Title: Monaboyd: The Musical (Act II)
Author: Serpentis lord_alexander
Pairing: Monaboyd and, well, weird stuff going down here.
Rating: This is a PG13. It'll get higher.
Summary: Billy isn't a usual Slayer but he's good at his job, even though short skirts and halternecks don't suit him. However, when everyone spontaneously starts to sing, things start getting even weirder. What is this musical sensation? Can Sean Bean sing? What has Elijah got to do with this? Who is the sexy demon? And, most specifically, will Billy be lured by the Darkness that is Hollywood?
Disclaimer: Not mine. Not mine. Not even mine in the Buffyverse.
Feedback: harmonises beautifully.
Author's Notes: All Singing and All Dancing, and we have both here. Marvellously choreographed and everything, how wonderful *grins* I said I'd link to the original songs, and here you are.
Actually, people have taken off the MP3's, so I'll have to link you to this until I find somewhere that has the songs as a website download, and not on Blubster or anything. You can download them off there, if you're really desperate. It's free, after all *grins* Original lyrics for the songs are here
Previous Chapters: Overture|Act I
Elijah was cute in the way that puppies and kittens and very small crocodiles were cute - looking adorable, he was still a right little bugger when it came down to things. Of course he didn't urinate on the carpet or chew the decor or even try and remove fingers through snappy grumpiness, but he was chaos in a small, neat, American package. Up and coming as an actor, he was almost like Billy's little brother, with that teenage angst coming through full even though he was old enough to know better. But then, as Craig put it, he was American. That, to the New Zealander, explained everything.
It even explained his crush on Dom, but then the vampire was attractive in that sort of dead Mancunian walking corpse way.
Elijah kept his perfect cuteness, the ubercute, the button-nosed blue eyed cuteness, for events that required squeeing. There were few of these, and it took rather a long time for him to build up to actual eeeeeekiness, but it was obvious as he burst through the door of the Magic Box that this was one of those times where his voice had risen two octaves and he was bouncing.
"Like you'll never guess what happened in RADA today!"
Everything was said in a squeaking enthusiasm when he wasn't being Angsty Brooding Actor Boy.
Billy turned a page in the book he'd been reading and didn't even look up. That was partially because he liked maintaining a sense of cool detachment, and partially because there were some fascinating 18th century woodcuts of naked dancing witches on the parchment before him. Male ones. With great big erections. He even prided himself on his nonchalant voice as he pretended to read the words next to the prancing warlocks but was really wondering if they were modelled on life or did the artist had a quiet expansive imagination.
"Everyone started singing and dancing and it wasn't even your musicals class."
"I gave birth to a pterodactyl."
Orlando, who was eating one of the never ending supply of doughnuts snorted sugar out of his nose and looked up with incredulous, worried eyes. He'd still not got the hang of sarcasm, still thought everything was true and literal. Humans were weird, after all, especially this short sulky one with the eyes that looked like he had a thyroid problem.
"Did it sing?"
A withering look from their resident over-grown brat.
"We sang about the impact of the method acting technique on the New York school of theatre during the 1960's. Like it was so weird rhyming 'Marlon Brando' with 'goes commando.'"
Thankfully, the ensuing Last Tango in Paris regression that was threatening like Marlon Brando's naked arse was deflected by a soft moan from David. Not that he had a kink for former beautiful men who'd turned into Shamu; it was brought to the attention of everyone that Craig's right arm was moving in what could be called a suspicious manner by the politer people present and wanking by those who weren't so elegant with their words. As the one that would have said that was the one actually involved in the mutual abuse of his boyfriend, Craig didn't get the opportunity to get his say in, especially as David had gone quite pink and was clashing with his hair in such a manner that in all reality the effect was more vomitty than cute.
"Um..." he managed, stuttering over even that. "Um. We've got things. At the house. Might work."
Elijah was sulking by the counter, slightly squicked that people could wank in a magical shop. After all, who would dare think of doing that. Semen had been used for powerful magicks for so long that getting the sticky stuff on anything could release hordes of hot, nubile, naked succubae with whips and leather knickers. Actually...but then there was a gleam in his peripheral and he saw that wedged between the counter and the wall, in the inch gap left there by cowboy builders, was a necklace.
Being a jackdaw, of course he was going to pinch it. Actually, that wasn't the case. Elijah quite liked sparkly things, he thought them aesthetically pleasing. However, it was more of his self-conscious wont of being the annoying teenager that urged him to think that he was going to nick it. After all, shoplifters tended to be teenage. It was an act of youthful rebellion, and he was damned well going to whip it.
