Sabotage
by Calico



Wellll. The wickedness of this is for Dale. The kinkofluff of it is for Wax. <decisive nod> I think that about covers it. :)


"One," Orlando said, and patted Elijah on the head. Elijah looked up, startled.

"Oi."

Dom tugged Elijah's hair, "two," and Elijah spun round accusingly, slapping at the back of his own head.

"Get the hell off me!"

"Three," Viggo rumbled, catching Orlando's eye from the door, and ooh. This was new. Orlando waited expectantly, tried ignore the fizzy feeling at seeing Viggo after two weeks of... not seeing him. He looked good. He wasn't sure what he could be doing here - birthday stuff, sure, but that wasn't really due til tomorrow night - but as long as he didn't out them to Elijah, it'd be fine. Please, please, let Viggo know the rules.

He'd brought a couple of bottles of red wine upstairs with him, in case they decided to get Elijah drunk for, like, fifteen, or something, so if Viggo didn't know what he was doing then they could point him out the door to get more glasses and then lock it - but that'd be interrupting the flow of things. Plus, Orlando wasn't sure he'd ever want to lock Viggo out. Sad but true.

"Three?" Elijah said.

"Mm-hm," Viggo nodded, strolling towards him, then laid his palm flat on Elijah's cheek. Elijah's eyes went huge, and Orlando relaxed. Viggo definitely knew.

"Is that three?" Billy asked. Billy had been scheduled for three - a spider-walk of fingertips up Elijah's spine - but he didn't look too phased about Viggo pushing in.

"No," Viggo said, lightly. Guiding Elijah's chin up with his fingertips, he ducked his head, pressed his mouth to the underside of Elijah's jaw. "This was three," he said, against Elijah's skin. Elijah's breath caught audibly. So did Orlando's.

Billy whooped softly, then spiderwalked Elijah's back. "Returning you to your regular station," he grinned, as Viggo melted off Elijah and slipped behind him instead, "four!"

"Five," Orlando was supposed to say, and pat Elijah on the ass, but he was overly aware of Viggo watching him, and couldn't seem to find room in his mouth to say anything at all.

"Five," Viggo said, this time watching Orlando instead of Elijah, and drew a line with one finger down Elijah's arm.

Dom grinned and replicated the move down Elijah's other arm, then outdid Viggo by lifting Elijah's fingers to his mouth and nibbling, eyes bright. "Six."

"Seven," Billy said quickly, as Elijah started to protest, "sevensevenseven," with little bites to the back of Elijah's neck.

Elijah gasped, snatching his fingers back from Dom and waving his hands and saying, "no, no, time out, time out--"

"You don't get time out," Dom said, going with both hands to ruffle Elijah's hair.

Viggo caught Dom's wrists deftly, swerving them away from Elijah's head. "No, I think you shouldn't do that," he warned, and Orlando opened his mouth indignantly because hey, no, Viggo was supposed to be playing by the rules and it'd ruin the game if he stepped in on Elijah's side all authoritarian now, "it's Orlando's turn, isn't it?"

Oh. "Yes, it is," Orlando heard himself declare, which was good since he suddenly felt rather sandy and warm inside. Not very declarative, unless that declaration was that Viggo Mortensen has the best dimples in Hollywood.

"C'mere, then," Viggo said, letting go of Dom's wrists and sliding an arm round Elijah's shoulders. Elijah took in an indignant breath, and Viggo's fingers closed over his mouth. "Eight," Viggo prompted.

Eight was supposed to be a smacky kiss on the cheek, good and loud. It was supposed to be the closest they'd come to a kiss so far, the closest to really freaking Elijah the fuck out. Pity Viggo had jumped the gun like that.

"Eight," Orlando drawled, deciding he wasn't gonna be outdone by any two-bit gravelly charming impulsive poet, and sidled up close. "Lemme see," he said, drawing it out, "eight, eight - what was that again?" and then folding Viggo's fingers into his hand and touching Elijah's lips with his mouth instead.

He felt the feather-air of Elijah's gasp somewhere detached, too enthralled with the sensation of Viggo's warm fingers obedient in his hand - he moved his lips a little, hoping Viggo was watching, so intent on performance that he was almost disconcerted when Elijah kissed him back.

"That's some eight," Dom whistled, as Orlando's free hand found Elijah's shoulder unsteadily, as Orlando found himself in the midst of - well, frankly - of snogging the birthday boy. The almost-birthday boy. The birthday-tomorrow boy. Whatever. Elijah's mouth tasted like rusty fruit, like he'd been smoking between cocktails. Viggo's fingers twisted in Orlando's hand, pushing Orlando's fingers apart and settling between them, and Orlando realised the fear curling in his stomach was starting to pulse warm.

Holding hands with Viggo, and kissing Elijah. Whoa.

"Anyone for nines?" Dom asked hopefully, after a few long seconds; "um, guys?"

Orlando thought he should probably draw back any time now, but it was sinking in that this was Elijah, the porcelain untouchable, the one who threw himself around like a ragdoll but never flirted back. Elijah, whose tongue was deft and cool and slippery in Orlando's mouth. Jesus, this was hot.

"anyone?" Dom added, then cleared his throat. "hullo?"

"Wait your turn," Viggo said quietly. Orlando was used to hearing Viggo's voice, obviously, what with having worked with him for significant months, and he was used to enjoying the crisp weight of his r's, and the way his words sounded blunt round the edges.

He wasn't used to hearing it so close to his ear, or to knowing that Viggo was saying it while watching him kiss one of his closest friends.

He pulled back, licking Elijah's tongue lightly by way of farewell, trying not to pull his fingers free of Viggo's hand when he swayed at not being able to taste Elijah's mouth any more. He forced a light laugh, which turned genuine when Elijah looked around with eyes like the sexiest dark saucers ever made.

"Sorry about that," he said easily, recovering himself as Viggo's thumb slid across his knuckles, "got a little bit... carried away."

"I'll say you did," Billy breathed, one hand in front of his mouth. "I thought eight was supposed to be on the cheek."

Viggo chuckled, eyeing Orlando leisurely. "Your escalation made more sense to me," he breathed, and Orlando felt warm all over.

