ext_1049 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
viva-gloria.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fellowshippers2002-11-11 08:00 pm
viva-gloria.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2002-11-11 08:00 pm
FIC: The Meteorological Service (OB/KU, R, 1/1)
TITLE: The Meteorological Service
AUTHOR: Gloria Mundi
PAIRING: OB/KU
RATING: R
SUMMARY: New Zealand, being in the path of the Roaring Forties, has some extreme weather. Karl talks about it.
FEEDBACK: Yes please
DISCLAIMER: A work of fiction: I made it up.
ARCHIVE: List archives, Imagin'd Glories, BTF only please
AUTHOR NOTES: Happy Birthday to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lobelia321! With love and appreciation, admiration and faltering vocabulary: thank you for loving to write and for sharing the word-joy. Thanks to soulstar for late-night Bellini and beta.
----------------------------------------------------
The fine Elven cloak was densely-woven, and the natural oil of native wool had provided ample protection against the morning's drizzle. The rain that succeeded it at midday was a match for any cloak. It was astonishing in its intensity. The rain came down in solid slanting grey pipes of water, like the bars of a cage. The rain falling was as loud as the sea, but there was no lull, no ebb: the rain came down relentlessly, splashing up again from the muddy earth.
Mirkwood's prince, in well-made leather boots (splattered from the morning's walking) and linen breeches, wrapped the fine grey Elven cloak around himself more tightly. The eaves of the building caught most of the downpour, and the bars of the cage slanted away from him, tenting the space against the wall. To his right, an open doorway spilt conversation and crockery-clatter. Across twenty metres of puddled reddish earth, the rain drummed on the shiny, impervious leaves of Fangorn Forest.
A tall, cloaked figure ducked through the doorway. The Third Marshal of Riddermark, rugged in leather and chain mail, peered out into the rain, obviously looking for someone. He grinned when he located his quarry. "There you are," he said cheerfully.
"Bugger this weather," said the Prince of Mirkwood, returning the grin with a scowl.
"Want to borrow my umbrella?" offered the Third Marshall.
"Thanks," said the Prince. "I only want to get to the fucking car. Fucking rain!"
"I thought you Elves were all about getting closer to nature?"
"Fuck off, Karl," said Orlando. He unfurled the umbrella and angled it against the rain. "No Elf would live in this bloody country, that's for sure. Too fucking wet."
"The average -"
But the Prince of Mirkwood was hurrying unregally across the car park towards his Jeep, and in a moment the rain blurred him from sight.
* * *
"Guys, you have to come and look at the sky! It's awesome!"
Orlando kicked back in his chair, cards fanned in his hand, and glared at Elijah. "I've seen the sky. Not often in New Zealand, I'll grant you, because it's usually covered with rain clouds, but -"
"No, man, it's really cool. Promise!"
Elijah, geekishly earnest, was hard to ignore. Already Dom had laid his cards facedown on the orange Formica table and headed for the door. Orlando could hear him exclaiming.
He sighed theatrically. "Okay. I'll come and look at the sky, if it'll make you happy."
After the overheated pub, coming out into the cool air was like diving into a calm, clear pool. Orlando inhaled and felt the clean air sparkle down into his chest and fizz through his blood.
"It's the aliens," Elijah explained solemnly to him. The corner of his mouth twitched and curled like the flourish on a signature.
"They're just coming to take you home," Orlando said, scanning the sky. "We'll miss you, ET."
There were UFOs in the sky, a whole fleet of them, hanging motionless above the snow-capped mountains in defiance of the breeze that bent the pines. The aliens here drove proper old-fashioned flying saucers. The smooth white discs seemed to glow in the afternoon sunshine, though that might have been due to some force field or...
"What the fuck?" Orlando said at last, reality reasserting itself. "What are those things?"
"They're lenticular clouds," said Karl. Orlando hadn't noticed him there, leaning against the balustrade.
"Yeah, and?" Orlando waved a hand. "What's one of those when it's at home?"
"Just a cloud. They do come in groups like this. They occur when a wave of cold air comes over the mountains."
"Fascinating," said Orlando, rolling his eyes.
"They usually mean we’re in for a change," Karl went on. "There's an anticyclone coming in from the west, over the Tasman Sea. We're in the Roaring Forties here –"
"No shit," said Orlando, noting the stealth with which Dom and Elijah had excused themselves from the lecture. He was the sole recipient of Karl's meteorological expertise, a privilege that failed to flatter him. "Is this one of your method-acting things? Did you play a weatherman or something?"
Karl chuckled. "No. I just like being out of doors. No point in New Zealand if you don't know how to read the weather."
"I like being indoors," said Orlando firmly. "Where the beer is. Where my poker game is." He pushed the door open. "Coming?"
"Nah," said Karl abstractedly, staring up at the sky. "I'll stay out here for a bit."