While the others were almost forcibly ejecting Craig, who was grinning in that slightly annoying and superior way, and David, poor sod, who was dying of embarrassment, Elijah took the opportunity to carefully remove the glittering chain and pendant. It was silver and rather heavy, the thick belcher chain tarnished against his hand, though the pendant - topaz but of that colour that was called London blue, being greyer and deeper in colour - was not touched by the black coating that had tainted the necklace proper.
It was slipped in his pocket moments before he was being noticed again.
Greenwich Park in the summer should be green and fertile, with geese waddling fat along the Thames and laughing apple-cheeked children pushed in swings by doting nuclear families that wouldn't look out of place in The Waltons. Of course there was less gingham and apple pie, but there was that wholesome rather 50's goodness about those families. Mummy wore a summer frock, Daddy had dressed down in jeans. The kids didn't get grubby or try and eat worms. They had picnics, and looked at trees, and had splendid days out.
Of course, that was a load of bollocks.
Disaffected junkies on the swings, swigging White Lightning, were more usual. Geese avoided the place as even those hard bastards of the waterfowl world knew when it was time not to pick a fight with a nutter with a hypodermic and a hungry look on their face. In the day it was tolerable, and a little green, and provided you didn't look too close it was fine. They didn't usually come this far east, but they'd fancied a wander without going north of the river. However, after they'd been called fucking homos for the fourth time they'd escaped back to Surrey Docks via the tube and were wandering along the dock opposite the house, going towards Tesco for some much needed supplies. Craig got edgy without his mainlining baked goods abilities.
"It's not that bad a day," Craig commented as they hung over the railings to see if there were any fish fry darkening the water. "The sun is almost out, Elijah's not here, there's singing and shagging to be done, and..."
Two women, one small and busty, the other taller and American, stared at David's arse and started making pervy comments amongst themselves.
"Those girls were so staring at your arse."
David, bless him, looked confused, as if his attractive redhairedness hadn't dawned on him.
"Looking at me? Really?"
"Because you're sexy. Not as sexy as me, but you'll do."
"The girls thought I was sexy?" He cracked the most gorgeous, wide grin. "I want to go with the girls, I want to have threesomes, I want heterosexual sex! I'm cured!"
Craig poked out his tongue and slid a hand over that aforementioned beautiful bum. David was lovely, partially because he was incredibly looking in a sleepy, ginger way, but also because he had no idea of the fact that he was knicker-drenchingly hot. And Craig had drenched many sets of his own knickers, and other peoples' (that wasn't to be told to anyone because he'd be slaughtered for wearing underwear that wasn't his) because of that fact.
"Don't make me take them out. I'm so not butch, I'd bet my arse whipped. And...you don't know what they see, do they?"
On their own, Craig could be quite sweet sometimes. But then David could also, and in a far less calculating working up to getting laid way.
"I do. They see you."
Possibly not the angle that the girls were actually going for, but it was rather adorable of David to think that. And, of course, there was a cue, because this was the perfect time for some song to be sung. Something soppy, of course, right in the middle of Surrey Docks where David's ancestors were most probably shipped off to Australia for sheep worrying, or stealing a small amount of prophylactics, or something equally absurd. But in that moment, it felt right, and the tune was soft and the singing was surprisingly sweet even though it was coming from a six foot plus Aussie with a rather shy manner.
It was...strange, really. David had the oddest concept of being Australian, rather like the embarrassed American in Britain, something along those lines. It was either impressive perception or paranoia on his part.
The whole world used to hate me
For I was one of their fears -
Aussies are never welcome
I've learned over the years.
But you saw within
Something under my skin.
Symbolism was firing on all cylinders as David walked from the shadow cast by the awning of the Tesco's supermarket into the slightly less shadowed grey London afternoon. It was trying, this symbolism, just that the capital's natural weather - defaulted at between gloomy and overcast - wasn't helping matters. And people weren't staring, because this was natural and normal, like it was perfectly normal for a tall homosexual to be singing to the shorter one how much he was embarrassed and appalled by his country's socio-political associations and how his countrymen were considered abroad.
I am in your thrall,
I can be deadly,
An Antipodian - yes you see.
But you ignored it all,
Loved the real me
And let me live so freely.
The most deadly Antipodean was, of course, Steve Irwin, but then David quite liked him. He was a sparkly little sod, good with crocs, actually worked for something. He wasn't some Sydney sharpshooter with billions of dollars in cash and a need to shaft everything that he was working for. And Craig, bless him, didn't mention the Australian thing that often, knowing that David would have preferred to come from anywhere apart from his country of origin. He looked beyond that natural enemy state of New Zealand versus Australia and they'd...meshed. It was refreshing, and wonderful, and David loved him for taking a chance.
