Fic: Refracted Views (1/?)
Here it is at last, the first part of the AU that has taken over my brain. I've got part 2 ready to go, and many, many more parts writing themselves in my head. Hope you like it.
Title: Refracted Views (part 1 of ??)
Rating: NC-17, baby
Pairing: Billy Boyd/Miranda Otto
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, this is true only in my twisted little mind.
Summary: Set in the current day, our hero and heroine are not doing the jobs you normally associate them with. In part 1, Billy meets Miranda and they get along famously. Part 2 is here.
X-posted to fellow_shippers and actorau because I am a slut. With thanks to msilverstar for the beta.
*****
It's not easy being treated to hospitality. Flown to London first class, put up in a swanky hotel, then whisked to the gallery in a large car, congestion charge be damned, for a private view of an exhibition. An exhibition of your own art. With people wandering round and sipping champagne and not batting an eyelid at the four-figure prices.
Four-figure prices.
Billy really, really can't believe it, but no matter how many times he pinches himself he's still here, glass in hand, talking to Somebody Or Other about his influences, and trying not to laugh out loud.
He wanders over to a picture and tries to see it through fresh eyes, trying to see what it is that makes people want to hang it in their living rooms, offices, wherever. He's squinting at it from various angles, when a voice (female, Australian) says, "I don't care for it much, myself."
Billy turns, slowly, giving himself time to swallow his automatic defensive reaction and arrange a neutral expression on his face. He's used to criticism, but doesn't expect it to his face at an event like this. "Really?" He plasters on a smile. "What don't you like about it?"
"Oh, it's good, it's just not my thing at all," the woman says. She's impeccably groomed and expensively dressed, and Billy takes in her slender figure and beautiful legs with a quick sweep of his eyes. "But, you know, fair play to the artist, I wish I could do what he does."
The urge to say Why are you here if you don't like the pictures, is it just the free champagne? is strong. But then again, everyone is entitled to their opinion, even gorgeous Aussie birds. Especially gorgeous Aussie birds.
"Billy Boyd, nice to meet you," he says, holding out his hand and flashing her his best smile.
The woman's response more than makes up for the slight dent in Billy's pride. Her eyes widen and a look of horror crosses her face quickly followed by an intense and rather fetching blush. "Bloody hell," she says. "Why didn't you stop me? You are the artist, I take it, and not just someone who also happens to be Scottish have the same name as you, I'm not that lucky."
"Yeah, I'm the artist," Billy laughs. "And you're forgiven...."
"Miranda."
"Miranda." She looks relieved, Billy thinks. The canapés have run out and people are starting to drift towards the exits. "D'you want to go grab a drink?" he says, feeling a confidence that comes from being in a strange city, boosted no doubt by those four-figure price tags.
"Why not?" Miranda says, and grins.
They end up in a rather swanky bar not far from the gallery. Miranda orders a raspberry bellini, and after Billy's perused the cocktail menu and discovered they're upwards of ten quid a throw, he orders a sparkling mineral water. Besides, he wants to keep his wits about him for whatever might come later, he tells himself.
"Ah, champagne, my drug of choice," Miranda sighs, sipping her drink.
"Mine's Pot Noodle," Billy says, drawing a laugh from Miranda. She's truly lovely to look at: all peaches and cream, huge eyes and strawberry blonde hair tamed into a rather severe bun. For not the first time that evening, Billy imagines her naked. "So, you're Australian," he says, dragging his mind on to safer ground. "What the hell are you doing in this cold, smelly country?"
Miranda laughs again. "Been here for years," she says. "Got a temporary job here after uni, never intended to stay, then met someone and got married, you know how it is. Marriage is long gone, but I'm still here and doing pretty damn nicely, thank you. Why go back?"
"Why, indeed?" Billy asks, with a grin. "So what do you do?"
"Work in the City," Miranda says.
"Doing what?"
"In a bank, on the trading floor," she says, waving her hand dismissively.
"A stockbroker. Okay." Billy can't help feeling slightly intimidated. That would explain her champagne addiction. They probably pour Dom Perignon over each other when they get their bonuses. It leaves him temporarily unable to think of anything to say in response and so he swirls the ice around in his glass a little awkwardly.
"So how long have you been painting?" Miranda asks.
