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fellowshippers2003-10-31 12:18 am
ananke9.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2003-10-31 12:18 am
(no subject)
Title: We Know What You Did….. (Part 3/3)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Orlando/Stuart Townsend
Disclaimer: This is what is generally known as fiction. As in lies.
Summary: Dom and Elijah have seen the photos from the GQ Awards too. And they're looking for answers.
Author's Note: For anyone who decided that my cliffhangers are eeevil, apologies for the delay. The boys just got all carried away, and who am I to deny them?
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Leaving Adrien and Charlize to become better acquainted, Orlando makes his way in the general direction of the bar. Not that he needs a drink; his glass is full again, but it's a good guess that somewhere around here he'll find…..
"Hey, ya bastard!"
He whirls around at the familiar tone, grinning delightedly. Stuart reaches through the people he's with to grab the back of Orlando's neck and pull him in for a kiss. It occurs to Orlando, as he turns the whole thing into a swooping hug, that he probably shouldn't be getting half-snogged by pretty boys in public. That doesn't stop his hand finding its way beneath Stuart's jacket and grabbing his ass lightly. Stuart gives a warning tug on loosened curls and Orlando can't suppress a shiver.
When they pull apart they're wearing identical, shit-eating grins.
"You're actually wearing a suit," says Orlando in mock-astonishment, gesturing to the suit in question as though he hasn't just been feeling it up. "I thought you were allergic to them."
"Look who's fucking talking. You're wearing something that doesn't look like it was made by blind monkeys. What's wrong with you?"
Orlando sticks out his tongue in retort as he leaves his glass of champagne on a convenient ledge. "C'mon," he says, linking Stuart, "You have to buy me a drink. I won a prize and everything tonight."
Stuart makes an almost convincing show of rolling his eyes and being reluctantly drawn towards the bar, abandoning the groups of acquaintances without a second thought. "Yeah, you got the giant dildo thing. Anyone'd need a fucking drink after that."
Orlando is glad he's already lost the champagne. The laughter hits him hard in the centre of the stomach and he leans into Stuart's body for support as he catches his breath.
"You bastard. You fucking bastard!" he yelps. "I'm never going to be able to look at it again now!"
"Then my work here is done." Stuart nods in satisfaction as he changes their direction a little; not towards the bar so much as out a door and into a corridor. His tone changes to concern as he checks, "You don't keep your awards in your mum's house or anything, do you?"
Orlando howls ands thumps him across the chest. "Oh, you will pay for that, you bastard."
"Will I now." This part of the corridor is quiet, and Orlando finds himself pressed against the wall, suddenly not laughing any more. It's quiet, but not quiet enough for this, although if they were seen, the average partygoer or even journalist would probably think they were fighting. Orlando's not sure what they're doing, but he's sure it won't look like this in a minute. "Who exactly were you setting my girlfriend up with?"
Orlando channels his most innocent smile. "Adrien Brody? Lovely guy, you'd like him. Not as much as you like me, but hey. And Charlize seemed to be taking to him. He's a really good actor, you know. Did you see The Piano? No, that's the other one - The Pianist?
Stuart growls and the sound reverberates through them both. "Let me put this another way, Orli. *Why* were you setting up my girlfriend with some asshole I don't even know?"
"Why?" Orlando throws a glance about him before leaning forward and licking Stuart's neck. He delivers a swift bite to the curve of Stuart's jaw before explaining sweetly. "I thought it might be nice. You know, cos you're busy tonight."
Stuart's breath is faster now, hot and heavy against Orlando's neck. "What am I busy doing again?"
Orlando slides a hand between his legs, rubs over Stuart's crotch lightly and then squeezes gently as Stuart's head falls back a little. "Me. But not here."
Stuart grabs the hand that's teasing him; digs fingernails into its wrist. Grinds his hips forward to meet Orlando's until Orlando bites down on his lower lip to keep from groaning. Stuart has regained control of his voice as well as the situation; calmly, he comments, "Sounds like a plan. Since I've no one better to do. Since my girlfriend is apparently busy. How's yours, mate? Haven't seen Kate in ages. You keeping her busy too?"
