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fellowshippers2005-02-11 05:23 pm
amourality.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2005-02-11 05:23 pm
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Title: Maybe
Author: Ami
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Marshall Mathers/Orlando Bloom
Summary: The final part of the ongoing saga ;). I've included all the parts here so you don't have to go looking for them. If you've already read them, you can just straight to the final part. Thank you to everyone who took the time to read this.
Disclaimer: I made it up. To my knowledge it never happened.
Orlando knew that Marshall wished he’d wear sweatpants when they met, but they just weren’t Orlando and besides he enjoyed the sight of a desperate Marshall, scrabbling with frantic fingers at his buttons, not wanting to release Orlando’s mouth but breaking away every few seconds and panting in frustration.
Orlando gave him a wicked smile and Marshall dove back to his mouth, pulling at his buttons until they finally gave way.
Marshall knew that Orlando never wore underwear when they met. It’s was Marshall’s reward for struggling with the buttons and it made him even more vigourous in his attempts to get Orlando out of his pants and get his mouth on the warm hardness hidden inside.
A shudder ran through Orlando and he felt Marshall’s hands push his hips harder against the wall to keep him from falling down, keeping him steady and he ran his tongue roughly along the underside of Orlando’s cock, so hard that it lay almost flush against his flat stomach.
Orlando always wished that Marshall had just a little more length to his hair so he could wind his fingers through it and grip it tightly while he moved Marshall against him, but he settled for holding the back of his head and watching the naked lust in the blue eyes while the pink lips moved over him.
Marshall’s eyes were all Orlando could see, the rest of the room shadowy and grey and every sensation was concentrated in the wet heat of Marshall’s mouth and the sharp pressure of Marshall’s thumbs against his hip bones.
Marshall always wished that Orlando would last a little longer, because he loved the feel of Orlando filling his mouth, loved the taste of sweat and salt and the way Orlando pushed hard and desperate. But he settled for the few minutes he got, never closing his eyes so he could watch the feral pleasure that drenched Orlando face.
Marshall sucked harder, his tongue moving faster as if he couldn’t breathe without Orlando’s cock in his mouth, without the smell and taste of Orlando swimming through his senses. Orlando gave himself over to every touch, the hand on Marshall’s head no longer trying to keep pace, Marshall now moving faster than he had the coordination for.
Orlando loved seeing Marshall on his knees, submissive and willing and wanting to please, wanting to take everything Orlando gave. He kept the image in his head all the time and when he saw Marshall on TV, all swagger and macho and ‘don’t fuck with me’, Orlando closed his eyes and saw the other side of Marshall, the one that only he knew about, the one that drank Orlando like water, the one that liked being thrown onto the bed and fucked until he could barely walk.
Marshall slowed down and removed some of the pressure, just running his tongue light over the tip, just for a few seconds until he could almost see tears in Orlando’s eyes and could feel his thighs shudder like he couldn’t stand and then he quickened the pace again, taking every inch of Orlando in his mouth every time he pushed forward, scratching his mark into Orlando's tight skin, until Orlando gasped in ecstacy and Marshall swallowed it all, staying where he was until he felt Orlando go limp against his tongue.
Marshall loved watching Orlando when he came. Marshall loved Orlando. Orlando loved Marshall. Once a month. Regardless.
Marshall decided that ignorance was bliss. He could have watched Orlando on the entertainment shows or read about him in the magazines his little girl sometimes brought home, but Orlando had this tendency to get caught on camera with his arms or lips attached to other people. Not that Marshall cared or got a dull thud in his stomach or gave a fuck what Orlando did when they weren’t together because Marshall didn’t do shit like that; not about girls and not about guys. It was just that Marshall wanted Orlando only to exist in the few hours they were together because that made it like a fantasy, that made it unreal, that made it something he didn’t have to think about. When someone had once asked him about Orlando Bloom, he’d said ‘Orlando who?’
"Orlando Bloom."
The way he’d smiled made lust at first sight seem like the understatement of the century.
"Yeh. I saw you in that Rings thing. It was good."
That should have been it, passed by, over, but their eyes were locked and entire sentences were being spoken without a word.
"Thank you. Your latest album was amazing."
Small talk. Pointless, unnecessary punctuation to the words unspoken.
"Thanks."
Quiet.
"You’re welcome."
Almost a whisper.
Thirty minutes later, in the first empty room they’d found that locked, they lay softly gasping for air as Marshall ran his tongue along Orlando’s neck, tasting sweat and skin, savouring his final taste before they said goodbye.
Orlando decided that he didn’t need Marshall. He could switch off the TV if Marshall came on because he didn’t need to see him. He would walk out of a shop if Marshall came on the radio because he didn’t need to hear him. He could distract himself easily if a memory fluttered in because he didn’t need to think about him. He hadn’t even brought the latest album and when someone had given him a copy, he’d almost said he’d never heard of Eminem. Orlando had hundreds of friends and Marshall wasn’t one of them. They had nothing in common. They just fucked.