"Oh good," he said. "Wouldn't want to cause confusion--"

"Nine!" Dom called, slipping round them, kissing Elijah triumphantly on the nose.

They looked at him.

Dom coughed into his fist. "nine?"

"It's not quite the same, somehow," Orlando said cautiously, then backtracked, "not that it's always gotta be more. anything, obviously." intense. more intense. more porny? more obscene? "More intense, or anything," he said.

"Although," Viggo said smoothly, "my idea of nine worked more along... these lines," and he tilted Elijah's chin back with Orlando's knuckles, and kissed him liquid-perfect on the mouth. Elijah made a strangled noise in his throat, actually squirmed round to draw Viggo closer against him.

"see, um," Dom said, faintly, "Wasn't that eight?"

"Good point," Viggo mumbled, detaching his hand from Orlando's, coasting his hands down Elijah's back instead. "Something more intense," he added, against Elijah's mouth. "You like this version of nine, Elijah?"

His hands curved around Elijah's ass, hitching Elijah closer against him. Orlando heard an unmistakably Elijan groan, low and trembling. Orlando thought he might faint.

"Dear God," Billy muttered. Sounded like Orlando wasn't the only one with weak knees right now.

"You see," Viggo said quietly, voice choked, one hand sliding round Elijah's hip and prying him back, detaching his mouth with visible reluctance, "it wouldn't be right to decrease the intensity now."

"No, yes," Elijah said, groping for the table, steadying himself on it. "I agree with Viggo."

Orlando laughed, and Viggo glanced at him. Viggo's mouth was bright and wet, lightly touched with wicked amusement. "Ten, then," Orlando said, watching Viggo, wondering if Elijah would enjoy a little voyeurism for his birthday.

"Ten," Dom said, cocking his head. "I guess that's mine, since nine was sorta... stolen, huh?"

Viggo grinned, unrepentant. "I guess it is."

Dom glanced at Billy. "Unless...?"

Billy blinked, then laughed, kinda strangled. "You-- go ahead."

"Okay," Dom said quickly, like he didn't want Billy to change his mind, and squeezed past Orlando to where Elijah was leaning against the table. Elijah was still breathing hard, Orlando noted.

Orlando didn't want to consider what that said about Viggo's mouth.

"Ten," Dom said thoughtfully, pushing Elijah forwards and sliding in behind, pinning him to the table with - oh lord - his hips. "You're probably bored with kisses right now," Dom said, and that sounded low and intimate, for Elijah's ears only except not, and then he was covering Elijah's hands on the table with his own, licking the back of his neck, grinding his hips slowly, deliberately, until Elijah whimpered quietly and collapsed to his elbows, pushing his ass back against Dom's crotch.

"Jesus," he was breathing, "jesus, jesus," and Orlando watched Dom's teeth drag against the nape of Elijah's neck, almost felt the translation in his own skin.

"Of course," Dom said, pitched louder, languid, "as with all good things..." and he eased off Elijah, patting him deftly on the ass before looking around. "How's that?"

"--mni," Orlando heard himself say, and cleared his throat. "Uh," he said.

Viggo was watching Dom like Dom might possibly be lunch. "That's exactly what I was thinking," he said softly, and Dom stretched hugely, then adjusted himself in his pants.

"Didn't want to disappoint, like," he said. Orlando's mouth was dry.

"Um," Elijah said. He was still sprawled against the table, thighs decadently apart, head bowed against his crossed wrists. "Eleven?"

Viggo's gaze snapped back to Elijah, and he exhaled. "Damnit, Elijah," he breathed, "stand up."

Elijah didn't move. "Is this eleven?" His back, if anything, arched some more. Orlando glanced at Dom, who had one hand on the front of his jeans, fingers flexing slightly. Orlando's fingers were itching to do the same.

"Elijah," Viggo said hoarsely, moving closer, shaking his head, "it's not my turn, but I swear--" Slowly, Elijah pushed from his elbows onto his hands, stretching in a way that curved his spine like a rentboy's. "Elijah--"

"Maybe it should be your turn," Elijah purred, and then Viggo was catching his shoulder and spinning him round into his arms, one hand in his hair, the other against his ass.

Orlando felt a tremble start in his stomach and climb sharply. Viggo wasn't kissing him, just staring down, and Elijah's lips were parted and practically yearning, shiny and inviting, his chin nudging up to try and close the space in a kiss.

"If it was my turn," Viggo said slowly, "and you kept up that, against the table," and the hand on Elijah's ass stroked up luxuriously, then slid its fingers down beneath Elijah's waistband, "then I wouldn't-- I couldn't be held responsible," Viggo said, and Orlando could hear Elijah breathing loud and hard.

He wondered if Viggo liked that, the rabbity hotcold of breath against his mouth. He watched, holding his own breath, the smooth push of Viggo's fingers behind the denim, sinking to curve between Elijah's legs, the movement corresponding exactly with the pitch of Elijah's panicky little sighs.

"And you wouldn't want me to skip my turn," Viggo said, lightly, and there was a visible twist to his fingers and Orlando just knew he was pushing in, actually in, and Orlando heard Dom groan softly as Elijah tipped back his head and yowled.

"Jesus," Dom said, touching Orlando's elbow as if to steady himself.

"I could just." Orlando couldn't finish that sentence. "I could watch Viggo fuck him standing up and it'd feel like I was getting laid," wasn't something he was comfortable about saying right now, however much it was true.

"...sh me," Elijah was gasping, squirming back against Viggo's hand, and Viggo leant down and licked his mouth, slow, delicate, slipping his hand back out of Elijah's jeans.

"You're not ready to get finished," Viggo said.

Elijah panted petulantly for a few seconds, then audibly swallowed. "Okay," he said, and looked around. His eyes were bright and hot; they lingered on the place where Dom's hand had latched onto Orlando's elbow, then flitted on. "Was that eleven?"

"I think Billy should take eleven, 'cause he's been missing out," Dom said, and Orlando glanced across at Billy, at the tension in his shoulders. Man was practically vibrating.

"It's okay," Billy said, and licked his lips. Orlando had a feeling it was unconscious. "I'll just... watch."

"Watch," Dom hooted, scooting over to Billy and waving a hand in front of his eyes. "I should've guessed you were a kinky bugger. The accent gives it away."