I see now all is changing;
When you are with me I feel
That I'm so loved and needed,
You make my world appeal.
And you are so strong,
I've loved you all along...
Possibly not. When they first met, David was convinced that Craig was a short, slightly camp, New Zealander git. He was still. But there were things that were different. His lover was kind, and witty, and bitchy yes, but never viciously to him at least. There were acid remarks, and the magic use had been going a little overboard, but at least they hadn't argued over it.
How little poor David knew. How wrong was Craig to alter his mind through spells to make him forget that little screaming match they'd indulged in over magic?
I am in your thrall!
Seduced me with your art,
I was hit with Cupid's dart.
Given you my all.
And that's just the start,
I would cut out my own heart -
You make me complete!
As they wandered past Canada Water tube station, all chrome and plexiglass, the two women who had been scoping out the beautiful Wenham arse moved into position behind David, and they were suddenly doing some strange cross between ballet and interpretational dance. There was backing ahhhhhhh's, and waving of arms, and it was very clever how they knew exactly what choreographed moves were going to be made by the tall redhead.
It was, however, even more impressive with the speed Craig dragged David back across the road to the gently crumbling Victorian semi, galloped them both up the stairs, and then pushed David back onto the bed - all in the chords between the chorus and the next verse. It had the most appalling rhyming, but it was meant from the heart.
The moon is my tide...
But I feel you inside...
How he kept singing with that being the case not even Craig knew. However, everything became punctuated with soft whines and gasping breaths, and it was impressive David managed to soldier on.
I am in your thrall!
Taken me so far,
When I need you, there you are.
You name is what I call
In the darkest hour,
Laying with my Craig Parker.
You make me complete!
You make me complete
You make me complete
You make me...
The gentle cries of them both melded into a shuddering sob that led them to cling together wordlessly.
Back in the Magic Box Sean was sulking. It happened; he was the best brooder since Viggo had ponced through their lives, and he was flipping aimlessly through a book that had no naked woodcuts of anyone in it at all, and scowling because of it. Bloody Craig, because he was so blatantly a tart, always got to slope off early with David so their impressive sexual energy could be quenched before the rest of them arrived home. Otherwise there'd be squeaking, and screams, and everyone would be incredibly grumpy.
"Bet they aren't working."|
"State the bloody obvious," Billy murmured, still enthralled by the woodcut book. He'd found more, and was turning the volume which way and that to work out who's prick that was. It looked disembodied to him.
Ian gave the faintest smirk, before showing Billy that it was actually a dildo.
Swinging his legs in the corner, Elijah was trying to make notes but was doodling on a pad. All his pictures seemed to be cartoons of short girls with unfeasibly large breasts, or what he called his ironic symbols of rebellion. The usual anarchy symbol, however, was the only one he could draw accurately, and he'd spent hours trying to draw some cool large-eyed young man flicking the old go forth and multiply.
It would have helped if he'd been able to draw.
"I think all this dancing's kind of romantic," he said, scribbling out his latest effort that looked like a genetically modified aubergine.
"It's not." Billy was painfully grumpy.
"It is! What could go wrong with singing and dancing?"
The Prince of Orange, the pub that all the not so cool but more like needing to be alcoholic people frequented, was lit by one, single light that glowed yellowish above the bar. It caused shadows to leap like dark flames, licking along the wall as the man danced. And he was good. But there was a frantic nature to his steps, to the metalled shoes that clicked the tap out on the creaking boards as he danced and danced, and whirled, and his eyes grew huge and desperate as he moved more and more. He didn't seem to want to stop.
He didn't seem able to stop.
There wasn't even that much warning, apart from the faintest whisps of smoke that drifted across the still air of the old-fashioned pub. Just a few little strands in the air, like that of a cigarette, and then? It happened.
Fire cut him down, crackling and scorching as the frenzy had built so much that he'd burned. The cadaver, melted and skeletal, crashed to the floor before a pair of 1950's style brothel creepers. They were black and white, like the spivvish shoes of earlier days, with the pale saddle and the darker toe and heel, and they gleamed with the last flickers of residual flame.
The man, if he was a man, was of medium height and dressed in a dark red suit of a 50's cut. Based on the Edwardian style, the trousers were slightly tapered and the jacket long, broad in the shoulders, with a black shirt that was unbuttoned to the base of his throat. He was elegant, he was suave.
He was smiling.
He had a curious smile, full lips pressed together, and pale blue eyes. The man's hair - and he wasn't a man, he couldn't be, no man could smile like that if he was human - was as 50's as his clothing; curling and with a slight quiff at the front.