* * *
Somewhere in the endless rain, Orlando's sense of humour had been washed away. It would be found cast up somewhere in the backlands, with chicken runs and chunks of road surface, with road signs and topsoil and beach umbrellas and several days' shooting.
The sight of Black Riders huddled in fleecy blankets against the bone-chilling damp wasn't funny. Viggo falling on his arse while he enthused about his back-to-nature trip wasn't funny. Karl's suggestion that they drove -- in the pouring rain, on roads evidently laid by imbeciles -- to the beach for the afternoon was definitely not funny.
"The sun's shining there,” Karl insisted. "I won't say it's warm, but a bit of sunshine would do you good."
"How can it be sunny thirty miles down the road?" Orlando demanded. "It's been pissing down with rain for three days."
They were huddled in the porch of the motel. Across the shiny expanse of the unsurfaced road, the town's single small pub stood, squat and shuttered, its roof pewter-sheened by the quiet, steady rain. The doorway glowed with amber light.
Karl grinned. "Microclimates. It's because of the mountains, and the sea. Weather changes really quickly here --"
"-- except for where Peter Jackson's filming," muttered Dom, pushing past Orlando. "It rains there. The locals bet on it."
"-- but it can be raining in Queenstown and lovely in Ophir."
Orlando liked the way that Karl said 'lovely', richening the vowels like a Cornish farmwife. For a moment he almost let himself be persuaded. Then water started seeping through the toe of his boot again, and he remembered that he was in New Zealand and that the only way he'd see any sunshine was on TV.
"No thanks," he said. "You can go to this beach of yours and play in the rain on your own. I'm going to play pool." He turned on his heel and headed for the pub, ignoring the disappointment on Karl's face. With luck, Dom and Astin would already be setting up another interspecies tournament.
A slick curve of muddy earth unbalanced him and left him flailing. Behind him, Liv laughed her annoying laugh. Elven poise, elven cool, Orlando reminded himself, regaining his footing. He scowled.
"What's up? " Billy said to him at the bar. "You've a face like thunder."
"Fucking weather," said Orlando, ordering rum and coke.
Karl and Liv got back from the beach at dusk. Liv was laughing more than before. She shook out her long, dry hair and prattled about sunshine and white-crested waves. Her hooded jacket, wet from the sprint between Karl's car and the pub, steamed gently on the bench.
"Stupid unfair weather," Orlando muttered, eyes on the curve of Viggo's hip as he leant over the pool table.
"It's a shame you didn't come along," said Karl, handing him another drink. He followed the direction of Orlando’s gaze and smiled. "There'll be other occasions."
Viggo missed his shot and swore mildly. He handed the cue to Karl and sat down next to Orlando. "Guess what?" he said.
"What?" said Orlando, deciding that Karl had better legs than Viggo.
"The guy behind the bar reckons it hasn't rained like this since he was in school."
Orlando squinted at the grey-haired bartender, and scowled. "Stupid fucking weather," he said again.
* * *
"I don't think you'll be parachuting tomorrow," said Karl cheerily as Orlando and Dom came out of makeup. It was a clear, cold evening, and the sky shaded like a backdrop from violet to gold. White clouds mackereled the zenith, shading to steel-grey westwards where the sky was brighter. Karl leant against the side of the make-up trailer like a persistent spell of rain, waiting for them.
Neither Orlando nor Dom spared more than a glance upwards. "What are you on about?" Orlando demanded. "The weather's been great today!"
"It's going to change overnight," said Karl, infuriatingly. "Gale-force winds. The parachute place will give you a refund, I reckon."
"Fuck it," said Dom. "I was looking forward to that. Got anything else planned?"
"Not yet," said Karl. "I think Viggo's talking about a fishing trip."
"Cool!" said Dom, with unexpected enthusiasm. "I'll ask him if there's room in the car for me. Any idea where he's gone?"
"He went off with Bean, I think. Said something about pizza? Only a couple of minutes ago. You might catch him if --"
"Thanks!" said Dom, and headed off through the trailers towards the parking area. "Catch you later, Orli!" he yelled back over his shoulder.
Orlando scowled at Karl. "Great," he said. "Do you get some sort of kick out of ruining people's plans?"
Karl looked hurt. "I just thought you'd rather know now than be disappointed in the morning. Or drive all the way out there and find out too late." He fell into step beside Orlando. "So what are you going to do on your day off? Sit in the pub whinging about the weather?"
"I don't --" Orlando began heatedly, and broke off as Karl's teasing smile faltered. "Sorry," he said. "I do whinge, don't I? Your bloody weather's getting to me, though."
"Ah, not all of it's bad," said Karl, looking askance at Orlando. "So Dom's run off to bond with Viggo. What are you going to do instead?"
Orlando laughed, wondering if he was imagining that slight, knowing emphasis on 'bond'. "No idea," he said. "Find someone else who's up for doing something, I guess. What *is* the weather going to be like, o wise one?"