Wrapped together, drenched in each other, already half hard again, just because. A single kiss had passed, wet, soft and open-mouthed, not sex because they’d both felt it somewhere else, not leading them anywhere they’d been already. It lasted two seconds and it terrified them. So Orlando fucked Marshall until he felt the muscles in his thighs start to tear, and Marshall begged for more.
Marshall brought the aftershave that Orlando wore because he liked the way it smelt on him after they’d been together and because a couple of his friends had commented that it wasn’t what he usually wore. Not because it reminded him of Orlando.
He crept up on Orlando, throwing both arms tightly around his waist and pulling him close, pressing his face to Orlando’s jaw. Slow, measured inhalation. A soft, low moan as he exhaled. "Fuck you smell good."
Orlando wore a t-shirt in bed that Marshall had given him once after his shirt had been torn because he liked the way the material felt against his skin and because it looked good on him. Not because it reminded him of Marshall.
He crept up on Marshall, sliding his hands under the baggy t-shirt, smooth tight skin beneath his fingers. "Fuck you look hot."
"I’m glad you like it, cos you probably gonna have to wear it home after I rip that shirt off of you."
Marshall never thought about Orlando. Orlando never thought about Marshall. Because they’d agreed. Once a month. Whatever.
Orlando had developed a thing for Marshall’s nose; the way Marshall’s eyelids would flicker down when he pressed a gentle kiss to the tip.
Marshall’s hands trapped above his head, Orlando sitting across Marshall’s thighs, leaning over, holding him down.
Kiss. Flicker.
“I hate my nose.”
Kiss. Flicker.
“I think it’s perfect.”
Kiss. Flicker.
“It’s all out of shape.”
Kiss. Flicker.
“I think it’s perfect.”
Kiss. Flicker. Lips. Sex.
Marshall had developed a thing about Orlando’s ears; the way Orlando’s whole body would shudder when he bit lightly at the lobe.
Orlando gasped at the breath close to his ear, shivering and leaning back into Marshall when he felt teeth scrape gently at his skin. He felt hardness pressed against him and he reached round to pull it closer, tilting his head back, pushing into Marshall’s mouth, pushing into Marshall’s hands. Low gutteral moans between the gasps, pinning Marshall’s back to the wall with the wicked slow roll of his hips and all Marshall could do was close his eyes and hold on.
Orlando had made the mistake of imagining what it would be like watch the sun set with Marshall. Holding his hand while they sat at the top of a deserted cliff-top, gazing into his face and seeing those blue eyes in the hazy orange and gold. Sometimes he’d imagine that it started to rain just a little, the droplets splashing on Marshall’s pale skin and Marshall would take off his top and Orlando would lay him down in the damp grass and carefully lick each drop as it fell.
They fucked at dusk and Orlando left the curtains open. He held Marshall’s legs, pushing into him over and over, watching the final rays of sunlight dancing in Marshall’s eyes. He held back the searing flames he felt building until darkness covered them and there was only the white light behind his eyes.
Marshall had made the mistake of imagining what it would be like to wake up next to Orlando. Seeing that smile highlighted in the first rays of sunlight, those brown eyes warm with sleep, long lashes struggling to flutter open. Sometimes he’d imagine that his first sight of those eyes would be when he looked up at Orlando from between his thighs, watching surprise then pleasure cross Orlando’s face as he took softness into his mouth and made it hard.
Marshall let Orlando sleep in his arms for a few minutes before they had to say goodbye. He listened to Orlando’s soft steady breaths and he felt the slow rise and fall of Orlando’s chest. For just a few minutes. Maybe five. Maybe ten. Then he gently shook him, never taking his eyes from Orlando’s face, studying every movement, every flicker of every muscle. It was over too quickly, but they had to say goodbye.
Marshall started dreaming about Orlando, waking up hard and shaking. Orlando started dreaming about Marshall, waking up damp and nervous. Marshall went to the gym more often. Orlando started running in the mornings. Because it was just once a month.
But it was a long month. Almost endless.
Marshall was in L.A. that week but Orlando was in New York. And it wasn’t that he couldn’t bear to miss a month but somewhere in the middle of cursing his inflexible schedule and hating his life, he lied to everyone and found himself standing at LAX Terminal 4, Gate 41, waiting for American Airlines flight 22 to JFK.
He ignored the surprised look on Orlando’s face, removing it with a kiss as he pushed his way in and kicked the door closed behind him. He ignored the ringing phone, blocking it out with Orlando’s moans as he dragged his tongue along Orlando’s jaw. Naked in seconds and on his knees; the buttons flicked open with practised ease and he almost missed the struggle, but once he had the texture and taste and scent filling every sense he forgot everything but the sweet, desperate throb and how to make Orlando scream his name.
Orlando was in New York that week and Marshall had been in L.A. And it wasn’t that he hadn’t been able to bear missing a month but somewhere in the middle of imagining what Marshall looked like naked and wet in his hotel shower, he called reception back to apologize for missing his cab and quietly tore up his ticket to LAX.
