by Calico

Nov 02

Dedication: for Lobelia! for being born an indeterminate number of years ago.

Oscar speech: with thanks to Gloria for being superfast and buying lunch. Also, nothing would exist without a million sparks from Dale, who makes a much better mistress than I do. :)

Cal: I'm sick of people writing Orlando as this arrogant bastard who barely notices the guys he takes to bed.
Cal: I mean. where's the fun in that?

Dom found Orlando sitting stone-silent at the end of his bed, half-dressed, a long-necked brown bottle abandoned by his foot, another standing by the bin.

Not bad for 5pm, Dom thought, standing straighter, clearing his throat. "You up for going out?"

Orlando glanced at him, then back at the wall. The slice of eye-contact made Dom incredibly aware of what a pathetic excuse for a queerboy he was. Orlando was so-- ripe, so ready to be shaken and taken, and what was he doing about it? Nodding and smiling. Fool.

"C'mon, now," Dom coaxed, striding over to him, ruffling that cobweb-heavy hair with one hand, still the tiniest bit damp. There was a crumpled towel on the bed, abandoned by Orlando's hip. It had dark dents to it, and Dom wondered how long Orlando'd been out the shower. If he'd arrived a few minutes earlier-- "We can't have you sitting around here dripping like a prat."

"I'm not a prat," Orlando said, tucking his head back so Dom's hand almost slid onto his face. Dom ruffled his hair again; the oldest excuse in the book, but it worked, and Orlando looked hot like this, bare-shouldered with his face exposed. "And I'm dry."

"What's that, then?" Dom said, nodding at the towel, pleased when Orlando twisted round to look. He had jeans on, sure, but the crunched muscle across his stomach didn't disappoint. Hair, too.

"The towel I used to, guess what, get dry," Orlando said, looking back at his wall, and Dom cuffed him idly and rested his hand on his own hip. Orlando's hair really was cool, he thought. Thick and sort of stiff, like his palm'd lift away sleek with residue, except it hadn't. Also, Orlando was definitely fresh out the shower so unless he was a muppet like Billy said, he wouldn't have got round to putting stuff on it yet. Not that it mattered.

"Whatever," he said, and Orlando chuckled, attention caught again. Dom blinked as he realised the wall was actually, from this angle, a mirror. He checked himself out quickly: not bad. Bit scruffy, but that was the point.

"You sound like Liv," Orlando accused, and Dom raised his eyebrows.

"Since when?"

"What-evah, girlfriend," Orlando drawled, flicking his wrist at Dom's chest, and Dom caught his wrist, laughed.

"Get dressed before I wind up thumping you," he said, and the threat made Orlando giggle, and Dom rolled his eyes in disgust. "I could take you," he insisted, and then, before the sexual connotations could overpower him, repeated, "I could take you on, any day."

"I'm taller," Orlando said.

"Yeah, but," Dom said, "think Gimli," flexing his muscles like a Playgirl twink, and Orlando grinned hazily and conceded his point.

"Point," he said.

"Just 'cause you agree with me doesn't mean you don't have to get dressed," Dom reminded him, and turned brightly to the window. "Here! Now I'm not even watching." Orlando's window was kinda weird; Dom could never tell if it was raining outside. The glass just had a slight mist to it, or something. It also gave a killer reflection. He watched a glossy-ghost Orlando lie down on the bed, stretching his arms up high. "Orlando," Dom warned.

"I think I'll just... stay here," Orlando said, the words easing out slowly, like he almost couldn't be bothered to breathe.

Dom turned round. Orlando was stretched out like the longest, most succulent steak Dom had ever seen; his jeans were ludicrously low on his hips, and with his arms up like that, his chest looked like the world's best amalgamation of taut and supple and tan. "'Cause you're drunk," Dom accused, ignoring the dryness that blossomed in his mouth at the sight of all that freshly-clean skin.

"'Cause I'm good company," Orlando said, and poked his tongue in Dom's direction.

"Yeah, but - what about the skirts?" Dom said, changing tack. "Surely these four walls are gonna get tired after a while."

"Skirts get tired," Orlando said, and Dom felt a little sweatdrop of hope start in his stomach. C'mon, baby. Say you prefer the company of cock from time to time. "Seen one, seen-- well, no. Heh. But still. I don't feel like fucking a stranger tonight."

C'mon, Dom thought, forcing himself to breathe naturally. He wasn't sure if he was imploring himself or Orlando, but damnit, if this opening sidled past unclaimed then he frankly didn't deserve to get laid. "No?" he croaked.

Orlando wriggled a little, eyes closed. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

Dom's breathing returned to normal, and his heart thunked a couple of times. Bugger. "Eh," he said, carefully casual, "so you're really not coming?"

"I don't think so."

"Not even if I beg?"

"Nope," Orlando said, sounding irritatingly like the thought of Dom begging didn't phase him at all.

"Boring bastard."


"Boriiiing bassssstard," Dom taunted, and Orlando's eyes snapped open and he pushed himself up on his elbows. "Well, you are," Dom shrugged.

Orlando rolled up forwards, giving Dom an idea of how strong that Stomach really was, then ducked to fish for his beer bottle on the floor. "You're boring, 'cause you can't have a good time without me," he retorted eventually, lowering the bottle from his mouth. Watching him drink had been so fucking euphemistic, Dom didn't ever wanna see it again.

"Let's take stock," Dom said, admitting privately to himself that he was getting desperate. "You: showered, dry, half-dressed, drinking on your own. Me: dressed, sober, about to go drink with his mates. Who's the sadder case?"

"You: sober and celibate and lonely," Orlando snapped, taking another swig. Dom watched despite himself. "Me: drunk and celibate. You - clearly the sadder case."

"I don't see why I'm lonely and you're not."

"I'm enough company for myself," Orlando said simply, and then he was staring at Dom's crotch, unless it was Dom's sober, lonely imagination. "You need someone to bounce off."

"Uhuh," Dom said. He didn't shift from foot to foot, but it was an effort.

Orlando's attention flicked up to his face, and he smiled. "Grab a beer, if you like."

"Thought you were happy by yourself," Dom said sullenly, then regretted it. Maybe, somewhere in Orlando's weird and contented head, this was a seduction. Maybe it thoroughly wasn't.

"I don't mind sharing me with you for a while," Orlando said, and nodded at the door as he lay down again. "The crate's over there."

The crate, as it happened, was almost full. Three or four down, and Orli had enough crisp, chilled San Miguel here to drown a fellowship. "Thanks," Dom said, cradling one of the long brown bottles in his fist, looking around hopefully for a bottle opener. "Have you got a doodle?"

"Up here."

"Down there," Dom corrected, wandering back to the bed and looking down at Orlando with what he hoped was faintly supercilious amusement. "Hand it over."

Orlando reached up with a fistful of silver and covered the top of Dom's bottle with his hand. His forehead rumpled briefly, then Dom's fingers were wet with foam and Orlando was crossing his legs and shuffling comfortably and licking his fingers, and Dom was lifting the bottle quickly to his lips and deciding that Orlando's entire existence was too euphemistic for his liking right now.

