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fellowshippers2002-10-21 01:32 pm
azrhiaz.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2002-10-21 01:32 pm
FIC, "Hot Metal and Methedrine", NC17, Marton/Orli
Wow, my story won the RSF contest category for "Best Fic Featuring One of the Following Actors" -- in this case, Marton Csokas. :) Excuse me whilst I squee. *squee* *happy dance*
So here, for your perusal:
Title: Hot Metal and Methedrine
Author: Azrhiaz
Pairing: Marton/Orli
Rating: NC17
Summary: Things aren’t always what they seem. What, you expect a concrete summary from me? Just read it.
Disclaimer: Fiction, didn’t happen, etc. and so forth. But if it did, why the hell wasn’t I invited?
Archive: BTF and Night’s Garden only, others please ask.
Author’s notes: I just want to point out that Brenda and I discovered through discussion that both of us had a motorcycle bunny. I’ve had this bunny since I wrote “Masque”, and her fic has been planned for some time as well. It’s different pairings, different bikes, and different stories. I just wanted to make note of this so that whichever story comes out first, it’s clear that neither author was influenced by the other. If you’re interested in seeing a picture of this bike, go here: http://www.ducati.com/bikes/my2003/ducatiModel.jhtml?modelName=SS1000-03 Of course, that’s the new 2003 model, and this story assumes a 2000 model, which was the SS 900. Close enough, though. Top speed is 127 m.p.h. (205 km/h), so it scoots. Not as fast as Ducati’s Superbike line (180 m.p.h.), but those are one-seaters. Still- fast enough. ;) This story is for Alisa Lohv, Marton goddess extraordinaire.
I hear the roar of a big machine
Two worlds and in between
Hot metal and methedrine
I hear empire down
I hear empire down
-Sisters of Mercy
Orli was bored.
Little things kept going wrong with this scene. First Cate had tripped, which was actually quite funny, given that it was Galadriel the (theoretically) Graceful who nearly went sprawling. Orli had laughed, and Cate flipped him off with a grin, but the amusement faded as the takes crawled on. Billy sneezed the next go round. Then Elijah yawned, and it showed, despite his attempts at clenching his jaw shut. Finally one of the spots backlighting Cate and Marton’s descent down the stairs blew, and things ground to a halt while the techs scrambled.
Orli watched Marton talking quietly with Peter. He’d just been introduced to him yesterday, and had exchanged all of perhaps five words with him. Marton had politely said hello and shaken Orli’s hand, his face completely neutral. Then Orli had to leave to shoot a scene, and Marton had slipped from his mind like so much water.
Now Orli found himself looking at Marton for lack of anything better to do. He was tall, taller than Orli, and not bad looking, although the blond hair on him was definitely just…wrong. And no matter how the makeup artists had tried, Orli could definitely still see the shadow of heavy beard dark against the strong jaw. Not very Elven.
Just then Marton looked up and caught Orli’s gaze, and for just a second Orli thought he saw a flicker of something – amusement? – but then it was gone, replaced by a bland mask.
Boring, Orli decided with a small sigh.
Fifteen minutes later, it was decided that the light was irreparable. A new one would need to be brought up from the warehouse tomorrow night. That was it for the night, and Orli couldn’t decide if he was relieved, or annoyed at having gotten dressed up to stand around and do nothing.
Annoyed was holding sway when Orli got out of Wardrobe and waved goodbye to everyone. He turned down the offer of a pub crawl with the hobbits. Elijah had looked vaguely disappointed at his refusal, but Orli wouldn’t be swayed. He headed back to his trailer alone.
Orli didn’t know why he was so irritated. No reason for it, really, he thought, nothing to put a finger on; but the uncharacteristic bad mood clung to him regardless. His nerves itched as he flicked on the television and threw himself on the couch, grabbing the remote.
“I Love Lucy.” No.
Emeril, making a nice zippy tomato concasse. Bam! No.
Orli got momentarily excited when he landed on a football game, but his heart sank again when he realized it was the same taped Man U game he’d watched yesterday.
Fuck.
Orli let his head fall back against the cushions and threw the remote across the room.