"Well," said Karl. "According to the Met Service, it'll be high winds all down the coast. No chance of parachuting, and probably no good for surfing or sailing either."
"The Met Service?" said Orlando, raising an eyebrow. "You mean you can't tell just from looking at the sky or groping a sheep? Isn't there some quaint old New Zealand proverb about it?"
"No one's made up any proverbs about Peter yet," said Karl. "'PJ again, we shall have rain?'"
"'There'll be no sun till Rings is done'," suggested Orlando, grinning. Karl's laugh was much less annoying than Liv's.
"So what do you natives do in windy weather, then?" Orlando asked as they reached the car park.
"I'm heading to the beach," Karl said, busily searching his pockets for keys. "Want to come?" he added after a moment, rather diffidently.
"Sure," said Orlando. "But didn't you say it would be too windy to surf or anything?"
Karl had found his keys, and looked ecstatic about it. "There are lots of other things to do at the beach," he said. "You'll see."
"Okay," said Orlando, wondering if he'd read that invitation right. "Have you invited anyone else?" he fished.
Karl blinked, and his grin broadened. "Well, actually, no."
Overhead, the clouds were breaking up. In the east hung a crescent moon sliver-thin as a fingernail clipping. The metal of the car door was cold under Orlando's fingers. Karl was smiling at him, but it was a different smile, unexpectedly sweet.
"Good," said Orlando after a moment. "Er, do I need to bring anything?"
"Nothing special," said Karl. "Wear something warm. I'll pick you up, okay?"
You just did, thought Orlando. "Fine," he said. "What time?"
Sunday dawned clear and cold, and the trees outside Orlando's window were bent back under the wind.
"Bastard," muttered Orlando to himself as he dressed. Not that he'd expected Karl to be wrong. Not that he didn't want to go to the beach with him. Not that he'd rather have been with Dom, or Viggo. Had Karl meant that look, meant it the way Orlando had read it? Maybe everything in New Zealand was as mixed up and unreadable as the weather. Maybe when Karl talked of fun at the beach, he was thinking of kite-flying or fossil-hunting or teasing anemones. Maybe Karl and Liv ...
The doorbell terminated that train of thought. Karl's car -- "no point in taking the bike, this wind'd have us off in no time" -- was warm and fast and had a CD player. They argued amiably about music until Orlando gave in and put the radio on instead. Then Tolkien and method acting took them all the way to the coast, effective as a fast-forward button.
Once Karl had parked and switched the engine off, the sea was deafening. Wind-whipped streamers of surf spun like candyfloss from the peaks of the waves. The beach was utterly empty. If anyone had been there that morning, their footprints had already been wiped away by the steady, implacable tide.
"What now?" said Orlando, turning to face Karl.
Karl was watching him, and smiling. "What do you want to do now?" he said.
Several responses suggested themselves to Orlando. "Let's walk a bit," he said, opening the car door. The wind almost wrenched it from his hand.
He was most of the way across the car park, face upturned to the bright, ineffectual autumn sun, by the time that Karl had locked the car. Karl's mouth opened and closed, but the wind gusted between them and carried away any sound he was making.
The path down to the beach huddled in the lee of the cliff, and it was quieter there. Bird-shadows flickered on the close-packed gravel underfoot.
"This is really cool." Orlando glanced at Karl. "Thanks for bringing me."
"No problem," said Karl easily. "It's good to get away from the usual crowd now and then."
"True." The path curved around and Orlando shaded his eyes against the sudden dazzle of sun on the waves. Then they came out of the wind-shadow and the gale hit them like a friendly bear, howling around their ears, drowning out the crunch of shells underfoot.
Orlando saw Karl wince as his long, dark hair whipped across his face, and was glad of the mohawk. He stretched out his arms and let the exhilarating wind rock him, leaning into it as he strode, grinning and breathless. The pebbles underfoot glistened with spray. A banner of seaweed tangled around his ankles and he stumbled. Only Karl's hand on his arm stopped him falling. Karl's hand didn't move away when Orlando's balance returned, though. Indeed, Karl seemed to think that he might need to be steadied again. His other hand came up and Orlando caught it and pulled him closer, counterbalancing him, rocking them both into the wind.
Their faces were very close together. Karl's hair slashed at his own cheeks now, but Karl's body, mitigating, blocked the force of the gale. Karl was staring back at him, and smiling. Karl always smiled at him, but he'd never been this close before, and this was that same new smile, broad and sweet, that he'd tried to read yesterday evening.
Orlando felt more confident about his predictions now. Karl's breath was like a warm gale on his mouth, and Orlando leant into it, running his tongue along the curve of Karl's mouth, feeling their teeth collide as Karl kissed him back.
The wind gusted and billowed around the two men, but Orlando pulled Karl closer so that there was no space between them. Make your own microclimate, he thought, grinning. Karl's body was firm and hard against his, Karl's hips rocked reciprocally against him, Karl's hands flexed and curled against his collarbone and his waist. He could feel Karl, or perhaps himself, humming into the kiss, although the wind was too loud to hear anything. He could feel Karl's erection through his jeans, pressing against his own. Someone ground, someone moaned: perhaps it was the gale surrounding them.