"Don't you have to phone them?" Orlando said, as Dom swallowed about a pint of foam before the actual beer filled his mouth, and Dom thought that was a good question. Did he. Was he actually planning to stay here all evening, on the off-chance that Orli was moving in glorious and mysterious ways?

"I'll phone in ten minutes," Dom announced, "because by then you'll have agreed to come. If I go now, you'll just hate me for not waiting when you decide you wanted to come after all." He wondered if he was fooling himself. He was pretty sure he was fooling Orlando. "That work for you?"

"Don't you ever find yourself just... staring at yourself?" Orlando said, thoughtfully. He'd tilted sideways a little and was gazing confusedly at the mirror.

"Uh," Dom said. "Did you hear me--?"

"Don't you," Orlando asked, sounding disturbingly not-taking-the-piss. Rational. Uh. What the fuck.

Dom laughed. "Are you listening to yourself?"

"No, really." Orlando cocked his head at him, eyes dangerously bright, then touched his fingertips to his own shoulder, looked back at the mirror again. "Don't you ever," he said slowly, pushing his fingers in until the bulk of his shoulder muscle wouldn't give any more, "think that this," and then he dragged his fingertips down his arm, apparently mesmerised by his own reflection, "that it can't be me?"

"It's not me," Dom pointed out, deliberately.

"No," Orlando said. "It's me."

His hand had reached his own wrist, and his thumb was making slow circles, around and around. Dom wanted to clear his throat again. "You're a fuckin' weirdo," he tried, and Orlando smiled at him.

"Look at the curve, though." He was touching his own arms, then his stomach. "Look at the," he looked down and waved at his navel in silent awe, "the cut, look at the lines in this thing."

"Drink more beer," Dom said shortly, following his own advice without even tasting it, and Orlando's teeth showed in a quick smile.

"No, I like it."

"Fruitcake," Dom said, shaking his head.

Orlando jumped up and wandered around, fingers flat against his own hipbones, like he was a girl pleased with a dress. "It's taken forever, but look at the result," he murmured.

"I'm... bloody hell," Dom said, and laughed. He couldn't feel the bottle too well as he set it firmly on the floor. The other guys seemed like a more attractive prospect, again. "I'm leaving you alone with yourself. Play nice."

"I will," Orlando drawled, flopping down languidly on the bed again, and Dom felt the laughter dry in his throat.

"Why do I get the feeling you're celibate for a reason?" he said, the joke blessedly surviving in his voice even as his mouth faltered around the appropriate smile.

Orlando giggled, sipped at his beer, then nuzzled his own shoulder with his cheek. "I get jealous easily."

"Of yourself?"

"Of other people, all over me," Orlando explained blithely, and Dom felt all the air leave his lungs in a slow rush. It was just. no. what? It was fucking surreal. Orlando wouldn't have the cheek of it, surely, to breathe like this and smile like this and genuinely - adore himself, right?

Dom stabbed a finger at him. "Narcissist!"

Orlando shook his head quickly, eyes earnest. "No, I built it!"

Dom coughed. "You built it." He felt his own eyes grow too wide in his face.

"Mm," Orlando smiled. He looked utterly relaxed. "I took my raw resources, and built it into... this." He stroked his stomach, then shot Dom an injured look. "It took hard work!"

Uh huh. "You were never fat."

"I was thin."

"So it wasn't exactly hard work," Dom said, and Orlando raised his eyebrows.

"Scuse me?" he drawled, "You any idea how long it takes to carve out one of these?" He nodded decisively. "Months."

Dom dropped to his knees, picked up his beer, then rose gingerly to his feet again. "You're making me thirsty."

"Just because society wants me to lie back and moan about my hairy toes," Orlando bitched, and Dom almost snorted San Miguel all over the place.

"Don't talk to me about hairy toes."

"Yeah, but yours are from the thingie," Orlando said, waving him away with one hand, "the shaving, but mine, I had to have them waxed."

"I'm taking this to the papers," Dom warned, feeling a grin slip onto his beer-tingling mouth. "Orlando Bloom Is A Girl Shocker. The redtops will love me."

"Ingrowing hairs," Orlando said seriously, "are the devil."

"...tool of, surely," Dom said, and Orlando shook his head.

"Nope, the full devil. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to exfoliate toes?"

Dom opened his mouth, then shut it again. "Okay," he said, a moment later. "Rewind. Is there a point to you talking about toes?"

"I'm not perfect," Orlando said, like that explained everything. He flashed a sensational grin that was tempered with just enough modesty to make Dom suspicious. He could just imagine Orlando calculating his facial expressions to the last shiny-white tooth, making sure the ratio of eyelash dip to utilised dimple was balanced to perfection. "Nearly," Orlando was saying, "but not quite."


"And, yes," Orlando said. "I like it."

"Narcissism," Dom pronounced.

"You like it too," Orlando said, and the new certainty in his voice made Dom's stomach thud into unpleasant knots, made him wonder if there were any more empty bottles stowed around the room. An empty crate, even.

"I don't."

"Oh, right," Orlando said scornfully, rolling his eyes. "Don't give me that," he said, waving Dom away with his hand again. "You buy men's underwear."

"What the fuck?" Dom heard himself demand, too loud. His heart was scudding around his chest, it felt like. "You're talking fucking bollocks."

"All men know what a hot man looks like, whatever they say," Orlando said slowly, and Dom felt as though he were seeing a glimmer of the ever-swirling fluorescence of Orlando's imagination. "I am a hot man."

Dom was past laughing, though one tried to escape anyway and turned into a hiccup. "Right," he managed, sipping at the beer again. "That's nice."

"Are you straight, after all?" Orlando said, eyebrows flicking up. Dom almost choked.

"What does it matter?" He almost sounded normal, not nervous at all.

"Actually, yeah," Orlando said, and he seemed somehow brisk now, somehow threaded through with urgency, "it doesn't. Come down here. Sit down," he added, when Dom didn't move. He patted the bed. "Dom."

"Are you?"

"Sit down," Orlando said.

Dom sat down cautiously. His pulse felt crystal-intricate, laced all through his body in shimmering heats. "Are you?" he tried, again.

"I like you, y'know." Orlando picked up Dom's hand. "I'm going to show you the best things about me," he whispered, and Dom thought he really wasn't drunk enough for this. Wasn't drunk, in fact, at all. He couldn't speak for Orlando, obviously. Hell, he wasn't certain on anything about Orlando, right now.

"Are you straight?" he heard himself demand, his voice breaking, and Orlando grinned at him fondly.

"It doesn't matter."

That's probably a no, Dom thought frantically; probably no, probably Orlando's been queer since he was sixteen and spent the last eight months on his back with his legs around Viggo's waist one way or another. Probably, Dom was going to get to taste his cock tonight, or at least finger him. Probably--

"This is my best ab," Orlando said quietly, reverently. Dom blinked, and Orlando was tracing Dom's fingers over the middle of his stomach, pressing them into a thick firm lattice beneath velvety skin. "Feel that?" He shifted, and Dom felt the muscle go briefly bone-solid. "It's new."


