FIC: Up Shit Creek
Jun. 4th, 2002 11:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lobelia321Well, here it finally is: my Billy/Karl fic!
I'll try not to garble the order of posting, *g*. Check Headers to make sure. It's in 8 parts, c. 38 pages.
Title: Up Shit Creek
Part: 1/8
Author: Lobelia; lobelia321@aol.com; lobelia321ATaol.com
Website: http://www.geocities.com/lobelia321
Pairing: Billy Boyd / Karl Urban
Rating: NC-17, for rude sex and rude language
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Content: RPS.
Archive: Closer than Brothers. My niche. Anyone else, please just ask.
Feedback: Yes, please, I would love feedback! Anything, one line, one word even!
Disclaimers: This is a work of amateur fiction. I do not know these people. I am not making money. The events described in this story did not happen. Quotation taken from William Shakespeare, *The Tragedy of Julius Caesar.*
Summary: Billy does not like Karl. Yet he's stuck with him, in a boat.
Author's Notes: I issued a challenge to anyone wanting to pair Billy and Karl and ended up doing it myself as well. Just couldn't resist!
Dedication: This one's for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
azewewish because she took up the challenge within minutes! And because without her, I wouldn't even know who Karl is. And what would life be without Karl? There's a tiny homage to thersf in here as well, that "Rolling Smut Factory of Epic Proportions", *mwah*.
Thanks and kisses to:gloriamundi for bouncing ideas and bursting the dam when I got stuck! And to gabbyhope, sweetest beta imaginable.
Length: c. 38 pages in Word. Hence posted in parts. LJ may garble the order so just check Headers.
--------------
Billy did not like Karl Urban. Yet somehow he had got himself into a situation where he was stuck with Karl Urban, alone, in a small boat, on a large river, without a paddle.
Well, to be precise, it was more of a fiord than a river, one of the many inlets meandering their way through the labyrinthine waterways of Marlborough Sounds on the South Island of New Zealand. And it was not true that they didn't have any paddle left at all. They did still have one oar but the other one had, indeed, been lost. It was Billy's fault that it had been lost but he hadn't said 'sorry'. Instead, he sat in the boat, fuming silently and thinking uncharitable thoughts about Karl.
Billy did not want to be stuck on this river without a paddle, but most of all, he did not want to be stuck on this river with Karl. He wanted to be on this river with Dom. That had been Billy's plan: to go boating on Saturday afternoon with Dom. That had been Billy's plan for weeks. And then stupid old Dom had to go and scupper this plan. Stupid old Dom had to let himself be lured away from boating with Billy by the prospect of adventure sports.
Only the day before, only last evening, in fact only eighteen hours earlier, Billy had been standing around with Dom, laughing and talking about their plan to go boating. How they would take the ten o'clock ferry across Cook Strait down to Picton on the South Island. How they would get the bus from Picton to the boat-rental place in the Sounds. How much beer they would need to take along, and whether they would need to pack any mosquito spray. How they would bring their binoculars because, apparently, you could sometimes spot dolphins in Marlborough Sounds, and even orca whales.
Then stupid Orli had appeared out of nowhere.
"Guess what, guess what, guess what!" Orli had shouted. "One of the guys on my parachuting programme has pulled out, he can't make it for tomorrow, and we've got a spare place, Dom, can you come? Can you come? Can you come?"
"Parachuting!" Dom had yelled. "Yes, of course! Of course! Of..." And then, to give him his due, he had stopped short and looked at Billy.
"What? What? What?" That had been Orli again who seemed to have made a habit of saying everything in triplicate.
"Billy and I arranged to go boating," explained Dom. "But, Billy..." And he had looked at Billy with an expression of guilt and hope and supplication on his face.
Billy felt a stab of disappointment. He noted the guilt on Dom's face, the hope, the supplication, but most of all he noted the utmost readiness with which Dom was prepared to drop Billy's boating plan and take up a more exciting venture at the drop of a hat.
"Oh, Billy! Billy! Billy!" Orli had, annoyingly, cried. "Take someone else with you! This parachute thing, it's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!"
"Yes, Billy, that's a great idea!" Dom had chimed in, much too enthusiastically for Billy's liking. "Why don't you take someone else?"
But Billy didn't want to take someone else. Billy didn't want just to go boating. Billy wanted to go boating with Dom. Dom evidently thought that it could make no conceivable difference whether Billy went boating with Dom or with the Queen of England or, indeed, with Karl Urban.