The wind shifted, and spray and sand stung the back of Orlando's skull. He dragged his mouth away from Karl's to swear. Karl grinned at him, and leant forward. "Car?" he said against Orlando's leeward ear, and ran his tongue across Orlando's neck. The wind nipped at the damp skin instantly, and Orlando shivered and nodded.
The path, of course, was out of the wind, so there was no reason not to stop and kiss again, urgently and teasingly, rubbing up against one another for warmth. For heat. Orlando was gasping by the time they reached the car, as though the air around him was being stolen away by the gale. Karl pushed him up against the car door and kissed him yet again, body pinning him, hips grinding, hands hot against the base of his throat and the small of his back, under his clothes.
"Please..." Orlando managed, pulling Karl's head back to lick at the curve of his jaw and letting the wind emphasise the caress. Karl was sweeping him away, as relentless and irresistible as any meteorological phenomenon. He growled against Orlando's skull, and Orlando felt it through the bone. Then Karl was reaching between them, brushing deliciously against Orlando's erection as he fumbled in his pocket for the car keys. Orlando moaned, trying not to arch up against Karl, letting Karl reach round and open the rear door of the car, letting Karl press him backwards into the back seat, compliant as a sapling in a gale.
"Hang on," said Karl, tilting him sideways to lean against the front seat. Karl’s voice was thick with lust, his skin flushed with that and with the wind. They beamed at one another. Then Karl fiddled with something, and grunted, and the back of the rear seat folded down and away from them.
Karl reached back and pulled the car door closed, and it was suddenly quiet. Quiet except for the rush of the sea outside. Quiet except for the laboured rush of their breathing. Orlando laughed and lay back, pulling Karl with him. He pushed aside a bundle of sticks and bright nylon, braced one foot against the back of the driver's seat and twisted himself around Karl to kiss him again. One hand negotiated Karl's fly-buttons, and the other slid up under Karl's jumper, stroking the smooth skin, discovering muscle and hair and Karl's erect nipple. Karl groaned and got both his hands free. One knee was heavy on Orlando's legs, and his hair swept audibly over the carpeted facing of the roof. Orlando's jeans were loose enough that there was no need to bother with buttons or zippers: Orlando gasped as Karl's hand closed around his erection, thumb curling familiarly under the cockhead. He closed his teeth on Karl's bottom lip and his hand, at last, on Karl's cock, and made him jerk and swear. Orlando could feel sweat beading and prickling on his neck and above his upper lip. The edge of the folded-back seat pressed insistently into the hollow of his back. Karl's kisses were long and dizzying, and he shifted even closer to Orlando so that their hands, stroking and sliding on one another's cocks, bumped together through the denim of Orlando's jeans.
"Here," said Orlando, relinquishing his grasp on Karl and prying Karl's fingers off him. He got his jeans open and pushed his cock against Karl's, groaning at the feel of Karl's hot skin against his own.
"Oh fuck," said Karl, and curled his hand around both their cocks, pressing them together, and began a wicked, steady rhythm that seemed to match the waves outside.
Orlando's head tilted back and he gasped for breath, back arched, feet braced, hands frantic on Karl's skin. "Karl, please ... please..." He could feel his orgasm pulling at him, and he already knew it wouldn't be enough. He wanted to come again and again with Karl, with Karl's cock in his arse (or his in Karl's), with his cock in Karl's throat (or Karl's in his): with all of Karl’s skin against all of his own.
Karl's hand at the base of his skull pulled him forward again. The skin of his hip rubbed warmly against the leatherette trim of the seat, and he opened his mouth for another kiss, panting. But Karl just stared at him -- at his mouth, and then back up and straight into his eyes -- and said "Orlando!" as though it was the answer to an obvious question. And Karl came, hotly and in six or seven distinct spurts, onto the base of Orlando's cock. Almost immediately Orlando was coming too, mouth too wide-open to say anything coherent.
Into the still, quiet moment of afterglow came the sound of a car door slamming.
Orlando started to laugh. "Quick, they'll --" he managed.
"No one can see anything," Karl murmured into his ear. He slid a single finger through their blended cum, the slightest pressure on sensitised skin, and Orlando choked on his laughter. "Look. The windows are steamed up."
"We did that?" Orlando started laughing again.
"Well," said Karl. "It's warm in here, and cold outside. And the air's moist. Bound to get condensation. It's like a miniature weather -- Mmm."
Outside, the wind delivered fragments of voices. Gusts buffeted the car. The waves crashed on the beach and wind-muffled seabirds whirled and screamed overhead. In Karl's car, the air was warm and still and moist, and Orlando was kissing Karl, and Karl wasn’t talking about the weather any more.