Marshall made the tiniest movement with his fingertips and Orlando rolled willingly into his arms. The sheets were tangled at their feet and Orlando kicked them to the floor, slipping one leg between Marshall’s. He gave himself over to the moment, drowning in the tired blue eyes.
"I guess you have to get back tonight."
Orlando hadn’t prayed since he was a child, but in the anxious pause as he shifted his gaze to stare at a point on the wall over Marshall’s shoulder, he really hoped there was a god.
"I ain’t got nowhere to be."
And god said let there be light and there was. Orlando could see it burning in Marshall’s eyes. He let a smile curl at his lips and moved in tighter as he closed his eyes.
In the heat and the crowds, L.A. was cold and lonely. The second hand on every clock had stopped. He’d watched the same pay-per-view movie over and over again and never once got to the end before coming so hard in his own hand that he lost consciousness seconds later. His imagination took him to places he’d swore he’d never go again and what scared him most was that he went willingly.
"Orlando?"
"Marshall?"
"Yeh. I just...I wanted..."
"Are you okay?"
"Yeh. No. I just. I gotta go."
"Marshall..."
Click.
Twelve months. Twelve times. And Orlando knew the date of every one. He knew every detail, every groan, every sigh. He knew the words to every song. He lived them over and over again on his own, promising every time was the last. But every promise ran like sand through his fingers when each bed was too big to be in alone.
"Marshall?"
"Orlando?"
"Yeh. Hi. I was wondering if..."
"Yeh?"
"Maybe..."
"Yeh?"
"Forget it. Doesn’t matter."
"Orlando..."
Click.
Orlando let the tear fall and Marshall threw the phone at the wall. Once a month wasn’t enough.
It felt like suffocation; the air was saturated, flooded with Marshall, every breath filling him with the guilt of the uninvited. It had only been a week but they were in the same city with no hell or high water to cross, no lies to be told, no excuses to be made except for the ones he made to himself. He wasn’t in Detroit for Marshall. Michigin was an unexpected detour that he hadn’t had the chance to argue about. He could have not made the call, he could have at least tried, but this city was Marshall and his resistance had gone.
The first morning kiss had been unbearably soft; still too drowsy to fuck, too comfortable to move, too tired to remember their defences. Their half closed eyes forgot to hide, locked and swimming with every caress of their lips. Warm soft limbs were tangled under the single white sheet Marshall had pulled over them, safe from reality for this short stolen moment.
Their first morning kiss had been perfect and no amount of stupid aborted phone calls afterwards had been able to take that away.
It felt like suicide; every block another slice across his wrists, another handful of pills. Seven days had been too long, but this city knew him, this city gave him nowhere to hide, this city wouldn’t forgive him. Not this time. Not for this. But Orlando was in his veins and not even the soul searing fear was enough to stop him. So he kept driving, cursing every familiar sight that made him feel lost in his home town.
He saw Orlando standing where he shouldn’t have been and he didn’t feel lost anymore. Too many other emotions drained the fear from him, drained the blood from his brain. He pulled over without stopping the engine. There were no words, no smiles, just a long silent look flashing dangerous, desperate desire. Marshall put his foot down and the accelerated through the dark streets, aching to reach out and touch, biting back a thousand half formed thoughts. The dead end of an unlit alley loomed around them. Marshall glanced in the mirror at the cold leather of the back seat and then at the warm brown of Orlando’s eyes.
He turned the key in the ignition.
“What are you doing?”
I have no fucking idea.
“We’re going home?”
“Home?”
“My home.”
“Why?”
Because I’m fucking insane.
“Because. You deserve better than this.”
Orlando locked himself in his house for three days until someone called Viggo. Viggo found him staring at the ceiling in the bedroom, laying on his bed in an over-sized t-shirt and sweatpants. He couldn’t have found the words even if he’d wanted to.
He stood in the doorway of Marshall’s bedroom, leaning against the frame, both hands in the back pockets of his jeans, gripping at the material. Marshall looked up at him and stopped tidying, walking over and pushing the hair from the side of Orlando’s face with a careful hand. Marshall moved in and slid his arms around Orlando’s waist, breathing in the scent of his jaw.
“This can’t go on.”
Orlando swallowed and pulled Marshall closer, brushing his lips to Marshall’s cheek as he spoke.
“I know.”
Marshall vented in his notebook, writing a song no one would ever hear, calm and controlled until Deshaun asked him if it was about Kim and he hurled the book at the wall screaming, “You have no idea how much easier that would fucking be!”
Orlando could still smell Marshall’s sweat on his skin when he left, not waiting to say goodbye, not even waiting for Marshall to come out from the bathroom. Marshall didn’t need to see him cry.
Orlando knew. Marshall knew. Not once a month. Never.
Deshaun found out three weeks later when he found a tear-stained Marshall curled up on the sofa clutching one of Hailie’s magazines to his chest, the white noise of the TV hissing in the background. Even as the tears started welling in his eyes again, Marshall said he hadn’t been crying, because he didn’t give a damn, Orlando had just been a quick fuck and of course he could fucking live without him, because he was no faggot it had just felt good and it was easy because Orlando knew the risks if they were caught and he trusted him to keep his mouth shut and they’d only stopped seeing each other because...
