fellowshippers | FIC: Not a Love Song part 3: Mad about the Boy (VM/OB, R)

TITLE: Mad about the Boy
AUTHOR: Gloria Mundi (gloriamundi@livejournal.com)
SERIES: Part 3 of Not A Love Song. Previous episodes - 'Let's Dance' and 'Kreutzersonate' - can be found at Beyond the Fellowship
PAIRING: VM/OB
RATING: R
SUMMARY: A Noel Coward song, and the best bathtime accessory ever.
FEEDBACK: Yes please
DISCLAIMER: A work of fiction: I made it up. They almost definitely have baths, but probably not like this.
ARCHIVE: List archives, CTB only please
AUTHOR NOTES: I was stuck on this for over three months until the soundtrack came right: lyrics to 'Mad about the Boy' can be found at the end of the fic. Thanks to Dinah Washington and Noel Coward for fic-facilitation, and to

ladymoonray for beta and consistency. Any errors remaining are my very own.

They were kissing, slowly, still tangled stickily on the floor under the window. Viggo was finding it difficult to let go of Orlando. He was feeling voluptuously lazy: Orlando, between his hands, felt like hundreds of potential orgasms in one warm, responsive package. Viggo hoped Orlando wouldn't mind too much.

"We should have that shower," Orlando murmured against his neck.

"Mmmm." Viggo didn't want to move. Getting Orlando naked would mean they'd have to stop touching each other, at least temporarily. And he knew, he just knew, that Orlando in the shower would be exhaustingly irresistable. He'd end up pinning him against the wet, slippery tiles, not having enough hands to touch him everywhere he wanted, knees trembling and locking as Orlando's cock twitched against his own ... The thought made him shiver slightly: or perhaps that was Orlando's thumb on his nipple. Or Orlando's tongue licking his neck.

"How about a bath instead?" said Viggo, words hitching slightly as Orlando moved his hand.

"A bath?" Orlando leant forward, shrugging, making Viggo want to devote an hour to his collarbone. "Sure."

Viggo levered himself back up the wall, pulling Orli after him, slightly off-balance so that he swayed into Viggo's kiss. Outside the window, it was much darker: the moon had set. Must be quite late, thought Viggo, but he didn't really care, and he certainly wasn't tired yet. Quite the opposite. One thing at a time ...

"C'mon," he said, letting go of nearly all of Orlando, and tugging at his wrist.

Orlando said, "Hang on," and kicked his feet free of his jeans and boxers, free hand braced on the wall next to Viggo's cheek, so that Viggo had to turn his head and kiss the inside of Orli's wrist. He could taste salt, and a muskiness that might have come from his own body. Orli sighed, and grinned: pulled both his hands free to drop to Viggo's waist. Viggo pulled his t-shirt off himself, trying not to be distracted by Orlando stooping like an attentive valet and peeling his jeans down over his hips.

As soon as he was naked, he hauled Orlando to his feet. "Unless you'd rather stay dirty?"

"Rather get dirty all over again." The grin was more audible than visible.

"Right," said Viggo, laughing. He let go of Orlando and headed for the bathroom. Turned the lights on low, the taps on full: a handful of oil and salt and bergamot, just a continuation of cooking dinner, yeah: turned round in time to grab Orlando, who was sneaking up behind him, and divested him of that horrid shirt, silencing any protest with a kiss. Though Orlando didn't seem inclined to protest, from his reaction. Viggo kissed him hard, anyway, just for the hell of it, and leant against the towel rail and carried on kissing him until the bath was full enough.

"Smells nice," said Orlando huskily. His mouth was fascinatingly red and swollen. "Masculine."

Viggo took that as an invitation, pulled Orlando against him again so that their erections bumped together. "Masculine," he agreed against Orlando's cheek, grinning, squeezing their cocks together one-handed. Orlando sighed hotly against his neck, arms tightening around his waist, and Viggo just wanted to pull him down on the tiled floor and fuck him.

"Get in," he told Orli. "I'll be back."

"But ..."

"Shhh. I'll be back," said Viggo over his shoulder. He could only find one glass in the kitchen, and tipped the rest of the port into it: he didn't mind sharing with Orli. On the way back, he picked a CD from the stack by the player, and put it on just loud enough to hear.