"You've just filed a whole country under the label of kinky bugger, you know," Billy said, batting Dom's hand away, but his eyes were definitely slightly glazed.

"Well, you are," Dom said, "deep-fried Mars Bars, honestly," and the two of them laughed, a particular gleam in Dom's eyes, and then Orlando felt a hand on his arm.

"I think an elf should take up eleven, for the phonetic satisfaction," Viggo said.

Orlando almost choked. Phonetic... uh huh. He had a kinda strong feeling the satisfaction would be more than that, though it was sweet of Viggo to think of him. Sweet. Also: other things. "My pleasure," he said, pretty sure it would be. Heat was collecting in his stomach, silken and excitable as Viggo's hand melted away. Eleven, hmm. It was like one of those games where you had to remember what Mrs Brown had bought in Town when she alphabet-shopped - except in porn terms. Not exactly a childhood game. Thanks, Vig.

He found himself pushing Elijah's ass against the table, then moving his legs apart with one knee. Elijah stared up at him, huge blue glazed eyes, inhuman and luminous in the bright light overhead.

"Eleven," Orlando said clearly, and started to undo Elijah's shirt with one hand. Flick of his thumbnail against each button in turn: yes, he was one smooth motherfucker, and? He'd learnt to do this for quick costume changes, when he needed the other hand free to grab a sock or something, but it was a lot more impressive on someone else. Button by button, they snapped apart, Elijah's chest quaking a little beneath his hand.

He could feel the other three watching him, and made it even more of a show, sliding his free hand up Elijah's thigh and then around to the small of his back, crowding him.

"Relax," he told Elijah softly, undoing the last button and then smoothing his hand up the front of that delectable chest. "You know you wanna," he added, as his hand reached Elijah's over-warm shoulder, and then he was pushing Eijah backwards against the tabletop, lowering him slow enough that Elijah made a tiny breathless noise and shut his eyes.

"Looks edible," Dom said, incredulous tones in his voice.

"Wait your turn," Viggo said.

Dom laughed, the sound fissured with a groan. "What, like you did?"

"I waited," Viggo said, and Orlando, pushing the sides of Elijah's shirt down and skating his thumb across Elijah's ribs, could hear his grin.

"You waited with total patience, yeah," Dom murmured, and then caught his breath as Orlando started to sink between Elijah's legs. "Hey, whoa. Is this still your turn?"

"It is if he wants," Viggo said, and Orlando smiled. Good to know. Elijah was hard against his palm when Orlando started to undo his jeans, and for a moment Orlando considered actually doing it, actually blowing him, taking him in his mouth for the pure sultry rush of it-- but that wasn't a very eleven-ish thing to do. No. Better to stick to his original plan.

"Oh, god," Elijah whispered, as Orlando pulled open his zipper and then veered sideways, unable to resist giving Elijah's cock a quick squeeze but not lingering, no, moving right along.

The curve of Elijah's hipbone fit utterly sweetly into his hand. It was almost difficult to nudge his fingers aside, to lick beneath them, taste the startling human salt of ink on skin.

"Nice," Dom breathed, and then, wickedly, "you should get a picture."

Orlando imagined pictures of Elijah like this, almost sacrificial, and bit lightly at his hipbone. He felt Elijah push his pelvis up, twisting to arch against his mouth, his hand coming down to push fingers through his hair.

"I don't photograph much porn," Viggo replied, amusement tempered with something darker.

"You should," Dom said. "Look at them."

Orlando started sucking, working his mouth deliberately, wanting to coax blood into the creamy spaces the needle hadn't pierced. Purple and black look so good together, after all.

"Mm."

"You could call it, abandoned subs," Dom said, and then, "wait, no. Abandoned Cocksuckers."

"One of my more refined works," Viggo murmured, then exhaled hard, and Orlando itched to look round and see what was being done to him.

He sucked harder, until all the taste had been dragged from the skin, until he could feel Elijah's hands palming the back of his head, fingers inconsiderate and urgent in his hair. "You need a picture of that," Dom hissed, and Orlando glanced up Elijah's body to see Elijah's head thrown back in something like pain. "I dunno how Orli resists."

Abruptly, Orlando wasn't sure either. "Aaaand, I think it's time for twelve," he said, enjoying the words, giving Elijah's wet skin a last swift kiss, leaving Elijah whimpering on the table.

"I don't think you'll need to get up," Viggo said quickly - said to Elijah, but it was also, Orlando thought headrush-ily, a sort of compliment to him, an additional agreement that Viggo thought he was on to a good thing.

He followed Viggo's gaze, appreciated the view. Elijah looked wanton. Orlando's mouth had left a stain on his skin.

"I think I should take twelve," Dom said, with elaborate thoughtfulness, "because I am... thirsty."

"Get a drink," Billy said, then inhaled sharply. "Oh."

"I think Dom should take twelve," Elijah said.

Viggo laughed, then hummed. "Anything but that," he told Dom, smiling. "Save that for--"

Me, Orlando thought.

"--later."

"If you say so," Dom said, and Orlando wondered when this had flipped to being about what Viggo said, about what Viggo decreed was appropriate - and then decided he approved. So what if Viggo had thoroughly corrupted his initial idea of messing with Elijah's head. Hardly a turn for the worse. God, the previous plan hadn't even included locking the door.

Actually, ha. "I just thought," he said, watching Dom pull Elijah's jeans down, then laugh softly and drop to his knees, "maybe we should lock the door."

"Forgot about these motherfucking boots," Dom muttered good-naturedly, wrestling with Elijah's double-tied laces.

"I'll get it," Viggo said to Orlando, "I'm closer," and, yes, he was, and also Orlando didn't feel up to navigating his way to the door right now, because he was too busy staring at Elijah's thighs, splayed at the edge of the table, leading down to Dom's bowed head and up to the dark semi-obscene boxers. And then, christ, that creamy lithe torso, so ready to be used; Elijah's fists were braced against the tabletop, his eyes closed tight.

Frustration was in every inch of his body.

"Won't be interrupted now," Viggo said, returning from the door and pausing to pour a paper cup of water. Orlando thought briefly of the wine, abandoned by the door in a Safeway bag. No need, right now. He watched Viggo drink, then walk back towards him. Viggo didn't hold himself like he was battling an erection - although, Orlando thought wryly, there wasn't much need to battle right now. If Elijah wouldn't get Viggo off, Orlando would love to.

