(Untitled)

[keira_nightly]

Later that morning.DBY is bustling with activity today, from the shoot in full-swing in studio B to the plumbers called in to fix the downstairs restroom. There's a few girls in wardrobe fiddling with wigs, and Johnny has been running back and forth from his office to the studio, stopping to make the girls giggle with compliments only Johnny can

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[billboyd]

Bill can see Keira just at the corner of his perception. She's at the far end of the hall, arms full of tape boxes, and he could pretend he doesn't see her, pretend he's utterly absorbed in his job or some bollocks like that, but there's a little smile on her face, and she's leaning back against the frame of the door to the editing room, and for a moment her eyes are closed and she's just...

She's just fucking glowing today.

He shakes his head a little, looks at her again, but she's still doing it, and he can't help but smile a little at it, and the idea of her glowing because of him sends warm, twisting signals to bits of his body that have no business being signalled at the moment, dammit.

She remembers herself after a moment, apparently, and straightens up and disappears into the editing room. Normally Mark would be in there, splicing and whatnot, but Bill happens to know, from his excellent front-desk vantage-point, that Mark left for lunch about ten minutes ago, and that room is now empty.

Except for Keira.

I'm not a

[keira_nightly]

The strategic spread of Mark's snack foods and cans of Pepsi around the monitors indicate a temporary halt of production in favour, she guess, of eating elsewhere. She stacks the 3/4 inch tapes on top of the half-dozen cases by Mark's Danger Mouse mousepad and plucks a chocolate from its opened box on top of last month's memos.

She pops it into her mouth as she rounds the desk, humming the last song to play in her car on the way here. She turns and walks backwards for a few steps, balling the wrapper and shooting it at the wastebasket at the other end of the room. Three-pointer! She cheers wordlessly, arms up and mouth sticking with fudge, and twirls around in time to walk into Bill, who's sporting what looks suspiciously like a full-fledged grin on his face. Certainly looks like it from this close up.

"HMM!" she exclaims then swallows and grins sheepishly, her arms (tiggling pleasantly) going around his neck. "Hello, you."

[billboyd]

He slides his hands around her waist and under the back of her pink shirt, smirking at her sheepish expression. "Impressive shot," he says, deadpan, and is rewarded immediately with a rosy flush on her cheeks. "Going to lose you to profession athletics, am I?"

She shoves playfully at his shoulder and opens her mouth to retort. He doesn't resist the impulse to stop her with his lips, and she tastes like chocolate, cooperative chocolate, even if she is snickering slightly into his mouth.

He gooses her, chuckles back at her indignant, if muffled, shrill of protest. "It's not nice to laugh at the bloke kissing you, quaen," he murmurs against her lips. Her hands are busy gripping one of his shoulders and the back of his neck. "You're liable to damage my fragile self-esteem. Kissing's serious business, you know."

She makes an indeterminate sound, really too muffled to make any sort of sense with his tongue in her mouth. Bill does the polite thing, and removes it. "Don't talk with your mouth full," he chides.

[keira_nightly]

She presses both palms to his cheeks and levels her gaze with him, mock-stern. "Wasn't planning on talking."

And because he's smart enough to expect it without talking back, she kisses him--hard--smiling, still, at the groan rumbling in his throat. She squirms closer, his hands fisted in her shirt, and bites at his chin not quite gently.

"Why hadn't we done this before? We're really behind. We have to shag every night for weeks now. At least."

[nic_stark]

There's a thread of nectarine stuck between Nic's teeth. He's been worrying at it with his tongue while writing his list, but it's not going anywhere. Could just pick it out with my fingernail, he thinks, but that would be like admitting defeat.

Agile tongue, yessiree.

He gets as far as he can with the mini-spreadsheet he's filling in, albeit a hand-scribbled spreadsheet on the back of his sales docket for--he looks--snowboarding goggles. Josh had said something about Canada. Best to be prepared.

Josh, Josh, Josh, Joshua-hard-to-get. Nic wants to add that to the list of categories later, too. Right now the serious thinking is going to be replaced by a little bit of gratuitous pilfering from the editing room.

Bloody nectarine.

He shoulders open the door and. Well. Hello.