Marshall look down at the crumpled poster in the magazine and the flow of words stopped in his throat. Deshaun put a hand on his shoulder.
"You pretty gone, huh?"
Viggo found out three weeks later when he found Orlando passed out in his armchair, empty beer cans littered at his feet and the stereo pumping bass so loud it made the room shake. Half asleep and slurring his words, Orlando explained that he just missed the excitement of the illicit meetings and he’d liked having a secret that was just his and he'd known it was never going to go anywhere but it was nice while it lasted and now that it was over, well that was fine too because he could easily find someone else and Marshall wasn’t that special and...
The words faded along with his eyes. Viggo reached out to take his hand.
"You need to get to bed."
Orlando pulled his hand away and curled up into a tight little ball on the chair.
"The bed’s too big."
When Marshall thought about Orlando, he fantasised about taking him out to dinner, holding his hand across the table and watching the candlelight flicker in Orlando’s dark eyes. The longer they spent apart the more Marshall’s dreams were of them simply being together, of the way Orlando made him feel. That freedom he’d felt when he didn’t have to pretend. That was what Orlando had given him. What no one else ever had. The chance to be vulnerable without being scared. To be out of control and still feel safe.
Somewhere in the depths of his thoughts, he admitted he missed him.
"I’m 32. I’ve got two kids to look after. I’ve got too many things to consider. I can’t just announce to the world that I’m fucking Legolas."
Deshaun smirked.
"It’s not funny."
"No, it’s fucking tragic. That bleach musta finally fucked up your brain. When did you turn into such a fucking pussy?"
When Orlando thought about Marshall, he fantasised about walking down some red carpet with their hands laced together, letting the cameras flash and the mouths drop open and then at the last minute before they disappeared into the party or the premiere, they’d share just a small kiss then Marshall would slip an arm around his shoulder and they’d go in. Marshall made him feel safe and solid, like nothing could touch him. Marshall had given him an immunity he’d never had before.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he needed him.
"It was too complicated. Too many things could have gone wrong. It was starting to get messy. We’d agreed once a month but it just wasn’t working out they way we’d thought."
"So you broke up because you liked each other too much?"
"It’s not that simple. It was turning into something it couldn’t be."
"I’ve known you a long time Orlando, and that is quite possibly the stupidest thing you’ve ever said."
Marshall stared at Orlando’s name in his cell phone. Orlando stared at Marshall’s. It couldn’t be that simple.
Marshall didn’t put up much of a struggle as Deshaun forced him in the car and drove him to Orlando’s apartment. Viggo let him in and locked the door as he left. Marshall found Orlando in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, staring into the bottom of an empty glass. He’d planned every word he was going to say, every defence and reason he’d give, and forgot it all the instant that Orlando glanced up at him.
The smell of Orlando’s hair made his lungs ache, the first breath he’d taken in a month. He wrapped Orlando up and just inhaled, holding him like he was back from the dead. Infinite seconds passed in silence, hands slowly inching further and tighter and all the creeping realisation squeezed shut Marshall’s eyes and made his throat ache from the holding back.
Orlando told Viggo he didn’t want any visitors and finished another glass of wine as he heard the door close. He had nothing to say. He was empty; drained and numb. He looked up to ask Viggo to leave and didn’t even feel the glass fall from his hand.
Every beat of Marshall’s heart gave Orlando back his life. He clung to him like a lost child, merging into him, unable to get close enough. He had no memory of before this moment; every second since they were last like this vanished in the haven of Marshall’s arms. He craved and he needed and he didn’t ever want to let go.
Marshall watched Orlando for an hour before he closed his eyes. Tomorrow they’d have to talk but for now the spell was still intact, weaving a blanket over them that kept them safe from the outside world. He put aside every fear he had because nothing was dangerous here where Orlando sheltered him.
Orlando raked his fingers down Marshall’s chest as he pushed him to the bed. Undressed and desperate, trapped between Marshall’s thigh, erections sliding, tongues fucking, every sound awash with naked lust. They came first like this. Overwhelmed and barely aware. Not stopping to breathe, already half hard again as Marshall wrestled Orlando onto his back and sucked at his ear and his neck until Orlando pleaded and pushed him down.
Orlando’s eyes flickered open to bright blue and Marshall’s soft kisses. Delicate beams of winter sun slipped through the curtains. The bed didn’t seem so big now. The world didn’t seem so bad now. Orlando pressed his lips to the tip of Marshall’s nose and smiled as his eyes fluttered closed.
They didn’t fuck. They made love. Marshall knew the difference and realised he never had before. Orlando had been deep inside of him, hips still, delicate fingers tracing patterns on his skin, taking him close and then bringing him back, over and over again. They came together because they couldn’t hold on any longer and in the blinding white light they became one, each owning the other with every pulse.
Something was different and it felt good. They held hands over the breakfast table and thought that they might be able to do this. Maybe.