"Yup." Orlando sprawled back, then grinned and tugged Dom down next to him. Dom edged gingerly closer, keeping a good margin of rumpled dark bedclothes between his hip and Orlando’s waist. "Just. explore that for a while." His palm pressed over the back of Dom's hand, stroked lightly. "Isn't it cool."

"It's alright," Dom said.

Orlando smiled and closed his eyes. "You know it."

Dom realised his tongue was dry, and then realised that was because he was breathing through his mouth, and closed it. Better. "So," he said, as cheerfully as he could manage, "what is this. Guided tour?"

"Pretty much."

"Oh," Dom said, and his fingers were enjoying it, enjoying the permission to roam and luxuriate, and there definitely weren't many people who got to paw Orlando these days, and. Nevertheless, though. Fucking weird. "Well, that's lovely," he said brightly. "I might go now."

Orlando's other hand slithered down and covered Dom's fingers, pressing them more solidly into his stomach. "The tour's not over."

"Er," Dom said. "I think maybe it is."

"Not even begun," Orlando corrected, and then he was reaching past with his free hand, undoing his jeans, and Dom's head went fizzy with fresh panic.

"hey, no, what," he bleated, and Orlando chuckled.

"You can't come on the Bloom tour and not see one of the main attractions," he purred.

"I think I can."

"Nope." Orlando let go of Dom's fingers, and Dom snatched them back into his own lap. Orlando looked over at them - gazed, really - at the way Dom's hand was curving perilously near his own cock, and that gaze didn't waver while Orlando skinned out of his jeans and kicked the denim loudly to the floor.

He - wasn't wearing underwear.

"I don't," Orlando said casually, and Dom wondered if he'd spoken outloud or if Orlando just knew that'd be the first question he'd ask, or what. "Think you should leave now...?"

"Probably," Dom said. Orlando twisted towards him, lifted his hands from his lap.

"Dom, Dom, Dom," he said, and tugged at him, firmly, until Dom was leaning over him with one knee on the bed and his balance - life - in Orlando's deliciously warm hands. "See," Orlando said, and drew Dom's palms down down down the sides of his stomach, until they met smooth twin arcs of bone at his hips. They were silky-solid and hot like a sleeping man in August.

"Um," Dom said. They appeared to have stopped. He took his knee off the bed because his lower back was hurting and just stood there, a bit twisted, holding Orlando's hips in both hands. He trained his gaze carefully no lower than Orlando's navel. Didn't want to go down there, not if he wasn't going to get to use it - and if he was going to, he'd have plenty of opportunity to explore later. No point taunting himself now.

"Like it?"

"It's alright," Dom said quickly, although he was being put in mind of pinning Orlando to a bed or a wall, and that most certainly wasn't alright. That wasn't what Orlando had asked, though.

"Alright," Orlando repeated, like Dom had said, "Shakespeare, well, it's nice if you like that sort of thing; I'm more a Disney man, myself."

Dom laughed shortly. "You've got a hot body, and you know it," he said, "so I don't see why you're fishing for compliments from me."

"It's my tour," Orlando said, indignantly, then made an angry little noise when Dom shook his hands free of his body and stepped back. He looked up, petulant and naked. "You wouldn't take someone round London and point out the Thames lit by night and like it if they were like, 'that's a big river... where next?', would you?"

"For fuck's sake, you're not London," Dom snapped, and Orlando laughed quietly.

"No, no. London has skanky bits." He reached out, snagged Dom's hand - why hadn't he moved out of reach? why? why? - and drew him in close again. "Here, c'mon."

Dom closed his eyes, counted to five, then opened them again. "Fine," he said, replacing his hands on Orlando's hipbones.

They fit his palm snugly, made him wonder how else his and Orlando's bodies would fit together. This was - meta-sexual, or something. He had naked Elf spread beneath him, and wasn't taking advantage, wasn't even looking at Orlando's dick-- but he knew by proximity that it wasn't hard, was soft and maybe interested or merely large-- but whatever, jesus, his brain wasn't wired to cope with judgements like this.

This was just unfair. The naked men Dom normally consorted with had erections, damnit, and were generally preparing to use them.

"Hipbones," Orlando said, and rolled his hips, making the skin shift silkily over the bone beneath, reminding Dom ridiculously of playing with uncut cock.

"Yes, well."

"They're underrated," Orlando said seriously, and Dom looked at his face and saw a faint smile around the eyes and depraved suggestion on his mouth. He looked like he was begging to be used, unwilling to ask.

Right now, Dom wasn't willing to answer. "I, yes, hipbones," he heard himself say. He sounded inane. He couldn't blame himself, though. Given circumstance, all that. "They're good. You have got very. nice ones."

Orlando closed his eyes again. "I know."

"That's a really irritating thing to say," Dom said, sharply. "I hope you know that."

Orlando's smile widened and he folded his fingers around Dom's hand, started sliding it up his chest. Away from the danger area, Dom thought, letting go with his other hand, telling himself that was a good thing. Away from one dangerous area, at least. Frying pans and fires sprang to mind. Jesus, like Orlando's entire body wasn't a sprawl of hot coals.

"More tour?" he said, then tried not to feel disappointed when the path was straight, no tangents to feel Orlando's sharp little nipples against his palm, which was really one of Dom's favourite things about taking a male lover. Solid chests and hard points to rub against. Lovely.

"If you like."

"Um," he heard himself say, when their hands, far from investigating Orlando's chest, wound up at Orlando's jaw. "For the record," he said, faintly, "I'm getting quite confused."

"You'll enjoy this," Orlando said, and the air of his words was warm on Dom's fingertips, they were that close. Dom looked at Orlando's mouth, the statuesque tilt of it; the plump colour, all those fucking dusky roses and cherubs' cheeks and MaxFactor No.7; and the faint dullness of stubble, the unadulterated male signature, fading harmlessly up his jaw.

Enjoy it. His fingertips could feel the brisk sensation of that stubble, so fresh it didn't even grate on them, just felt that tiniest bit more real, more three-dimensional against his nerves.

Orlando's hand moved, coming to drape over the back of Dom's hand, the side of his thumb stroking deliberately down the inside of Dom's knuckles as he drew Dom's fingertips carefully towards towards and then on to - over - Orlando's mouth.

Dom shivered, despite himself.

"Pretty," Orlando murmured, and this time the heat of the word swept direct across Dom's fingers, and he saw the glint of the wetness inside Orlando's mouth for one moment before those sleek lips settled closed again. He - he wanted to open Orlando's mouth again, wanted to lick inside. He wasn't sure, for all this, that he had that sort of permission.

Orlando pouted a little, enough that Dom could feel the perfect shape of his mouth warm and dry under his fingertips, and then he was pressing down, couldn't help it, pressing until Orlando's lower lip was askew to his teeth, and yes, okay, Dom was thinking about pushing his cock in there, because there was absolutely nothing to make him think of anything else.

"Feel, inside," Orlando said, then, "mmh, yes," muffled by Dom's fingertip as it pushed in, and Dom could feel the fine shelf of teeth and the shifting wet satins inside Orlando's mouth, and this just. Christ.

He took his hand back, twisting free of Orlando's hold on his wrist. This was bordering on really fucking cruel.