A vicious twist of Stuart's hips leaves Orlando helpless, ready to beg now. "Good," he manages breathlessly. "She's good. And she doesn't mind what idiot I'm doing as long as it doesn't get bloody photographed, you bastard, so can we take this somewhere a bit less public please?"
Stuart takes a bouncy step backwards. Grins. "Your place or mine?"
"Fucker." Orlando straightens the crumpled lines of his shiny new suit with a scowl that melts in the face of Stuart's cheerful triumph. "My place. I'm gonna….." Exactly what he's going to do remains unrevealed, as they spot someone, hotel staff, heading in their general direction. They use their renowned acting talents to assume the guise of anonymous people who just happen to be wearing expensive suits and taking the back stairs of a very expensive hotel. No one much seems to care.
They fall giddily into Orlando's room, hands and tongues and teeth and the door slammed behind them, with Orlando trying desperately to separate himself from his suit jacket. He disentangles it from the end of his arm, chucks it to the floor, and Stuart promptly falls over it as Orlando continues to back him towards the bed. Stuart hits the bed with a surprised thump and then smirks happily.
"That part of your cunning plan?" he enquires, tucking his arms beneath his head and spreading himself more comfortably.
"Don't think you were supposed to stand on that thing," says Orlando dubiously, peering at the crushed pile of very expensive jacket. He shrugs philosophically and jumps on Stuart, who yelps as he is crushed between mattress and enthusiasm. Eager fingers trace the ridge of Stuart's erection through trousers; Stuart shivers and arches into the bed as the same clever fingers work on buttons and a zip. "Gonna fuck you through the mattress."
"'S what you think," grunts Stuart, flipping them over with one hand against Orlando's shoulder and the leverage of one leg.
Orlando cocks an eyebrow at this development while he toes off his shoes, kicking them over the end of the bed and helpfully facilitating Stuart's removal of his trousers. "Yeah," he purrs, as he shimmies out of the damn things, "it is."
Their suits, bought for them by people who care about their reputations, are flung about the room.
The mechanics of the situation taken care of, Stuart straddles Orlando properly, grinding against him as he points out, "You said I was doing you." He emphasises his point with a bounce and a pout.
"That's a figure of speech," Orlando objects sternly, wriggling beneath determined hands and hips. But it's not the sort of argument best debated with wit or logic and he chooses the simpler route of tongue-fucking Stuart's mouth while his hands trace familiar contours and relocate themselves with vulnerable spots. He winces as two hands wrap themselves in his hair, tangling painfully through curls.
They've always been evenly matched in strength and enthusiasm, but Orlando has spent the last year in training for one thing or another, and is fairly sure that hours of torture at the gym are about to pay off. When they have both reached the point of breathless, painful hardness, writhing skin against skin as they give each other rough and perfunctory handjobs, he takes his chance, turning his attention to the task of wrestling Stuart into a beautifully submissive position. Laughing at the shock on Stuart's face is his main mistake and gives the fight its air of equality; it takes an eternity more to pin Stuart decisively, conclusively, and even after that he continues to writhe and snap.
"None of that or no blow job," chides Orlando as Stuart struggles furiously. Curse of travelling without handcuffs, but if there's one thing his agent is unlikely to forgive, it's the headline where he gets caught at Heathrow with fucking handcuffs.
Stuart's body language suggests a willingness to be good, although his eyes do not. The smirk that ghosts his mouth arouses more than just suspicion and Orlando keeps a careful grip on compliant wrists as he grinds their aching erections together. Ready to finish this now, no more fucking around, just fucking. Ready to finish this if he can just work out how to keep Stuart in place while getting a condom.… With trust borne out of necessity, he gives Stuart the evil eye and relaxes the grip on his hands. Tries to distract him from mischief with a biting, devouring kiss, which has, just sometimes, been known to work. Once freed, Stuart makes no move to fight him, relaxes into the kiss as his hands work over his back, trace the curve of Orlando's ass teasingly. Orlando bites his lip; he's always been horribly sensitive to this and he squirms under the teasing. When clever fingers part his buttocks he has to fight to resist the urge to roll right over the spread his legs. Stuart's fingers twist - just so - and Orlando becomes pliant in his arms. With a grin that can only be called shark-like, Stuart tips him onto his back with relative ease. Covers the suddenly malleable body with his own, wrists trapped high above a head of tousled, glistening curls, and plants a stinging bite at the juncture of neck and shoulder.