Author: Ami
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Marshall Mathers/Orlando Bloom
Summary: The final part of the ongoing saga ;). I've included all the parts here so you don't have to go looking for them. If you've already read them, you can just straight to the final part. Thank you to everyone who took the time to read this.
Disclaimer: I made it up. To my knowledge it never happened.
Orlando knew that Marshall wished he’d wear sweatpants when they met, but they just weren’t Orlando and besides he enjoyed the sight of a desperate Marshall, scrabbling with frantic fingers at his buttons, not wanting to release Orlando’s mouth but breaking away every few seconds and panting in frustration.
Orlando gave him a wicked smile and Marshall dove back to his mouth, pulling at his buttons until they finally gave way.
Marshall knew that Orlando never wore underwear when they met. It’s was Marshall’s reward for struggling with the buttons and it made him even more vigourous in his attempts to get Orlando out of his pants and get his mouth on the warm hardness hidden inside.
A shudder ran through Orlando and he felt Marshall’s hands push his hips harder against the wall to keep him from falling down, keeping him steady and he ran his tongue roughly along the underside of Orlando’s cock, so hard that it lay almost flush against his flat stomach.
Orlando always wished that Marshall had just a little more length to his hair so he could wind his fingers through it and grip it tightly while he moved Marshall against him, but he settled for holding the back of his head and watching the naked lust in the blue eyes while the pink lips moved over him.
Marshall’s eyes were all Orlando could see, the rest of the room shadowy and grey and every sensation was concentrated in the wet heat of Marshall’s mouth and the sharp pressure of Marshall’s thumbs against his hip bones.
Marshall always wished that Orlando would last a little longer, because he loved the feel of Orlando filling his mouth, loved the taste of sweat and salt and the way Orlando pushed hard and desperate. But he settled for the few minutes he got, never closing his eyes so he could watch the feral pleasure that drenched Orlando face.
Marshall sucked harder, his tongue moving faster as if he couldn’t breathe without Orlando’s cock in his mouth, without the smell and taste of Orlando swimming through his senses. Orlando gave himself over to every touch, the hand on Marshall’s head no longer trying to keep pace, Marshall now moving faster than he had the coordination for.
Orlando loved seeing Marshall on his knees, submissive and willing and wanting to please, wanting to take everything Orlando gave. He kept the image in his head all the time and when he saw Marshall on TV, all swagger and macho and ‘don’t fuck with me’, Orlando closed his eyes and saw the other side of Marshall, the one that only he knew about, the one that drank Orlando like water, the one that liked being thrown onto the bed and fucked until he could barely walk.
Marshall slowed down and removed some of the pressure, just running his tongue light over the tip, just for a few seconds until he could almost see tears in Orlando’s eyes and could feel his thighs shudder like he couldn’t stand and then he quickened the pace again, taking every inch of Orlando in his mouth every time he pushed forward, scratching his mark into Orlando's tight skin, until Orlando gasped in ecstacy and Marshall swallowed it all, staying where he was until he felt Orlando go limp against his tongue.
Marshall loved watching Orlando when he came. Marshall loved Orlando. Orlando loved Marshall. Once a month. Regardless.
Marshall decided that ignorance was bliss. He could have watched Orlando on the entertainment shows or read about him in the magazines his little girl sometimes brought home, but Orlando had this tendency to get caught on camera with his arms or lips attached to other people. Not that Marshall cared or got a dull thud in his stomach or gave a fuck what Orlando did when they weren’t together because Marshall didn’t do shit like that; not about girls and not about guys. It was just that Marshall wanted Orlando only to exist in the few hours they were together because that made it like a fantasy, that made it unreal, that made it something he didn’t have to think about. When someone had once asked him about Orlando Bloom, he’d said ‘Orlando who?’
"Orlando Bloom."
The way he’d smiled made lust at first sight seem like the understatement of the century.
"Yeh. I saw you in that Rings thing. It was good."
That should have been it, passed by, over, but their eyes were locked and entire sentences were being spoken without a word.
"Thank you. Your latest album was amazing."
Small talk. Pointless, unnecessary punctuation to the words unspoken.
"Thanks."
Quiet.
"You’re welcome."
Almost a whisper.
Thirty minutes later, in the first empty room they’d found that locked, they lay softly gasping for air as Marshall ran his tongue along Orlando’s neck, tasting sweat and skin, savouring his final taste before they said goodbye.
Orlando decided that he didn’t need Marshall. He could switch off the TV if Marshall came on because he didn’t need to see him. He would walk out of a shop if Marshall came on the radio because he didn’t need to hear him. He could distract himself easily if a memory fluttered in because he didn’t need to think about him. He hadn’t even brought the latest album and when someone had given him a copy, he’d almost said he’d never heard of Eminem. Orlando had hundreds of friends and Marshall wasn’t one of them. They had nothing in common. They just fucked.
