FIC: Midnight GMT (OB/EW, NC17, 1/1)

[viva-gloria.livejournal.com]

Happy birthday to azrhiaz!

TITLE: Midnight GMT
AUTHOR: Gloria Mundi (viva_gloria@livejournal.com)
PAIRING: OB/EW
RATING: NC17
SUMMARY: "Let me show you midnight".
FEEDBACK: Yes please
DISCLAIMER: A work of fiction: I made it up.
WARNING: sex in a public place: kink.
SPOILERS: None
ARCHIVE: List archives, CTB and Imagin'd Glories only, please
A/N: Thanks to lazulus for punctuation and rhythm!


The planes circled above London like moths around a light. Elijah grounded himself in the moment: sitting on a wall outside a riverside pub somewhere past the end of the tourist trail, drinking Guinness out of plastic beakers, watching the aeroplanes with Orlando.

With Orlando. That was the significant detail.

It was sheer chance that their schedules had spun them through London at the same time. Orlando was flying to LA the next day, while Elijah had just arrived in London for another gig on the endless publicity trail.

"There's that new club I was telling you about," Orlando had said when Elijah called him. "I read about it in some mag. We could —"

"I'm bored with clubbing," said Elijah.

"You sure you're feeling OK, mate?" Orli had said, and Elijah could imagine that disbelieving grin all too clearly.

"I'm fine," he'd snapped. "I just don't want to go clubbing again. But you go ahead! I'd hate to think I was cramping your style."

There had been a pause, long enough for Elijah to replay his lines and wonder if he'd sounded too bitter. Then Orli said, "No, I'd rather see you. What do you want to do?"

It was getting too dark for them to see one another's faces, but neither of them suggested going back into the crowded, comfortable pub. Another party boat motored past, disco lights casting a rainbow across the dusk-silvered Thames. The techno beat was loud enough that Elijah could recognise the song — 'Dancing Queen' — but not, happily, loud enough to drown out Orlando's latest anecdote about student life in London.

"... kind of olde worlde and Victorian, so the film companies love it. I walked into this Greek restaurant once with this girl I was trying to impress, and got some PA rushing up in a panic ... It was a film set, see?"

Elijah laughed too, but he'd only been half-listening. The flow of Orlando's voice rolled comfortably over him like the ebb-tide, like the third pint of Guinness in his hand. Maybe it was because he was home, however briefly, that the sing-song London rhythm was noticeable again.

"Your accent's back," Elijah remarked. "You lost it a bit since New Zealand."

"I did?" Orlando looked alarmed. "Shit! What did I sound like?"

"Oh, just another transatlantic — hey!" Orlando had grabbed his arm and twisted him precariously close to the edge of the wall. He screwed up his face against the reek of the muddy foreshore. "Let me up,you wanker!"

"Bad hobbit," said Orlando reprovingly, hauling Elijah back towards him. For a moment it seemed as though Orli would complete the movement and embrace him, but his arms slackened and he turned away from Elijah, reaching for his beer. "I miss it all, Lij," he said into the gathering gloom. "Everything's changed."

"Do you wish none of it had ever happened?" said Elijah. He swore.

Orlando shot him a sympathetic smile. "The lines are bound to stick ...And no, I don't. I wouldn't have met you, or Viggo, or ... well, any of you."

"And it gave you a great break," said Elijah, surfing on the high of being mentioned before Viggo.

"Gave me a lot of things," said Orlando. "Tattoo, killer archery skills ... that dodgy pair of sunglasses I nicked off Dom..."

Elijah was used to Orlando's mercurial shifts of mood by now, despite the months apart. He could predict the hug, the slightly drunken (though sincere) protestation of eternal friendship, the awkward moment of disengagement. He braced himself, nervous about the drop to the foreshore: not nervous about his response, because he'd had plenty of time to practice being friends, just friends, with Orlando.