Saved. "Oh, for ever," Billy says. "But only seriously for three or four years. It's all down to my partner, else I'd still be a full-time teacher."
"Art teacher, I suppose. Living in your garret, surviving on Pot Noodles."
"Yeah, something like that." He's pretty sure he saw disappointment cross Miranda's face at the mention of his partner, and so decides to make his move, reaching across the table to run his fingertip over her knuckles, noting her empty ring finger. "D'you have anyone special at the moment?"
"Not at the moment," she says, a slow smile spreading over her face. She sips her drink. "But you do."
Billy turns her free hand palm up and dances the pads of his fingers over hers, feeling sparks of heat. "I do. But we encourage each other to enjoy other people now and again.
Leaning forward, Miranda says impishly, "So is this 'now and again'?"
"That," he says, taking her hand and stroking the back of it with his thumb, "would be up to you."
"Well, in that case..." Miranda murmurs, and closes the gap between them for a kiss.
It's a lovely kiss; Miranda tastes of champagne and raspberries from her drink and Billy can't help dipping his tongue into her mouth for more of a taste. He loves that first-kiss feeling: the shiver of electricity, the wondering what's going through the other person's mind. He doesn't have to wait long to find out, as the moment their lips part, Miranda murmurs, "So I think we should go back to your place. You can show me your etchings."
"I already know your opinion of my etchings," Billy grins.
"In that case, you'll have to find another way to entertain me." She stands and picks up her handbag.
"That," Billy says, darting around the table to help her on with her coat, "Won't be a problem."
Billy thanks his lucky stars that he's been put up in a rather nice hotel, as he's still feeling slightly intimidated by that whole stockbroker thing. Miranda, with her corporate clothes, hair and general air of owning the place fits right in. Except that the moment the door to his room closes behind them she wastes no time in shedding the image. Literally.
The first thing to come off is her shoes, and he's delighted to find that without them he and she are exactly the same height. They're kissing again, but this time it's urgent and demanding, and she's tugging her blouse out of her skirt and breaking off the kiss to undo it. Billy toes off his own shoes as he watches her undress, rubbing his rapidly hardening cock through his trousers, humming his approval as she drops her skirt and is standing there in bra, matching thong and hold-up stockings.
"No, leave the stockings on," he says, closing the gap between them. "Gorgeous," he murmurs against her mouth. "Fucking gorgeous."
"I'm glad you approve." They kiss again, her hands sliding over his arse and pressing his hips into hers; a slight shifting of her feet and their hips fit together perfectly, making them both moan. He reaches around to undo her bra, sliding it off her shoulders and catching his breath at the zing of arousal that shoots through him as her breasts are revealed. As he slides his hands up from her waist to cup her breasts, he becomes aware that she's undoing his shirt buttons and pushing the now-hampering item of clothing off him. Yanking it off, he pulls her to him and kisses her fiercely, moaning into her mouth at the feeling of her breasts pressing against his chest, his hard cock rubbing against her pubic bone.
"Trousers off," she mutters, tugging at his belt. "Wanna look at you." Billy's happy to oblige, dropping the most expensive pair of trews he's ever owned (bought specially for the trip) and kicking them away, hopping slightly as he pulls off his socks. Then comes Miranda's coup de grace as she pulls the clip out of her hair and shakes it loose down her back. Billy is undone and falls to his knees in front of her, wrapping his arms around her hips and pressing his face to the silk covering her pussy. His open-mouthed groan elicits an "Oh!" from above him and Miranda's hand on his head, pressing him against her.
Billy licks and mouths her pussy through the silk, slipping two fingers into the slippery heat underneath. He takes Miranda's monosyllabic utterances as his cue to continue, one hand kneading her arse and gradually working the thong down. His cock is hard and weeping, stabbing thin air and finding no relief but the gratification of the moans and gasps he's wringing out of Miranda. "Bed," he orders, as the thong slides over her hips and exposes her pussy.
Miranda wriggles out of her underwear, and suddenly she's in charge again, grabbing her handbag and pushing Billy down on to the bed. She straddles his hips, rummaging in her bag as he strokes her thighs, stocking to skin and back again. At last the bag is cast aside and she's got a condom packet in her hand, ripping it open and rolling it expertly on to him. "You've done that before, haven't you," he says with a gasping laugh.