Wrapped together, drenched in each other, already half hard again, just because. A single kiss had passed, wet, soft and open-mouthed, not sex because they’d both felt it somewhere else, not leading them anywhere they’d been already. It lasted two seconds and it terrified them. So Orlando fucked Marshall until he felt the muscles in his thighs start to tear, and Marshall begged for more.
Marshall brought the aftershave that Orlando wore because he liked the way it smelt on him after they’d been together and because a couple of his friends had commented that it wasn’t what he usually wore. Not because it reminded him of Orlando.
He crept up on Orlando, throwing both arms tightly around his waist and pulling him close, pressing his face to Orlando’s jaw. Slow, measured inhalation. A soft, low moan as he exhaled. "Fuck you smell good."
Orlando wore a t-shirt in bed that Marshall had given him once after his shirt had been torn because he liked the way the material felt against his skin and because it looked good on him. Not because it reminded him of Marshall.
He crept up on Marshall, sliding his hands under the baggy t-shirt, smooth tight skin beneath his fingers. "Fuck you look hot."
"I’m glad you like it, cos you probably gonna have to wear it home after I rip that shirt off of you."
Marshall never thought about Orlando. Orlando never thought about Marshall. Because they’d agreed. Once a month. Whatever.
Orlando had developed a thing for Marshall’s nose; the way Marshall’s eyelids would flicker down when he pressed a gentle kiss to the tip.
Marshall’s hands trapped above his head, Orlando sitting across Marshall’s thighs, leaning over, holding him down.
Kiss. Flicker.
“I hate my nose.”
Kiss. Flicker.
“I think it’s perfect.”
Kiss. Flicker.
“It’s all out of shape.”
Kiss. Flicker.
“I think it’s perfect.”
Kiss. Flicker. Lips. Sex.
Marshall had developed a thing about Orlando’s ears; the way Orlando’s whole body would shudder when he bit lightly at the lobe.
Orlando gasped at the breath close to his ear, shivering and leaning back into Marshall when he felt teeth scrape gently at his skin. He felt hardness pressed against him and he reached round to pull it closer, tilting his head back, pushing into Marshall’s mouth, pushing into Marshall’s hands. Low gutteral moans between the gasps, pinning Marshall’s back to the wall with the wicked slow roll of his hips and all Marshall could do was close his eyes and hold on.
Orlando had made the mistake of imagining what it would be like watch the sun set with Marshall. Holding his hand while they sat at the top of a deserted cliff-top, gazing into his face and seeing those blue eyes in the hazy orange and gold. Sometimes he’d imagine that it started to rain just a little, the droplets splashing on Marshall’s pale skin and Marshall would take off his top and Orlando would lay him down in the damp grass and carefully lick each drop as it fell.
They fucked at dusk and Orlando left the curtains open. He held Marshall’s legs, pushing into him over and over, watching the final rays of sunlight dancing in Marshall’s eyes. He held back the searing flames he felt building until darkness covered them and there was only the white light behind his eyes.
Marshall had made the mistake of imagining what it would be like to wake up next to Orlando. Seeing that smile highlighted in the first rays of sunlight, those brown eyes warm with sleep, long lashes struggling to flutter open. Sometimes he’d imagine that his first sight of those eyes would be when he looked up at Orlando from between his thighs, watching surprise then pleasure cross Orlando’s face as he took softness into his mouth and made it hard.
Marshall let Orlando sleep in his arms for a few minutes before they had to say goodbye. He listened to Orlando’s soft steady breaths and he felt the slow rise and fall of Orlando’s chest. For just a few minutes. Maybe five. Maybe ten. Then he gently shook him, never taking his eyes from Orlando’s face, studying every movement, every flicker of every muscle. It was over too quickly, but they had to say goodbye.
Marshall started dreaming about Orlando, waking up hard and shaking. Orlando started dreaming about Marshall, waking up damp and nervous. Marshall went to the gym more often. Orlando started running in the mornings. Because it was just once a month.
But it was a long month. Almost endless.
Marshall was in L.A. that week but Orlando was in New York. And it wasn’t that he couldn’t bear to miss a month but somewhere in the middle of cursing his inflexible schedule and hating his life, he lied to everyone and found himself standing at LAX Terminal 4, Gate 41, waiting for American Airlines flight 22 to JFK.
He ignored the surprised look on Orlando’s face, removing it with a kiss as he pushed his way in and kicked the door closed behind him. He ignored the ringing phone, blocking it out with Orlando’s moans as he dragged his tongue along Orlando’s jaw. Naked in seconds and on his knees; the buttons flicked open with practised ease and he almost missed the struggle, but once he had the texture and taste and scent filling every sense he forgot everything but the sweet, desperate throb and how to make Orlando scream his name.
Orlando was in New York that week and Marshall had been in L.A. And it wasn’t that he hadn’t been able to bear missing a month but somewhere in the middle of imagining what Marshall looked like naked and wet in his hotel shower, he called reception back to apologize for missing his cab and quietly tore up his ticket to LAX.
Marshall made the tiniest movement with his fingertips and Orlando rolled willingly into his arms. The sheets were tangled at their feet and Orlando kicked them to the floor, slipping one leg between Marshall’s. He gave himself over to the moment, drowning in the tired blue eyes.