The expected hug didn't come. Orlando was staring down into the dark water, staring at the inverted reflections of three tall, brightly-lit towers across the river. Elijah hadn't seen him this quiet for a long time. He tried to remember the last time they'd been alone together, and couldn't. Wondered when they'd be alone together again. Opened his mouth to say something, anything, to take the chance while he had it, to tell Orlando exactly how he'd missed him.

Behind them, from the pub, a bell chimed. It seemed to rouse Orlando from his trance. "Shit! Last orders!" He drained his pint, rummaged in the front pocket of his backpack for money. "Same again?"

"Last orders?" said Elijah, frowning.

"Pub's closing. We can buy one more beer, but we'll have to finish up after that. Guinness?"

"Sure." Elijah pulled his feet up onto the wall and stared out over the river. Off to his right, red lights marked the dark bulge of the Millennium Dome. Nearer, flames flickered on the flaming-off towers of some industrial plant. Another boat packed with revellers went past, playing (inevitably) Abba.

"There you go," said Orlando, handing Elijah another plastic glass and straddling the wall beside him.

"Cheers ... what's the time?"

Orlando had a new watch, one that glowed blue at the tap of a finger. He made a show of consulting it. "Five to eleven. We've got until twenty past to drink up."

"But it's early! I don't want to head back yet!"

"Nor do I, Doodle. But it's getting on —"

"I'm still on Pacific time," said Elijah. "It's about three in the afternoon where I am."

"Bollocks," said Orlando. "You're in Greenwich, mate. You better run on GMT."

Someone opened the door of the pub, and light flooded out. In the warm orange glow, Elijah saw Orlando's expression change suddenly, pensive to seductive, as inspiration struck. "Lij," he purred, "let me show you midnight."

Something dark flashed in his dark eyes, and Elijah could no more refuse than he could have chosen to stop breathing. "Wh-what?" he stammered, overwhelmed with lust and apprehension. He was almost afraid to ask. Whatever Orli had in mind would surely be a disappointment beside the promises in his voice and his smile.

Orlando didn't explain himself. He held Elijah's gaze, and said softly, "Do you trust me, Lij?"

"Sure I trust you," said Elijah. "But what —"

"Shhh," said Orlando. "Finish your beer."

Elijah elected to abandon the rest of his pint. He followed Orlando away from the river, down a poorly-lit, unnervingly empty street lined with broken glass and barbed wire. Elijah kept quiet about that, but he almost balked when Orlando brought him to a halt in a cul-de-sac.

"We just climb —"

"You have to be kidding!" Elijah protested. "What if we get caught?"

"We won't get caught," said Orlando, grinning. "I'll give you a leg-up, hobbit."

Elijah didn't move. "Why are we doing this?"

"I said I'd show you midnight," Orlando said reasonably, as though that constituted an explanation.

"And it's behind that wall? What is behind there, anyway?"

"Greenwich Park," said Orlando. "Look, Lij, will you stop making a racket? If you don't want to, we'll go back. If you don't trust me —"

"I do trust you." Elijah looked at Orlando earnestly in the amber streetlight glow. "Give me a hand, then."

Neither of them was quite as fit as they'd been in New Zealand, but the wall wasn't high. Elijah imagined that Orlando's hands stayed on him for longer than necessary as his friend hoisted him up to catch the top of the wall. Then he was straddling the brickwork and Orlando hauled himself up, gasping, beside him.

"Let's go..."

Elijah landed, softly, in a fragrant bed of lavender. The darkness under the silhouetted trees ahead of him was almost impenetrable, but he could see a blue glow as Orlando checked his watch. "C'mon, Lij. Just follow me."

Elijah kept his eyes on the reflective white panel on Orli's backpack, and followed him uphill through the trees. The park was quiet except for the subdued noises of night birds. There was no sign of any pursuit. Elijah slipped and skidded on the damp grass underfoot.

"Look, Lij!" said Orlando once they reached the top of the hill. "You're in the East!"