Orlando writhes beneath him, hissing, "Devious little - ow! - fucker!" He's equal parts pissed with falling for a typical bloody Stuart strategy and the loss of the tormenting fingers. He's already manipulating an escape, purely as a matter of principle, one leg wrapping behind Stuart's and just awaiting an opportunity.
"Wait. Wait, wait," gasps Stuart, realising this. "Don't fancy going home covered in bruises. Here's the deal - you answer me one question and you can top me, no more shit. You get it wrong and you lie down like a good little boy and play nice." He nips at Orlando's ear, awaits the next move.
"Okay." Orlando nods breathlessly. He's pretty well pinned right now and while he doesn't fancy Stu's chances of keeping him here long, well. He's back filming in three days and there's not much room to hide bruises beneath a toga. "Hang on - has to be a fair question though - no fair asking me who the leader of Afghanistan is!"
"Fair question," purrs Stuart into his ear, keeping a tight grip on his wrists. "Something any friend could answer."
Orlando suspects a trick; nods suspiciously.
"What was the name of my last film?" asks Stuart sweetly, licking a path up Orlando's neck and along his earlobe. He bites down suddenly. "And in case you were wondering, I know the name of yours."
Bollocks. It's on the tip on his tongue. Except, not quite. Orlando searches his alcohol-laden brain but it's sloshing with too much champagne to be of help. All he can think of is 'Hulk', which, though amusing, is unlikely to help his situation. He knows that he knows this. Knows that Stu knows that too. Which is why the bastard is grinning like that, and shaking his head in mock-sorrow.
"The League….The Incredible League of…People," he offers lamely, and groans as Stuart's face lights up. "Fuck."
"Suck it up boyo," says Stuart, with a ridiculously exaggerated accent. "Now, where do you keep your supplies?" He unstraddles Orlando, arching an eyebrow.
Orlando waves an arm in a vague gesture towards a black suitcase. "Side pocket." He adopts an exaggeratedly relaxed posture, leaves Stuart to scramble across the floor and rummage through the random crap that always ends up in the side pocket, until a rainbow of condoms spill onto the floor as Stuart finally unearths the tube he is looking for. He throws a glare towards the bed; Orlando smirks.
"Now then," growls Stuart, pouncing.
"Yeah, yeah. Get on with it."
Which is guaranteed to have Stuart on him so fast he can't breathe, one hand, smeared with lube, cold and jolting as it opens him while the others jerks him off roughly, leaving him groaning and needing and *wanting* and thank god Stuart's too far gone to tease, is only concerned with getting a condom on, with fucking him into the mattress, as promised all along. And god, it's good, it's always good with Stuart but Orlando is so fucking *charged* tonight, so buzzed with alcohol and success and fun that anything would be amazing. The fact that he's manoeuvred his favourite fuckbuddy into finishing off the evening in style is the icing on the cake. That fact that Stuart has found a rhythm that sends electrical shudders through his body with every stroke might well be the cherry, he's not sure, he's long lost the ability to think in complete metaphors.
He jerks himself off, as slowly as he can bear, dragging out the moment as Stuart's groans grow in volume. He comes with a strangled yowl, one hand wrapped in a fistful of Stuart's hair as the other milks his cock almost painfully. He goes for a smart alec remark, 'Anytime you wanna finish up there…' but he's too bonelessly exhausted to form the words. Stuart comes quickly afterwards, with an almost soundless gasp as his hands dig into Orlando's hips hard enough to leave bruises. They lie together in a collapsed, sweaty heap until Orlando's natural reaction to squirm and wriggle kicks in, and Stuart drags himself to the side of the bed with a heartfelt groan. He divests himself of the condom with a grimace before dragging a cover from the base of the bed.