"I guess you have to get back tonight."
Orlando hadn’t prayed since he was a child, but in the anxious pause as he shifted his gaze to stare at a point on the wall over Marshall’s shoulder, he really hoped there was a god.
"I ain’t got nowhere to be."
And god said let there be light and there was. Orlando could see it burning in Marshall’s eyes. He let a smile curl at his lips and moved in tighter as he closed his eyes.
In the heat and the crowds, L.A. was cold and lonely. The second hand on every clock had stopped. He’d watched the same pay-per-view movie over and over again and never once got to the end before coming so hard in his own hand that he lost consciousness seconds later. His imagination took him to places he’d swore he’d never go again and what scared him most was that he went willingly.
"Orlando?"
"Marshall?"
"Yeh. I just...I wanted..."
"Are you okay?"
"Yeh. No. I just. I gotta go."
"Marshall..."
Click.
Twelve months. Twelve times. And Orlando knew the date of every one. He knew every detail, every groan, every sigh. He knew the words to every song. He lived them over and over again on his own, promising every time was the last. But every promise ran like sand through his fingers when each bed was too big to be in alone.
"Marshall?"
"Orlando?"
"Yeh. Hi. I was wondering if..."
"Yeh?"
"Maybe..."
"Yeh?"
"Forget it. Doesn’t matter."
"Orlando..."
Click.
Orlando let the tear fall and Marshall threw the phone at the wall. Once a month wasn’t enough.
It felt like suffocation; the air was saturated, flooded with Marshall, every breath filling him with the guilt of the uninvited. It had only been a week but they were in the same city with no hell or high water to cross, no lies to be told, no excuses to be made except for the ones he made to himself. He wasn’t in Detroit for Marshall. Michigin was an unexpected detour that he hadn’t had the chance to argue about. He could have not made the call, he could have at least tried, but this city was Marshall and his resistance had gone.
The first morning kiss had been unbearably soft; still too drowsy to fuck, too comfortable to move, too tired to remember their defences. Their half closed eyes forgot to hide, locked and swimming with every caress of their lips. Warm soft limbs were tangled under the single white sheet Marshall had pulled over them, safe from reality for this short stolen moment.
Their first morning kiss had been perfect and no amount of stupid aborted phone calls afterwards had been able to take that away.
It felt like suicide; every block another slice across his wrists, another handful of pills. Seven days had been too long, but this city knew him, this city gave him nowhere to hide, this city wouldn’t forgive him. Not this time. Not for this. But Orlando was in his veins and not even the soul searing fear was enough to stop him. So he kept driving, cursing every familiar sight that made him feel lost in his home town.
He saw Orlando standing where he shouldn’t have been and he didn’t feel lost anymore. Too many other emotions drained the fear from him, drained the blood from his brain. He pulled over without stopping the engine. There were no words, no smiles, just a long silent look flashing dangerous, desperate desire. Marshall put his foot down and the accelerated through the dark streets, aching to reach out and touch, biting back a thousand half formed thoughts. The dead end of an unlit alley loomed around them. Marshall glanced in the mirror at the cold leather of the back seat and then at the warm brown of Orlando’s eyes.
He turned the key in the ignition.
“What are you doing?”
I have no fucking idea.
“We’re going home?”
“Home?”
“My home.”
“Why?”
Because I’m fucking insane.
“Because. You deserve better than this.”
Orlando locked himself in his house for three days until someone called Viggo. Viggo found him staring at the ceiling in the bedroom, laying on his bed in an over-sized t-shirt and sweatpants. He couldn’t have found the words even if he’d wanted to.
He stood in the doorway of Marshall’s bedroom, leaning against the frame, both hands in the back pockets of his jeans, gripping at the material. Marshall looked up at him and stopped tidying, walking over and pushing the hair from the side of Orlando’s face with a careful hand. Marshall moved in and slid his arms around Orlando’s waist, breathing in the scent of his jaw.
“This can’t go on.”
Orlando swallowed and pulled Marshall closer, brushing his lips to Marshall’s cheek as he spoke.
“I know.”
Marshall vented in his notebook, writing a song no one would ever hear, calm and controlled until Deshaun asked him if it was about Kim and he hurled the book at the wall screaming, “You have no idea how much easier that would fucking be!”
Orlando could still smell Marshall’s sweat on his skin when he left, not waiting to say goodbye, not even waiting for Marshall to come out from the bathroom. Marshall didn’t need to see him cry.
Orlando knew. Marshall knew. Not once a month. Never.
Deshaun found out three weeks later when he found a tear-stained Marshall curled up on the sofa clutching one of Hailie’s magazines to his chest, the white noise of the TV hissing in the background. Even as the tears started welling in his eyes again, Marshall said he hadn’t been crying, because he didn’t give a damn, Orlando had just been a quick fuck and of course he could fucking live without him, because he was no faggot it had just felt good and it was easy because Orlando knew the risks if they were caught and he trusted him to keep his mouth shut and they’d only stopped seeing each other because...