"Once or twice," she says. Billy can't stop touching her, his eyes roving up and down her body from the vee of hair at the join of her thighs to the curve of her waist and those perfect tits. A slow smile is spreading over Miranda's face as she holds his cock in place and raises her hips. Instead of immediately lowering herself on to him, she rubs the head over her clit. "D'you like that?"
"Oh fuck, yeah," Billy moans helplessly, and then he's enveloped in slick velvet as she slowly sinks down on to his cock. Much as his eyes want to stay riveted to her pussy as his cock disappears inside her, it's almost too much. Instead he watches her face as she clearly relishes the pleasure of being filled: her lips, wet and gently parted; a glimpse of pink tongue; the slight crinkling of her forehead in concentration.
She settles herself on him, not giving him a chance to thrust but instead rolling her hips and running her hands over her body luxuriously. "God, I love cock," she murmurs, cupping a breast and rubbing her clit. There's nothing for Billy to do but put his hands behind his face and watch her use him as a masturbatory aid, an enormous grin practically splitting his face in two. "You're amazing," he laughs.
"Thank you," Miranda says, dropping forward on to her hands and leaning down for a kiss. Billy slides his palms down her back and over her arse as they kiss, rocking their hips together in a wonderful, gentle rhythm. Miranda breaks off the kiss, a hand either side of Billy's head, grinding wantonly against him. Her hair brushes his face, and he takes a handful and inhales.
"Fuck," she moans. "Fuck, getting close." Her hips pulse faster, breasts slapping against her body and Billy cups them, rolling them in his hands and pinching the nipples. "Oh god, yeah, god....!" Miranda screws up her face in concentration, clenching tight around him and pulling on the pillow either side of his head. With a last "Yes!" she comes, pressing a hand on her clit and Billy moans as her muscles massage his cock. She looks beautiful, mouth open and head thrown back in abandon, making desire surge through Billy. He rolls them over and starts pounding into her, even before she's come down to earth.
"Yeah, fuck me," Miranda murmurs, her arms and legs sliding around his body. Billy thrusts hard and fast, grunting with the effort; he can taste his orgasm and wants to come, now. Propped on his elbows he gazes down at her, pumping his hips single-mindedly. At last he's rewarded and comes with a long groan, never taking his eyes off Miranda's face until he can keep them open no longer. He thrusts slowly to draw it out, opening his eyes to find she's grinning up at him, making him laugh happily.
"Bloody hell," he says, panting and dropping his head on to her shoulder. "Unbelievable."
"Yeah," Miranda agrees. "Best I've had in a while."
Swelling with pride, Billy holds the condom as he pulls out of her, then yanks it off and drops it in the bin beside the bed. Miranda pulls him to her for a cuddle and he sighs contentedly.
"I hope your partner knows how lucky she is," Miranda says.
"Oh, don't worry, he does," Billy says. It's a bit unfair, the second surprise he's pulled on her that evening, but he can't resist.
"What?" She seems more confused than shocked.
"He. My partner's a he," Billy explains, propping himself up on one elbow and drawing a strand of Miranda's hair between his fingertips.
"Oh, I see." She frowns thoughtfully. "So you're..."
"Bisexual, yeah. It's really not that weird." He still can't seem to keep his hands off her, running his fingers down her arm and tracing the curve of a breast.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to imply..." Miranda smiles. "It's just unexpected, that's all. You're such..." her smile widens, "Such an expert with women."
"Thank you, you weren't bad yourself," Billy grins, and they both giggle.
"Shit, I'd better go," Miranda lets out a long sigh. "Work tomorrow."
"Keep in touch, yeah?" Billy says. He's not about to let this one slip through his fingers. The possibilities are intriguing, and he can't wait to discuss them with Dom.
"Oh god, definitely." She kisses his chest and sits up, crawling off the bed. Billy wonders briefly if she says that to all the boys, but she's rummaging in her handbag and pulls out her mobile. "Number, please!"
Billy laughs, and gives it to her. "My phone's in my trousers, put your number into it. I'm sure I'll be in London again before long, and I'm definitely going to give you a call." He's rewarded with a smile that seems genuine, and gives him a slightly smug feeling, if he's honest with himself, and starts to plan how he's going to tell Dom all about it.
