thinks, as he pats backs and shakes hands and laughs with the crew. He's been out in this field for well over three hours. Billy has remained properly absent.

He's still sleeping, in fact, when Dom enters the trailer. Good. Dom goes back and forth across the trailer rifling piles of junk, tossing whatever he needs to take home into a backpack.

On pass number four, an awakening Billy reaches out and swats his leg. "You're makin' me seasick, walking round like that. C'mere."

"Morning."

"Afternoon," Billy replies.

"Evening, actually," Dom corrects.

"Shit."

"You needed it, remember?" He sits on the very edge of the couch. "Anyway, I think I've got enough for the hiking scene; that is, if we inter-cut some things. It'll look good."

Billy sits up, groaning. Several dull pops announce the resistance of his spine. "Fucking cheap couch."

"Matt donated it."

"Oh, bless." Billy twists, sitting on the edge of the cushions.

Dom slings his arms around Billy's neck and somehow wedges them into a back-to-front hug. "You've got to admit this is fun. The unstressed moments, that is."

"Sure, sure," Billy says, leaning bonelessly into the embrace. Relaxed, he seems to have no problem wiggling closer. "I suppose the fact that we're actually doing this at all is sort of fantastic."

Dom's face squashes up against the back of Billy's head, just behind his ear. "Mmph."

It feels much better than it should.

Bollocks.

"Dom?"

Shit.

"Yeah?"

"Your knee is crushing my spine."

Dom's muffled laugh vibrates against Billy's hair. "Right."

Professional routine brings out the best in them both. And doing this together—enacting the Dom and Billy Show in this medium—could be considered the ultimate expression of what they are capable of when they join forces. Dom knows now that this is what had been missing all along. Why had they drifted in the first place? Lost and Glasgow, break-up woes, struggles for validation among peers, the drive to find that next Big Thing—it all seems so tangential now.

On one particular Friday evening several weeks into the project, they head for the water directly from the set to surf and eat lobster at a ramshackle seafood place no bigger than Dom's kitchen. After dinner they take a couple of beers back out onto the beach. Sunset in a warm climate over water can be incredibly soothing.

Sweaty bottles in hand, they find an open patch of sand and sit.

"It gets quieter and louder almost at the same time," Billy observes.

Odd thing to say. Dom inspects the damp label that slips and slides around the shaft of his beer bottle. "How's that?"

"The night crowd floods in. The day crowd leaves. You've got really condensed packs of tourists looking for nighttime distraction, not entirely sure where they're going, some drunk already, and so the spaces that crop up between groups can get really quiet." Billy works his own bottle into the sand, letting its mouth lean against Dom's with a clink.

Dom finds himself gazing sideways, distracted by the way dying light throws Billy's profile into sharp relief. An unmistakable facial cut it is, light or no, he thinks, glancing away only to look again. Fucking gorgeous. Connected to so many memories.

How many times has he looked left or right to watch light rising or falling on Billy's face? Locations in the dozens and at every minute of every hour of every possible day; he has been blessed to see nature and time play out their grandeur across Billy's boyish mouth and bright eyes; a reflection of his own spirit, in so many ways.

"You're looking a bit grim," Billy says.

"Thinking." Dom drains the bottle and then unfolds his legs, inadvertently bringing them closer. It's been almost seven years since Rings. He doesn't say it aloud because neither of them bothers to get nostalgic over the movie anymore. It's been over for a long time; if they're going to be big girls' blouses over anything it'll be New Zealand itself.

"Are we going for another round, or...?"

"The proper question, my dear Dominic, would be, are you going for another round?"

They stand, brushing off, and make for the boardwalk. Dom laughs. "Naturally." He sidesteps a wayward toddler fleeing his parents. "We could get completely smashed."

"Did that last weekend, didn't we?" Billy is forced to weave suddenly around said parents, who are in hot pursuit.

"Too true." Dom fishes for his car keys, flip-flops scraping loudly across the gravelly parking lot. "My place, then?"

"I recall that we had lives, once upon a time," Billy sighs grandly, falling into the passenger seat.

The pet shop sequence is a lot of fun to shoot, mostly because of how excited the owners are about their humble establishment being captured on film. Naturally, Dom enjoys it just as much in his own way, spending every spare second between takes playing with lizards and snakes and brilliantly colored birds. Billy has to pull him away on more than one occasion. It's a good thing that he does—beyond wasting precious time Dom has probably been plotting the dramatic release of the whole exotic pets' section.