"Pulled my fucking hair out," he grumbles, snuggling closer with a shiver and pulling the blanket over them.
"That'll teach you to mess with mine." Orlando is coming down slowly, cold replacing the heat of the evening. He turns around and wraps a leg over Stu, an extra covering, just in case.
"You so owe me a rematch," he says after a while, when his ability to actually have a thought process returns. "When I can move again." He tries to prod a response out of the prone body beside him, but is only answered by a gentle snore. He smiles to himself, hoping that he can remember the mental note about who exactly wore who out, before curling into Stuart's warmth and losing consciousness.
*
Elijah and Dom applaud loudly; clapping and cheers and whistling. Orlando is already plotting his revenge.
"That was a good story," says Dom approvingly. "See, if you just gave us a call now and then and told us good stories like that, we wouldn't have to phone you up when we know you're hungover just to torture you."
"I fucking hate you both," he groans, thoroughly awake by now and uncomfortably aroused, having relived the previous night in technicolour detail. Stuart remains irritatingly asleep. "You didn't tell me what the photo was," he recalls in alarm.
"Scha," says Dom, which is apparently meant to be a comforting noise. "'Snothing. Well, it's you and Stuart but I don't think it's going to make the Enquirer or anything. Looks like two old friends who might have had a bit to drink, you know, about to snog the face off each other. Wouldn't worry about it."
"Okay then." He decides to wait until his agent makes him worry about it. "Well, Dom, I'd love to say this has been fun, but - well, anytime you two want to die a painful, painful death, that's okay with me. So you know, fuck off and if I never hear from you again it will be twenty billion years too soon."
They make kissy noises into the phone at him until he hangs up.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Orlando/Stuart Townsend
Disclaimer: This is what is generally known as fiction. As in lies.
Summary: Dom and Elijah have seen the photos from the GQ Awards too. And they're looking for answers.
Author's Note: For anyone who decided that my cliffhangers are eeevil, apologies for the delay. The boys just got all carried away, and who am I to deny them?
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Leaving Adrien and Charlize to become better acquainted, Orlando makes his way in the general direction of the bar. Not that he needs a drink; his glass is full again, but it's a good guess that somewhere around here he'll find…..
"Hey, ya bastard!"
He whirls around at the familiar tone, grinning delightedly. Stuart reaches through the people he's with to grab the back of Orlando's neck and pull him in for a kiss. It occurs to Orlando, as he turns the whole thing into a swooping hug, that he probably shouldn't be getting half-snogged by pretty boys in public. That doesn't stop his hand finding its way beneath Stuart's jacket and grabbing his ass lightly. Stuart gives a warning tug on loosened curls and Orlando can't suppress a shiver.
When they pull apart they're wearing identical, shit-eating grins.
"You're actually wearing a suit," says Orlando in mock-astonishment, gesturing to the suit in question as though he hasn't just been feeling it up. "I thought you were allergic to them."
"Look who's fucking talking. You're wearing something that doesn't look like it was made by blind monkeys. What's wrong with you?"
Orlando sticks out his tongue in retort as he leaves his glass of champagne on a convenient ledge. "C'mon," he says, linking Stuart, "You have to buy me a drink. I won a prize and everything tonight."
Stuart makes an almost convincing show of rolling his eyes and being reluctantly drawn towards the bar, abandoning the groups of acquaintances without a second thought. "Yeah, you got the giant dildo thing. Anyone'd need a fucking drink after that."
Orlando is glad he's already lost the champagne. The laughter hits him hard in the centre of the stomach and he leans into Stuart's body for support as he catches his breath.
"You bastard. You fucking bastard!" he yelps. "I'm never going to be able to look at it again now!"
"Then my work here is done." Stuart nods in satisfaction as he changes their direction a little; not towards the bar so much as out a door and into a corridor. His tone changes to concern as he checks, "You don't keep your awards in your mum's house or anything, do you?"
Orlando howls ands thumps him across the chest. "Oh, you will pay for that, you bastard."