Dimming the stars above them, a neon-green line streamed from an ornate building to their left, bisecting the sky. Orlando took his hand again, and Elijah had to swallow something that might have been a shout of exultation. "That's the famous Greenwich Meridian?" he managed at last.

"Yep. ...Just a bit further, huh?" said Orlando, consulting his watch again. He led Elijah on through the trees, until they reached an open place.

"There!" said Orlando, sounding proud. "London by night."

Elijah stared. There was light everywhere. He could hear, faintly, the music on another party boat as it rounded a bend in the river. Below the green meridian, the red lights of the darkened Dome shone like the points of a diadem. Off to the left, the glittery sparkle of London lit scattered cloud with a peachy glow.

"Do you trust me, Lij?" Orlando whispered in his ear.

Elijah shivered. He was afraid to name what he heard in the undertones of Orlando's voice. "Yeah," he managed. "I trust you, Orli."

He inhaled sharply as soft velvet went over his eyes, blocking out the lights. The hair at the nape of his neck rose as Orlando tied the blindfold, settling it comfortably over the bridge of his nose. Elijah could feel the racing pulse where his friend's fingertips touched his skin. It was obscurely comforting.

"I'll stop whenever you want, Lij," Orlando said softly. "Just tell me if you want me to stop."

Despite his jangling nerves, Elijah admired the confidence of that 'if'. "Okay," he breathed.

He felt Orlando's hands on his shoulders, and let himself be led a little way, pressed gently down to sit on a wooden bench. He heard Orli unzip his backpack. Something rustled in the trees: a plane passed overhead: far off, sirens sounded. Elijah waited, not quite afraid, feeling his breath catch with anticipation.

Then Orlando was bending over him as he sat. He could feel the warmth radiating from his friend's body. Orlando's hands on his wrists again, holding him still. Orlando's lips, oh yes, on his, in a soft-mouthed chaste kiss. Orlando's breath on his face, hitching as Elijah made a small, needy sound. He could feel himself getting hard already, and Orli had scarcely touched him yet.

"Don't move," Orli whispered into his ear. He must have seen Elijah nod, because his hands left Elijah's wrists and found their way to the buttons of his shirt. He dropped a dry, hot kiss on each section of newly-exposed skin as he flicked the buttons open, and Lij's breath was ragged by the time Orlando reached his navel.

It was a warm night, but Elijah shivered as Orlando undressed him. His nipples were hard even before the sudden sensation of Orlando's hot, wet mouth on his chest sent him arching off the bench, gasping, forgetting not to move. Orlando captured his hands again, less gently this time.

"Shhh!" Elijah didn't have a chance to respond. Orlando's mouth was back on his, tongue pushing his lips apart, and this kiss wasn't gentle at all. Elijah surrendered himself to it, let Orlando's tongue claim his mouth, moaned as his friend's hands tightened bruisingly on his wrists. He didn't know what it was he had wanted from Orlando, but he knew he'd never dreamt of this. Never dared dream of this. He made a protesting noise when Orlando's mouth left his, imagining red and swollen lips.

"Shhh," repeated Orlando, and his breath was uneven too. He let go of Elijah's wrists briefly: then Lij felt a loop of rope wrapping firmly around his right wrist.

"Elven rope," Orlando murmured, and chuckled. "Nice and soft." He pulled Elijah's hand across until his arm rested, fully extended, against the smooth wood. His hands on the rope, securing it to the bench, seemed very confident. Elijah felt soft hair against his bare skin as Orlando licked a hot, deliberate line from nipple to nipple on his way to the other hand. He moaned, aroused by the feel of the rope around his wrist as Orlando straightened his left arm.

Another hot, merciless, mouth-to-mouth kiss. Orlando was kneeling on the bench now, straddling Elijah's hips. He flicked a nipple with his thumb, and Elijah hissed and arched up against him. He could feel Orlando's erection against his own, but it wasn't close enough. He wanted his hands, his lips, on Orli's cock, wanted to taste ...

