Tongue In Cheek.

There was going to be a reunion of the cast and crew, a party, so to speak. In New Zealand where all of them had fallen in love with the country and some had bought houses. Billy was pulling clothes out of his closet, trying to find the right outfits to pack.

“Should I pack my kilt?” he called, holding up the thing in question.

“Why not? I think you look sexy in it.”

Rolling his eyes Billy smiled. “It’s just a kilt.”

“It’s a skirt, no matter what name you Scots insist on calling it by, and it shows off those lovely legs of yours. Besides, I happen to know when you wear it you wear nothing underneath,” Dominic’s grin was pure leer, his eyes glowing.

“Is it all about sex to you?” Billy enquired, packing the kilt nonetheless. He did love to wear it. It wasn’t a fashion statement; it was tradition from his homeland. Everywhere you looked in Scotland you saw men wearing kilts. At one time, long ago, the British regency who had occupied Scotland had outlawed kilts and bagpipes. So Scotsmen had worn the kilts and played the pipes in secret, risking their lives to uphold their traditions. Centuries later they were not going to give up their right to pipes and kilts, not after winning that right back.

“What else is there?” Dom asked, tilting his head slightly in confusion.

“There is more, you know.” Billy’s accent grew thicker with his emotions. He cared for Dom, which was apparent by the way they were inseparable, but sometimes the Brit was just a little insensitive.

“Whatever.”

“I bet you couldn’t go a whole evening without making some kind of mention of sex.” There was a snort of dismissal at this so Billnt ont on. “It’s true. You couldn’t, you know. Not in any way, shape, or form. No jokes, no comments, no little movements… You couldn’t.”

“I bet you I could so go without,” Dom shot back. “It’s easy. It’s only sex.”

Disbelief had Billy’s mouth pursing, his head bobbing in a nod that was not agreement. “I don’t think so.”

“Try me,” dared Dom.

“All right.” Billy faced him squarely. “The reunion, in New Zealand.”

“Wager? The usual?” Dom’s chin had risen in stubbornness, his eyes lit up with the challenge.

“No. Instead of fifteen minutes let’s make it one whole hour.”

Eyes widening slightly Dom considered it, rubbing at his chin thoughtfully. “You have yourself a bet.” He stuck out his hand.

Billy shook the hand. “Better get it all out of your system now because in two days you, Mr. Potty Mouth, will have to be as good as a saint.”

“Wear the kilt now, Iget get it all out of my system,” leered Dom, his eyes falling to the Scotsman’s legs and groin area, and his tongue sweeping hungrily over his lips.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~


Dominic couldn’t believe how much sex played a part of life. No mention of it in any way, shape or form. It wasn’t as easy as he’d bragged it would be. All around him cast and crew eventually made some kind of joke or comment that had innuendoes or was very blatantly sexual. Billy was laughing and having a grand ole time, and here he was, constantly biting his lip, tongue in cheek, to prevent himself from losing that bloody bet. He never should have been cocky enough to think he could win it.

Sir Ian nudged Billy, nodding towards where a glum Dom was nursing a new drink. “What’s wrong with Dominic?”

“I’d gather he’s rather put out, actually.” At several curious glances he nodded. “We made a bet. I said he couldn’t go a whole evening without any mention of sex. Not in any way, shape or form. Not even motions. He said he could.”

“We’re talking about Dominic Monaghan here,” interrupted Sean Bean. “The one voted most likely to jump in both feet first with family jewels bared to the world?”

“The same,” nodded the Scotsman, who had in fact worn his kilt. Just another little dig to make things more difficult on his British lover who always begged him to wear the thing.

“What was the wager?” Craig Parker looked different with his natural dark hair.

“One hour.” Confused frowns met those words so Billy grinned. “We never wager money. We wager minutes. That is to say, minutes of oral sex performed by the loser onto the winner whenever the winner commands.”

Sir Ian whooped with laughter. “Bloody well perfect! Will have to remember that one.”

Flushing a little Billy shrugged. “When I get rather angry with Dom I threaten to take all my minutes at once.”

Curiosity got the better of Viggo who had stood by silently until now. “How many minutes does he owe you?”

“Roughly I’d say about 1 392 minutes. I owe him 1 087. No wait, 1 000 even. He cashed in one night when he was rather put out with me.”

Sean snapped his jaw shut, his eyes wide. “And have you cashed in at all?”

“Not yet. I’m hoarding,” smirked the Scotsman. “So anyway, he doesn’t look very happy, does he? I believe he’s finally learning that it’s not as easy as he thinks.”

“It’s all about sex, after all,” nodded the rather amused Sir Ian. “I don’t envy Dominic. One of these days you will command those minutes out of him in anger, and the boy will never again be able to shut his mouth.”