At the end of the day (and after several aborted attempts on Dom's part to buy the whole of the exotic pets' section) they go out as a group to eat and chat about the schedule for the rest of the shoot.

They've got almost everything they need from Florida, but haven't yet decided about a possible relocation to achieve even more. There is only so much money to go around, after all, so it's important that they choose wisely. No decision is made by the end of the evening, naturally, but Billy suggests they review what they've got in chronological order, leaving room for a bit of fat to be cut, and then judge the situation. There's no disagreement there, so the group breaks up.

Billy and Dom go back to Dom's place, sort everything, shower, and then settle in to watch the day's footage. Predictably, everything looks spot on. They won't have to go back to the pet shop to reshoot anything.

Both are near dozing by the time the tape runs through.

Billy nudges Dom. "Up you get. Switch off the kitchen light on your way?"

While doing so, Dom spots something odd on the counter. It's a familiar sight in an unexpected location—a plastic pet store cage. He leans against the cupboard, crouching a bit to watch a very brilliantly black-and-red striped tarantula crawl about.

"Bill, why is there a Mexican fireleg in my kitchen?"

"I saw the look in your eye and I knew," Billy says, grinning, from the doorway. "Who am I to stand in the way of young love?"

"You nutter," Dom laughs. "Lord, look at her. That is the most beautiful shade of red I've ever seen."

Still smiling, Billy rests his head against the doorframe. "Just make sure that cage stays between her and I, yeah?"

Dom grins cheekily, scoops up the cage, and rushes over. "Oh, Bill, hold her! She cries out for your affection, she's twitching for your love; oh, look at the wee lass pine."

Letting out a very undignified noise, Billy gives chase down the nearest hall and into the guestroom he's called his own for the duration of the shoot. Somehow, Dom sets the cage safely aside just before rugby tackling Billy into the bed. There is a great deal of punching and pinching and then, in a smooth one-two motion, Billy flips Dom onto his stomach and pins his arms.

"Thought you might've forgotten all that fancy flipping," Dom pants, laughing. When he can breathe properly, he adds, "Thanks, by the way. For the—"

"My pleasure," Billy replies, slipping off of Dom's thighs.

Dom sits up, looking disheveled and tired and content. Billy watches him, waiting. The moment passes and he slides to the edge of the bed, still smiling. They sit in silence.

"Sleep would be appropriate," he finally murmurs, standing and picking up tarantula's cage.

Billy rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah."

Dom drops the cage off in his room and then slips wordlessly into the bathroom. He instantly draws up a mental list of the things he'll need for the critter; a properly sized aquarium with the right amount of bedding for burrowing, and...

Groaning, he digs the heels of his palms into his eyes and tries to ignore the distracting warmth already flooding back at the mere thought of Billy's weight on top of him.

We're grown men, he thinks. Not boys romping about a bedroom playing kiss-chase. Then again, there's nothing childish about the hard-on tenting his pajama bottoms.

He shucks his t-shirt and brushes his teeth, dallying long enough to physically calm down before rushing into the hall, intent upon getting into bed and falling asleep as quickly as possible. Naturally, his first step out of the bathroom runs him smack into Billy.

"Shit," Billy exclaims, bracing a hand around Dom's side. "Where's the fire?"

"The tarantula and I, we mustn't be parted. You understand."

Billy laughs and steps back. "I just have to piss."

"See you in the morning."

Dom is allowing the tarantula to walk up and down his naked chest, in fact, when Billy pokes a head into his room the next morning. His long fingers follow the arachnid, guiding it back up each time it crawls just out of reach. The combined motion of those fingertips and the tarantula's lazy crawl is hypnotic.

Dom's stomach muscles quiver with suppressed excitement and content. He looks up now even though he had noticed Billy from the off, and smiles widely. "It is love, Bill. You're a regular interspecies matchmaker."

The tarantula taps its slender, pointed legs along the faint strip of hair that disappears into Dom's boxers.

Billy goes to put water on for tea.

The final days of shooting go by like a blur. Despite Dom's desire to relocate and keep on, a review of footage has shown that there is no need. They have everything necessary for the cutting of a rough copy of the film.