But it did make a difference to Billy. When Dom spied Karl in the distance and started shouting and waving, Billy felt a wave of resentment rise in his throat like bile.
"There's Karl!" Dom cried, oblivious. "He knows all about New Zealand rivers and boats and what not. He'll be great to have along! Much better than me!"
No. Wrong. Karl was certainly *not* better to have along than Dom. Billy did not want to go boating without Dom, and he most certainly did not want to go boating with Karl. But too late. Before Billy could say 'peep', Karl was already there.
In fact, Karl was already there much too often. Wherever Billy went these days, he seemed to have Karl underfoot. For some reason, the guy glommed onto him like a burr. He was always about, always sidling up to Billy, putting a hand on Billy's shoulder, following Billy into make-up, coming up to Billy, coming onto Billy. This, as such, wouldn't matter much in itself. This, as such, wasn't enough to explain why Billy found Karl so intensely, so phenomenally irritating.
One reason for Billy's irritation was that Karl was such a crashing bore. He was tedium on legs. He hung around, trailing after Billy, laughing readily enough at all of Billy's jokes, even the tritest, lamest jokes, but that was because he himself was too dull to make any jokes of his own. Billy couldn't remember laughing once at anything Karl had said. Ever.
And not only was Karl a crashing bore, he was also an arrogant prig into the bargain. He was always going on about his precious New Zealand in the most high-minded fashion, boring the pants off anyone who cared to listen about how fabulous New Zealand was and how New Zealand was the first nation in the world to give women the vote and how wonderfully amazing the Treaty of Waitangi was and how pristine the mountains were and how lush the forests and how blah the fucking blah-de-blah blah. It wasn't even as if Billy disagreed. Billy loved the New Zealand mountains and the forests and everything about New Zealand. He just didn't want to listen to Karl droning on and on and fucking on about it.
And then there was that cliquish way in which Karl always hung out with that *Xena* crowd, all those Jays and Lawrences and Stephens and Martons, who could remember all their bloody names, half of them encased in orc-clobber all day long, anyway. Standing in a cluster, slapping each other on the back, doubling up with laughter, making insider jokes. It was just too tedious for words.
Those were the reasons why Billy didn't like Karl. Karl the bore. Karl the prig. Karl the hobnobber. And if that wasn't enough there was something else, too. Something less easy to pinpoint. Something much less easy to admit to. It was the way Karl was always staring at Billy.
When he wasn't sidling up to Billy, Karl was staring at Billy. Staring at Billy across rooms and sets and crowded pubs. Really, it was pissing Billy off in a major way. It got to the point where Billy just had to *feel* those eyes on his and he'd become all tongue-tied with irritation. Billy did not like to be tongue-tied. Billy liked to be easy-going and witty, he liked to joke and chat and feel relaxed. When Karl was staring at him, Billy could only be tongue-tied and silent and pissed off as hell.
And woe betide if he ever dared look back into those eyes of Karl's. Well, it was really too stupid. It wasn't as if Billy normally cared a fig about his colleagues' eyes. Fuck, Billy normally didn't even notice his colleagues' eyes. Billy didn't give a rat's fart about the colour or shape of blokes' eyes. Well, except for Dom's eyes, perhaps, but that was different.
But Billy most definitely did not give a rat's fart about Karl's eyes. Karl fucking Urban's dark-brown, deep-brown, sinfully-brown, almond-shaped, sloe-shaped, fuck-shaped eyes.
All of these were hardly the sorts of reason that you could enumerate when faced with a supplicating Dom on the one side, a triplicating Orli on the other side, and a delightedly beaming Karl in the middle. These were reasons Billy could hardly voice to himself, let alone to anyone else. They were irrational, stupid, festering reasons.
So what could Billy say? Only one thing, of course: "Yes, fine." Smile, nod, shrug. Look with regret at Dom's relieved smile, submit to Dom's grateful hug. Look with dismay at Karl's expression. Not quite being able to gauge that expression because unable to look straight into his eyes.
And that's why Billy was stuck on this river. In this boat. With this Karl. Without a paddle. And alone. Alone without Dom. Alone with Karl fucking Urban.
-----------
TBC
I'll try not to garble the order of posting, *g*. Check Headers to make sure. It's in 8 parts, c. 38 pages.