-end-
AUTHOR: Gloria Mundi
PAIRING: OB/KU
RATING: R
SUMMARY: New Zealand, being in the path of the Roaring Forties, has some extreme weather. Karl talks about it.
FEEDBACK: Yes please
DISCLAIMER: A work of fiction: I made it up.
ARCHIVE: List archives, Imagin'd Glories, BTF only please
AUTHOR NOTES: Happy Birthday to
lobelia321! With love and appreciation, admiration and faltering vocabulary: thank you for loving to write and for sharing the word-joy. Thanks to soulstar for late-night Bellini and beta.----------------------------------------------------
The fine Elven cloak was densely-woven, and the natural oil of native wool had provided ample protection against the morning's drizzle. The rain that succeeded it at midday was a match for any cloak. It was astonishing in its intensity. The rain came down in solid slanting grey pipes of water, like the bars of a cage. The rain falling was as loud as the sea, but there was no lull, no ebb: the rain came down relentlessly, splashing up again from the muddy earth.
Mirkwood's prince, in well-made leather boots (splattered from the morning's walking) and linen breeches, wrapped the fine grey Elven cloak around himself more tightly. The eaves of the building caught most of the downpour, and the bars of the cage slanted away from him, tenting the space against the wall. To his right, an open doorway spilt conversation and crockery-clatter. Across twenty metres of puddled reddish earth, the rain drummed on the shiny, impervious leaves of Fangorn Forest.
A tall, cloaked figure ducked through the doorway. The Third Marshal of Riddermark, rugged in leather and chain mail, peered out into the rain, obviously looking for someone. He grinned when he located his quarry. "There you are," he said cheerfully.
"Bugger this weather," said the Prince of Mirkwood, returning the grin with a scowl.
"Want to borrow my umbrella?" offered the Third Marshall.
"Thanks," said the Prince. "I only want to get to the fucking car. Fucking rain!"
"I thought you Elves were all about getting closer to nature?"
"Fuck off, Karl," said Orlando. He unfurled the umbrella and angled it against the rain. "No Elf would live in this bloody country, that's for sure. Too fucking wet."
"The average -"
But the Prince of Mirkwood was hurrying unregally across the car park towards his Jeep, and in a moment the rain blurred him from sight.
* * *
"Guys, you have to come and look at the sky! It's awesome!"
Orlando kicked back in his chair, cards fanned in his hand, and glared at Elijah. "I've seen the sky. Not often in New Zealand, I'll grant you, because it's usually covered with rain clouds, but -"
"No, man, it's really cool. Promise!"
Elijah, geekishly earnest, was hard to ignore. Already Dom had laid his cards facedown on the orange Formica table and headed for the door. Orlando could hear him exclaiming.
He sighed theatrically. "Okay. I'll come and look at the sky, if it'll make you happy."
After the overheated pub, coming out into the cool air was like diving into a calm, clear pool. Orlando inhaled and felt the clean air sparkle down into his chest and fizz through his blood.
"It's the aliens," Elijah explained solemnly to him. The corner of his mouth twitched and curled like the flourish on a signature.
"They're just coming to take you home," Orlando said, scanning the sky. "We'll miss you, ET."
There were UFOs in the sky, a whole fleet of them, hanging motionless above the snow-capped mountains in defiance of the breeze that bent the pines. The aliens here drove proper old-fashioned flying saucers. The smooth white discs seemed to glow in the afternoon sunshine, though that might have been due to some force field or...
"What the fuck?" Orlando said at last, reality reasserting itself. "What are those things?"
"They're lenticular clouds," said Karl. Orlando hadn't noticed him there, leaning against the balustrade.
"Yeah, and?" Orlando waved a hand. "What's one of those when it's at home?"
"Just a cloud. They do come in groups like this. They occur when a wave of cold air comes over the mountains."
"Fascinating," said Orlando, rolling his eyes.
"They usually mean we’re in for a change," Karl went on. "There's an anticyclone coming in from the west, over the Tasman Sea. We're in the Roaring Forties here –"
"No shit," said Orlando, noting the stealth with which Dom and Elijah had excused themselves from the lecture. He was the sole recipient of Karl's meteorological expertise, a privilege that failed to flatter him. "Is this one of your method-acting things? Did you play a weatherman or something?"
Karl chuckled. "No. I just like being out of doors. No point in New Zealand if you don't know how to read the weather."
"I like being indoors," said Orlando firmly. "Where the beer is. Where my poker game is." He pushed the door open. "Coming?"
"Nah," said Karl abstractedly, staring up at the sky. "I'll stay out here for a bit."
* * *
Somewhere in the endless rain, Orlando's sense of humour had been washed away. It would be found cast up somewhere in the backlands, with chicken runs and chunks of road surface, with road signs and topsoil and beach umbrellas and several days' shooting.