The same stupid missed goal was playing itself out, Gigg’s glancing header flying wide of the post, when a loud rumble filled the living room. Orli started and jumped up, going to the window to peer out. In the yellowish glow from the outside light he saw a black-clad figure astride a gunmetal gray Ducati that was pulled nearly up to Orli’s front door. Crotch rocket,he thought automatically, and then the rider reached a gloved hand up to flick the smoked visor open.
Deep hazel eyes met Orli’s.
Marton’s eyes.
Before he could think about precisely why he was doing it, Orli was out the door. He stopped, blinking, in front of Marton. Opened his mouth and closed it again, fishlike. Marton reached back behind him and pulled a helmet from the cargo net, tossing it to Orli.
Orli turned the helmet over in his hands for a moment. Studying it. When he looked back up, Marton was still watching him.
“Where are we going?” Orli asked.
“Does it matter?” Marton replied.
The helmet was hard and smooth under Orli’s fingertips. He pulled it on and adjusted the chin strap.
“No, I guess not.”
Orli swung his leg over the bike with some difficulty, the rear seat being very high and small. He pulled his knees up tight, stuck his feet on the pegs, and had barely managed to lean forward when Marton pulled the clutch and gunned the throttle.
The sudden forward momentum nearly sent Orli flying off the back of the bike. He clutched frantically for the sissy bar, his heart pounding in his chest, and managed to right himself. Marton had spun a sharp circle in Orli’s front yard and was now steering the bike back onto the road. Fuck, not doing that again, Orli thought as he leaned in tighter against Marton and slid his arms around his waist. With the helmet and the whistling of the wind he wasn’t sure, but Orli thought he heard Marton laugh.
The night air was cold against Orli’s skin, gooseflesh running up his arms, and he found himself envying Marton’s leather jacket. The scent of the leather was in his nostrils and he could feel solid muscle underneath his hands. A shiver that had nothing to do with the wind crept down Orli’s spine and he squeezed Marton a little tighter. The last lights of civilization were falling away when Marton turned onto a long, empty road. Orli saw a flash of sign in the headlight – Timber Highway 53 – and then Marton went full on the throttle and the world fell away into a black tunnel of speed.
Orli had no idea how fast they were going, but it was scary-fast, trees and road a shadowy blur. The adrenaline rush hit his nervous system hard, the familiar metallic taste ghosting over his tongue, and it was good, yes, so good, going so fast that the fear and elation and the magic of slipstream physics were the only things separating life and death. Orli closed his eyes and tried to freeze the moment, to hold on to it and draw it out, sucking on it like sugar candy. But Marton was already slowing the bike, and Orli opened his eyes just as Marton leaned into a sharp right turn.
Orli saw that they had turned onto a small back road. They had gone perhaps a quarter of a mile when a chain link fence with a “Danger: Keep Out” sign posted by the gate came into view. A gate that was rather conspicuously open. Marton drove right through it.
The road wound around a couple of lazy bends before opening out into a clearing, and a single dim sodium lamp illuminated what appeared to be an old transformer station, surrounded in more chain link with coils of nasty looking barbed wired running across the top. Marton pulled up beside the lamp post and killed the engine. He dismounted lazily, flicking down the kickstand and pulling off his helmet. Orli scrambled off, somewhat less gracefully, and noticed how Marton’s hair stuck, sweat-damp, to this forehead. He took off his own helmet and ran his fingers through his hair self-consciously, and Marton smiled. Orli was still riding the last of the adrenaline wave and that smile, with its long slow curve, sent one more small jolt that bypassed his heart and went straight to his cock.
“Come here,” Marton said, and he turned and walked around the side of the transformer. Orli obeyed and promptly found himself pressed back into the chain link, the wire digging through his thin t-shirt and imprinting a diamond grid into his back, and Marton inclined his head and kissed him.
The faint hum of the transformers seemed to fill the air with a blue-ozone crackle that coated Orli’s skin and seeped through. Marton tasted like it, like energy and heat and a faint rich brush of olives, and Orli lost himself in the sharp tangle of tongues. He pulled Marton in closer to him, close enough to feel the hard length of his body trapping him against the fence, and Orli moaned when Marton dipped his hand down to cup Orli through his straining jeans.