He had a feeling Viggo knew it.

"What do you use on these, glue?" Dom was growling, picking at Elijah's laces, and Elijah twisted against the table, fingers spread like he'd forgotten he hadn't been forbidden to touch himself. Dom glanced across at Billy. "Y'know," he said persuasively, "you've definitely missed a turn or two, what with your kinky mood. Fancy keeping him still up there?"

"I could probably do that," Billy said, still all glazed, walking round to the head of the table and reaching for Elijah's clawed hands. "That's right," he murmured, drawing Elijah's hands back above his head, so Elijah was arching against the table with his fists clamped around Billy's wrists. Dom slid one hand up and braced it against Elijah's thigh.

"I wish it could be Elijah's 21st every day," Orlando said, before he could help it.

"Me too," Elijah hissed.

Orlando jumped a little when Viggo moved behind him, then felt the back of his neck being touched by a water-cool mouth. "It might get - tired," Viggo said delicately, sliding his hands down Orlando's arms.

Orlando shivered.

"It wouldn't," Elijah said, then gasped as Dom pulled off his boots. Orlando grinned.

"He is so over-sensitised," Viggo whispered, and licked the back of Orlando's ear. His hands crept across to Orlando's body, and Orlando decided it felt like he'd turned into a life-size Easter Elf and now someone had left him by a radiator. He leaned back, watching through half-closed eyes as Dom stripped off Elijah's jeans and ran luxurious fingers up the back of Elijah's calves, and felt Viggo nudge closer behind him.

"He looks like a willing slut," Orlando said reverentially, curving his spine like Elijah had to press against Viggo in all the right places.

"Fuck off," Elijah called, and Dom bit him on the knee. "Fuck."

"You saying you don't look like a slut?" Orlando asked, as Viggo bent his mouth to the back of his neck once more. It had heated again, and made Orlando's legs unapologetically weak. He felt Viggo smile.

"I," Elijah said.

"You're almost naked," Orlando said silkily, "on a table," his breath hitching as Viggo's hand glided across his hip, "letting four men do whatever they like to you."

"It's my birthday," Elijah said, then scowled when everyone else laughed.

"Well, happy birthday," Dom said, voice rich in amusement, and stood up, sliding a hand up both Elijah's thighs, ducking to kiss his stomach. "Here's hoping it's memorable."

"I'll say it's memorable," Billy muttered, and Elijah nodded blindly, breathing shallow through that invitingly open mouth.

"I just wanna... sit on his chest," Orlando whispered shakily, for Viggo's ears only, and Viggo hummed and held him closer.

"That mouth," Viggo agreed.

"I just," Orlando said, then clenched his fists because he could feel Viggo's cock through his clothes, and it was one hell of a distraction. "He was made for it," he managed. He watched Dom trail his mouth over Elijah's hip and then down, over the fabric of his boxers. Elijah groaned piteously when Dom reached the end of his boxers, skated wet, light kisses over his inner thigh.

"Cheekbones," Viggo murmured, and Orlando almost laughed, because yes, those cheeks hollowing around his cock, those eyes frosted over with concentration and fluttering distractedly when he tries to deepthroat - yeah.

Dom sank to his knees again, one hand on each of Elijah's knees, holding them apart. Why would they need holding apart, Orlando thought distractedly, and then, oh, well, yes. Dom was licking delicately at Elijah's inner thigh, and one of Elijah's heels was creeping up his spine. Looked like Elijah would wrap his legs around Dom's neck if he had a chance. At least this way there was less risk of suffocation.

"Ah-ah-ah," Dom said, muffled by Elijah's skin, and his hand slid down Elijah's leg and wrenched his foot back to the ground.

Elijah growled.

"You do that, I'm never gonna blow you," Dom admonished, a grin in his voice.

Orlando heard Viggo quickly clear his throat. "You're not going to blow him anyway," Viggo said, and his voice was almost an exercise in unaffected clarity, but not quite.

"Why not?" Elijah demanded, then yelped at something Dom did between his thighs.

Viggo laughed, a low murmur that made Orlando's mouth dry all over again. "Because you're in no position to argue," Viggo called softly, and Elijah whined, and then Dom tilted his head and nudged under Elijah's boxers, and the whine turned into a staggered groan.

"Why can't Dom blow him?" Orlando whispered, when Viggo's teeth dragged slowly down the back of his neck. If he didn't speak, he was going to - to end up like Elijah, twisting in Billy's hands, wriggling earnest and sleek. "Look at him."

"Too soon," Viggo said, stroking his fingers over Orlando's stomach, and Orlando found himself shivering and laughing on the same breath.

"Not too soon from his point of view--"

"--besides, I want to see you fuck him."

Oh dear god. "oh," Orlando heard himself say faintly, and oh, yeah, christ, and then he rallied, because even though that was possibly the hottest thing he'd ever heard, being borne away to incoherence on the crippling lust of it was not a good idea. "What if I wanna be fucked, though?"

He heard Viggo swallow. "By Elijah?"

Heh. Orlando lifted on his toes, then dragged his ass slowly down the ridge of Viggo's cock, pressing back as hard as he dared and having to grit his teeth to stop his hand rushing to his own cock and easing the ache of it. Viggo's fingers went brutal on his hips, and he made a sound like sleepy thunder.

"Fuck," he breathed, and then, "that could be arranged."

"Unless," Orlando said, because it was good feeling Viggo's control crumbling, and tipped his head back against Viggo's shoulder, "you had other plans?"

"No. No," Viggo repeated quickly, "that will do nicely."

"Good," Orlando said, then hissed softly as the tip of Viggo's thumb stroked up the seam of his fly, tucking right in against the zip and pressing sweet-hard enough to make his head swim.

"Mm," Viggo said, at normal volume, and worked his thumb against Orlando's waistband. Okay, so maybe Orlando wasn't the only one with the one-handed button-flick down pat. "But right now, I think Dom might need a hand."

"A hand," Dom scoffed, still muffled, "I'll say," and Orlando grinned and started forwards.