The sight of Black Riders huddled in fleecy blankets against the bone-chilling damp wasn't funny. Viggo falling on his arse while he enthused about his back-to-nature trip wasn't funny. Karl's suggestion that they drove -- in the pouring rain, on roads evidently laid by imbeciles -- to the beach for the afternoon was definitely not funny.
"The sun's shining there,” Karl insisted. "I won't say it's warm, but a bit of sunshine would do you good."
"How can it be sunny thirty miles down the road?" Orlando demanded. "It's been pissing down with rain for three days."
They were huddled in the porch of the motel. Across the shiny expanse of the unsurfaced road, the town's single small pub stood, squat and shuttered, its roof pewter-sheened by the quiet, steady rain. The doorway glowed with amber light.
Karl grinned. "Microclimates. It's because of the mountains, and the sea. Weather changes really quickly here --"
"-- except for where Peter Jackson's filming," muttered Dom, pushing past Orlando. "It rains there. The locals bet on it."
"-- but it can be raining in Queenstown and lovely in Ophir."
Orlando liked the way that Karl said 'lovely', richening the vowels like a Cornish farmwife. For a moment he almost let himself be persuaded. Then water started seeping through the toe of his boot again, and he remembered that he was in New Zealand and that the only way he'd see any sunshine was on TV.
"No thanks," he said. "You can go to this beach of yours and play in the rain on your own. I'm going to play pool." He turned on his heel and headed for the pub, ignoring the disappointment on Karl's face. With luck, Dom and Astin would already be setting up another interspecies tournament.
A slick curve of muddy earth unbalanced him and left him flailing. Behind him, Liv laughed her annoying laugh. Elven poise, elven cool, Orlando reminded himself, regaining his footing. He scowled.
"What's up? " Billy said to him at the bar. "You've a face like thunder."
"Fucking weather," said Orlando, ordering rum and coke.
Karl and Liv got back from the beach at dusk. Liv was laughing more than before. She shook out her long, dry hair and prattled about sunshine and white-crested waves. Her hooded jacket, wet from the sprint between Karl's car and the pub, steamed gently on the bench.
"Stupid unfair weather," Orlando muttered, eyes on the curve of Viggo's hip as he leant over the pool table.
"It's a shame you didn't come along," said Karl, handing him another drink. He followed the direction of Orlando’s gaze and smiled. "There'll be other occasions."
Viggo missed his shot and swore mildly. He handed the cue to Karl and sat down next to Orlando. "Guess what?" he said.
"What?" said Orlando, deciding that Karl had better legs than Viggo.
"The guy behind the bar reckons it hasn't rained like this since he was in school."
Orlando squinted at the grey-haired bartender, and scowled. "Stupid fucking weather," he said again.
* * *
"I don't think you'll be parachuting tomorrow," said Karl cheerily as Orlando and Dom came out of makeup. It was a clear, cold evening, and the sky shaded like a backdrop from violet to gold. White clouds mackereled the zenith, shading to steel-grey westwards where the sky was brighter. Karl leant against the side of the make-up trailer like a persistent spell of rain, waiting for them.
Neither Orlando nor Dom spared more than a glance upwards. "What are you on about?" Orlando demanded. "The weather's been great today!"
"It's going to change overnight," said Karl, infuriatingly. "Gale-force winds. The parachute place will give you a refund, I reckon."
"Fuck it," said Dom. "I was looking forward to that. Got anything else planned?"
"Not yet," said Karl. "I think Viggo's talking about a fishing trip."
"Cool!" said Dom, with unexpected enthusiasm. "I'll ask him if there's room in the car for me. Any idea where he's gone?"
"He went off with Bean, I think. Said something about pizza? Only a couple of minutes ago. You might catch him if --"
"Thanks!" said Dom, and headed off through the trailers towards the parking area. "Catch you later, Orli!" he yelled back over his shoulder.
Orlando scowled at Karl. "Great," he said. "Do you get some sort of kick out of ruining people's plans?"
Karl looked hurt. "I just thought you'd rather know now than be disappointed in the morning. Or drive all the way out there and find out too late." He fell into step beside Orlando. "So what are you going to do on your day off? Sit in the pub whinging about the weather?"
"I don't --" Orlando began heatedly, and broke off as Karl's teasing smile faltered. "Sorry," he said. "I do whinge, don't I? Your bloody weather's getting to me, though."
"Ah, not all of it's bad," said Karl, looking askance at Orlando. "So Dom's run off to bond with Viggo. What are you going to do instead?"
Orlando laughed, wondering if he was imagining that slight, knowing emphasis on 'bond'. "No idea," he said. "Find someone else who's up for doing something, I guess. What *is* the weather going to be like, o wise one?"
"Well," said Karl. "According to the Met Service, it'll be high winds all down the coast. No chance of parachuting, and probably no good for surfing or sailing either."
"The Met Service?" said Orlando, raising an eyebrow. "You mean you can't tell just from looking at the sky or groping a sheep? Isn't there some quaint old New Zealand proverb about it?"