Title: Refracted Views (part 1 of ??)
Rating: NC-17, baby
Pairing: Billy Boyd/Miranda Otto
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, this is true only in my twisted little mind.
Summary: Set in the current day, our hero and heroine are not doing the jobs you normally associate them with. In part 1, Billy meets Miranda and they get along famously. Part 2 is here.
X-posted to fellow_shippers and actorau because I am a slut. With thanks to msilverstar for the beta.
*****
It's not easy being treated to hospitality. Flown to London first class, put up in a swanky hotel, then whisked to the gallery in a large car, congestion charge be damned, for a private view of an exhibition. An exhibition of your own art. With people wandering round and sipping champagne and not batting an eyelid at the four-figure prices.
Four-figure prices.
Billy really, really can't believe it, but no matter how many times he pinches himself he's still here, glass in hand, talking to Somebody Or Other about his influences, and trying not to laugh out loud.
He wanders over to a picture and tries to see it through fresh eyes, trying to see what it is that makes people want to hang it in their living rooms, offices, wherever. He's squinting at it from various angles, when a voice (female, Australian) says, "I don't care for it much, myself."
Billy turns, slowly, giving himself time to swallow his automatic defensive reaction and arrange a neutral expression on his face. He's used to criticism, but doesn't expect it to his face at an event like this. "Really?" He plasters on a smile. "What don't you like about it?"
"Oh, it's good, it's just not my thing at all," the woman says. She's impeccably groomed and expensively dressed, and Billy takes in her slender figure and beautiful legs with a quick sweep of his eyes. "But, you know, fair play to the artist, I wish I could do what he does."
The urge to say Why are you here if you don't like the pictures, is it just the free champagne? is strong. But then again, everyone is entitled to their opinion, even gorgeous Aussie birds. Especially gorgeous Aussie birds.
"Billy Boyd, nice to meet you," he says, holding out his hand and flashing her his best smile.
The woman's response more than makes up for the slight dent in Billy's pride. Her eyes widen and a look of horror crosses her face quickly followed by an intense and rather fetching blush. "Bloody hell," she says. "Why didn't you stop me? You are the artist, I take it, and not just someone who also happens to be Scottish have the same name as you, I'm not that lucky."
"Yeah, I'm the artist," Billy laughs. "And you're forgiven...."
"Miranda."
"Miranda." She looks relieved, Billy thinks. The canapés have run out and people are starting to drift towards the exits. "D'you want to go grab a drink?" he says, feeling a confidence that comes from being in a strange city, boosted no doubt by those four-figure price tags.
"Why not?" Miranda says, and grins.
They end up in a rather swanky bar not far from the gallery. Miranda orders a raspberry bellini, and after Billy's perused the cocktail menu and discovered they're upwards of ten quid a throw, he orders a sparkling mineral water. Besides, he wants to keep his wits about him for whatever might come later, he tells himself.
"Ah, champagne, my drug of choice," Miranda sighs, sipping her drink.
"Mine's Pot Noodle," Billy says, drawing a laugh from Miranda. She's truly lovely to look at: all peaches and cream, huge eyes and strawberry blonde hair tamed into a rather severe bun. For not the first time that evening, Billy imagines her naked. "So, you're Australian," he says, dragging his mind on to safer ground. "What the hell are you doing in this cold, smelly country?"
Miranda laughs again. "Been here for years," she says. "Got a temporary job here after uni, never intended to stay, then met someone and got married, you know how it is. Marriage is long gone, but I'm still here and doing pretty damn nicely, thank you. Why go back?"
"Why, indeed?" Billy asks, with a grin. "So what do you do?"
"Work in the City," Miranda says.
"Doing what?"
"In a bank, on the trading floor," she says, waving her hand dismissively.
"A stockbroker. Okay." Billy can't help feeling slightly intimidated. That would explain her champagne addiction. They probably pour Dom Perignon over each other when they get their bonuses. It leaves him temporarily unable to think of anything to say in response and so he swirls the ice around in his glass a little awkwardly.
"So how long have you been painting?" Miranda asks.
Saved. "Oh, for ever," Billy says. "But only seriously for three or four years. It's all down to my partner, else I'd still be a full-time teacher."