Elijah inhaled sharply when he felt Orlando unbuttoning his jeans, one-handed, lingering enough to tease between each button. Orlando nipped his lower lip. He gave Elijah two fingers to suck while he kissed and licked his way around the curve of Elijah's jaw, down his throat, across his collarbone. His hand closed around Elijah's cock just as he bit down, hard, on a nipple. His knuckles pressed against Lij's mouth, muffling his cry.

"Want me to stop?" Orlando murmured against his neck, fingers busily encircling Elijah's aching erection, thumb unerringly finding a spot under the head that made Lij moan around Orli's fingers.

"Don't — don't stop," he managed. "Please —"

"I won't," Orlando promised. But he pulled away, withdrawing his fingers from Elijah's mouth, giving a brief caress to his cock.

"Orli —" Elijah could hear the pleading note in his voice, but he didn't care. He ached for his friend's touch. He'd ached for this for so long ...

"Shhh. I want you naked." Orlando's voice was warm like summer sun. Elijah forced himself to relax into the ache, to stop pulling at the rope around his wrists. He felt Orli pull his jeans and boxers off him, heard the slither of Orlando's t-shirt over his head, the metal noise of jeans being unzipped. Somewhere nearby two birds were quarrelling. Further away he could hear traffic, and another plane went over. Elijah wondered crazily if anyone could look down and see them like this, naked and aroused in the park at night.

Then Orli was kneeling over him again, and Elijah thought he might come simply from the sensation of their cocks pressing against each other.

"I want this to last," Orlando whispered, kissing his neck. His hands were busy at Elijah's groin, looping —

Panic suddenly caught up with Elijah. "No, hey, what —"

Orlando's mouth descended on his again, gagging him. His tongue pushed deep into Elijah's mouth as he pulled the soft cord tight around Lij's cock and balls. "Trust me," he said again, breaking the kiss and stroking Elijah's face gently. "It's just so you won't come too soon. Not till I want you to."

Elijah's eyes under the velvet blindfold were wide with alarm. But he couldn't deny the thrill that coursed through his veins at every touch: and he did trust Orlando. Orli would stop if he asked him to, and so he didn't ask. "Okay," he whispered, trying to calm his breathing.

"Oh, Lij, if you could see yourself..." The desire in Orlando's voice sent a pulse through Elijah's body, jolting him, and the cord around his balls seemed to tighten in response. He could feel Orlando hovering over him: his skin tingled with the proximity. Orli nudged Elijah's knees apart with his own. He raised himself up, his hands gripping the wood behind Elijah's head so hard that it creaked. Then his cock was nudging at Elijah's kiss-swollen lips, and Elijah opened wide, tasting the bitter pre-come when he pushed his tongue into the slit. Orlando moaned above him, and Lij felt a ripple of achievement. He took as much of Orlando's hot, taut erection as he could, tongue swirling encouragingly as Orli thrust down his throat. Elijah's wrists stung where the soft rope cut in as he strained against it, and his own erection felt like a fresh bruise. He sucked harder, speeding up the rhythm, feeling Orli thrust faster: but then he was withdrawing again, and Elijah moaned with frustration and want.

"I want to fuck you, Lij," Orlando gasped, frantically kissing his cheek, his throat, his shoulder. "I want to come inside you." I did that, thought Elijah through the aching burn of need. I made him gasp. "Will you let me inside you, Lij?"

"Oh God yes," Elijah managed, practically sobbing with mingled arousal and pain. "Please, Orli, ple—" He choked on the words as a long, slick finger slid into him, curving expertly to find his prostate. The thud of his pulse in his aching cock was like toothache, like thunder. The world had narrowed to the feel of Orlando's hand, cold with lubrication, sliding along his shaft, Orlando's finger — no, fingers — pushing into him, Orlando's tongue tracing the outline of his lips. The blackness behind the blindfold was shot with red.

