"Billy...what are you doing?" Billy Elliot poked his head up over the quilt that was heavy on his sore legs.
"I, um...can't get up," he muttered. It was 11a.m. and Michael was already ready for their semi-weekly brunch.
"You...can't get up?"
Billy groaned. "Jesus Michael I was at rehearsal until midnight last night. My legs are so sore it hurts to move."
"Billy, what did I tell you about working so hard?" He took off his shoes and joined Billy in the bed, curling around his slender frame and pressing a kiss to his neck.
"'M sorry Michael," he murmured. "We can still go out, just help me up and I'll stretch a bit."
"No, this is what a rest day is for. Let's stay in. I'll make pancakes."
"You?" Billy looked at him skeptically, but the look didn't have much weight given the bags under his eyes. "Michael have you ever successfully executed a pancake?"
"Shove off, I could make a pancake if I wanted too."
Billy smirked, but it looked a little lopsided on his tired face. "Course you could Michael."
In his defense he did try. They were a little burnt...well a lot burnt, and Michael's desperate to cover the mess in syrup wasn't working.
"Well, you did it," Billy smiled.
"I did something," he replied, setting down the tray. Billy ate the charred non-pancakes without complaint. "I kind of miss this," he said, as Michael positioned himself behind him, straddling him and beginning to rub his shoulders, like dancers did but better, because it was Michael.
"Miss what?" Michael hummed.
"Miss having days off, miss spending time with you."
"But you love it don't you? Dancing?"
"Of course but..."
"Then don't worry about me, I'm fine on my own for a little while."
"I know you are," Billy sighed. "I just...miss you"
"Oh," Michael said, like he was surprised. It made Billy's chest burn. "Well I miss you too," he said, smile brightening. They didn't talk about it anymore, not for a few weeks, not until Billy caught a cold.
Nothing serious, just a cold bad enough to keep him out of dance rehearsals for a week. "Are you warm enough? Do you need some more water? Cough drops?"
"If I wasn't contagious I'd kiss you." Michael grinned.
"Shut up you dumb poof."
"You have somewhere to be today?" Billy coughed.
"I've got a theater party tonight. You were supposed to be my date," he frowned. "I'm sorry you're sick."
"I'm sorry I can't be your date."
"It's okay, you can't help it." Billy sighed, nodding. He sat up, stretching out so his hands met his feet.
"How do you do that?" "Touch my toes? It's easy Michael."
"No, I mean how do you keep working? You always keep stretching and moving when your sore or sick or..." He hesitated. "I'm sorry, I don't know what it's like."
"What what's like?"
"There's a lot of pressure on you. Of course you're always working. Plus I've never been..." He flushed.
"Michael spit it out."
"So passionate about something. Not like you and dancing. I've never loved something so much, not until..."
"Until what Michael?" Billy said softly.
"You," he replied, flushing.
"Me?" He asked weakly. "You love me Michael?"
"Quit sayin my name like that," he was bright red. "Look I know it's too soon. I mean we just moved in together out of convenience not because...I mean we haven't been together that long. And I don't want to get in the way of your dancing, you're about to get your big break and you can't have me..."
"I'm more than dancing Michael." Billy muttered.
"Of course you...I know that."
"Do you?" Billy snapped. "Because sometimes it seems like no one does," Michael was about to interrupt but Billy coughed violently and he thought it best to let him finish his rant before he attempted to respond. "I'm more than a pair of feet dammit. I...you know when I called my friends at the company they didn't even ask how I was, they just wanted to know when if be dancing again," his voice cracked, somewhere between angry and defeated. "Maybe I'm being selfish."
"That's not selfish Billy." He pulled Michael closer to him by his collar. "Michael Caffrey I loved you before I even knew I loved to dance. I'm more than that, we're more than that. I don't want you to think you're second to ballet because you come first idiot."
"But Billy..." Billy effectively cut him off when he kissed him. "But nothing, I don't give a damn about Swan Lake if you're not in the audience..."
"What?" Billy froze. "I uh...got the lead in Swan Lake."
"Jesus Billy an you didn't think that was important enough to share earlier?" Billy grinned.
"It isn't everything Michael. I'd give up a hundred roles for you."
"No one's ever put me first," Michael muttered. It quite hurt to say out loud, but that didn't mean it wasn't true.
"Well that makes it all the more special huh?"
"You really love me Billy?"
"I love you Michael." Michael edged closer to him, creeping into his space until he was practically in his lap.
"You're more than a pair of feet Billy Elliot."
"Do you really have to go to a party tonight?" Billy breathed, pulling away from the kiss.
"Ah, Michael. Do you have to go out without me?" Billy whined. "I don't get to go out with you when you look like that? It's not fair Michael."
Michael grinned, pulling on a jacket. He was wearing a sequined shirt and fishnets under a pair of jean shorts.
"Michael," Billy groaned. "Don't leave."
"Tell you what," he smiled, kissing Billy's forehead. "I'll go, let this outfit make a brief appearance, and I'll bring back Chinese. Hmm?"
Billy nodded. "You're sure you don't like me just because I'm a dancer?"
"Billy Elliot I'd love you if you flipped burgers, or picked up trash, or worked in the mines like everyone else. Hell, I'd love you if you were begging on the streets of London."
Billy didn't know what to say so he fixed Michael's shirt where it was stretched oddly over his collar bone.
"I'll see you soon. I love you."
"I love you too."