"No one's made up any proverbs about Peter yet," said Karl. "'PJ again, we shall have rain?'"
"'There'll be no sun till Rings is done'," suggested Orlando, grinning. Karl's laugh was much less annoying than Liv's.
"So what do you natives do in windy weather, then?" Orlando asked as they reached the car park.
"I'm heading to the beach," Karl said, busily searching his pockets for keys. "Want to come?" he added after a moment, rather diffidently.
"Sure," said Orlando. "But didn't you say it would be too windy to surf or anything?"
Karl had found his keys, and looked ecstatic about it. "There are lots of other things to do at the beach," he said. "You'll see."
"Okay," said Orlando, wondering if he'd read that invitation right. "Have you invited anyone else?" he fished.
Karl blinked, and his grin broadened. "Well, actually, no."
Overhead, the clouds were breaking up. In the east hung a crescent moon sliver-thin as a fingernail clipping. The metal of the car door was cold under Orlando's fingers. Karl was smiling at him, but it was a different smile, unexpectedly sweet.
"Good," said Orlando after a moment. "Er, do I need to bring anything?"
"Nothing special," said Karl. "Wear something warm. I'll pick you up, okay?"
You just did, thought Orlando. "Fine," he said. "What time?"
Sunday dawned clear and cold, and the trees outside Orlando's window were bent back under the wind.
"Bastard," muttered Orlando to himself as he dressed. Not that he'd expected Karl to be wrong. Not that he didn't want to go to the beach with him. Not that he'd rather have been with Dom, or Viggo. Had Karl meant that look, meant it the way Orlando had read it? Maybe everything in New Zealand was as mixed up and unreadable as the weather. Maybe when Karl talked of fun at the beach, he was thinking of kite-flying or fossil-hunting or teasing anemones. Maybe Karl and Liv ...
The doorbell terminated that train of thought. Karl's car -- "no point in taking the bike, this wind'd have us off in no time" -- was warm and fast and had a CD player. They argued amiably about music until Orlando gave in and put the radio on instead. Then Tolkien and method acting took them all the way to the coast, effective as a fast-forward button.
Once Karl had parked and switched the engine off, the sea was deafening. Wind-whipped streamers of surf spun like candyfloss from the peaks of the waves. The beach was utterly empty. If anyone had been there that morning, their footprints had already been wiped away by the steady, implacable tide.
"What now?" said Orlando, turning to face Karl.
Karl was watching him, and smiling. "What do you want to do now?" he said.
Several responses suggested themselves to Orlando. "Let's walk a bit," he said, opening the car door. The wind almost wrenched it from his hand.
He was most of the way across the car park, face upturned to the bright, ineffectual autumn sun, by the time that Karl had locked the car. Karl's mouth opened and closed, but the wind gusted between them and carried away any sound he was making.
The path down to the beach huddled in the lee of the cliff, and it was quieter there. Bird-shadows flickered on the close-packed gravel underfoot.
"This is really cool." Orlando glanced at Karl. "Thanks for bringing me."
"No problem," said Karl easily. "It's good to get away from the usual crowd now and then."
"True." The path curved around and Orlando shaded his eyes against the sudden dazzle of sun on the waves. Then they came out of the wind-shadow and the gale hit them like a friendly bear, howling around their ears, drowning out the crunch of shells underfoot.
Orlando saw Karl wince as his long, dark hair whipped across his face, and was glad of the mohawk. He stretched out his arms and let the exhilarating wind rock him, leaning into it as he strode, grinning and breathless. The pebbles underfoot glistened with spray. A banner of seaweed tangled around his ankles and he stumbled. Only Karl's hand on his arm stopped him falling. Karl's hand didn't move away when Orlando's balance returned, though. Indeed, Karl seemed to think that he might need to be steadied again. His other hand came up and Orlando caught it and pulled him closer, counterbalancing him, rocking them both into the wind.
Their faces were very close together. Karl's hair slashed at his own cheeks now, but Karl's body, mitigating, blocked the force of the gale. Karl was staring back at him, and smiling. Karl always smiled at him, but he'd never been this close before, and this was that same new smile, broad and sweet, that he'd tried to read yesterday evening.
Orlando felt more confident about his predictions now. Karl's breath was like a warm gale on his mouth, and Orlando leant into it, running his tongue along the curve of Karl's mouth, feeling their teeth collide as Karl kissed him back.
The wind gusted and billowed around the two men, but Orlando pulled Karl closer so that there was no space between them. Make your own microclimate, he thought, grinning. Karl's body was firm and hard against his, Karl's hips rocked reciprocally against him, Karl's hands flexed and curled against his collarbone and his waist. He could feel Karl, or perhaps himself, humming into the kiss, although the wind was too loud to hear anything. He could feel Karl's erection through his jeans, pressing against his own. Someone ground, someone moaned: perhaps it was the gale surrounding them.