First one, then several raindrops fell in quick succession, splattering cold and wet on Orli’s face. Marton darted his tongue out to lick one off Orli’s cheek, and Orli shivered. Then the rain began to fall in earnest, hissing and spluttering on the transformer coils, but Orli didn’t care. Marton shrugged off his jacket and dove in to kiss Orli again, kiss him wet and soaked and stuck together, t-shirts clinging to chilled skin. Orli scrabbled against him desperately, aching with want, grinding hard against Marton’s groin.
Marton uttered a short gasp and grabbed Orli by the shoulders and spun him around. He took Orli’s hands and spread them shoulder-width apart, and curled Orli’s fingers through the chain link. Orli felt the brush of lips against his ear.
“You like to ride fast, don’t you?” Marton whispered, his voice rough through the splatter of the rain.
Orli groaned and arched his back, pressing his ass backward, trying to rub against Marton, but Marton stepped back.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
Swift hands reached around Orli and undid his jeans, yanking them down. He didn’t turn his head, looking instead straight ahead at the flat gray metal and wiring three feet away from him. More than enough electricity to kill him a hundred times over. He didn’t have time to give the matter serious contemplation before he felt the slippery head of Marton’s cock pressing against him and strong hands locking onto his hips, pulling him back onto Marton in a burning slow thrust. Orli forgot to breathe for a moment, eyes watering in stunned protest against the pain – motherfucker he’s big – and his fingers clenched white through the fence.
Then Marton pulled back, exquisitely slow, and Orli inhaled deeply, letting the breath out with a rush just as Marton slammed back in and began to fuck Orli hard and fast. Orli moaned, rain dripping down his face and into his mouth as Marton drove deep and hit just right, and the pain receded under the relentless crush of sweet sensation that was flooding up from behind his balls and spreading warmly through his insides.
He pushed back against Marton eagerly, gnawing his lip, knowing it wouldn’t be long at this pace. Orli heard Marton’s shallow quick breaths, felt his fingers digging bruise-hard into his hips, and lightning flashed brightly through the sky in a jagged arc. A second later Orli dropped one hand to his cock, and three swift jerks were enough, and he was coming hard while the thunder rolled and crashed against him and Marton crashed inside him.
Orli felt his knees begin to buckle and he was suddenly overwhelmingly grateful for the support of the fence as Marton slid out of him. He heard the sound of a zipper and turned around to look at Marton, gorgeous and wet and anything but boring.
“Better hurry,” Marton said matter-of-factly, pulling his helmet back on. “The storm’s getting worse, and we have to get back.” He leaned over and picked up his jacket, shaking the pooled water off it before putting it back on.
A twinge of disappointment twisted in Orli’s stomach, but he moved to comply, zipping his jeans and donning his helmet. Marton was already astride the motorcycle, lightning flashing again, seemingly brighter and closer, as Orli got behind him.
The ride back was much slower, and Orli watched the headlight gleaming off the rain-slicked highway, his arms curled around Marton again, and wished that Marton would come in and stay when they got back to his trailer. He didn’t think that was going to happen, though. So he was disappointed again, if not precisely surprised, when he handed Marton the helmet and got only another exquisite smile in return.
“See you tomorrow,” Marton said.
“Um, yeah. Tomorrow,” Orli said, and watched as Marton drove off. He turned and walked inside, mind on dry clothes, a warm bed, and heated lips.
The next day he didn’t see Marton on set until very late in the afternoon, as the crew was preparing to finish the scene as soon as night fell. Orli was standing and talking to Elijah when Marton walked past, silver-blue Celeborn robes flowing, an odd mental contrast to the memory of black leather and wet cotton. Marton looked at Orli, winked, and kept walking. Orli stopped midsentence, train of thought entirely forgotten. Elijah’s laugh brought him screeching back.
“It’s always the quiet ones, isn’t it?” Elijah said knowingly, and he winked at a stunned Orli before walking off after Marton.