Marshall look down at the crumpled poster in the magazine and the flow of words stopped in his throat. Deshaun put a hand on his shoulder.
"You pretty gone, huh?"
Viggo found out three weeks later when he found Orlando passed out in his armchair, empty beer cans littered at his feet and the stereo pumping bass so loud it made the room shake. Half asleep and slurring his words, Orlando explained that he just missed the excitement of the illicit meetings and he’d liked having a secret that was just his and he'd known it was never going to go anywhere but it was nice while it lasted and now that it was over, well that was fine too because he could easily find someone else and Marshall wasn’t that special and...
The words faded along with his eyes. Viggo reached out to take his hand.
"You need to get to bed."
Orlando pulled his hand away and curled up into a tight little ball on the chair.
"The bed’s too big."
When Marshall thought about Orlando, he fantasised about taking him out to dinner, holding his hand across the table and watching the candlelight flicker in Orlando’s dark eyes. The longer they spent apart the more Marshall’s dreams were of them simply being together, of the way Orlando made him feel. That freedom he’d felt when he didn’t have to pretend. That was what Orlando had given him. What no one else ever had. The chance to be vulnerable without being scared. To be out of control and still feel safe.
Somewhere in the depths of his thoughts, he admitted he missed him.
"I’m 32. I’ve got two kids to look after. I’ve got too many things to consider. I can’t just announce to the world that I’m fucking Legolas."
Deshaun smirked.
"It’s not funny."
"No, it’s fucking tragic. That bleach musta finally fucked up your brain. When did you turn into such a fucking pussy?"
When Orlando thought about Marshall, he fantasised about walking down some red carpet with their hands laced together, letting the cameras flash and the mouths drop open and then at the last minute before they disappeared into the party or the premiere, they’d share just a small kiss then Marshall would slip an arm around his shoulder and they’d go in. Marshall made him feel safe and solid, like nothing could touch him. Marshall had given him an immunity he’d never had before.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he needed him.
"It was too complicated. Too many things could have gone wrong. It was starting to get messy. We’d agreed once a month but it just wasn’t working out they way we’d thought."
"So you broke up because you liked each other too much?"
"It’s not that simple. It was turning into something it couldn’t be."
"I’ve known you a long time Orlando, and that is quite possibly the stupidest thing you’ve ever said."
Marshall stared at Orlando’s name in his cell phone. Orlando stared at Marshall’s. It couldn’t be that simple.
Marshall didn’t put up much of a struggle as Deshaun forced him in the car and drove him to Orlando’s apartment. Viggo let him in and locked the door as he left. Marshall found Orlando in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, staring into the bottom of an empty glass. He’d planned every word he was going to say, every defence and reason he’d give, and forgot it all the instant that Orlando glanced up at him.
The smell of Orlando’s hair made his lungs ache, the first breath he’d taken in a month. He wrapped Orlando up and just inhaled, holding him like he was back from the dead. Infinite seconds passed in silence, hands slowly inching further and tighter and all the creeping realisation squeezed shut Marshall’s eyes and made his throat ache from the holding back.
Orlando told Viggo he didn’t want any visitors and finished another glass of wine as he heard the door close. He had nothing to say. He was empty; drained and numb. He looked up to ask Viggo to leave and didn’t even feel the glass fall from his hand.
Every beat of Marshall’s heart gave Orlando back his life. He clung to him like a lost child, merging into him, unable to get close enough. He had no memory of before this moment; every second since they were last like this vanished in the haven of Marshall’s arms. He craved and he needed and he didn’t ever want to let go.
Marshall watched Orlando for an hour before he closed his eyes. Tomorrow they’d have to talk but for now the spell was still intact, weaving a blanket over them that kept them safe from the outside world. He put aside every fear he had because nothing was dangerous here where Orlando sheltered him.
Orlando raked his fingers down Marshall’s chest as he pushed him to the bed. Undressed and desperate, trapped between Marshall’s thigh, erections sliding, tongues fucking, every sound awash with naked lust. They came first like this. Overwhelmed and barely aware. Not stopping to breathe, already half hard again as Marshall wrestled Orlando onto his back and sucked at his ear and his neck until Orlando pleaded and pushed him down.
Orlando’s eyes flickered open to bright blue and Marshall’s soft kisses. Delicate beams of winter sun slipped through the curtains. The bed didn’t seem so big now. The world didn’t seem so bad now. Orlando pressed his lips to the tip of Marshall’s nose and smiled as his eyes fluttered closed.
They didn’t fuck. They made love. Marshall knew the difference and realised he never had before. Orlando had been deep inside of him, hips still, delicate fingers tracing patterns on his skin, taking him close and then bringing him back, over and over again. They came together because they couldn’t hold on any longer and in the blinding white light they became one, each owning the other with every pulse.
Something was different and it felt good. They held hands over the breakfast table and thought that they might be able to do this. Maybe.
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Thanks for reading :D. I'm glad you liked it.
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Once again, just lovely work. :)