"Oh come on," Orlando growled, eyes still closed, baring his teeth a little, and Dom just sat there shivering, not sure what to do. He hadn't drunk enough to cope with this. He - what did Orlando want, huh? Did Orlando want Dom to think about fucking his mouth? Did Orlando even have any idea?

"Come on what?" he said, as quiet as he could, so his voice wouldn't sound cracked.

"Let me-- let me show you," Orlando said steadily, patiently, "how incredibly good it feels to be sucked by me."

Dom decided to count to ten. One, he thought. Two, three.

"Please," Orlando said, though it didn't sound much like pleading; more like exasperation. Five. "You're my friend. I want you to try it."

Eight. "Why?" Dom demanded, abandoning his counting. Fucking hell. Orlando either knew exactly what he was doing, or was a total nutcase. Tonight, Dom wasn't sure which would be worse.

Orlando shrugged. "I'm naturally generous." He licked his lips, apparently totally confident that Dom would be watching his mouth. Irritatingly, he was right. "C'mon. Just... let me."

Dom reached forwards impulsively, then veered back, because however much Orlando was explicitly asking for it, he couldn't just push into someone like that. Wasn't happening. He touched Orlando's hand, instead, then closed his eyes when he felt his fingers being lifted swiftly and pressed into Orlando's wet-hot mouth again.

Properly in, this time. To the knuckle.

He hoped Orlando hadn't heard him make a tiny noise, but he probably had. He was floating in the dense burgundy expanse behind his eyes, only aware of Orlando's teeth closing sweetly, of Orlando's wet tongue sliding lazy and proprietary over his skin. His cock shifted in his pants, unhappy with the situation. Orlando started sucking, rhythmic, until it felt like heat pulsed through Orlando's mouth like this all the time and would continue long after Dom's fingers had disappeared.

After about six seconds, Dom remembered to breathe.

He felt Orlando smile around his fingers, still sucking, drawing them in deeper, and swallowed hard. Orlando's lower lip rested snug against the top of his palm. His fingertips, he realised faintly, were right at the base of Orlando's tongue, and if he pressed any deeper then Orlando would either gag or - or take him in, and christ, he didn't need these images at all right now.

He steeled himself against it all, and cleared his throat. Burst his bubble, please. "I hate to tell you this," he said, and actually, he hated himself a lot more, because he sounded half-hoarse, "but even though I haven't had my fingers sucked by many people, it doesn't feel that spectacular. Nice," he added, quickly, like he was trying to be polite, "but nothing... special."

Orlando paused, but Dom didn't open his eyes to see if he looked hurt. He didn't want to hurt him, after all. Just wanted to get out of here with some sort of dignity intact, and if it came down to it, Orlando was the one acting like a nonce, so he should take the embarrassment flack of it all.

He felt his fingers being slid out, but slowly, like a man pulling his dick out of someone gorgeous and luxuriantly slick merely as preparation for shoving it back in. The air felt far more chilly against wet skin than it did against Dom's cheeks, which were, in fact, feeling distinctly over-warm.

"Your eyes are closed." Orlando mouthed the tips of Dom's fingers, unapologetically obscene. Not, er, not very hurt, then. "Open them. You're not getting the full effect. Watch."

Dom opened his eyes in time to see his fingers sliding - sucked - smoothly back into Orlando's mouth, in time to see that perfect upper lip come to rest near the base of his knuckles, in time to see it as he felt it-- and yeah, okay? Just. yeah. Orlando's eyes were closed too, like they'd always been. Fuckin' hell.

Orlando smiled a little, and bit down lightly, and Dom, staring, gasped.

"Okay," he managed, quickly, "Yes, it's different, it's - good. Now let me--"

Orlando slipped Dom's fingers out his mouth, licked once down his palm, then opened his eyes. "Good," he said, propping himself up on his elbow, far closer than Dom had expected.

Dom blinked. "Er, yes."

"Hmm." Orlando frowned a little, but it seemed to Dom like he was more annoyed with something outside the window or deep in his past than anything so immediate as Dom not being appreciative enough. But then, maybe Dom didn't know anything.

"Is there more tour?" he asked, lamely. He wanted Orlando to lie down again - to put more space between them.

Blessedly, Orlando did. Dom breathed out. Orlando pressed his lips together, thoughtfully. "You know what," he said, then went quiet.

Dom swallowed. He wasn't sure he wanted to know, actually. "What?"

"I'm not talking properly," Orlando said, closing his eyes again. "I can't get it across right."

"What, the wonder of your body?"

Orlando sparkled a grin at him, and familiarity lurched in Dom's stomach. This wasn't the grin Orlando saved for the public; until now, Dom had never wondered if it was the grin Orlando saved for him. "You've got five minutes to do whatever you like," Orlando said, and spread his arms. "Explore the wonder."

"Whatever I like?" Dom said, despite himself.

Orlando nodded.

"Can I hit you?" Dom said, half-serious. Something was thrumming in his body, and he wasn't sure it was purely lust. The idea of smashing his fist into Orlando's fine bones--

"If you like," Orlando said, eyes opening a little. "If you wanna see it ruined."

Christ. "You won't fight back?"

"Five minutes," Orlando said, closing his eyes again.

"I'm just gonna watch," Dom said, unconvincingly. "You can lie there all you like."


"Be quiet."

"Okay," Orlando whispered, then wriggled slowly, languorously, against the sheets. "Mm."

"And stay still," Dom said, hands itching to hold him down.


"I'm not even gonna watch," Dom said, cruelly. "I'm gonna go stare at the rain instead."

"It's not raining."

Dom didn't know if it was, but he couldn't bear to look away from Orlando's gently rising-falling chest to verify. "At the view, then," he said.

Orlando's mouth curved. Red mouth, now. Red and damp. "I don't think you will."

Dom swallowed, gritted his teeth. "What do you think I'll do?"

"Wind up on top of me," Orlando murmured, and it might've been a request. "Because you've gotta touch it properly, this one chance you think you've got."

One chance, Dom thought, shivering, and his hands were drifting to their opposite hips and closing round the hem of his t-shirt, wanting to tug it over his head. This was a test. He forced them back to his thighs. "I thought I told you to shut up."

"Mmk." The curve to his mouth was so - irritating, so fucking silent and smug, and Dom wanted to fuck him and wanted to leave. "Oh," Orlando said quickly, smile widening, raising one finger, something he'd stolen from Dom. Dom had never felt possessive about a gesture before.


"You can touch my dick, if you like," he said. His eyes were still closed, hadn't even fluttered.

"What, and you'll fantasise that it's your own hand."

Orlando chuckled. "Dom," he said, fondly.

You didn't answer my question, Dom thought, and there was some fierce element in him now, the frustration of having Orlando spread and waiting and gleaming and so fucking unobtainable-- "You're gonna have to ask for it," he said, and he almost added, Orli, because he felt like spitting out the name, but held back because hell, Orlando'd probably enjoy hearing it too much. Orlando probably called his own name when he came.

Orlando opened his eyes a little. "Please," he said. "I want you to enjoy me, and I know you will. If you wouldn't, you wouldn't have let me suck you." His eyes, half-closed more than half-open, sparkled. "As it is, you're just thinking about me sucking you again."