End.
So here, for your perusal:
Title: Hot Metal and Methedrine
Author: Azrhiaz
Pairing: Marton/Orli
Rating: NC17
Summary: Things aren’t always what they seem. What, you expect a concrete summary from me? Just read it.
Disclaimer: Fiction, didn’t happen, etc. and so forth. But if it did, why the hell wasn’t I invited?
Archive: BTF and Night’s Garden only, others please ask.
Author’s notes: I just want to point out that Brenda and I discovered through discussion that both of us had a motorcycle bunny. I’ve had this bunny since I wrote “Masque”, and her fic has been planned for some time as well. It’s different pairings, different bikes, and different stories. I just wanted to make note of this so that whichever story comes out first, it’s clear that neither author was influenced by the other. If you’re interested in seeing a picture of this bike, go here: http://www.ducati.com/bikes/my2003/ducatiModel.jhtml?modelName=SS1000-03 Of course, that’s the new 2003 model, and this story assumes a 2000 model, which was the SS 900. Close enough, though. Top speed is 127 m.p.h. (205 km/h), so it scoots. Not as fast as Ducati’s Superbike line (180 m.p.h.), but those are one-seaters. Still- fast enough. ;) This story is for Alisa Lohv, Marton goddess extraordinaire.
I hear the roar of a big machine
Two worlds and in between
Hot metal and methedrine
I hear empire down
I hear empire down
-Sisters of Mercy
Orli was bored.
Little things kept going wrong with this scene. First Cate had tripped, which was actually quite funny, given that it was Galadriel the (theoretically) Graceful who nearly went sprawling. Orli had laughed, and Cate flipped him off with a grin, but the amusement faded as the takes crawled on. Billy sneezed the next go round. Then Elijah yawned, and it showed, despite his attempts at clenching his jaw shut. Finally one of the spots backlighting Cate and Marton’s descent down the stairs blew, and things ground to a halt while the techs scrambled.
Orli watched Marton talking quietly with Peter. He’d just been introduced to him yesterday, and had exchanged all of perhaps five words with him. Marton had politely said hello and shaken Orli’s hand, his face completely neutral. Then Orli had to leave to shoot a scene, and Marton had slipped from his mind like so much water.
Now Orli found himself looking at Marton for lack of anything better to do. He was tall, taller than Orli, and not bad looking, although the blond hair on him was definitely just…wrong. And no matter how the makeup artists had tried, Orli could definitely still see the shadow of heavy beard dark against the strong jaw. Not very Elven.
Just then Marton looked up and caught Orli’s gaze, and for just a second Orli thought he saw a flicker of something – amusement? – but then it was gone, replaced by a bland mask.
Boring, Orli decided with a small sigh.
Fifteen minutes later, it was decided that the light was irreparable. A new one would need to be brought up from the warehouse tomorrow night. That was it for the night, and Orli couldn’t decide if he was relieved, or annoyed at having gotten dressed up to stand around and do nothing.
Annoyed was holding sway when Orli got out of Wardrobe and waved goodbye to everyone. He turned down the offer of a pub crawl with the hobbits. Elijah had looked vaguely disappointed at his refusal, but Orli wouldn’t be swayed. He headed back to his trailer alone.
Orli didn’t know why he was so irritated. No reason for it, really, he thought, nothing to put a finger on; but the uncharacteristic bad mood clung to him regardless. His nerves itched as he flicked on the television and threw himself on the couch, grabbing the remote.
“I Love Lucy.” No.
Emeril, making a nice zippy tomato concasse. Bam! No.
Orli got momentarily excited when he landed on a football game, but his heart sank again when he realized it was the same taped Man U game he’d watched yesterday.
Fuck.
Orli let his head fall back against the cushions and threw the remote across the room.
The same stupid missed goal was playing itself out, Gigg’s glancing header flying wide of the post, when a loud rumble filled the living room. Orli started and jumped up, going to the window to peer out. In the yellowish glow from the outside light he saw a black-clad figure astride a gunmetal gray Ducati that was pulled nearly up to Orli’s front door. Crotch rocket,he thought automatically, and then the rider reached a gloved hand up to flick the smoked visor open.