Then comes the massive wrap party. It goes on for nearly three days, reducing Dom's place to a condition that might warrant a visit from the Board of Health.

Two days after that and still recovering, Dom and Billy are in a borrowed editing studio, beginning to cut the film. After a few hours, convinced of their ability to handle the stuff on their own, the friend who had been showing them their way around the equipment tosses them the keys and tells them to lock up when they're through.

It's exciting to see random, choppy scenes come together into the story that they had written together. It's comedy and it's a bit slapstick, but it's also got a lot of heart. Neither expects much from their first mutual endeavor, in any case. But it's theirs.

Toward the end of the evening Dom naps on a small couch opposite the desks. Billy, eyes hurting, gives up not long after, slumping onto the floor in front on the couch. He leans back, allowing the warmth of Dom's torso to bleed through to his scalp.

Dom wakes not long after, squinting against the sharp light sources that are the many screens around the room. Billy is snoring loudly, mouth dropped open. Dom laughs silently, dropping his head back to the cushions. I lead a blessed life, indeed, he thinks, allowing his fingertips to pet Billy's hair.

Billy snorts and snuffles and comes awake, mumbling, "'M'not a puppy, Monaghan."

"No," Dom replies. "You snore too loudly to be a puppy."

"Nonsense. I don't snore." Billy pretends a fuss of getting up and then flops down onto the couch, forcing Dom to shove over. He doesn't go still until they're squashed together on the couch's limited space. His breath puffs hot against Dom's face. "Better."

Right.

"So, you figure, if you buy a copy. And I buy a copy. That's like two copies. Which will pay for absolutely nothing. But. That will still be two copies," Billy rambles sleepily.

"We could always autograph them and then charge ourselves extra," Dom offers.

"Brilliant. 'S'why I hired you. Your quick mind."

"I thought it was my fantastic arse."

"Well, that didn't hurt your case."

Dom can't make out much of Billy's face in the dim light, but he doesn't have to. He's already tilting his head, already letting Billy's breath between his lips.

This is the beginning of the end of this project. This is Billy Going Back to Glasgow Soon.

"Bill," he whispers, "Let's celebrate."

"Drank too much already," Billy whispers. He hasn't budged. He isn't running away or kicking shins, but has he spotted that dangerous glint in Dom's eye?

"Better idea." Dom sinks forward and, on the reinforcement of a single breath, kisses him.

"Dom—" Billy inhales and tenses at the same time.

Twitching with panic, Dom does it again. And again and again, exhaling into Billy's mouth. Billy may be half-asleep but his interest couldn't be any more obvious; it takes all the muscles in his limbs and draws them so tight that Dom can feel it; can feel his willingness, his lack of inhibition.

Dom goes on feeling it, not allowing questions or worries to come to mind. He soaks it up like sunlight, like saltwater, like balmy air. When Billy's hand slides around his waist, he nearly goes limp with relief. Hiding his surprise, he slides his tongue into Billy's mouth. They drop their jaws and deepen the kiss, back and forth with faces wobbling until both are breathing heavily and rubbing into one another.

Hands slide up and down Dom's back, then his cup ass and dig into his shoulder. Dom doesn't slow or speak, not even when Billy rolls on top of him and begins kissing his neck. His light, button-down shirt is pushed open and off his arms. Soft thunks of shoes and whispery swishes of clothing being shifted aside sound as loud as shouts in this confined space.

Billy's delicate profile disappears into the crook of his neck; a stinging follows the quick bite that inevitably comes; and then a brief, painful suction lifts Dom's pelvis off the couch. He whimpers sharply, tilting his head back, chin to the ceiling. The flat of Billy's tongue passes over the spot, leaving chilly dampness behind.

When Billy's hips slide between his thighs he brings his knees up purposefully, trapping Billy there, letting stifled body heat burn through whatever thin clothing remains. His right hand closes around hip, pulling. Billy thrusts hard, once and then again; a motion that makes Dom want the act it mimics.

Billy slides down Dom's body. He himself is dark and light against the mixture of blue, white, and yellow hues coming from the monitors. Dom stares and then threads his fingers through Billy's hair, swallowing a moan when his shorts are tugged down. His cock twitches against Billy's collarbone, eager and ridged. A sharp nip comes against his pelvis, and yet another at the top of his thigh; both traced devoutly by tongue before being brought up between Billy's lips.