"Art teacher, I suppose. Living in your garret, surviving on Pot Noodles."
"Yeah, something like that." He's pretty sure he saw disappointment cross Miranda's face at the mention of his partner, and so decides to make his move, reaching across the table to run his fingertip over her knuckles, noting her empty ring finger. "D'you have anyone special at the moment?"
"Not at the moment," she says, a slow smile spreading over her face. She sips her drink. "But you do."
Billy turns her free hand palm up and dances the pads of his fingers over hers, feeling sparks of heat. "I do. But we encourage each other to enjoy other people now and again.
Leaning forward, Miranda says impishly, "So is this 'now and again'?"
"That," he says, taking her hand and stroking the back of it with his thumb, "would be up to you."
"Well, in that case..." Miranda murmurs, and closes the gap between them for a kiss.
It's a lovely kiss; Miranda tastes of champagne and raspberries from her drink and Billy can't help dipping his tongue into her mouth for more of a taste. He loves that first-kiss feeling: the shiver of electricity, the wondering what's going through the other person's mind. He doesn't have to wait long to find out, as the moment their lips part, Miranda murmurs, "So I think we should go back to your place. You can show me your etchings."
"I already know your opinion of my etchings," Billy grins.
"In that case, you'll have to find another way to entertain me." She stands and picks up her handbag.
"That," Billy says, darting around the table to help her on with her coat, "Won't be a problem."
Billy thanks his lucky stars that he's been put up in a rather nice hotel, as he's still feeling slightly intimidated by that whole stockbroker thing. Miranda, with her corporate clothes, hair and general air of owning the place fits right in. Except that the moment the door to his room closes behind them she wastes no time in shedding the image. Literally.
The first thing to come off is her shoes, and he's delighted to find that without them he and she are exactly the same height. They're kissing again, but this time it's urgent and demanding, and she's tugging her blouse out of her skirt and breaking off the kiss to undo it. Billy toes off his own shoes as he watches her undress, rubbing his rapidly hardening cock through his trousers, humming his approval as she drops her skirt and is standing there in bra, matching thong and hold-up stockings.
"No, leave the stockings on," he says, closing the gap between them. "Gorgeous," he murmurs against her mouth. "Fucking gorgeous."
"I'm glad you approve." They kiss again, her hands sliding over his arse and pressing his hips into hers; a slight shifting of her feet and their hips fit together perfectly, making them both moan. He reaches around to undo her bra, sliding it off her shoulders and catching his breath at the zing of arousal that shoots through him as her breasts are revealed. As he slides his hands up from her waist to cup her breasts, he becomes aware that she's undoing his shirt buttons and pushing the now-hampering item of clothing off him. Yanking it off, he pulls her to him and kisses her fiercely, moaning into her mouth at the feeling of her breasts pressing against his chest, his hard cock rubbing against her pubic bone.
"Trousers off," she mutters, tugging at his belt. "Wanna look at you." Billy's happy to oblige, dropping the most expensive pair of trews he's ever owned (bought specially for the trip) and kicking them away, hopping slightly as he pulls off his socks. Then comes Miranda's coup de grace as she pulls the clip out of her hair and shakes it loose down her back. Billy is undone and falls to his knees in front of her, wrapping his arms around her hips and pressing his face to the silk covering her pussy. His open-mouthed groan elicits an "Oh!" from above him and Miranda's hand on his head, pressing him against her.
Billy licks and mouths her pussy through the silk, slipping two fingers into the slippery heat underneath. He takes Miranda's monosyllabic utterances as his cue to continue, one hand kneading her arse and gradually working the thong down. His cock is hard and weeping, stabbing thin air and finding no relief but the gratification of the moans and gasps he's wringing out of Miranda. "Bed," he orders, as the thong slides over her hips and exposes her pussy.
Miranda wriggles out of her underwear, and suddenly she's in charge again, grabbing her handbag and pushing Billy down on to the bed. She straddles his hips, rummaging in her bag as he strokes her thighs, stocking to skin and back again. At last the bag is cast aside and she's got a condom packet in her hand, ripping it open and rolling it expertly on to him. "You've done that before, haven't you," he says with a gasping laugh.