Deep hazel eyes met Orli’s.
Marton’s eyes.
Before he could think about precisely why he was doing it, Orli was out the door. He stopped, blinking, in front of Marton. Opened his mouth and closed it again, fishlike. Marton reached back behind him and pulled a helmet from the cargo net, tossing it to Orli.
Orli turned the helmet over in his hands for a moment. Studying it. When he looked back up, Marton was still watching him.
“Where are we going?” Orli asked.
“Does it matter?” Marton replied.
The helmet was hard and smooth under Orli’s fingertips. He pulled it on and adjusted the chin strap.
“No, I guess not.”
Orli swung his leg over the bike with some difficulty, the rear seat being very high and small. He pulled his knees up tight, stuck his feet on the pegs, and had barely managed to lean forward when Marton pulled the clutch and gunned the throttle.
The sudden forward momentum nearly sent Orli flying off the back of the bike. He clutched frantically for the sissy bar, his heart pounding in his chest, and managed to right himself. Marton had spun a sharp circle in Orli’s front yard and was now steering the bike back onto the road. Fuck, not doing that again, Orli thought as he leaned in tighter against Marton and slid his arms around his waist. With the helmet and the whistling of the wind he wasn’t sure, but Orli thought he heard Marton laugh.
The night air was cold against Orli’s skin, gooseflesh running up his arms, and he found himself envying Marton’s leather jacket. The scent of the leather was in his nostrils and he could feel solid muscle underneath his hands. A shiver that had nothing to do with the wind crept down Orli’s spine and he squeezed Marton a little tighter. The last lights of civilization were falling away when Marton turned onto a long, empty road. Orli saw a flash of sign in the headlight – Timber Highway 53 – and then Marton went full on the throttle and the world fell away into a black tunnel of speed.
Orli had no idea how fast they were going, but it was scary-fast, trees and road a shadowy blur. The adrenaline rush hit his nervous system hard, the familiar metallic taste ghosting over his tongue, and it was good, yes, so good, going so fast that the fear and elation and the magic of slipstream physics were the only things separating life and death. Orli closed his eyes and tried to freeze the moment, to hold on to it and draw it out, sucking on it like sugar candy. But Marton was already slowing the bike, and Orli opened his eyes just as Marton leaned into a sharp right turn.
Orli saw that they had turned onto a small back road. They had gone perhaps a quarter of a mile when a chain link fence with a “Danger: Keep Out” sign posted by the gate came into view. A gate that was rather conspicuously open. Marton drove right through it.
The road wound around a couple of lazy bends before opening out into a clearing, and a single dim sodium lamp illuminated what appeared to be an old transformer station, surrounded in more chain link with coils of nasty looking barbed wired running across the top. Marton pulled up beside the lamp post and killed the engine. He dismounted lazily, flicking down the kickstand and pulling off his helmet. Orli scrambled off, somewhat less gracefully, and noticed how Marton’s hair stuck, sweat-damp, to this forehead. He took off his own helmet and ran his fingers through his hair self-consciously, and Marton smiled. Orli was still riding the last of the adrenaline wave and that smile, with its long slow curve, sent one more small jolt that bypassed his heart and went straight to his cock.
“Come here,” Marton said, and he turned and walked around the side of the transformer. Orli obeyed and promptly found himself pressed back into the chain link, the wire digging through his thin t-shirt and imprinting a diamond grid into his back, and Marton inclined his head and kissed him.
The faint hum of the transformers seemed to fill the air with a blue-ozone crackle that coated Orli’s skin and seeped through. Marton tasted like it, like energy and heat and a faint rich brush of olives, and Orli lost himself in the sharp tangle of tongues. He pulled Marton in closer to him, close enough to feel the hard length of his body trapping him against the fence, and Orli moaned when Marton dipped his hand down to cup Orli through his straining jeans.