"Will I now." This part of the corridor is quiet, and Orlando finds himself pressed against the wall, suddenly not laughing any more. It's quiet, but not quiet enough for this, although if they were seen, the average partygoer or even journalist would probably think they were fighting. Orlando's not sure what they're doing, but he's sure it won't look like this in a minute. "Who exactly were you setting my girlfriend up with?"
Orlando channels his most innocent smile. "Adrien Brody? Lovely guy, you'd like him. Not as much as you like me, but hey. And Charlize seemed to be taking to him. He's a really good actor, you know. Did you see The Piano? No, that's the other one - The Pianist?
Stuart growls and the sound reverberates through them both. "Let me put this another way, Orli. *Why* were you setting up my girlfriend with some asshole I don't even know?"
"Why?" Orlando throws a glance about him before leaning forward and licking Stuart's neck. He delivers a swift bite to the curve of Stuart's jaw before explaining sweetly. "I thought it might be nice. You know, cos you're busy tonight."
Stuart's breath is faster now, hot and heavy against Orlando's neck. "What am I busy doing again?"
Orlando slides a hand between his legs, rubs over Stuart's crotch lightly and then squeezes gently as Stuart's head falls back a little. "Me. But not here."
Stuart grabs the hand that's teasing him; digs fingernails into its wrist. Grinds his hips forward to meet Orlando's until Orlando bites down on his lower lip to keep from groaning. Stuart has regained control of his voice as well as the situation; calmly, he comments, "Sounds like a plan. Since I've no one better to do. Since my girlfriend is apparently busy. How's yours, mate? Haven't seen Kate in ages. You keeping her busy too?"
A vicious twist of Stuart's hips leaves Orlando helpless, ready to beg now. "Good," he manages breathlessly. "She's good. And she doesn't mind what idiot I'm doing as long as it doesn't get bloody photographed, you bastard, so can we take this somewhere a bit less public please?"
Stuart takes a bouncy step backwards. Grins. "Your place or mine?"
"Fucker." Orlando straightens the crumpled lines of his shiny new suit with a scowl that melts in the face of Stuart's cheerful triumph. "My place. I'm gonna….." Exactly what he's going to do remains unrevealed, as they spot someone, hotel staff, heading in their general direction. They use their renowned acting talents to assume the guise of anonymous people who just happen to be wearing expensive suits and taking the back stairs of a very expensive hotel. No one much seems to care.
They fall giddily into Orlando's room, hands and tongues and teeth and the door slammed behind them, with Orlando trying desperately to separate himself from his suit jacket. He disentangles it from the end of his arm, chucks it to the floor, and Stuart promptly falls over it as Orlando continues to back him towards the bed. Stuart hits the bed with a surprised thump and then smirks happily.
"That part of your cunning plan?" he enquires, tucking his arms beneath his head and spreading himself more comfortably.
"Don't think you were supposed to stand on that thing," says Orlando dubiously, peering at the crushed pile of very expensive jacket. He shrugs philosophically and jumps on Stuart, who yelps as he is crushed between mattress and enthusiasm. Eager fingers trace the ridge of Stuart's erection through trousers; Stuart shivers and arches into the bed as the same clever fingers work on buttons and a zip. "Gonna fuck you through the mattress."
"'S what you think," grunts Stuart, flipping them over with one hand against Orlando's shoulder and the leverage of one leg.
Orlando cocks an eyebrow at this development while he toes off his shoes, kicking them over the end of the bed and helpfully facilitating Stuart's removal of his trousers. "Yeah," he purrs, as he shimmies out of the damn things, "it is."
Their suits, bought for them by people who care about their reputations, are flung about the room.
The mechanics of the situation taken care of, Stuart straddles Orlando properly, grinding against him as he points out, "You said I was doing you." He emphasises his point with a bounce and a pout.
"That's a figure of speech," Orlando objects sternly, wriggling beneath determined hands and hips. But it's not the sort of argument best debated with wit or logic and he chooses the simpler route of tongue-fucking Stuart's mouth while his hands trace familiar contours and relocate themselves with vulnerable spots. He winces as two hands wrap themselves in his hair, tangling painfully through curls.