Viggo caught him by the fabric of his tee-shirt, jarred him back against his chest. "Just a moment," he drawled, and Orlando's head span gently. "You weren't supposed to go until I." He cut off, pulling Orlando's tee-shirt up until Orlando got the idea, dragged it over his own head. "Mm, better," Viggo said, and Orlando turned in his arms, facing him for the first time since they'd made their deal.

He had a feeling that if he'd been facing Viggo when they'd talked about fucking Elijah, it might have all ended somewhat abruptly, for better or worse. He had a moment of absurd startled fear that it wouldn't be the same, facing, that he didn't have the same rights to wriggle and flirt - and then Viggo was pulling off his own shirt and his chest, he just. Orlando wanted to eat him, and then Viggo was hooking an arm round his neck and smiling crookedly and drawing him close and kissing his mouth.

Several shades of velvet, Orlando thought vaguely, because it was glorious and it was Viggo and that spurred his brain to scrabble for art. Viggo's tongue slid into his mouth, gentle depredation, and Orlando's pulse caught briefly in his wrist.

"Guys," Dom moaned, and Orlando snickered into the kiss, because this was familiar. Poor Dom.

Um, wait. Dom had his face between Elijah's thighs.

Orlando shifted blissfully against Viggo's chest, sucking lightly at his tongue until Viggo nudged closer still. Dom could manage without them just fine.

"Guys," Elijah moaned, as Viggo's hand slid to the small of Orlando's back, warm and large, his little finger dipping teasingly beneath Orlando's waistband. "Dom wants you."

"You bet he does," Dom said.

"And he's stopped doing... stuff to me, so you gotta help," Elijah continued, and Orlando remembered exactly what they'd decided about Elijah, about what stuff in particular they were gonna do.

He drew back, turned round. "Sorry," he said, unrepentantly. "Distracted, like."

Dom looked like he might be crackling with electricity, his eyes ultra-bright, his hair tousled and wild. Orlando's train of thought - train-of-lust - derailed, swerved round to thunder at Dom instead. Look at the guy.

"How can I make it up to you?" he caught himself asking, and smiled bright and suggestive, pulse getting seriously unreliable.

Dom glanced down at Elijah's cock, still caught in his boxers, unwillingly-chaste, and then back at Orlando, expectantly. "It's your go, isn't it?"

"Thirteen," Elijah prompted, barely more than a whisper.

Orlando felt his mouth curve into a smile. "You all wanna see me suck him," he accused, toying the words out sly, and Dom nodded happily.

"Yes," Elijah said. "They do."

Orlando laughed, and Viggo gave him a light push forward. Permission, Orlando thought, before he could help himself. "You know," he said conversationally, tucking his fingers into the front of Elijah's boxers and ignoring Elijah's little gasp, "Dom, since you were thirsty earlier and all--"

"Yeah?" Dom said.

Orlando smiled. He could feel the shallow pulse of Elijah's cock hot by his fingers, and trailed a fingertip against it experimentally. Elijah gasped again. Predictable boy. "Well, I wouldn't wanna deny you the joy of... of thirteen," he said pleasantly, then fisted the front of Elijah's boxers and drew then down off his hips. Elijah arched - helpful, too - then lay on the table and panted softly.

Dom licked his lips.

Orlando's smile widened. "I thought as much," he said, leaving the boxers dangling on Elijah's left foot, spreading Elijah's thighs as wide as looked comfortable. Elijah's ass was balanced on the edge of the table, inviting on far too many levels. "C'mere," Orlando said, because it was one of those sexy things he'd always wanted to say. It sounded suave as hell. Maybe he should use it more often.

He wondered, fleetingly, if he'd somehow got high without noticing. "Thirteen, huh," Dom was saying, coming close, and he was still wearing all his clothes but his collar was badly askew. Orlando wanted to bite him.

"Thirteen," Orlando said, looking down on Elijah. Gonna fuck you, hobbit boy. Because Viggo said so.

It occurred to him, as he rested one hand on Elijah's thigh and sank down to lick - wow - slowly, thoughtfully up the side of Elijah's cock, that Elijah might have something to say about that. What with being a virgin, and all.

Elijah yowled softly, and Orlando licked again, grinning when Dom ducked down to mirror him, resting his elbows on the table on the other side of Elijah's hips. He had a feeling Elijah wasn't going to object any time soon. As long as they didn't get him off before Orlando had, er, established with Elijah the turn of their evening, he couldn't see there being a problem.

He licked again, eyes closing, the warm salt of it melting right back to his throat, and felt the skin tighten. Felt like - hot wet paper, taut under his tongue. No. Felt like hot dry paper, but wet. Whatever. Felt fucking good, he thought, licking longer, tasting the taint and musk of Elijah's skin.

He had a feeling that if Billy wasn't holding Elijah immobilised, he'd have a fist at the back of his head right now.

A light tread made him pause, then he realised Viggo was walking round; he opened his eyes in time to see Viggo leaning down to kiss Elijah's throat, felt a sympathetic lurch in the muscle of Elijah's thigh. Viggo's profile was framed, briefly, against the intricate darkness of Elijah's hair, his mouth adoring and dark on Elijah's skin, his eyes closed like Elijah tasted of something forbidden and utterly lovely.

Orlando's breath was momentarily caught, and then Viggo glanced down at him and winked, and he blinked back to the task at hand, and. whoa. Dom. Right there. And of course he was, and Orlando knew that, rationally, because it'd be impossible for them to be blowing Elijah simultaneously without their mouths being basically proximate - but actually feeling his breath was something else.

Orlando closed his eyes partway, sucking light and restless, and Dom's face went soft-focus. He was incredibly close, his eyelashes dark against his skin, his pink mouth an intoxicating combination of graceful and grateful on Elijah's cock. Orlando sucked harder, felt the twitch in Elijah's pulse, knew it had transmitted to Dom's mouth. The delights of Viggo's profile suddenly seemed rather meagre. God.

He decided to fixate on Dom's tongue for a while. The slick glide of it, delicate one minute, depraved the next - what wasn't there to adore. He felt Elijah jerk particularly hard, wondered what Dom had done. They should compare notes. They should--

Dom was working his way up to the top of Elijah's cock, Orlando realised, with an odd wildfire of excitement. Keeping his eyes slitted, he matched Dom's pace, making small circles with the tip of his tongue whenever Dom paused. Taking his sweet time, he was; really seemed to be enjoying it, like he'd been wanting to get his mouth on Elijah since forever. Since filming Cirith Ungol, probably, Orlando thought. Some people hadn't visibly wanted to fuck Elijah that night, but they were either lying or in denial or - ha - straight.