There was no way in hell that Orlando didn't know the innuendo of that statement. None at all. "What if I am?" Dom said, dangerously. "What if I want to enjoy you that way?"

Orlando smoothed a hand down his chest, advertising the wares. "If you're liking it," he said, philosophically, "and it's because of me, then it follows I'll like it too."

"Why the hell are you in acting?" Dom asked, gaze following Orlando's hand. "Sounds like you'd be better off on a street corner, enjoying them enjoying you."

Orlando trailed little fond circles on his own stomach, fingers familiar over the shaded muscle. "Well, not really," he said, thoughtfully. He was actually thinking it over as he touched himself. Christ. "If I was a rentboy, they'd just be looking for something to fuck, not me in particular."

Dom almost laughed. "Courtesan?" he suggested, brightly. "They’ll certainly want Nicole in particular, and for christ's sake stop doing that--" He slammed Orlando's hand off his stomach, pinned it against the bed. Orlando gave a happy shiver, and Dom realised he'd made the crucial mistake - touched him - and now he'd have to make himself let go again.

Easier said.

"Can I really do anything?" he heard himself ask, then interrupted himself, "actually, no. I'm just gonna do stuff. You said, so. If you wanna stop me, you can try." After all, he told himself quickly, as it occurred to him again that this was the sort of behaviour that could land them both in an asylum or on Jerry Springer, whichever was worse these days: after all, it'd be just as uncomfortable to run off, at this point. Possibly moreso. And laughing it off was proving ineffectual, given the developments so far.

He touched Orlando's stomach, then his thighs, moving them apart, feeling the slabs of muscle tighten beneath his palms. Very smooth, under the light hair; looked like Orlando exfoliated more than his toes.

He held his breath, then looked deliberately over at Orlando's cock, smooth and slightly darker than the rest of him, still not particularly hard. Larger than average, but that was hardly a surprise; Orlando had what Dom'd always thought of as Big-Cock-Assurance, that underlying confidence that everything would work out. It wasn't huge, anyway. Just-- sizeable.

Dom wanted to suck it, but thought that'd come across far too much like worship right now. Later. Later, when he had Orlando promising that Dom was the only guy for him, or whatever - then he'd buckle and luxuriate, feeling that smoothness sliding deep against his tongue.

For now, he left it, undoing his belt instead. Yes, time for nakedness. If he only had five minutes - and he suspected an extension could be applied for, but wasn't about to count on it - then nakedness was definitely going to be an improvement.

He watched Orlando's mouth as he poked the belt's leather tongue out its buckle, abandoning it as soon as he felt the telltale loosening about his waist and hurrying on to his jeans. Button fly - he peeled them open, listening to the low thirrup with sweat beginning to prickle against all the shaded parts of his body.

Orlando was frowning, and Dom realised distractedly that yeah, he wasn't touching him right now, was being pretty much silent, and Orlando still had his eyes closed. Didn't know what Dom was doing. Tempting to go over and open the door, let it click shut again, then stroll back to watch Orlando's reaction. Very, very tempting.

It'd mean moving out of Orlando's personal space, though. And right now, while he still had five minutes-- right now, while he could watch a slight frown wandering around between Orlando's eyebrows, giving up his right to Orlando's personal space was the last thing on his mind.

By the time he'd shucked his shirt and boxers, Orlando had turned his cheek against the pillow and was breathing slowly. Dom decided Orlando was nervous with the silence, was waiting for Dom to put him out of his misery, but didn't want to open his eyes in case this was some elaborate fantasy.

The idea that Orlando might have gone to sleep didn't bear thinking about.

He thought briefly about the belt nestled in the tangle of his jeans, then discarded it. He'd never really been one for the hardcore stuff; for all he might sometimes want to smack Orlando round the head, he didn't get much of a shiver at the thought of leaving imprints of leather on that flawless skin.

A little of a shiver, sure, he thought wryly, imagining the shock on Orlando's face that Dom would ever do something so bold - but he wouldn't get any extreme enjoyment out of beating him, not even enough to outweigh the sheer terror that if he did something stupid here then Orlando would make him regret it. Would tell everyone, or, worse, would just tell Viggo and let the rumours spread. Why was Viggo acting so funny with Dom, people would ask. Orlando wouldn't even be part of the equation any more.

No violence, then. "Move your legs apart," Dom said, softly, remembering his five minutes and the possibility that Orlando might throw him out if he didn't play the game to a level above strip off and get hard. The realisation that they were probably here for sex was slowly gaining prominence, and his mouth had worked before he'd really thought about it.

He watched. His cock tugged away from his stomach, heating further as Orlando obeyed him, as Orlando's legs glided open until Dom could see pretty much everything there was. Such a cheap thrill to give an order and watch it being carried out; such a cheap, effective thrill.

"Don't touch yourself," Dom said, curving his hand round his own cock, squeezing to feel the twitch and heat of it.

Orlando smiled like he could see what Dom was doing. "No problem," he said, and Dom was hit with that urge to grab his belt again. No.

"Didn't I tell you not to talk?" he said instead, harsh, and Orlando shivered visibly, then nodded.

"Sorry," he whispered, like his voice tasted good. His cock was creeping up his stomach, inching firmer until Dom's mouth ached to take it inside. The skin looked like it'd feel amazing on his tongue, crinkle-soft before stretching taut as he watched.

"Shut up," Dom breathed, and put his hands down high on Orlando's thighs, suddenly tempted to get Orlando to push his fingers inside himself, for all that'd confirm the whole uneasy every-man-for-himself concern.

Orlando didn't respond, but his breathing became audible. Good, Dom thought. The desire to get a reaction was increasing sharply, was making him grit his teeth and hope hard that his trembling wasn't being transferred to Orlando's thighs.

"Wider," he instructed, dropping to his knees between Orlando's legs, his face closer than he'd ever imagined. So easy to lick, to adore-- no. He pursed his lips, blew lightly instead, and Orlando flinched, making something blossom warmly in Dom's chest. Sorry, was that cold? Hah. He blew again, and Orlando squirmed a little, and Dom thought: I'm going to fuck you.

He thought about just doing it, about spitting on his hand and pressing into that shadowed spot and then, oh yeah, pushing his dick hard into Orlando's body, seeing if Orlando's desire to follow orders survived being screwed into his own mattress-- and those pictures helped him relax again, helped him claw for rationale, helped him start to deal with this situation in a mature and sensible manner.

Yes, if at all possible, he was gonna fuck him. But there was no reason he shouldn't be a gentleman about it at the same time.

He smiled to himself and crawled up onto the bed. Orlando spread out beneath him really was a gorgeous, heavenly sight. All those angles, all that smoothness; Dom lowered himself carefully so that their cocks lined up, and felt an answering flex in Orlando's body as he let his full weight press them together hard. Full body contact at this stage was almost like sinking into a hot pool of water; it was good, and necessary, and, um, good.