And Orlando was in the bath, possibly the most alluring bathtime accessory that Viggo had ever seen.

Orlando's head was back, eyes closed, kiss-swollen mouth slightly open, arms stretched wide as he leant back against the edge of the tub. Beads of oil and water gleamed like pearls on his long throat. Viggo just stood and stared until Orli opened his eyes and grinned at him, hands swivelling to beckon Viggo closer with an Elvishly neat and economical gesture.

Viggo felt his blood rushing. He was achingly hard. Instead of leaping on Orlando (and incidentally flooding the bathroom) he forced himself to walk to the end of the bath, so that Orli had to tilt his head back to look at him. That brilliant smile was, if anything, wider and more inviting.

Viggo sipped at the port to soothe the ache in his throat. Beauty, that's all it is: but even in the privacy of his head it sounded like an excuse. He dipped his fingers into the glass and let Orli suck at them, but that was too much, too. He groaned, set the glass aside, and bent to kiss upside-down Orli hungrily until they were both moaning.

Then Orli broke the kiss, sloshing water over the sides of the bath as he turned around, fingers digging into Viggo's hips as Viggo stopped breathing at the incredible burn of Orli's wet mouth on his cock. He gasped, wanting to pull Orli's head away so that he could get closer to him, but ending up running his hands hard over the smooth skin of Orli's scalp, pulling him closer, already aware of his orgasm rising up like a tsunami. With Orlando's clever tongue swirling fast and hard around and up and down, he came more quickly that he'd have thought possible, hunched over and gasping. And Orlando, unexpectedly, swallowed.

Viggo smiled back at him, completely lost for words.

"C'mon," said Orli invitingly, rocking back to give Viggo more room. "Come and get clean."

Viggo raised his eyebrows. "What if I like being dirty?"

"Then come and be dirty," murmured Orlando, smiling wickedly. "Show me dirty."

There was considerably more water on the floor by the time Viggo had settled into the bath with Orlando pressed against him, trembling and moaning: his mouth was bent to Viggo's shoulder, kissing and biting, a forefinger tracing the corded veins in Viggo's throat. Viggo's left hand was between Orli's thighs, fingers pressing behind his balls and resisting Orli's eel-like attempts to impale himself. He found himself gasping breathlessly into Orli's hot, hungry kisses: just who was in control here? Viggo's other hand flitted from nipple to earlobe to mouth, teasing and tantalising. He wanted to make Orli feel wonderful, wanted to bring him crashing into a tumultuous orgasm: but at the same time Orlando's complete yearning abandon was delicious. They might learn - Viggo hoped they'd learn - one another's particular pleasures. However many more times this happened between them, he intended to remember tonight.

And make Orlando remember it, too.

He gently stroked Orlando's back, pressing firmly against each vertebra, slowing his own breathing and trying to bring Orlando's into phase. He was still panting and moaning, and his pupils were huge in the dim light, deep enough for Viggo to lose himself staring into them. Orli was pushing against him, hands roaming over the knotted muscles in Viggo's neck and back, but with less urgency than before: he was falling into the slow, intense rhythm that Viggo had set.

Viggo doled out light, precise kisses along Orlando's cheekbones, not breaking eye contact. He smiled as a phrase from the CD caught his ear.

"Mad about the boy," he crooned into Orlando's ear, "simply mad about the boy."

Orlando winced, and laughed. He laid a long finger against Viggo's mouth. "Don't give up the day job, Vig. No offence, but you're not exactly Dinah Washington."

Viggo grinned, biting gently at the reproving finger. "Some people like my singing."

"Some people are tone-deaf. I can think of better things -- Oh god. Oh," said Orlando, suddenly distracted. "God."

Viggo had been hoping he could persuade Orlando to forget about his singing. He could think of better things to do with his mouth, too. It was a while since he'd given anyone a blowjob, but there was something inspirational about Orlando.

He pulled Orli's hips up towards him, got him kneeling, slid down a little in the bath until the angle was right. Then Viggo wrapped his lips around the hard, hot flesh and began to circle the head, delicately, with the tip of his tongue.