That brought about a round of guffaws. Billy didn’t want to admit it, but a tiny part of him, the part that cared so much for Dom, felt sorry for the man. Just a tiny part.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~


“I’m very impressed,” Billy told Dom who unlocked their hotel room door and let him precede him inside. “You won fair and square.”

“It wasn’t easy,” the Brit admitted while shutting the door. “I nearly lost it a few times. Sir Ian and Viggo were the worst. They’d come over to chat, and suddenly V wou would say something like, ‘did you manage to find that guy you had a meaningful one night with during filming? The one who was supposedly so bloody talented at rimming?’ Then it would be all sex, and… I think I chewed the whole inside of my mouth off.”

“Good thing I didn’t win the bet then, or else you wouldn’t be able to perform oral sex on me.” Billy pulled his shirt out of his kilt and began to unbutton it. “Not that you could now anyway.”

Dom watched him for a moment, admiring the skin of his stomach his lover exposed as he tugged his shirt up. Then he had it undone and tossed onto a chair. He knew Billy was teasing him when he next removed shoes and socks. The kilt remained, and Dom had to admit he was bloody well pleased by that fact.

Billy didn’t move when two hands slid around his waist to lie flat against his belly. A body pressed to his back, and he resisted leaning back into the younger man. He didn’t want to appear too eager. He was, but didn’t want to appear it. “It’s getting pretty late, and…”

“Oh no, you don’t,” Dom interrupted, nipping a bare shoulder with just enough sharpness to make his best friend and lover hiss in a breath. “You owe me 60 minutes.”

“You’re not going to cash in on it all at once, are you? Remember last time? I was so sore I couldn’t go down on you for weeks.” Billy certainly didn’t want a repeat of that episode.

“I haven’t forgotten, and no I wasn’t planning on cashing in on it all at once.” The Brit slid his hands down the kilt, caught at the hem, and began to slowly slide it upwards. His eyes eagerly lowered to see bared male anatomy, but blinked when he saw briefs. “What the bloody hell are those?”

“Briefs,” the Scots replied, biting his lip to keep an amused grin at bay.

Dom moved around the other man, still holding the kilt up, and glowering at the offending underwear. “Since when do you wear skivvies under kil kilt?”

“Since it’s winter here in New Zealand, and cold out. Don’t want the family jewels to shrink to almost nothing. I hear frostbite on your penis is rather painful.”

Dom dropped the kilt, his hands going to his hips. “I’ve been fucking fantasizing all night about what’s under that kilt, unable to say or do anything about it until now, and when I finally get to flip the skirt up I get briefs?”

“It’s cold out,” Billy replied, eyes wide in mock innocence.

“I’d keep it warm,” Dom told him.

“You couldn’t. The bet,” reminded the Scots.

Dom sighed heavily. “I’m going into the bathroom for a moment. When I come out I expect those offending things off you.”

“Well… Aren’t we demanding?” Billy snorted. His chin rose in defiance. “I’m not in the mood.”

Jaw fallen slack Dominic blinked.

Billy laughed, grabbed his lover, and drew him close to kiss his parted lips. “Why don’t you reach up my kilt and push those offending things off me?” he purred low.

A light sprung up in the Brit’s eyes, and the corners of his lips curled upwards. “How ‘bout I give you some of your minutes tonight?”

“I’m hoarding,” Billy primly replied, lashes batting. “Someday you’ll really piss me off, and though I know it would probably kill us both I’d cash in on all of them at once.”

“But… it’s like thousands!”

“Not that much.” Billy swayed his hips to remind his British lover what both of them wanted. “I’m still wearing briefs.”

“Tease,” Dom grinned.

Billy shivered to feel hot hands slide up his thighs, nearly brush over his erection, and catch at the waist of the briefs. Torturously slow were they pulled down, making his eyes darken and grow heavy lidded. “I wore it for you,” he whispered, his breath catching to feel those hot hands skim over his erection now.

“I know. Very ungentlemanly of you to torture me that way so I’d lose the bet.” Dom felt the pearl of wetness at the tip of the erection, and he used one gentle fingertip to spread it around the head. “Very, very ungentlemanly of you.”

Mouth slack in pleasure the Scots clung to the other man’s shoulders. “Who said I was ever a gentleman?”

“That’s what I like about you, Billy. Your willingness to get down and dirty.”

“I think we should get down before I fall down,” Billy stated, knees weak as burning fingers curled beneath his pouch and one teased the puckered entrance of his rear.

“I think we’re doing much too much talking, and not enough dirtying.”

“Won’t hear another word from me.”

“Mmmm….”

“Oh Christ!”

“You’re right, that’s two words.”