He kissed Orlando's throat and slid his hips about, building a slow friction between their dicks, trying to breathe slowly and maintain a hint of composure without losing consciousness just yet. Orlando was bizarrely calm beneath him, just a few aborted gasps when Dom hit a particularly sweet spot, just a hammering pulse beneath Dom's lips.

Frustrating as hell and yet-- and yet. Orlando staying calm was one thing. Orlando failing to stay calm: quite another.

Dom trailed his mouth up to Orlando's ear, sucking lightly, feeling a feverish enjoyment spring through him as Orlando turned his head slightly. More access, why thankyou. So glad to see you're totally unfazed.

He heard a tiny rush of air that meant Orlando had opened his mouth, taken a sharp breath, and that was another slicing triumph until Orlando's voice came, "your five minutes are up," and Dom froze, lips still against Orlando's earlobe.


"Your five minutes," Orlando whispered. "They're up."

"You've gotta be kidding." He'd been timing it?


"So I've-- gotta stop?"

"Oh," Orlando said, sounding genuinely surprised, "oh, see. This," he explained, wrapping his legs firmly round Dom's waist and rocking up hard, "just means I can move."

"ah," Dom said, his breath hitching because Orlando responding had become basically one of the most potent things he could imagine, "okay," and Orlando was like a sinful devastating piece of art, while Dom was only Dom, only human? only a red-blooded man, only blood and sweat and spunk, and it was dirty, somehow, to grind his cock against Orlando's stomach, even with Orlando's stubby nails scoring his back in encouragement.

He kissed at Orlando's neck, euphoric as Orlando thrashed and shuddered beneath him, rocking and squirming and pressing up hard. God, so much better, so entirely more fantastic than that shrieking apathy of before. And of course--

"I wanna fuck you," he said quickly, before he could lose his nerve, and Orlando hummed and gasped, like he was frantic for every touch Dom might bestow. "Say yes," Dom pressed, and Orlando grabbed him by the hair and kissed him hard, tongue in his mouth and arms around his neck.


"You got--"

"Here," Orlando muttered, wriggling out from beneath him, the slick scrape of skin making Dom even more breathless than before, and then Orlando was crowding back against him, pressing a condom into one hand and a crumpled tube into the other, and Dom had time to wonder exactly how celibate celibate was before it struck him that he was now equipped to go right ahead and jesus, nothing else mattered at all.

"On your back," he whispered, getting his hands awkwardly against Orlando's shoulders and shoving him flat just for the thrill of feeling him buckle, and Orlando tipped his head back and raised one knee, hooking his arm round Dom's back and nudging with one of those sublime, heartbreaking hips.

"Hurry," he said, and Dom rolled on the condom first, slimy gel getting on his hands and taking the edge off the proceedings until he registered that this was *Orlando's* condom, *Orlando's* ass he was gonna breach, and jesus fuck but that the edge slammed back hard.

He squeezed lube into his palm, slicking his fingers, slipping two between Orlando's legs and lining them up together to push inside. Orlando gave a little whine as Dom's fingertips started pressing, breath like desire split with opal-sharp pain, but his hips stirred impatient little circles the moment Dom stopped, and that was pretty good, considering the way Dom seriously wasn't happy about taking his hand away.

He touched his cock with his other hand, telling himself he had to make it slick, then forcing his fist to stop pulling as slick became slicker and then just harder and then just hard.

No. Concentrate. He unwrapped his fingers slowly, wiped his hand off on the sheets. Sorry, Orlando. Necessary sacrifice.

He pressed a little harder at Orlando's ass and Orlando started breathing fast. Just -- ease inside gently, gently, Dom told himself, shifting his fingertips a little and feeling the muscle bunch and bunch and then give, and having to hold back his own groan as the slickness suddenly bore him deep inside.

Orlando's hips shivered, and Dom almost ducked to lick the dusky length of his cock before remembering, no, not yet, not until he begs. He twisted his fingers instead, watching a sheen build across the head of Orlando's cock, licking his lips as he drew his fingers out, enjoying Orlando's soft hiss as he drove them back in.

Orlando's arm tightened, tugging him against Orlando's chest, and Dom had to catch himself on his free hand, muttered, "careful," against Orlando's throat.

Orlando's hips nuzzled Dom's cock, and Dom bit back a gasp. "Put it inside me," Orlando said, close to his ear, and it should've sounded fake or something but the way Orlando's hips moved, like fucking, like he was already being fucked and it wasn't quite reaching deep enough--

Dom swallowed and leant on top of him, crushing Orlando's cock beneath the base of his chest. He started to reach down and line up, and Orlando grabbed his hand, pulled it back up, raising both knees and trapping Dom between them.

"Just-- just keep pushing until you, yeah," Orlando said softly, threading their fingers and drawing Dom's hands to either side of his head, and Dom stared down at him and blinked a little, trying not to look too confused.

"You... like no hands?" he said vaguely, and Orlando grinned, leaned up and kissed Dom's mouth, then gasped as the head of Dom's cock brushed against his ass.

"Anticipation," he murmured, shifting his hips restlessly, and Dom pressed Orlando's hands hard into the pillow and dropped his wrists to pin the insides of Orlando's arms. "Okay," Orlando said, like he'd been caught out, "shit, that too," and Dom had to concentrate for a couple of seconds before he got it: Orlando likes being held down.

Christ. "Yeah?" he managed, increasing his weight on Orlando's hands, and Orlando wriggled a little, like he was trying to get free. Dom shuddered, then moved his hips hopefully, gritting his teeth as his cock glanced off Orlando's ass again.

It'd be easier if he-- and maybe that's what Orlando wanted, he thought, inspired, getting both Orlando's wrists crammed beneath one hand, using the other to guide Orlando's knee up snug against his chest.

Orlando inhaled sharply, and Dom shifted again, pinning Orlando's knee up high and angling his hips to-- yeah? yeah? yes, to slide the head of his cock against Orlando's ass, to toy there for a full second of Orlando's harsh breathing before adjusting his weight a final time and sinking in hard.

"Fuck," Orlando hissed, wrists flexing in Dom's fist, twisting his head in the diamond space between his arms, and Dom waited for the roll of crystalised dizziness to fade a little before even trying to reply. Christ, yeah. Inside, inside Orlando, in there, hot and slick and invading with Orlando shuddering around him like a plea.

He let his hips start moving, but held himself back, because gentleman, yeah, uh huh, that was him. For all Orlando was shifting beneath him like a gilt invitation to screw without remorse, he was still gonna try and content himself with being kind. Short, firm, gliding pushes; nothing more.


He adjusted Orlando's wrists in his hand, crossing them, and Orlando made a low uncomfortable noise that went sluttish when Dom pressed them down hard. His cock felt damp against Dom's stomach, hot and plush-solid.

"Fuck, do the, um," Orlando whispered, interrupting himself with a lascivious roll of his hips that sent stars to whizz behind Dom's eyes and then gasping, mouth ajar, head grinding back against the sheets, arms straining against Dom's hold.

So fucking hot to pin him down, so tempting to totally abandon this gentlemanly behaviour thing and just drive deep and stay there, pulsing his hips, holding Orlando down and taking his fill. But-- somewhere inside Dom, mm, something was still concerned about keeping face. He cocked his head, trying to get his breath without losing the rhythm, promising himself fifteen beers tomorrow night if he could just get through this without totally losing control. "Do what?"