Orlando moved his hand up Elijah's thigh, slipping his fingers under his balls and resting them there. The silkiness of the skin against his knuckles made him want to rove his fingers against it, but no. Not yet. Get Elijah squirming first, get him wanting more.

Presence of mind, can't beat it, he thought, still watching Dom's mouth, wondering if they couldn't maybe find a way to include Dom in their crazy perfect daisy chain, and then he was rounding the top of Elijah's cock at the same time as Dom and tasting slick-sweet musk as his tongue slid against Dom's lower lip--

"oh," Dom breathed, opening his eyes and freezing fierce, and for a fearsome moment Orlando thought that he was going to draw back. "oh," Dom repeated, eyes almost closing again, and then the tip of his tongue made a steady slow circle, slipping over Orlando's tongue and then under, dipping against the crown of Elijah's cock. The most obscene figure of eight Orlando had ever imagined; give or take, like, rimming, or something.

He tasted like Elijah.

Orlando tilted his head, nudging forwards, trying to coax Dom's tongue into his mouth without entirely abandoning Elijah, and Dom's eyes opened a little again, and he grinned. "why not."

It didn't have the same ring as a c'mere, Orlando thought, but fuck. Apparently these were just more words that sounded hot as hell in the right situation. Especially in Dom's voice, he thought, as Dom opened his mouth and sucked in the head of Elijah's cock, then backed off enough that Orlando could lick into his mouth as well.

Someone that sounded like Viggo made a low, incredulous noise, and Elijah yelped. Dom's hand slipped round the back of Orlando's head, pressing him closer and angling him round, and Orlando felt the brief push of Elijah's cock directly deep into his mouth before he was reaching across Elijah's stomach to fist the front of Dom's shirt, Dom tugging him abruptly off Elijah's cock and against his mouth instead. He had time to swear once, loudly, in his head, and then he was getting kissed fierce and messy and brutal, the scratch of stubble seething heat down his spine.

Sorry, Lij.

"Whoa," Billy said faintly, and Dom's teeth clicked against Orlando's, and his mouth was blood-hot and bit reliably back. Orlando heard himself make a lewd, sexual noise, and the table was digging into his ribs, and Elijah's cock was hot and insistent against his cheek, and Dom's hand was splayed across the back of his neck. It was hardly comfortable, craned over the table, arm at a bizarre angle to get a proper grip on Dom's shirt, but comfort, he thought, sagely, was overrated.

"Guys," Elijah said plaintively, "I thought y--"

Thank you, Orlando thought distantly. He loved Viggo. The guy always knew what to do, in the social etiquette sense of things. Elijah should learn. When the two guys sucking you off pause to devour each other for a while instead, have the decency not to interrupt them. Good boy.

Dom bit at his tongue, less of a reprimand and more like Orlando was one of those leaves you have to bruise before the real flavour emerges, and Orlando's knees transformed into a weightlessness of hot water. He cursed softly, realised he sounded exactly like his last girlfriend used to, whenever she came on top, all fractured and sincere.

"Mm," Dom agreed, then twisted back, scraping his teeth deftly against the softness of Orlando's cheek before kissing him again. "Actually, heh."

Heh, Orlando thought blankly, feeling the trembles in Elijah's stomach reflected in his own wrists, stomach, knees.

"This," Dom said, starting to twist back again, then apparently reconsidering because, umm, because Orlando's mouth tasted just so good, "is hell on my back."

Elijah made a startled noise as Viggo chuckled, and Orlando's mind filled predictably with things Viggo could have been doing to him. Most of them included Billy. Half of them set Billy on his knees. "Umm," Orlando said, drawing back, blinking dazedly, "yes."

Dom snickered, touching his mouth with the back of one knuckle. "Mm," he said. "We need chairs."

Orlando straightened gratefully, careful not to take his hand from its warm place between Elijah's legs, and frowned. They'd found a big room to play their game in, but it wasn't well-furnished. There was one armchair, he supposed, but its seat was low-slung, too close to the ground. "There's an armchair," he said.

"Short-arse," Dom said. The sudden scruffy thoughtfulness of him was making Orlando's blood ache. "There's couches."

Orlando hadn't even noticed the couches. They were under dust-sheets, in the corner. "Uh, no. They'll fall apart soon as look at them."

"Damn." Dom scratched his chin. "What if we sit on the arms of the chair?"

"Fond of wood between your legs, eh," Orlando said, because he couldn't resist, and it turned into another of those moments where everyone laughed except Elijah.

"Guys," Elijah said, instead, "are you actively trying to drive me insane?"

Orlando smiled at Dom and swept his finger across the warm entrance to Elijah's body. Elijah made a strangled noise in his throat, and shut up.

"How about," Dom said, hand moving to hover at Orlando's elbow, "you," steering him to stand between Elijah's legs, "settle in here, and we can let Billy have fourteen," ducking behind him and kissing his earlobe, then catching it between his teeth and pressing sharp enough to make Orlando's eyes close, "because it's probably time we finished up on thirteen anyway, and Billy's been all left out."

Orlando nuzzled Elijah's cock with his cheek, then licked his stomach. Saltier than last time, mm. "What'll you do?"

Dom made a noise like an amused lion. "Whatever Billy wants me to."

From this angle, Orlando caught Viggo's eye pretty easily, could exchange a glance about how after Billy's turn then Elijah was going to be their playground. Elijah - already seemed to be in the spirit of things, actually. He'd got one hand free of Billy's grasp and was wrestling upside-down with the button of Viggo's fly. He didn't have the knack, Orlando decided, and circled his thumb lazily, wondering if he could make Elijah think of being fucked.

Elijah's hand faltered, and Viggo grinned like he knew exactly what Orlando was doing. Orlando decided Elijah was pretty much a done deal, and pressed a little more, feeling another level of dampness spring up on Elijah's stomach. That's right, boy. Heat up, I'll lick it off you.