"That's entertainment," Andy murmured, before his smile broadened into something far more terrible, with a white glitter of teeth and another gout of flame.
Sean and Orlando were in bed. It was usual, it was normal. There were cuddles, and cuteness, and Sean wondering what the hell he'd let himself in for. Orli was incredibly in the sack. He was a thousand years old immortal turned human, he knew some hot tricks that he'd seen over the centuries. Orli was attractive - dammit, he was the most classically good looking man that Sean had ever seen, with that Greek profile and dark eyes. And yet? The blond man was terrified. The wedding was frightening enough, and then there was that...cuteness. Orlando was adorably naive, and obsessed with sex because of orgasms - he needed several each week and it was difficult for an older man (physically, not actually, Orli remained a youthful mid twenties) to keep up with him - and straightforward, and loving. And he was an ex-vengeance demon. If Sean ever did anything wrong, his young/old lover could go straight back to the one who was in charge of them all and ask for his old job back.
"You don't have to work?"
"No. The crew kept singing and dancing, and you can't do takes when you've got fifty or so people singing in rounds. Bacon?"
Orli simpered, and Sean half-whimpered, half-smiled. "Will you make me bacon when we're married, Seany?"
Sean hated the nickname. It was worse than Beanie Baby, or anything to do with any leguminous foodstuff.
"Nope, I'll make bacon for myself, but by British law you'll be entitled to claim rashers off me." There was a kiss, because Orlando looked like he was going to speak, and Sean wanted him to shut up. "I could do porridge? I've got that sorted, porridge..."
Orli sat up, obviously very naked as his lover whittered on about breakfast, and he gave a wide, guileless smile as suddenly he was singing. It had come out of nowhere, like a speeding bullet, like Superman but with music and rhyme rather than dodgy underpants and a questionable taste in hairstyles. It was like being hit and run by a car, though one that made you sing rather than actually doing physical harm to the person. Especially as everyone thought it correct and proper. If there was a camera recording the scene, which there wasn't, Orlando would have been singing right into it.
This is the man that I intend to entangle
Isn't he fine?
My quest for best was a strain and a struggle
Stardom was mine!
But under limelight
The person I was wasn't right
The only trouble...shite -
I'll never tell.
Orlando seemed to lose interest in the song and wandered away, but they hadn't counted on Sean to be hit with the same compulsion.
He is the One,
Not of Highlander fun!
So sexy and good...
And, of course, like usual - if something was being said about him, something nice, then Orlando came trotting back over in an ostensible putting on of his slippers. They were red, and had marabou feathers on them, and were a bad-taste joke from Craig one Christmas. However, as Orlando rather liked them, they'd actually been worn.
Warm in the night when I'm right in his tight…
Oh please - no being rude!
Managing to catch himself there before giving away the entire reason he wanted to marry Orlando - hot sex from a hot man, and the fear of being hit because of it - Sean fondled the beautiful naked left knee of his lover. Orlando had slim legs, the perfect type to have wrapped around Sean's hips as they fucked.
I don't want him to go,
It took so long for love to show.
There's just one thing that…
No. I'll never tell
They both agreed on that, of course, and this was panning out to be a sort of duet, a catchy number with some 1950's Doris Day Rock Hudson taste to it, which if Sean had thought rationally, he'd have fled from immediately. But then they strangely shifted into alternating lines, Orlando beginning, as they moved from the bedroom into the living room. More dance space there. More room for choreography.
Say Depp and Seany freezes.
That was a reference to Orlando being...rather enamoured of his Pirates of the Caribbean co-star, which Sean completely understood was attractive, but he thought was far too sexy for his fiancée to be starring next to. Keira Knightley was more acceptable given she had a vagina and the young man wasn't keen on those things.
His ironing leaves creases that I can't describe
The last time Sean had ironed something, he'd set fire to the board, the iron, and the expensive designer shirt he was trying to flatten. Since the Orlando had taken over for safety reasons, though his ability was non-existent and he couldn't cope very well with the fact that not everything could be ironed on high heat. He demonstrated by holding up a beautiful grey silk shirt that looked a little distressed and crinkled around the edges. However many times the knobs for different heat were explained, they never sunk in.
I talk; he breezes.
He's not too sure what 'please' is.
He's far to fond of ales that he does imbibe!
But after that catalogue of wrongdoings and niggles, they had to join together for some sort of chorus, didn't they? Just one line, really, where they both admitted their problems with an adult ability and without a slanging match.
The whole thing's kind of weird.