The wind shifted, and spray and sand stung the back of Orlando's skull. He dragged his mouth away from Karl's to swear. Karl grinned at him, and leant forward. "Car?" he said against Orlando's leeward ear, and ran his tongue across Orlando's neck. The wind nipped at the damp skin instantly, and Orlando shivered and nodded.
The path, of course, was out of the wind, so there was no reason not to stop and kiss again, urgently and teasingly, rubbing up against one another for warmth. For heat. Orlando was gasping by the time they reached the car, as though the air around him was being stolen away by the gale. Karl pushed him up against the car door and kissed him yet again, body pinning him, hips grinding, hands hot against the base of his throat and the small of his back, under his clothes.
"Please..." Orlando managed, pulling Karl's head back to lick at the curve of his jaw and letting the wind emphasise the caress. Karl was sweeping him away, as relentless and irresistible as any meteorological phenomenon. He growled against Orlando's skull, and Orlando felt it through the bone. Then Karl was reaching between them, brushing deliciously against Orlando's erection as he fumbled in his pocket for the car keys. Orlando moaned, trying not to arch up against Karl, letting Karl reach round and open the rear door of the car, letting Karl press him backwards into the back seat, compliant as a sapling in a gale.
"Hang on," said Karl, tilting him sideways to lean against the front seat. Karl’s voice was thick with lust, his skin flushed with that and with the wind. They beamed at one another. Then Karl fiddled with something, and grunted, and the back of the rear seat folded down and away from them.
Karl reached back and pulled the car door closed, and it was suddenly quiet. Quiet except for the rush of the sea outside. Quiet except for the laboured rush of their breathing. Orlando laughed and lay back, pulling Karl with him. He pushed aside a bundle of sticks and bright nylon, braced one foot against the back of the driver's seat and twisted himself around Karl to kiss him again. One hand negotiated Karl's fly-buttons, and the other slid up under Karl's jumper, stroking the smooth skin, discovering muscle and hair and Karl's erect nipple. Karl groaned and got both his hands free. One knee was heavy on Orlando's legs, and his hair swept audibly over the carpeted facing of the roof. Orlando's jeans were loose enough that there was no need to bother with buttons or zippers: Orlando gasped as Karl's hand closed around his erection, thumb curling familiarly under the cockhead. He closed his teeth on Karl's bottom lip and his hand, at last, on Karl's cock, and made him jerk and swear. Orlando could feel sweat beading and prickling on his neck and above his upper lip. The edge of the folded-back seat pressed insistently into the hollow of his back. Karl's kisses were long and dizzying, and he shifted even closer to Orlando so that their hands, stroking and sliding on one another's cocks, bumped together through the denim of Orlando's jeans.
"Here," said Orlando, relinquishing his grasp on Karl and prying Karl's fingers off him. He got his jeans open and pushed his cock against Karl's, groaning at the feel of Karl's hot skin against his own.
"Oh fuck," said Karl, and curled his hand around both their cocks, pressing them together, and began a wicked, steady rhythm that seemed to match the waves outside.
Orlando's head tilted back and he gasped for breath, back arched, feet braced, hands frantic on Karl's skin. "Karl, please ... please..." He could feel his orgasm pulling at him, and he already knew it wouldn't be enough. He wanted to come again and again with Karl, with Karl's cock in his arse (or his in Karl's), with his cock in Karl's throat (or Karl's in his): with all of Karl’s skin against all of his own.
Karl's hand at the base of his skull pulled him forward again. The skin of his hip rubbed warmly against the leatherette trim of the seat, and he opened his mouth for another kiss, panting. But Karl just stared at him -- at his mouth, and then back up and straight into his eyes -- and said "Orlando!" as though it was the answer to an obvious question. And Karl came, hotly and in six or seven distinct spurts, onto the base of Orlando's cock. Almost immediately Orlando was coming too, mouth too wide-open to say anything coherent.
Into the still, quiet moment of afterglow came the sound of a car door slamming.
Orlando started to laugh. "Quick, they'll --" he managed.
"No one can see anything," Karl murmured into his ear. He slid a single finger through their blended cum, the slightest pressure on sensitised skin, and Orlando choked on his laughter. "Look. The windows are steamed up."
"We did that?" Orlando started laughing again.
"Well," said Karl. "It's warm in here, and cold outside. And the air's moist. Bound to get condensation. It's like a miniature weather -- Mmm."
Outside, the wind delivered fragments of voices. Gusts buffeted the car. The waves crashed on the beach and wind-muffled seabirds whirled and screamed overhead. In Karl's car, the air was warm and still and moist, and Orlando was kissing Karl, and Karl wasn’t talking about the weather any more.
-end-
Gah
Re: Gah
You want more fic? Just have a birthday ... or a decanting-day ...
Whoo!
I especially loved, "The wind gusted and billowed around the two men, but Orlando pulled Karl closer so that there was no space between them. Make your own microclimate, he thought, grinning."