Fruit Basket - ob/ew&bb/dm

[maem.livejournal.com]

FRUIT BASKET
ob/ew & bb/dm
[pg-13]

thanks to the poem "kitchen" by Robert Creeley for initial inspiration.
for the latest contrelamontre challenge requiring three scenes [1. hidden; 2. orange; 3. stain]

my first online fiction submission.

The morning light in Las Angeles seems brighter and much more violent than Elijah ever remembers it being. But he supposes that's what happens when you spend almost two years in a practical paradise and then return home with higher standards.

This morning—a Monday—the light shines through pieces of imitation crystal and green stone hanging merrily from the latches on top of the windowpane; it sends tiny rainbows twirling across the white counters and onto the white floor. Some of them reach the back of Orlando's white tank top, the front of him buried deep within the refrigerator, moving take-out boxes, loaves of bread, beer and wine bottles and god only knows what else aside with no sense of method or reason.

"Whatever you're looking for, I probably don't have any," Elijah states, lighting a cigarette and taking the first pivotal drag. His lips make a soft puh sound as they part from the skinny stick and he exhales.

Orlando mutters something Elijah is just going to pretend was "No kidding," since the words were muffled by Orlando's mouth being disgustingly close to a white rice pagoda carton, which he's just put back.

"Have you seen Dom?" Orlando asks, giving up on breakfast altogether. "Or Billy?" he adds as an afterthought.

Elijah thinks for a moment and flicks ashes into the sink. "Nope." He grabs the last slightly bruised banana out of the wicker basket next to the pile of bottles waiting to go into the recycling bin. "Here, do something with this," he says, throwing it at Orlando. He makes sure he cops a feel as he passes into the next room.

Orlando thinks Elijah's very good at hiding his food, but fucking awful at keeping his more sinful intentions under wraps.


-


"You cannot compare our relationship to a fruit, Dom," Billy says, although his crooked smile suggests something completely different.

"Bah, course I can," Dom replies, tossing the orange between his hands. Although neither says it, both consider this morning a blessing. Yes, the sun is glaring vehemently and turning their ears and noses pink. And yes, both of their shirts and the backs of both their pants are sticking to their bodies. But they've found a relatively quiet grassy knoll to lie on their backs in, and in Las Angeles even. That's certainly something to be thankful for, especially when one has juicy produce to enhance the occasion.

"Well? Fill me in, then!" Billy laughs for no apparent reason. It's just one of those days.

"Right. So this orange peel, this is you. Durable, though a bit rubbery, on the outside—"

"I'm rubbery?" Billy asks, throwing a careless handful of grass on Dom's sea foam green tee. Dom runs slightly sticky fingers over the wrinkles around Billy's mouth.

"Pleasantly so."

"Ah, well then. Continue." Billy settles onto his back again.

"You're the peel, Bills. You have the most important job in this relationship, because you protect the juicy goods inside. AKA: me."

Billy snorts.

"Jealousy, Billy. Anyhow, I'm the actual orange. I'm squishy and a bit tangy, but I'm fucking wonderful to wake up to. Plus," he says, rolling over and letting his fingers perform figure eights around Billy's bellybutton, "I'm quite fun to eat."

Five minutes later, as Billy's tongue works its way slowly around the base of Dom's shaft, licking up the orange juice Dom's trickled there for both their pleasures, Dom thinks that Billy is one orange peel he'll never break; sickly sweet juices combine to leave a sticky mess on the grass as Dom's hips thrust and squirm and they both struggle for air.


-


Elijah lies on top of the sheets, nude and in waiting. A bird chirps outside. The wind blows the pages of his address book around. Basically nothing happens.

"Fuck, he's dense," Elijah sighs, standing up and wrapping a beige afghan loosely around his waist. He opens the door to his bedroom and walks down from the loft. "Orlando?"

"Mmm?" he responds, sticking the last bite of the banana into his mouth. He chews and swallows forcibly. "Where've your clothes gone?"

"Fine, fine. You've left me no other choice," Elijah says after a stunned pause. Orlando looks confused for approximately five seconds before he's all but pounced upon.

"Elijah!" Orlando exclaims, wrapping his arms around the smaller man's waist out of habit. The blanket falls and Orlando's eyes travel down without asking. Eyebrows raise. "Elijah."

Sooner rather than later, Orlando ends up in about the same state of affairs as Elijah's in and both are doing just fine without the banana. Neither really notice when the door opens.

"Sweet Jaysus!" and "Aw, fucks it all," ring simultaneously throughout the tiny abode as Orlando is startled and stains the couch and Billy simply walks into the room, clearly not thinking to watch for sexual goings-on before intruding.

Dom enters quickly behind him, stopping abruptly upon seeing two arses hovering over each other on the couch. He doesn't even try and hide his smirk as he grabs Billy's wrist.

"Have room for two more fruits in your basket?"