"Do, um," Orlando repeated urgently, hooking his free leg around Dom's hips, "the other--?" and Dom swallowed and tossed the words around in his head, thinking, okay, that works in every way.

He passed Orlando's wrists to his other hand and reached down to grab Orlando's thigh, and Orlando hummed, close to Dom's ear, complying readily when Dom shifted to fold him in half-- and Dom loved this position, always had, his shoulders slotting in against the soft backs of the guy's knees, gravity smoothly coaxing his cock balls-deep. His mouth found the side of Orlando's throat, and sucking softly made Orlando purr, and grinding his hips, thorough, hard, yeah, talk about a sweet lay.

"Like that," Orlando murmured, nodding blindly and rocking against him, then twisted hard, wrenching his wrists free, and made a disappointed noise.

Dom blinked and reached for Orlando's hands again, firmly interlacing their fingers and shoving at the mattress, couldn't help but grin against Orlando's ear when he felt Orlando's ankles lock crossed behind his head. "Behave."

"Make-- ah," Orlando muttered, grunting when Dom twitched his hips like he'd learnt to thrill, and Dom exhaled hard, feeling the gentleman melt like slush, wanting to saw and stab and split Orlando in two and no no no, cramp down on that right now.

"Make you?"

He got a little extra roll of Orlando's hips. "Uh-huh?"

Dom licked the corner of Orlando's jaw, let himself push in a little harder, and Orlando's cheek slipped against his lips until Orlando's mouth was there, damp, a little open, and Dom licked inside even as he recognised that the intimacy had racheted up sharply while his mind had been elsewhere.

Orlando flexed upwards, extra pressure at every point of contact, sucking the tip of Dom's tongue, panting lightly as Dom deepened it into a slow, deliberate kiss. It was like he was made for Dom to enjoy, instinctive and amazing and it crossed Dom's mind that the recent celibacy, yeah, had that been in preparation for him? and then he thought nono, no, because this was just a fuck, even if it was proving to be one of the most intense experiences of his entire year.

He tested the depth of Orlando's mouth, tracing circles against interesting slopes and sucking lightly, and Orlando melted against him, teeth glancing deliciously off his lower lip. It was hot. For one thing, it felt like the slower Dom moved, the more friction they built; felt like an extra degree of heat was skating against his cock with every minute used. Dom drew Orlando's tongue into his mouth, getting dizzy with the slippery heat of it, wondering if a gentleman would whimper.

Orlando made a helpless little noise as Dom drew back, and Dom ground in gently, panting softly, staring at this beautiful arrogant creature crushed beneath him, blush-mouthed. He stirred his hips even gentler, and Orlando hissed, barely audible, face tightened into the most blissful of frowns.

"Fuck," Dom heard himself whisper, and Orlando's eyes opened and then half-closed, sparking glazed darkness between lashes the colour of burnt tinder. The undersides of Orlando's thighs were damp against his chest, muscles straining.

Orlando squeezed Dom's hands, and Dom pressed them down reflexively, and Orlando gave that tiny precious scowl-hiss again.

Dom braced himself carefully, pulled out slowly until the tip of his cock rested against the entrance to Orlando's body, enjoyed the way Orlando shivered and gazed. "What're you thinking?"

Orlando smiled up at him adoringly, then whispered, "Look how high my legs bend," and licked playfully at the side of his own knee.

Dom slammed in hard.

"Fuck," Orlando yelped, struggling like a trapped cat.

Dom gritted his teeth and crushed Orlando's hands against the bed and did it again, harder, faster and breathless at catching himself expecting a rose petal instead of Orlando's version of charm.

He'd actually been trying to be selfless, for fuck's sake, blithely subscribing to some Care Bear logic that pleasure favours altruism, trying to smother the forbidden energy of simply taking with the only guy he knew capable of appreciating it.

Dom took.

"Fuck, Dom, Dom," Orlando gasped, and Dom felt himself grin, exhilarated beyond belief at leaving the gentleman in the gutter and clawing his way up to speed.

"this right?" he couldn't help but ask, ready to murmur, "bad luck; this works for me" if Orlando begged for something else, and Orlando whipped his head from side to side against the sheets and swore, hoarse and loud.

It wasn't like any protest Dom'd ever heard.

"Good," Dom whispered, and got a flash of Orlando earlier, gazing at the mirror in his fuck-me jeans, the most impenetrable Ken Doll in town. And now, resolved, Orlando's beautiful cock hard against his stomach, Orlando's enviable calves crossed behind his head, Orlando's sweet sweet body shuddering gratefully with every thrust-- Dom couldn't actually think of a single thing he'd change right now.


Although, wait, going for the selfish stuff now, this wasn't quite right, because for all he could feel Orlando shaking with being fucked, he knew it wasn't quite as hard as it could be. "On your, uh," he managed, "front," and Orlando made a quiet delicious noise and nodded, chin bumping Dom's shoulder.

"Anything," he agreed, then added, "fuck," pure breath wrapped in a moan as Dom pulled out ruthlessly and abandoned him to the air.


Orlando rolled over, then shot him a dark grin over his shoulder and deliberately flexed his ass. Dom grinned back, dropping to his knees on either side of Orlando's thighs. He walked his hands up the mattress, biting the back of Orlando's neck, then dragged Orlando's fists above his head again.

Orlando swore under his breath, cheek against the mattress, and Dom settled his chest against the smooth muscle of Orlando's back, guiding his cock into place using the seam of Orlando's closed legs as a guide.

"Anticipation, right?" he murmured, finding the soft point and pressing insistently, and Orlando gave a muffled groan as the muscle started to give again and Dom worked his cock deliberately back inside.

Deeper, that, and tighter, and fuckyeah. Orlando's thighs, clamped together, made it almost impossible to move-- only almost, though, because Orlando's ass was nothing if not upturned, and it felt fucking amazing to force the issue.

Give it to him slowly, he thought; long, slow strokes. Make his eyes water. Orlando groaned, and Dom started murmuring in his ear, little soft encouragements, "yeah, come on, like that?"

"Mm-hm," Orlando gasped, and Dom almost came right there, Orlando's ass pushing up insistently, taking Dom that fraction deeper inside. Normally, Dom kinda liked shallow fucking, with the sweet spot beneath the head pumping past the muscle again and again, but with Orlando, jesus, he was all about the deep penetration. Orlando begged it, challenged it, like if you could just slip in fast enough and grind suitably deep then he'd take the memory with him all year.

Some of it, Dom thought, speeding up, a cloud of sparks building until his nerves felt like raw silk igniting over and over, was about Orlando being smug. A smug bastard, no less, and smug bastards, god, it'd always feel good to fuck them-- especially hard, so they feel it, so they yelp and struggle and it's not quite PC but it's hot like something good.

"Ah, fuck, fuck," Orlando muttered, suddenly, in that universally urgent voice that Dom had never genuinely believed he'd hear from this man, and Dom grinned to himself and slowed down and half-withdrew, and Orlando yowled.