Title: Up Shit Creek
Part: 1/8
Author: Lobelia; lobelia321@aol.com; lobelia321ATaol.com
Website: http://www.geocities.com/lobelia321
Pairing: Billy Boyd / Karl Urban
Rating: NC-17, for rude sex and rude language
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Content: RPS.
Archive: Closer than Brothers. My niche. Anyone else, please just ask.
Feedback: Yes, please, I would love feedback! Anything, one line, one word even!
Disclaimers: This is a work of amateur fiction. I do not know these people. I am not making money. The events described in this story did not happen. Quotation taken from William Shakespeare, *The Tragedy of Julius Caesar.*
Summary: Billy does not like Karl. Yet he's stuck with him, in a boat.
Author's Notes: I issued a challenge to anyone wanting to pair Billy and Karl and ended up doing it myself as well. Just couldn't resist!
Dedication: This one's for
azewewish because she took up the challenge within minutes! And because without her, I wouldn't even know who Karl is. And what would life be without Karl? There's a tiny homage to thersf in here as well, that "Rolling Smut Factory of Epic Proportions", *mwah*.Thanks and kisses to:
gloriamundi for bouncing ideas and bursting the dam when I got stuck! And to gabbyhope, sweetest beta imaginable.Length: c. 38 pages in Word. Hence posted in parts. LJ may garble the order so just check Headers.
--------------
Billy did not like Karl Urban. Yet somehow he had got himself into a situation where he was stuck with Karl Urban, alone, in a small boat, on a large river, without a paddle.
Well, to be precise, it was more of a fiord than a river, one of the many inlets meandering their way through the labyrinthine waterways of Marlborough Sounds on the South Island of New Zealand. And it was not true that they didn't have any paddle left at all. They did still have one oar but the other one had, indeed, been lost. It was Billy's fault that it had been lost but he hadn't said 'sorry'. Instead, he sat in the boat, fuming silently and thinking uncharitable thoughts about Karl.
Billy did not want to be stuck on this river without a paddle, but most of all, he did not want to be stuck on this river with Karl. He wanted to be on this river with Dom. That had been Billy's plan: to go boating on Saturday afternoon with Dom. That had been Billy's plan for weeks. And then stupid old Dom had to go and scupper this plan. Stupid old Dom had to let himself be lured away from boating with Billy by the prospect of adventure sports.
Only the day before, only last evening, in fact only eighteen hours earlier, Billy had been standing around with Dom, laughing and talking about their plan to go boating. How they would take the ten o'clock ferry across Cook Strait down to Picton on the South Island. How they would get the bus from Picton to the boat-rental place in the Sounds. How much beer they would need to take along, and whether they would need to pack any mosquito spray. How they would bring their binoculars because, apparently, you could sometimes spot dolphins in Marlborough Sounds, and even orca whales.
Then stupid Orli had appeared out of nowhere.
"Guess what, guess what, guess what!" Orli had shouted. "One of the guys on my parachuting programme has pulled out, he can't make it for tomorrow, and we've got a spare place, Dom, can you come? Can you come? Can you come?"
"Parachuting!" Dom had yelled. "Yes, of course! Of course! Of..." And then, to give him his due, he had stopped short and looked at Billy.
"What? What? What?" That had been Orli again who seemed to have made a habit of saying everything in triplicate.
"Billy and I arranged to go boating," explained Dom. "But, Billy..." And he had looked at Billy with an expression of guilt and hope and supplication on his face.
Billy felt a stab of disappointment. He noted the guilt on Dom's face, the hope, the supplication, but most of all he noted the utmost readiness with which Dom was prepared to drop Billy's boating plan and take up a more exciting venture at the drop of a hat.
"Oh, Billy! Billy! Billy!" Orli had, annoyingly, cried. "Take someone else with you! This parachute thing, it's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!"
"Yes, Billy, that's a great idea!" Dom had chimed in, much too enthusiastically for Billy's liking. "Why don't you take someone else?"
But Billy didn't want to take someone else. Billy didn't want just to go boating. Billy wanted to go boating with Dom. Dom evidently thought that it could make no conceivable difference whether Billy went boating with Dom or with the Queen of England or, indeed, with Karl Urban.
But it did make a difference to Billy. When Dom spied Karl in the distance and started shouting and waving, Billy felt a wave of resentment rise in his throat like bile.