"Uh, guys," he realised Billy was saying, after a moment. "I don't think I can... take my turn."

Orlando paused in kissing Elijah's stomach. "Why not?"

There was a pause, then Billy cleared his throat. "I'm... straight."

Yeah, right, Orlando thought, and then Elijah was saying blearily, "Oh, 'sokay, man, me too," and then, "shit, ah, ah," and Orlando looked up to see Viggo's mouth working across Elijah's chest, see Elijah's fingers knot fiercely in Viggo's hair.

Doing pretty well for a straight guy, Orlando thought dryly. Both of them.

Dom laughed, loud. "He's... not, really, is he?" he said, fox-sly, and Orlando licked a quick circle round Elijah's navel and then laughed as Elijah's legs scissored to wrap round his neck, almost kicking Dom's lights out in the process.

"Ow," Dom growled, cringing back, and Billy hurried round, eyes huge, fingers curling against Dom's face.

"You okay?"

"Straight-boy here fucking cracked me one right between the eyes," Dom muttered, cradling his forehead, and Elijah gasped,

"sorry! sorry!" and arched his hips off the table, and Orlando smothered his laughter against Elijah's skin. Jesus. It'd be so totally Elijah to knock someone out mid-orgy. He thought about untangling himself, about twisting free and making sure Dom wasn't bruised or bleeding or anything.

"You really want to calm down a little," Viggo was advising, and Orlando looked up to see him catch Elijah's shoulders and deliberately steady them. The button had come undone after all, and the clean line of his underwear was visible against the tawny muscle of his stomach. Elijah's thighs shifted shakily, and Orlando's cheek brushed against his cock again.

We should check on Dom, Orlando thought, distinctly. "We going ahead?" he asked quietly, instead.

"Mmhm," Viggo said, stroking a knuckle against Elijah's cheek, then grinning and drawing his hand back when Elijah tried to bite him. Deliberately, Orlando pulled Elijah's legs down to rest around his waist instead, enjoying the warm slide of skin against skin. "I thought," Viggo said, taking something from his back pocket and tossing it fast and covert to Orlando, "I said calm down?"

Orlando caught the thing - sachet - and held it under the table as Elijah coughed indignantly; if Viggo was going for surreptitious, he'd follow suit. He didn't go to bootcamp with Josh Hartnett and not learn how to take instructions, no sir. "If you were me, you would not be calm," Elijah gasped, and Viggo stroked Elijah's mouth, grinning indulgently.

"You're probably right, but-- face it, it takes a certain kind of person to wind up in your situation," he said, grin widening as Elijah sucked on his finger, eyes closing, "and that kind of person would do best to calm down right now."

Relax so we can deflower you, Orlando translated, as he tore the corner off the sachet, feeling something slightly thicker than water seep onto his fingers. Viggo had style, that was for sure. And an unbelievable arrogance, unless he always carried lube in his back pocket. Both ideas had a certain appeal.

He trailed his thumb up Elijah's thigh, feeling his body rachet up into a new level of impatience. Elijah's thighs, jesus. Felt indecently good. "Viggo," Orlando said, curling his fingers between Elijah's legs, licking his lips as Viggo looked up, "thanks for this."

He pushed his middle finger smoothly into Elijah's body and Viggo gasped harshly, eyes flashing, Elijah's teeth glinting against his skin. Orlando swallowed, realising he needed to hold totally still. The pulse inside Elijah was fluttering fast, skipping beneath satin, hot and slick and frantic around his finger. Elijah's first time, fucking hell. And, Orlando thought dizzily, he was between them, and it suddenly occurred to him that it was up to them to make it an experience worth repeating.

Whoa. He set the half-empty sachet on the table when he realised the hand holding it was trembling.

Viggo had extricated his finger from Elijah's teeth, was shaking it distractedly as he bent to kiss Elijah's mouth. Oops, Orlando thought mercilessly: our first casualty. Still, Elijah was hardly gollum about the finger-biting, so Viggo couldn't complain. He watched Viggo's mouth move gently against Elijah's lips, watched Viggo's hand come to rest on Elijah's stomach, and smiled.

Okay, so he was going to go out of his mind if he couldn't fuck Elijah soon, but at least Viggo was doing all sorts of cherry-reassuring things. Meant Orlando could relax a little, enjoy the view.

He let his finger slide in a little deeper, reached down and rubbed his thumb up Elijah's cock to distract him. There you go, baby. He could feel Elijah twist against his finger, decadent and inviting, silently offering to bite off more than Orlando thought he could chew right now-- and it was tempting, god, yes, so tempting, to ease in three or four fingers and feel that petulant stretch, to make Elijah shake.

No, Orlando told himself, distracting his brain by watching Viggo again, stroking the silkiness inside Elijah as softly as he could. Viggo had finished kissing Elijah's mouth and started licking under his jaw instead, down his throat, making his way round the table; Orlando looked at the crunch of Viggo's chest inclined over Elijah's pale body and imagined it pressed up against his back. Hot, Viggo was. Hot and curt and solid, and Orlando couldn't wait to be fucked by him.

Elijah made a couple of high pitched noises when Viggo reached his nipples, and Orlando watched the slide of Viggo's smile against Elijah's skin and-- ha, and felt jealous. Weird. He had his finger in Elijah's ass and he still wanted more.

Probably healthy, he thought, making a couple of quick calculations before pushing Elijah's legs away from his waist and hitching his knee onto the edge of the table. His finger slipped free of Elijah's body, and Elijah mewed softly. Just you think about that a while, about how much you want that back, Orlando thought wickedly, pressing up onto the table, balancing over Elijah's hips on his hands and knees.

"Lonely," he said enigmatically, when Viggo looked askance at him. Viggo smirked.

"Needy," he said.

"Hungry," Orlando said, walking his hands up either side of Elijah's body, ducking sideways to kiss Viggo brief and bright. "Hi."

Viggo made a pleased noise, kissing him back, so different from Dom, less teeth and more devastation. Orlando's thighs started to shake, and he thought that maybe perching on the table like this was a bad idea.

"Hey," Elijah whined, his hand finding Orlando's side, sliding up to his shoulder, tugging down. "Hey, me too."