First one, then several raindrops fell in quick succession, splattering cold and wet on Orli’s face. Marton darted his tongue out to lick one off Orli’s cheek, and Orli shivered. Then the rain began to fall in earnest, hissing and spluttering on the transformer coils, but Orli didn’t care. Marton shrugged off his jacket and dove in to kiss Orli again, kiss him wet and soaked and stuck together, t-shirts clinging to chilled skin. Orli scrabbled against him desperately, aching with want, grinding hard against Marton’s groin.
Marton uttered a short gasp and grabbed Orli by the shoulders and spun him around. He took Orli’s hands and spread them shoulder-width apart, and curled Orli’s fingers through the chain link. Orli felt the brush of lips against his ear.
“You like to ride fast, don’t you?” Marton whispered, his voice rough through the splatter of the rain.
Orli groaned and arched his back, pressing his ass backward, trying to rub against Marton, but Marton stepped back.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
Swift hands reached around Orli and undid his jeans, yanking them down. He didn’t turn his head, looking instead straight ahead at the flat gray metal and wiring three feet away from him. More than enough electricity to kill him a hundred times over. He didn’t have time to give the matter serious contemplation before he felt the slippery head of Marton’s cock pressing against him and strong hands locking onto his hips, pulling him back onto Marton in a burning slow thrust. Orli forgot to breathe for a moment, eyes watering in stunned protest against the pain – motherfucker he’s big – and his fingers clenched white through the fence.
Then Marton pulled back, exquisitely slow, and Orli inhaled deeply, letting the breath out with a rush just as Marton slammed back in and began to fuck Orli hard and fast. Orli moaned, rain dripping down his face and into his mouth as Marton drove deep and hit just right, and the pain receded under the relentless crush of sweet sensation that was flooding up from behind his balls and spreading warmly through his insides.
He pushed back against Marton eagerly, gnawing his lip, knowing it wouldn’t be long at this pace. Orli heard Marton’s shallow quick breaths, felt his fingers digging bruise-hard into his hips, and lightning flashed brightly through the sky in a jagged arc. A second later Orli dropped one hand to his cock, and three swift jerks were enough, and he was coming hard while the thunder rolled and crashed against him and Marton crashed inside him.
Orli felt his knees begin to buckle and he was suddenly overwhelmingly grateful for the support of the fence as Marton slid out of him. He heard the sound of a zipper and turned around to look at Marton, gorgeous and wet and anything but boring.
“Better hurry,” Marton said matter-of-factly, pulling his helmet back on. “The storm’s getting worse, and we have to get back.” He leaned over and picked up his jacket, shaking the pooled water off it before putting it back on.
A twinge of disappointment twisted in Orli’s stomach, but he moved to comply, zipping his jeans and donning his helmet. Marton was already astride the motorcycle, lightning flashing again, seemingly brighter and closer, as Orli got behind him.
The ride back was much slower, and Orli watched the headlight gleaming off the rain-slicked highway, his arms curled around Marton again, and wished that Marton would come in and stay when they got back to his trailer. He didn’t think that was going to happen, though. So he was disappointed again, if not precisely surprised, when he handed Marton the helmet and got only another exquisite smile in return.
“See you tomorrow,” Marton said.
“Um, yeah. Tomorrow,” Orli said, and watched as Marton drove off. He turned and walked inside, mind on dry clothes, a warm bed, and heated lips.
The next day he didn’t see Marton on set until very late in the afternoon, as the crew was preparing to finish the scene as soon as night fell. Orli was standing and talking to Elijah when Marton walked past, silver-blue Celeborn robes flowing, an odd mental contrast to the memory of black leather and wet cotton. Marton looked at Orli, winked, and kept walking. Orli stopped midsentence, train of thought entirely forgotten. Elijah’s laugh brought him screeching back.
“It’s always the quiet ones, isn’t it?” Elijah said knowingly, and he winked at a stunned Orli before walking off after Marton.
End.
no subject
I'm speechless. Really. That was amazing. Wow ... I feel all wet and tingly. *heh*
no subject
Thank you very much! Am so glad you liked it! Sorry for the lamentable lateness of my reply...*snurfle*...have been wretchedly ill.
At any rate, thank you again! :)
Guh...
Re: Guh...