"There's Karl!" Dom cried, oblivious. "He knows all about New Zealand rivers and boats and what not. He'll be great to have along! Much better than me!"
No. Wrong. Karl was certainly *not* better to have along than Dom. Billy did not want to go boating without Dom, and he most certainly did not want to go boating with Karl. But too late. Before Billy could say 'peep', Karl was already there.
In fact, Karl was already there much too often. Wherever Billy went these days, he seemed to have Karl underfoot. For some reason, the guy glommed onto him like a burr. He was always about, always sidling up to Billy, putting a hand on Billy's shoulder, following Billy into make-up, coming up to Billy, coming onto Billy. This, as such, wouldn't matter much in itself. This, as such, wasn't enough to explain why Billy found Karl so intensely, so phenomenally irritating.
One reason for Billy's irritation was that Karl was such a crashing bore. He was tedium on legs. He hung around, trailing after Billy, laughing readily enough at all of Billy's jokes, even the tritest, lamest jokes, but that was because he himself was too dull to make any jokes of his own. Billy couldn't remember laughing once at anything Karl had said. Ever.
And not only was Karl a crashing bore, he was also an arrogant prig into the bargain. He was always going on about his precious New Zealand in the most high-minded fashion, boring the pants off anyone who cared to listen about how fabulous New Zealand was and how New Zealand was the first nation in the world to give women the vote and how wonderfully amazing the Treaty of Waitangi was and how pristine the mountains were and how lush the forests and how blah the fucking blah-de-blah blah. It wasn't even as if Billy disagreed. Billy loved the New Zealand mountains and the forests and everything about New Zealand. He just didn't want to listen to Karl droning on and on and fucking on about it.
And then there was that cliquish way in which Karl always hung out with that *Xena* crowd, all those Jays and Lawrences and Stephens and Martons, who could remember all their bloody names, half of them encased in orc-clobber all day long, anyway. Standing in a cluster, slapping each other on the back, doubling up with laughter, making insider jokes. It was just too tedious for words.
Those were the reasons why Billy didn't like Karl. Karl the bore. Karl the prig. Karl the hobnobber. And if that wasn't enough there was something else, too. Something less easy to pinpoint. Something much less easy to admit to. It was the way Karl was always staring at Billy.
When he wasn't sidling up to Billy, Karl was staring at Billy. Staring at Billy across rooms and sets and crowded pubs. Really, it was pissing Billy off in a major way. It got to the point where Billy just had to *feel* those eyes on his and he'd become all tongue-tied with irritation. Billy did not like to be tongue-tied. Billy liked to be easy-going and witty, he liked to joke and chat and feel relaxed. When Karl was staring at him, Billy could only be tongue-tied and silent and pissed off as hell.
And woe betide if he ever dared look back into those eyes of Karl's. Well, it was really too stupid. It wasn't as if Billy normally cared a fig about his colleagues' eyes. Fuck, Billy normally didn't even notice his colleagues' eyes. Billy didn't give a rat's fart about the colour or shape of blokes' eyes. Well, except for Dom's eyes, perhaps, but that was different.
But Billy most definitely did not give a rat's fart about Karl's eyes. Karl fucking Urban's dark-brown, deep-brown, sinfully-brown, almond-shaped, sloe-shaped, fuck-shaped eyes.
All of these were hardly the sorts of reason that you could enumerate when faced with a supplicating Dom on the one side, a triplicating Orli on the other side, and a delightedly beaming Karl in the middle. These were reasons Billy could hardly voice to himself, let alone to anyone else. They were irrational, stupid, festering reasons.
So what could Billy say? Only one thing, of course: "Yes, fine." Smile, nod, shrug. Look with regret at Dom's relieved smile, submit to Dom's grateful hug. Look with dismay at Karl's expression. Not quite being able to gauge that expression because unable to look straight into his eyes.
And that's why Billy was stuck on this river. In this boat. With this Karl. Without a paddle. And alone. Alone without Dom. Alone with Karl fucking Urban.
-----------
TBC
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
happy extra!
Date: 2002-06-04 06:49 pm (UTC)Since I do like it, ahahaa. just a happy extra. A bonus, if you will. eeee. On to the next bit.
Re: happy extra!
Date: 2002-06-05 03:52 pm (UTC)Thank you!!