By the time Billy licks a stripe down the shaft of his cock, he's sweating and squirming. Billy takes him in hand and gives a quick, wet lick-kiss to his balls before tucking the head of Dom's cock into his cheek and sucking, hard. Dom's thighs spread wider, the cotton of his shorts strangling his knees. He ignores it, preferring instead to watch Billy suck him confidently. The hand around his cock begins to move.

But it's when Billy finds a slower rhythm that Dom feels himself start to lose it. The slow pass of tongue, the glimmer of saliva coating the shaft of his cock, the way Billy dips down to play with his balls and rub the skin just behind them; slow, calculated, like hitting a target each time. And fuck, the noise, that hollow wet smack and slurp coming in time with sucks and darts of tongue... Billy is lost, rapt and focused and obviously enjoying every second of it.

His pursed lips suckle the length of the underside of Dom's cock, then curl up and around, swallowing the shaft in one smooth dip.

"Fuck." Dom trembles, thrusting against Billy's mouth.

Billy's fist closes in a smooth stroke—base to tip and back again—over and over until Dom is begging silently for that little sideways twist at the end, that delicious motion that sends his foreskin rubbing around the head of his cock. Thinking of it is almost as powerful as feeling it; his thighs begin to twitch and his balls tighten.

He comes with a high-pitched exclamation, spurting thin over Billy's tugging fist.

Before he can even catch his breath Billy is kissing him; his hands fall to Billy's hips, pushing cloth down and away. He fumbles for Billy's cock around the cotton, squeezing it and then getting it free. He angles his wrist differently, arranging his fingers around the hot thickness of Billy's cock.

"Come on, then," Dom rasps, on fire with the ragged pounding of his own heart. He digs his nails into the tight flesh of Billy's ass, encouraging a downward motion.

Billy groans, closing his eyes. His face is washed with red and dotted with sweat, nothing more than a quivering shadow hovering above Dom's damp face.

Dom's fingers slip to the right, finding the cleavage of Billy's ass slightly damp and fuzzy with hair. When Billy jerks forward and thrusts and whimpers his name he continues, working cock in one hand and letting his fingertips circle the puckered hole between Billy's cheeks with the other.

Fucking beautiful—he watches Billy's face tense and shiver and broadcast every single wave of sensation that goes through him. Dom lets the tip of one finger penetrate and then goes still, pumping his fist rhythmically around Billy.

"Oh, my god-d," Billy moans. Three words, so simple, stuttered, full of breath and something else that borders on begging.

Dom wishes he could see this from behind; wishes he could see his finger bent up and pushing slowly into Billy's body. Wishes he could see Billy's awful tropical-patterned shorts shoved down around Billy's thighs, useless. Wishes he could replace that finger with his cock. He gets his middle finger buried halfway, but that's as far as he can go; there's just too much movement and too poor an angle and not enough moisture.

Billy dribbles cracked whines and mewls like a man possessed, thrusting backward into the penetration and then forward into Dom's fist. Dom steels his wrist, which is beginning to tighten uncomfortably.

"Yeah," he breathes, redoubling the pressure behind his wrists. "Coming, aren't you, yeah. Come on me. Come on me."

Billy's jaw drops. A single, breathy groan falls; he bunches low just before tensing upward and forward again, making the couch squeak in protest, shooting hard across Dom's chest. He spills again and again, as far as Dom's collarbone. "Fuck. Fuck!"

Dom keeps on, rubbing the softened top of Billy's cock into the mess of white on his own belly. When Billy flinches, he slides his fingers off the sensitive shaft, gently playing with Billy's balls instead.

They've made quite a mess. Billy is dead weight—tight muscle and damp skin—squashing sticky moisture between them as he lies on top of Dom. But Dom can't stop his hands from passing over Billy's back and hips, can't help wanting to keep him there. They kiss and then stop just short of pulling away, damp mouths hanging loosely puzzle-pieced.

"Get the, ehm, the," Dom says, motioning, and Billy fumbles to get Dom's shirt out from under them. They use it to clean up. Drier, then, Billy relaxes against Dom's chest, breathing hard.

"Is that our featurette, then?" Dom says. "Behind the scenes. Making of. Inside look at—"

Billy smirks, kissing him soundly. "Shut your gob, silence your mobile, and enjoy the bloody show."

They've still got half a movie to cut, after all.