"Once or twice," she says. Billy can't stop touching her, his eyes roving up and down her body from the vee of hair at the join of her thighs to the curve of her waist and those perfect tits. A slow smile is spreading over Miranda's face as she holds his cock in place and raises her hips. Instead of immediately lowering herself on to him, she rubs the head over her clit. "D'you like that?"
"Oh fuck, yeah," Billy moans helplessly, and then he's enveloped in slick velvet as she slowly sinks down on to his cock. Much as his eyes want to stay riveted to her pussy as his cock disappears inside her, it's almost too much. Instead he watches her face as she clearly relishes the pleasure of being filled: her lips, wet and gently parted; a glimpse of pink tongue; the slight crinkling of her forehead in concentration.
She settles herself on him, not giving him a chance to thrust but instead rolling her hips and running her hands over her body luxuriously. "God, I love cock," she murmurs, cupping a breast and rubbing her clit. There's nothing for Billy to do but put his hands behind his face and watch her use him as a masturbatory aid, an enormous grin practically splitting his face in two. "You're amazing," he laughs.
"Thank you," Miranda says, dropping forward on to her hands and leaning down for a kiss. Billy slides his palms down her back and over her arse as they kiss, rocking their hips together in a wonderful, gentle rhythm. Miranda breaks off the kiss, a hand either side of Billy's head, grinding wantonly against him. Her hair brushes his face, and he takes a handful and inhales.
"Fuck," she moans. "Fuck, getting close." Her hips pulse faster, breasts slapping against her body and Billy cups them, rolling them in his hands and pinching the nipples. "Oh god, yeah, god....!" Miranda screws up her face in concentration, clenching tight around him and pulling on the pillow either side of his head. With a last "Yes!" she comes, pressing a hand on her clit and Billy moans as her muscles massage his cock. She looks beautiful, mouth open and head thrown back in abandon, making desire surge through Billy. He rolls them over and starts pounding into her, even before she's come down to earth.
"Yeah, fuck me," Miranda murmurs, her arms and legs sliding around his body. Billy thrusts hard and fast, grunting with the effort; he can taste his orgasm and wants to come, now. Propped on his elbows he gazes down at her, pumping his hips single-mindedly. At last he's rewarded and comes with a long groan, never taking his eyes off Miranda's face until he can keep them open no longer. He thrusts slowly to draw it out, opening his eyes to find she's grinning up at him, making him laugh happily.
"Bloody hell," he says, panting and dropping his head on to her shoulder. "Unbelievable."
"Yeah," Miranda agrees. "Best I've had in a while."
Swelling with pride, Billy holds the condom as he pulls out of her, then yanks it off and drops it in the bin beside the bed. Miranda pulls him to her for a cuddle and he sighs contentedly.
"I hope your partner knows how lucky she is," Miranda says.
"Oh, don't worry, he does," Billy says. It's a bit unfair, the second surprise he's pulled on her that evening, but he can't resist.
"What?" She seems more confused than shocked.
"He. My partner's a he," Billy explains, propping himself up on one elbow and drawing a strand of Miranda's hair between his fingertips.
"Oh, I see." She frowns thoughtfully. "So you're..."
"Bisexual, yeah. It's really not that weird." He still can't seem to keep his hands off her, running his fingers down her arm and tracing the curve of a breast.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to imply..." Miranda smiles. "It's just unexpected, that's all. You're such..." her smile widens, "Such an expert with women."
"Thank you, you weren't bad yourself," Billy grins, and they both giggle.
"Shit, I'd better go," Miranda lets out a long sigh. "Work tomorrow."
"Keep in touch, yeah?" Billy says. He's not about to let this one slip through his fingers. The possibilities are intriguing, and he can't wait to discuss them with Dom.
"Oh god, definitely." She kisses his chest and sits up, crawling off the bed. Billy wonders briefly if she says that to all the boys, but she's rummaging in her handbag and pulls out her mobile. "Number, please!"
Billy laughs, and gives it to her. "My phone's in my trousers, put your number into it. I'm sure I'll be in London again before long, and I'm definitely going to give you a call." He's rewarded with a smile that seems genuine, and gives him a slightly smug feeling, if he's honest with himself, and starts to plan how he's going to tell Dom all about it.