They've always been evenly matched in strength and enthusiasm, but Orlando has spent the last year in training for one thing or another, and is fairly sure that hours of torture at the gym are about to pay off. When they have both reached the point of breathless, painful hardness, writhing skin against skin as they give each other rough and perfunctory handjobs, he takes his chance, turning his attention to the task of wrestling Stuart into a beautifully submissive position. Laughing at the shock on Stuart's face is his main mistake and gives the fight its air of equality; it takes an eternity more to pin Stuart decisively, conclusively, and even after that he continues to writhe and snap.
"None of that or no blow job," chides Orlando as Stuart struggles furiously. Curse of travelling without handcuffs, but if there's one thing his agent is unlikely to forgive, it's the headline where he gets caught at Heathrow with fucking handcuffs.
Stuart's body language suggests a willingness to be good, although his eyes do not. The smirk that ghosts his mouth arouses more than just suspicion and Orlando keeps a careful grip on compliant wrists as he grinds their aching erections together. Ready to finish this now, no more fucking around, just fucking. Ready to finish this if he can just work out how to keep Stuart in place while getting a condom.… With trust borne out of necessity, he gives Stuart the evil eye and relaxes the grip on his hands. Tries to distract him from mischief with a biting, devouring kiss, which has, just sometimes, been known to work. Once freed, Stuart makes no move to fight him, relaxes into the kiss as his hands work over his back, trace the curve of Orlando's ass teasingly. Orlando bites his lip; he's always been horribly sensitive to this and he squirms under the teasing. When clever fingers part his buttocks he has to fight to resist the urge to roll right over the spread his legs. Stuart's fingers twist - just so - and Orlando becomes pliant in his arms. With a grin that can only be called shark-like, Stuart tips him onto his back with relative ease. Covers the suddenly malleable body with his own, wrists trapped high above a head of tousled, glistening curls, and plants a stinging bite at the juncture of neck and shoulder.
Orlando writhes beneath him, hissing, "Devious little - ow! - fucker!" He's equal parts pissed with falling for a typical bloody Stuart strategy and the loss of the tormenting fingers. He's already manipulating an escape, purely as a matter of principle, one leg wrapping behind Stuart's and just awaiting an opportunity.
"Wait. Wait, wait," gasps Stuart, realising this. "Don't fancy going home covered in bruises. Here's the deal - you answer me one question and you can top me, no more shit. You get it wrong and you lie down like a good little boy and play nice." He nips at Orlando's ear, awaits the next move.
"Okay." Orlando nods breathlessly. He's pretty well pinned right now and while he doesn't fancy Stu's chances of keeping him here long, well. He's back filming in three days and there's not much room to hide bruises beneath a toga. "Hang on - has to be a fair question though - no fair asking me who the leader of Afghanistan is!"
"Fair question," purrs Stuart into his ear, keeping a tight grip on his wrists. "Something any friend could answer."
Orlando suspects a trick; nods suspiciously.
"What was the name of my last film?" asks Stuart sweetly, licking a path up Orlando's neck and along his earlobe. He bites down suddenly. "And in case you were wondering, I know the name of yours."
Bollocks. It's on the tip on his tongue. Except, not quite. Orlando searches his alcohol-laden brain but it's sloshing with too much champagne to be of help. All he can think of is 'Hulk', which, though amusing, is unlikely to help his situation. He knows that he knows this. Knows that Stu knows that too. Which is why the bastard is grinning like that, and shaking his head in mock-sorrow.
"The League….The Incredible League of…People," he offers lamely, and groans as Stuart's face lights up. "Fuck."
"Suck it up boyo," says Stuart, with a ridiculously exaggerated accent. "Now, where do you keep your supplies?" He unstraddles Orlando, arching an eyebrow.
Orlando waves an arm in a vague gesture towards a black suitcase. "Side pocket." He adopts an exaggeratedly relaxed posture, leaves Stuart to scramble across the floor and rummage through the random crap that always ends up in the side pocket, until a rainbow of condoms spill onto the floor as Stuart finally unearths the tube he is looking for. He throws a glare towards the bed; Orlando smirks.