Orli braced himself on the sides of the bath, leaning his weight on his wrists so that he could thrust harder into Viggo's mouth. That was fine with Viggo: he wanted to make this good, perfect, for Orlando, and by the sound of it he wasn't doing badly at all. Orli was chanting his name like a prayer, much sweeter music than Dinah on the stereo, and when Viggo wrapped his fingers around the base of Orlando's cock, he became completely incoherent. After that, after Viggo relaxed his throat so that almost all of Orlando's erection was sliding wetly into and out of his mouth, it was a matter of seconds before Orlando gasped and swore and came in a hot salty-bitter rush.

The taste turned Viggo on all over again. He kissed his way up Orlando, who was gasping and sagging in his arms, and let him taste himself in Viggo's mouth.

"I think you could be quite addictive," he murmured, pulling Orlando against him and letting them both slip back down into the luke-warm water.

"Are you ... you're not really mad about me, are you, Viggo?" said Orlando after another kiss, staring intently at Viggo's neck.

Considering the course of the evening, Viggo was surprised at the diffident note.

"Mmm," he said, savouring the taste of salt and oil and Orlando. "You're maddening."

"Am I? Is that good or bad?"

Viggo stretched out a contemplative pause long enough for Orlando's smile to falter. "Oh, good, I'd say." He tightened his arms around Orli, and kissed him again for emphasis. "I'm crazy about you."

"Are you really?" said Orlando, voice caught between wonderment and glee.

"Oh, definitely. Definitely." Let himself be kissed again, a sweet and lingering kiss. "Wanna go to bed?"

"Tired already?" said Orlando, leaning in to slide his cheek along Viggo's.

"Not at all. That's why I want to go to bed," said Viggo, and grinned right back at Orlando. He'd need to sleep eventually: but not yet, not quite yet.

"Tell me what you want, Viggo."

It sounded like a genuine question. He shifted his hands, and felt the numb, waterlogged skin of his fingers like gloves on Orlando's smooth shoulders. "I want to get out of this cold bath."

"That's not what --"

"And then I want to go to bed with you." He ran a finger along Orlando's lower lip to hush him. "Kiss you everywhere. Feel every inch of your skin with my hands. Then with my mouth." Viggo kissed the jut of Orlando's collarbone by way of demonstration. "Get myself inside you as far as I can go. Feel you inside me. Make you shout. Exhaust myself coming with you. Inside you. Onto your skin." He planted another kiss in the hollow of Orlando's throat. "If you wanted, of course."

Orlando looked dazed. "All that, tonight?" he managed, at last.

"It doesn't have to be tonight," said Viggo softly, suddenly afraid that one night was all that Orlando was offering. He watched, entranced, as the other man stood up, water streaming off him, already half-erect again -- from Viggo's words, he realised, and was amazed at the rush of accomplishment he felt. Orlando looked down at him solemnly for a moment, and Viggo held his breath.

Then Orlando smiled, and the whole room seemed brighter. "Going to sleep next to you is going to feel like Christmas Eve," he said. "How am I going to be able to sleep, knowing you'll be there when I wake up?"

His delight, and his desire, were infectious. Viggo felt he could stay awake until dawn. "I'll do my best," he said, "to tire you out."

Orlando reached for the forgotten glass of port, sipped, swayed elegantly towards Viggo to share the taste. "Mmm. Take me to bed, Vig," he said, and each word was heavy and sweet and intoxicating.

Viggo didn't resist. Sweet madness.

-end-

I'm mad about the boy
I know it's stupid to be mad about the boy
I'm so ashamed of it
But must admit the sleepless nights I've had about the boy

On the silver screen
He melts my foolish heart in every single scene
Although I'm quite aware that here and there
are traces of the cad about the boy

Lord knows I'm not a fool girl
I really shouldn't care
Lord knows I'm not a schoolgirl
who's in the flurry of her first affair

Will it ever cloy
this odd diversity of misery and joy
I'm feeling quite insane and young again
and all because I'm mad about the boy

['Mad about the boy': lyrics by Noel Coward: memorably performed by Dinah Washington]

FIC: Not a Love Song part 3: Mad about the Boy (VM/OB, R)

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