Orlando's hands were arranging him now, pulling his legs up and arching his back. Elijah flattened his feet against the wooden bench. He listened to himself begging Orli to make him come, let him come, to fuck him hard. Orlando's soft mouth moved from neck to nipple, kissing and biting and licking, but that was just background to the pressure in his groin. Even the third finger, stretching him extravagantly, was background.

Then Orlando pulled his fingers out and put his broad hands, still slick with lube, on Elijah's buttocks, and pulled Elijah onto him like someone putting on a too-tight glove.

Elijah thought he might pass out. He pushed his feet down and arched back, impaling himself more deeply, until his head was hanging over the back of the bench. Orlando inside him seemed to fill up his body with heat and hardness. Everything else inside him had been pushed aside. Orli began to rock, holding Elijah's hips to prevent him pushing back, and that sent Elijah beyond volume, let alone speech. He was emitting a continuous mewling gasp, which might have had the vowels of Orli's name in it somewhere. His erection pulsed painfully against his stomach, and the cock-tie felt like molten metal. Wood pressed against his neck, and the rush of blood in his ears was making him dizzy. He tried to breathe in time with Orli's thrusts, breathe with his whole body, feeling his muscles contract around Orlando's cock inside him, feeling his hands spasm against the soft chafing rope …

Orlando buried his head in the crook of Elijah's shoulder, mouth wet on his hot, damp skin. He was shaking, gasping out of time with his own thrusts, losing the rhythm. Elijah arched up hard against him, feeling the rope bite into his wrists. The pain was dim and slight beside the exquisite burn of Orlando inside him. Somewhere in the world beyond, loud in the absolute darkness behind the blindfold, a clock began to chime.

Orlando's hands left Lij's hips. One hand flew to the back of Elijah's head, one hand slid between their bodies to the base of Elijah's cock. The knots had never been tight, and even in extremity Orlando could manage each one-handed. The blindfold fell away as the restraining cord loosened.

Light flooded over Elijah: Orlando flooded into him, groaning: he flooded out, over the smooth wood, over the inverted towers and the river and the trees. And then the night rushed back in from the edges of his vision.

He came back, aching, in Orlando's arms, Orlando stroking his face and holding his head up, murmuring to him. After the blindfold, Elijah's night-vision was unusually acute. He could see the accomplishment, as well as the concern, in Orlando's expression.

"Wow," he said, huskily, stretching out his arms and wincing at a cramp. Orlando had untied his wrists, though from the feel of it the soft rope had left marks.

Orlando's laugh was shaky. "Yeah ... you okay? Was that okay?"

"That was … amazing." He wrapped his arms around his friend, feeling him relax, and kissed the curve of Orlando's neck.

"If you knew —" said Orlando.

"I've been —" said Elijah simultaneously. They both laughed.

"What now?" Elijah asked, and it came out sounding more serious than he'd intended.

"Well, we should get dressed," said Orlando, prosaically. He pressed a kiss on each rope-burnt wrist as he stood up.

Elijah shivered, and realised how sore he was. "I need a bath."

"Can I come and scrub your back?" Orlando said diffidently. Amazingly, after all that, he sounded as though he thought Elijah might refuse the offer.

Lij could be mean too. He kept Orlando waiting for a moment, mentally cataloguing the furniture of his hotel room. A chest of drawers, a wardrobe, an armchair... The bed, yes: the bed had an old-fashioned openwork headboard. He imagined Orlando on the floral bedspread, back bent like a bow, mouth full of obscenities, mouth full of Elijah. Time to see what else he kept in that backpack.

And it might be after midnight here, but his body clock said it was early evening and the night was young.

"I'd like that," he said, and grinned at Orlando in the dark.

-end-

Written partly on location in Greenwich, home of Greenwich Mean Time (and the Greenwich Meridian, which is a green laser beam). The 'olde worlde Victorian film set' is actually Borough Market, and the fake restaurant experience happened to a friend of mine. The pub is --- well, maybe I'll take you there.