Hello and nice. Nice fucking arse. Nice fucking arse, indeed. Or maybe, not quite fucking, but evidential enough

[billboyd]

Oh... oh shite, he thinks, and for long moments he's absolutely immobile. He can feel Keira breathing on the side of his face -- because his head is turned now, looking at Nic, why hadn't he fucking locked the door? -- and the heat of her still pressed around his fingers. One of her hands is curled around his cock, is not quite tugging, but Nic is standing there with a little smile curling at his lips, and surely he doesn't mean to just bloody stand there and watch, surely he isn't going to...

Nic takes a step inside and closes the door.

"Bugger," he mutters, and glances at Keira. Her lips are slick and parted, he can see the tip of her pink tongue nudging against her bottom lip.

"Bill," she breathes, throaty and deep, and her hand curls around him for an instant, tight and God, hot, and his hips jerk forward, beyond his control. She is fucking pulsing around his fingers, slickhot, excrutiating pressure, and her hips are in motion, tiny, rocking shivers.

Dammit, he thinks, and he can't stop himself from looking at Nic again

[keira_nightly]

The slide home is like a release in itself, its warmth and fullness like a new thing, again, in the wake of his fingers, slick and deft. The position affords them a tight fit and Bill's thrusts are harder than she'd anticipated; she's not able to still her body for each slam of his hips and that only makes it more arousing, the loss of control, the skid of her palm against the desk behind her, the white-knuckled grip on the back of his neck.

There's a certain tension in Bill's arms, in Bill's hand on her breast, in the way he kisses her, wet and messy, and it reminds Keira of Nic's presences. Bill's mouth slides to her jaw then her ear when she turns and peers at Nic, panting and clutching at Bill's shoulder one-handed.

She gives him a throw-away what the fuck, wanker? look, which he expectedly shrugs off, making himself more comfortable against the door frame. He's sporting a not entirely foreigh look of fascination mixed with arousal. Keira shows him two fingers, weakly, resting her forehead against Bill's shoulder for a beat

[nic_stark]

They're both too fucking gorgeous for Nic to leave.

And, oh god, the way he's fucking her is just too sweet, too hard, too familiar to tear himself away from. Nic knows that people want to treat Keira like a princess, like something precious. He did it himself for about two days, until she mooned him in the car park. She's perfect in her common captivation, so real it makes his teeth ache sometimes, and the noise she makes now, her mouth open and her arse skidding on the sek with Bill's thrusts, holy fuck, why hasn't he ever just watched her before?

Can't leave won't leave, he thinks. There's jealousy, but it's not of one or the other of them - and there's no fucking way he could not think about Bill now, not with an arse that perfect and determination that insistent, and oh christ, he can feel it from here, the way Bill kisses Keira, like Nic was there instead, it's so open and guileless.

It's envy then, envy that he's not part of them, whatever it is that they make together, and his hands are shaking, betrayingly, too fucking

[_johnny]

There's a page, there's a page, a piece of paper, and it's got notes on it, the sort of things you write down so that you don't have to remember them. And it's not in the studio and it's not in the house and it's not in the office and it's not anywhere, unless he's forgotten what it looks like, but he's pretty sure it was a piece of yellow legal paper, folded in half, and he'd written on it across the lines, sort've at an angle, and up in one corner there was a doodle of the blocking for the scene.

Johnny describes the paper to Astin, to everyone from one end of the hall to the other, and nobody's seen it and Johnny's scalp is starting to hurt from all the times that he's run his fingers into his hair and clenched his fist. Where where where where...?

Retrace your steps.

He goes back to the studio, and starts down the hall, backward. People move out of his way silently as lowers his head, he stuffs his hands into his pockets and takes step after step in reverse. ...the scene was really similar to the one we shot day before

[billboyd]

"Can I stay with you tonight?"

The question is out before he means to say it (though he'd been thinking it pretty much from the time he had woke this morning), and he doesn't even bother to regret it once it's out there. He'd have got around to asking sooner or later, anyhow, if she hadn't invited him first, and it's not like wanting to spend the night with a beautiful woman is all that surprising. He's got to sleep somewhere, anyway, and until he works something out for living arrangements, why not with her? Just why the hell not?

She smiles and rolls his eyes at him a little bit, like he's just asked the stupidest question ever (and maybe he has, but it still seems like asking is the polite thing to do), and for some reason it strikes him funny.

Like, really funny