"Now then," growls Stuart, pouncing.
"Yeah, yeah. Get on with it."
Which is guaranteed to have Stuart on him so fast he can't breathe, one hand, smeared with lube, cold and jolting as it opens him while the others jerks him off roughly, leaving him groaning and needing and *wanting* and thank god Stuart's too far gone to tease, is only concerned with getting a condom on, with fucking him into the mattress, as promised all along. And god, it's good, it's always good with Stuart but Orlando is so fucking *charged* tonight, so buzzed with alcohol and success and fun that anything would be amazing. The fact that he's manoeuvred his favourite fuckbuddy into finishing off the evening in style is the icing on the cake. That fact that Stuart has found a rhythm that sends electrical shudders through his body with every stroke might well be the cherry, he's not sure, he's long lost the ability to think in complete metaphors.
He jerks himself off, as slowly as he can bear, dragging out the moment as Stuart's groans grow in volume. He comes with a strangled yowl, one hand wrapped in a fistful of Stuart's hair as the other milks his cock almost painfully. He goes for a smart alec remark, 'Anytime you wanna finish up there…' but he's too bonelessly exhausted to form the words. Stuart comes quickly afterwards, with an almost soundless gasp as his hands dig into Orlando's hips hard enough to leave bruises. They lie together in a collapsed, sweaty heap until Orlando's natural reaction to squirm and wriggle kicks in, and Stuart drags himself to the side of the bed with a heartfelt groan. He divests himself of the condom with a grimace before dragging a cover from the base of the bed.
"Pulled my fucking hair out," he grumbles, snuggling closer with a shiver and pulling the blanket over them.
"That'll teach you to mess with mine." Orlando is coming down slowly, cold replacing the heat of the evening. He turns around and wraps a leg over Stu, an extra covering, just in case.
"You so owe me a rematch," he says after a while, when his ability to actually have a thought process returns. "When I can move again." He tries to prod a response out of the prone body beside him, but is only answered by a gentle snore. He smiles to himself, hoping that he can remember the mental note about who exactly wore who out, before curling into Stuart's warmth and losing consciousness.
*
Elijah and Dom applaud loudly; clapping and cheers and whistling. Orlando is already plotting his revenge.
"That was a good story," says Dom approvingly. "See, if you just gave us a call now and then and told us good stories like that, we wouldn't have to phone you up when we know you're hungover just to torture you."
"I fucking hate you both," he groans, thoroughly awake by now and uncomfortably aroused, having relived the previous night in technicolour detail. Stuart remains irritatingly asleep. "You didn't tell me what the photo was," he recalls in alarm.
"Scha," says Dom, which is apparently meant to be a comforting noise. "'Snothing. Well, it's you and Stuart but I don't think it's going to make the Enquirer or anything. Looks like two old friends who might have had a bit to drink, you know, about to snog the face off each other. Wouldn't worry about it."
"Okay then." He decides to wait until his agent makes him worry about it. "Well, Dom, I'd love to say this has been fun, but - well, anytime you two want to die a painful, painful death, that's okay with me. So you know, fuck off and if I never hear from you again it will be twenty billion years too soon."
They make kissy noises into the phone at him until he hangs up.
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that was the perfect end to the most perfect piece of snark ever....
"Okay then." He decides to wait until his agent makes him worry about it. "Well, Dom, I'd love to say this has been fun, but - well, anytime you two want to die a painful, painful death, that's okay with me. So you know, fuck off and if I never hear from you again it will be twenty billion years too soon."
I think if it was possible for me to laugh any harder I would have RIGHT THERE!
Hunting the Snark
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crushed between mattress and enthusiasm.
And it's hot. And woah, tough self-confident sexual!Orli. Just exactly what I needed right now.
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I had considered an epilogue but I've sort of moved onto a different OB/ST instead.
Thanks for the feedback
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Re: Hunting the Snark
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MWAH!
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AHAHA! This was hilarious! I really loved the hobbits 'n Orli dynamic - adorable. And Orli's interior monologue made me laugh out loud. Good stuff!