Because, frankly, it was. A famous film actor and his equally famous acting ex-demon lover. How odd was that? But they split up again with that realisation, because it happened and because they were faintly isolated in this engagement. At least Sean was.
Like, it's something to be feared.
He'd look better with a beard... and Orlando had to add that Sean had looked incredibly in Troy with such facial hair.
Or like Billy I've been queered.
It was a little late for him to worry about that since he shared his bed with another man, but then Sean wasn't the brightest sparkplug in the set. He was attractive, sulky, handsome, and had a smile that should never have been fiddled around with by foreign dentists. Again, a little joining together, because after all, they were a couple.
But it's all very well
Cause, God knows, I'll never tell!
Orlando chimed in then, claiming a verse as his own. It was such a decent forum to vent grievances that the song was becoming rather cathartic. After all, even if it was singing, the words did mean something, they were important, weren't they?
When things are hilly,
He'll hide behind our Billy.
It's really rather silly
And he knows that I know.
Because what else could Sean do? Cringing, he knew he did. Billy was the Slayer, Ian was the Watcher, David and Craig were the warlocks. Elijah was...Elijah, actually had little purpose but seemed like he did. He was also an excellent plot device. Orlando was the ex-demon. All Sean was consisted of being solidly human. Oh, and very famous indeed. Payback, anyway, was needed on Orlando.
He's also far too greedy.
He nev -
And then! Then Sean was interrupted with a little outburst when Orlando refused to accept that these things were true!
His eyes are beady!
Of course it frustrated the blond.
This is my verse, hello?
It could have ended in fisticuffs. It could have ended in sex; long tongues caressing tanned thighs, fingers twisting and stroking and caressing, cocks rampant. But it didn't. It didn't end in anything physical between them, but in perfectly times choreography. There were Gene Kellyesque manoeuvres with heel kicking, and it reinforced that 50's romcom feel, even though Orlando was naked apart from those fluffy slippers and Sean was in a pair of very old, very faded jeans that clung to his arse. And it served to soothe them, because the song became sweeter, they shared another line.
You're quite the charmer, sang Sean.
My knight in armour.
But then the blond did have to go and make it rather more sexual. Again.
You're the sweetest taste of honey
You're so handsome and quite funny
And you've got the tightest…
That was close there. Orlando forgave him with a smile, and they moved to sit at either end of the glass dining table. Possibly not the safest of things to have in a house while dancing, and Dom had once commented that it stopped both the secret groping of fellow guests and illicit passing of hard drugs under the table, but it suited their rather monochrome, stark apartment. It was all Orlando's style, and he began the song again, and they were smiling at each other almost soppily before Sean caught himself and looked sulky.
He'll always be my suitor.
That's why I'll never tell him that I'm bloody scared.
I've read the story,
It's ending's sort of gory,
And I know the category - that's if he really cares.
Sometimes, the young man was perceptive, but he was still learning so much about humans that Orlando rather forgot to turn on his emotional sensors. But then they were both rather stupid to do that they did next, which was to crawl across the table into each other's arms. Together they cuddled, together they sang.
We've never thought it.
Our lives until this salient point.
Sean picked up again on this last run, this last half mile towards the climax of the song. He had a decent enough voice, though there was quite an impressive amount of northern inflection in his singing that made it very him. Sliding off the table, it became one of those metaphors for their isolation, and he padded to the left towards the sofa, and Orlando did the same in perfect timing to the right.
Is he looking for a pot of gold?
Will I look good when I've gotten old?
Are our lives together blipped, shall I choose a better script?
Will I always be so hot or will I find out I'm just...not?
Am I crazy?
Am I poorly?
Am I really shagging Orli?
And that was it, that was what joined them together. The realisation that even with all these blips, even with the problems they had and the traits they disliked, they still wanted to get married. They were in love,, or at least Orlando was. Sean liked the dark haired man very much, he just wasn't as committed, but then marriage would change that, wouldn't it? Of course he conveniently forgot his other marriages where that wasn't the case, but then...it was different this time.
We can try this oh so sorely, making gay sex a hell!
So, thank God, I'll never tell!
I swear, that I'll never tell!
"I'm saying nowt," Sean confirmed, pressing his hand over his mouth.
"I'll shut my mouth," agreed the other.
And then, in one final act of togetherness, they climaxed. Orally, of course, not in the physical sense of things, though the way they collapsed back onto the settee, laughing and hands wandering after they finished their singing, it made it obvious that something was going to happen there. It was those fake Hollywood Doris Day laughs and the hand between Sean's thighs that really accentuated that.
Nothing to see,
Move it along,