"Sorry," Dom murmured, and Orlando struggled, panting,

"please, please, c'mon, please," his voice verging on desperation, body twisting blindly to impale itself on Dom's cock again. Dom bit down a curse, because it'd be so easy to just finish it now, but, but-- yeah, not yet, because Orlando begging was far too fucking hot to curtail.

"Maybe I'm getting bored."

"Dom," Orlando shouted, like real anger and frustration and something obscene, and Dom gave him one hard thrust before withdrawing halfway again and coaxing Orlando to his hands and knees. Orlando refused to be coaxed, and Dom started pulling out, a slow tantalising slide that Orlando ignored and ignored and then moaned at, indignant and alarmed.

"Knees," Dom whispered, and Orlando hissed and complied, and this was good, was amazing, to have him doing stuff to avoid the tragedy of Dom taking his cock away. Dom stroked Orlando's stomach and found the hard muscle trembling, traced the smooth ridges right down to the base of Orlando's cock, then shifted his hand quietly and started jerking him off instead.

Orlando made a noise Dom had only heard on porn films before, rocking back against him, and then he was bracing himself against the pillow and fucking, really fucking himself on Dom's cock, and Dom's vision whited almost completely over with sparks.

"shit," Dom managed, hearing that same universal gonna-come-now tone strangled in his own voicebox, and then Orlando was growling and sighing and melting, and Dom realised he now had a totally pliant smug bastard in his hands and oh, twist his arm.

"Ah," Orlando gasped, when Dom picked up the pace again, and the going deep thing, the pushing deeper than before, that mixed with the post-coital Orlando just incredibly well. Dom wrapped his arm round Orlando's neck and clasped his shoulder, using him for leverage, so that he could drag Orlando hard back onto his cock with every thrust.

He held his breath and let go, setting Orlando hissing with something that sounded almost like pain, like Dom was hitting something further inside than anyone had before and Orlando never gave permission for this and Dom was doing it anyway-- and it was perfect, shit, perfect, and Orlando was the best he'd ever had--

And then he was coming, a sharp rush of wet heat against his cock, and he'd always thought the only good thing about condoms was the way that gush was startlingly intense against sensitive skin, and then a dark thought struck him even as he waited for the comedown to reach his heart.


"Fuck," Orlando whispered, collapsing against the sheets, appreciation rumbling in the base of his voice.

Dom reached down and pulled out, knotting the condom even as Orlando turned over and nuzzled his throat. "Mm?"

"That was amazing," Orlando told him, and Dom swallowed because yeah and also no, because it was simply unlikely that Orlando fit that well with him without thinking, that it was a lot more likely that Orlando prided himself on being a perfect lay.

"Yeah, it was, um, pretty good," Dom heard himself say, and Orlando chuckled, smoothed his hands down Dom's sides.

"I love how you say that, that diminutive stuff," he murmured, wriggling in and kissing the corner of Dom's mouth, "even when it's bullshit."

"Bullshit?" Dom said, and Orlando kissed his mouth the moment it opened, and Dom found himself kissing back despite himself, letting Orlando shift luxuriously against him like a piece of velvet on heat.

Well, it'd be rude not to.

"Mh," Dom heard himself say blissfully, when Orlando rolled away again, and Orlando spread his arms above his head and splayed his legs and said,

"I'm knackered, now."

Dom laughed, rolling up onto his side, holding the knotted condom behind his back with one hand. Ick, but he wasn't comfortable enough to joke about it, and there was enough of that crumpled dizzy gentleman left in him to certainly not drop it on the floor.

Orlando smiled at him, closed his eyes. "Aren't you tired?"

"A bit."

"Stud," Orlando smirked, and it was friendly rather than coquettish, and incredibly natural. Dom wondered if Orlando had acted on impulse through this whole thing; abruptly, lying next to this dozing man, Dom felt incredibly neurotic.

"Can I sleep here for a bit?"

"Course you can," Orlando yawned, then grinned. "Kinda disgusting and sticky, though." He yawned again. "Gotta love the aftermath."

Dom didn't ask for an explanation; it sounded like Orlando was referring back to a conversation he'd had with himself. Instead, Dom turned over and chucked the condom at the bin in the corner, relieved when it went in. He rolled determinedly back against Orlando, and told himself he wasn't relieved when Orlando folded him in close.

He probably slept for twenty minutes all told, he decided, surfacing again, because the inside of his mouth still tasted good, and the heady glow of a good fuck was still pulsing round his body like nectar.


"Mm," Orlando agreed, and Dom raised one eyelid cautiously, found the blurred lines of Orlando's upper arm resolving into art. Orlando was watching his own fingertips circle his navel, flicking them this way and that, half-smiling as he ran them up one clean ab and then down again.

He was beautiful, and involved in himself, and - untouched, totally. No traces of Dom left, not on him or inside him, probably not even a spectacular stain in his memory.

Fuck. Dom twisted over, hot-close and deliberately personal, then bent against Orlando's startled little jump, moved his mouth against the base of Orlando's throat. Slow, deliberate suck, first at the salt, then just worrying steadily at the smooth warm skin.

"You're gonna mark," Orlando said, breathlessly, after a second, and then, one hand at Dom's cheek, "hey, no--"

Dom bit him as hard as he dared before Orlando was shoving him off, then sat down on the edge of the bed. His beer'd be flat now.

"What the hell was that," Orlando said, springing onto all fours, craning his neck in the mirror. "You a fucking graffiti artist, or what? Look at that."

"Sorry," Dom said.

"Look at that," Orlando repeated, just a whisper, fingers hovering over the purple. He tilted his head, then pinched the skin on the opposite side of his throat.

Dom watched the tendons flex in Orlando's hand, imagined what it must feel like, if it hurt, and then Orlando was stroking his neck softly again, and Dom saw there were two bruises now, a matched pair.

"Like a necklace," Orlando said, almost totally to himself, then sank back onto his heels. Dom's phone chirped. "Hm, it'll fade, though," Orlando said, and Dom found his phone in his discarded pocket, saw he had a message.

"Elijah wants to know if we're coming," he said dully, opening it. "He says we're lazy bastards, and they should go without us."

"I'm going to sleep," Orlando said happily, and snuggled into his bed, pulling the covers tight around him. "Thanks, tonight was fun." He smiled at Dom. "It's not gonna change things, though," he said, reassuringly. Reassuring, for fuck's sake.

One chance, Dom thought, getting dressed. He glanced at the window, sighed. "Well, can I borrow an umbrella? I'll text Lij back in the lift."

Orlando opened one eye. "Why d'you want an umbrella? It won't go with that outfit."

Dom squinted at him, then waved at the window. "um, it's raining?"

"It's not," Orlando said, and for a moment the window wavered and it looked like it wasn't, and then it was clear again. Drops, hazy veil against the sky.

"It is."

"there's a hot pipe that lets out underneath it," Orlando said, "underneath the thing, the pane. That's why it looks like that."

"Oh," Dom said, feeling stupid.

Orlando chuckled. "Don't worry - it's my turf," he said, waving his hand around. "You weren't to know."

Yes, Dom thought, leaving. It was.


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