Pairing: All of the LOTR Cast at some stage or another
Rating: PG13-NC17
Warnings: Bad language, stereotypes, bad jokes etc. Angst in this one, so handkies ready
Author's Notes: A daytime soap opera mission/quest/thing. Being the day-to-day story of ordinary movie star folk in their run-of-the-mill luxury men only complex in LA. "Hamlet: The Musical" does not exist as far as I know.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. No profit is made nor offence intended.

Episode Four
The One Where Elijah Asks A Question

Scene: Billy's apartment.

"This is just terrible. Elijah did this?" Billy is staring at the mound of dirt on his brand new, white shag pile carpet. Dominic has his arm protectively around Billy's shoulder, squeezing gently. He wonders if he should get him a stiff drink for the shock, or a sweet tea.

"Poor Elijah. My poor carpet!" Billy is devastated. He will have to dip into his penny jar for the cleaning bill.

Dominic is torn between wanting to comfort (and then shag) Billy and wanting to stare at his hair.

"It'll be alright, Billy, it will. Elijah had to find out sooner or later. You can't stay with someone just because you are afraid they will get hurt. We are meant to be together, Billy. You know that."

The Scot sighs and slips his arm around Dominic's waist.

"Mmm, you smell nice. Have you had a gratuitous shower today?" he asks, sniffing. Dominic grins.

"Mmm, I have. I was in the shower when Elijah rang. I had just started playing with myself, too."

"Mmm, how about letting *me* play with you, instead? In my shower? Seeing as Elijah knows anyway..."

"Mmm, why not? Have you got fluffy towels? And soap on a rope?" Dominic asks, already unbuttoning his ruffled pink shirt, his precious reminder of Hartford (that and a very sore bot).

Billy looks into those eyes that he loves, those grey, tempestuous eyes, eyes that are like a storm tossed ocean, and yields to a deep and riveting kiss. His hand cups the globes of Dominic's beautiful, concrete hard bottom but – just for a second – he realises he will never, *ever*, be cupping Elijah again.

Oh.

Scene: Ian's apartment – 7.30pm.

Sean Astin has got past Gustav on the gate. He had to flash his ID at him, his sworn affidavit that he is, in fact, a male. Gustav is good, damned good; he has been known to do a full body search before allowing admittance and that is not in his job description, so he must be dedicated.

Ian greets his guests warmly. He is wearing a billowing white silk kimono and clogs. Viggo was the first to arrive and they embraced in a platonic, intellectual kind of way. Then Elijah, in sombre Armani. Ian was about to ask where Billy was but the look on Elijah's beautiful face told him to leave it alone for now.

With caramel-eyed Sean's arrival, the party is almost complete. They all stand around, sipping cocktails and eating pickled onions on sticks, surreptitiously looking at their watches. Eight o'clock is signalled by Ian's antique cuckoo clock and then there is a rap at the door.

Orlando makes his entrance; in the Elf walks, or stalks, all feline grace and smouldering eyes like chocolate drops left too close to a roaring fire. He drops a predatory kiss on Elijah's forehead and a jittery squeeze to Viggo's manly shoulder. For not the first time, Ian wonders where Orlando shops for clothes, as have we all. The striped, ruffled silk shirt in cerise tops off the lavender polka dot bell bottom trousers, slung low on sinuous hips. But Orlando is so gorgeously divine that he can carry the outfit off with aplomb.

Now Ian is bustling about, being the perfect host.

"Hi all. Mmm, do I smell stewed mutton? My favourite, you old queen!" chirps Orlando, a broad grin on his sweet face. Orlando seems to have forgotten, in his excitement that he is a vegetarian. Perhaps he will remember later.

"It is!" Ian beams, handing Orlando a glass. "Viggo, more vodka?"

"Yes, please," Viggo nods, his eyes narrowed to slits; he is trying to work out why Billy hasn't come to dinner and why his beloved Elijah looks like he has had all his action figures confiscated...

"I suppose your agent has been in touch about next week? The taping?" Viggo asks, sipping his vodka and watching as Elijah begins to gnaw on a digit. Oh, the sensuous slide of the finger into that hot, moist mouth, the furtive chewing action. The Dane thinks if the bendy boy doesn't stop soon he may just have to flip him over his knee and chastise him, thoroughly, in front of the guests…

Ian sighs. The taping. Of THAT show.

"Yes, she has. Oh well, it has to be done. It is for charity, after all. Even John is going to be there!"

Viggo wrinkles his nose, trying to discern what smell is emanating from the kitchen. "Is that-" he asks.

"Yes. It's stewed mutton. I wanted to cook American style but I couldn't find a waffle iron anywhere."

"Oh, yummy," says Viggo, bringing his considerable acting talent to bear.

He shuffles his feet and becomes very interested in a collection of Byron's poetry on the bookshelf. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Sean Astin and Elijah deep in conversation. Viggo has posted his poem but Elijah won't receive it until tomorrow. But there is no Billy and that's a good sign...

Ian serves his guests more drinks and savoury things on sticks. Viggo cannot take his eyes off of Elijah, who looks very sad and even more beautiful, in a wounded Bambi kind of way, than ever. And no Billy...

Orlando has a faraway look on his achingly lovely visage, his agile fingers tip tapping the stem of his wine glass as he munches a celery stick. The Dane is not the only one lovesick and forlorn.

Sean Astin, meanwhile, is holding forth about a play he has recently seen with his – shudder – wife, Christine; an actress friend of theirs is one of the leads. They all feign interest. "Yep. Brilliant. Witty and insightful. It's called "The Vagina Monologues". Smash hit play," says Sean. He would have preferred "Hamlet: The Musical" but Christine had been wearing her dominant head that evening.

Silence.

Sean looks around at a sea of blank faces. Elijah and Orlando look especially mystified.

"See, it's a play for and about women, very witty..." Sean wonders if they know what a "monologue" is.

Silence. Ian and Elijah and Orlando exchange glances. Orlando nudges Elijah, who puts his hand up, tentatively. Squirming, he asks, "Sean? What's a Vagina?"