Viggo chuckled, twisted free of Orlando's mouth, kissed Elijah's shoulder instead. Orlando looked down, mouth aching softly, wanting, wanting - and the look in Elijah's eyes was deep, lots of unidentifiable stuff roving under open desire. Orlando let a small smile curl at the corner of his mouth, and Elijah reacted, his body curving up off the table, his hand tugging again at Orlando's shoulder.

Orlando put his hand across the base of Elijah's throat, and Viggo licked around his fingers. Again, Dom had the right idea: photography had real potential, as hobbies went. He watched Viggo suck at his knuckles, tongue sliding teasing right down down between his fingers, and he felt his hips rock slightly against the air in silent response.

Time to get off the table. Elijah's eyes were closed again, and stayed closed as Orlando crawled backwards and slithered to the floor between his thighs, then fluttered when Orlando pushed his thumb back into the slick sweet heat of him, his hips lifting from the table edge.

Orlando grinned, grinned wider as Elijah muttered curses when he slipped his thumb out again, then wider still when Elijah took his finger with nothing more than a relieved sigh. That's right, baby. We'll make you need it, make a sub out of you yet.

He wanted to hurry things along, could feel the need of it singing in his blood, but it was hypnotic to watch Viggo, just focused on Viggo, on the slow move of his tongue down Elijah's body, sidling his way down the side of the table until he was tantalisingly within-reach. Orlando's breath hitched over and over as Viggo got closer, winding up on Elijah's cock, his cheeks narrowing, his eyes falling closed.

Two fingers, Orlando thought faintly, pushing them in luxuriously, enjoying the yeild and tremor of Elijah's body almost as much as the view. Viggo's hair was falling across his face, and he was taking Elijah deep, corkscrewing down until Elijah was wriggling frantically on Orlando's slick fingers, then pulling off gracefully and pressing small kisses across the head.

"I can do that," Orlando heard himself say, and Viggo blinked up at him, mouth curving.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Orlando said. The air between them was warm, but Viggo wasn't looking away, and Orlando decided that the air between them would have to fucking spontaneously combust at this stage before he'd take it upon himself to demur.

"You'll have to show me later," Viggo said, tongue flicking across Elijah's skin like he was learning the shape, practised and mesmerising. "Unless you fancy joining me now."

"I'm good here."

Viggo grinned. "You certainly are."

"I'll show you later," Orlando continued, ignoring him, ignoring the agonised heat that went through him as Viggo's tongue swiped wet and deliberate across the tip of Elijah's cock and then slowly, painfully, lifted away. He held his breath with Elijah, then hissed softly as Viggo reached between Elijah's legs and insinuated his forefinger into Orlando's fly.

"Get up here," Viggo said, lower lip resting against Elijah's cock, "and I'll show you now--"

For one second, Orlando imagined two dicks trying to press into Viggo's mouth at once. Elijah moaned, and Orlando realised he'd pushed in hard. "It's okay," he managed, and Viggo smiled and stroked his thumb briefly against Orlando's fly, then rested his hands on Elijah's stomach and took him in his mouth again.

Three, Orlando thought, wishing for the first time that Elijah had been a slut since he was fifteen and could fit on his cock with a brush of spit and some persistent shoving-- because at least then they could skip this and Viggo could slip behind him and Orlando would be one step closer to getting rid of the seriously indigo heat in his balls.

He reconsidered, a second later, feeling Elijah shift and squirm against the third finger, because that was so damn hot it ought to be outlawed. First time he feels this and he's practically begging for more. Orlando decided Elijah didn't have to slut about at fifteen, so long as he didn't mind a little related action tonight.

He watched Viggo's nose brush Elijah's stomach, realised he knew Elijah's cock well enough now that he could visualise it prying its way into Viggo's throat. Elijah rocked and squeaked, spreading his thighs wider, and Orlando started to move his fingers in counterpart, smooth as a well-oiled fuck by a gentleman. Elijah bucked and bore down on him, encouragement and delight rolling off his body in waves, and Orlando pushed harder, deep as he could, ignoring the cramp in his fingers and trying to breathe like this was normality.

Fuck him now, he wanted. His hips were stirring again, responding to the blind enthusiasm of Elijah's body, and the whiteness seeping into Elijah's knuckles, tight in Viggo's hair, was making him ache. Fuck him now-- and then Viggo's hand shot out and caught Orlando's wrist, stilling him, and Elijah choked off some word that had maybe started life as "motherfuck."

Orlando swallowed. The tiny helpless rocking of Elijah's body was making a prickle-shimmer of sweat louder under Orlando's skin, and no amount of Legolas was going to bring him back to peace right now. Viggo's mouth was retreating, lifting off Elijah's cock in a painstaking deliberate slide, and Elijah moaned piteously when Viggo's tongue swiped one last time and then abandoned him.

"Feel ready?" Viggo mouthed, and Orlando nodded shakily. "Good," Viggo said, standing up, moving round to stand behind Orlando and undoing his belt. "Where's the--?"

"Here," Orlando said faintly, passing him the sachet, trying not to arch too obviously into those deft fingers, managing to stop himself from growling when Viggo swayed closer and pressed his hips against Orlando's ass.

"Lift his leg," Viggo murmured, pressing hard enough that Orlando had to step forwards, and then his jeans were being worked down and Viggo's fingers were possessive at the tops of his thighs. He could feel the perfect ridge of Viggo's cock against his ass, infuriating behind cotton.

Lift his leg, Orlando thought obediently, running his free hand down the underside of Elijah's thigh, finding it unforgivably easy to lift and fold and press Elijah's knee almost to Elijah's shoulder. Unforgivably flexible boy.

He shook his jeans and boxers off, kicking them from one ankle and then the other, his body moving on autopilot as he stared at the quiet pink gleam of his fingers deep between Elijah's legs, the light hitting them obscenely now that Elijah's leg wasn't obscuring the glare.

"Okay, and now - yes," Viggo said, still quiet, sounding pleased when Orlando shifted his legs further apart without being asked, moving his hand over Orlando's cock like a burr of casual gratitude. "O-kay," Viggo breathed, nudging Orlando forward a little more, and Orlando looked down on Elijah's body, his skin fevered pink and white, his throat bare to any passing mouth, and looked around for Dom. That would complete this picture.

Dom was in the armchair, squashed up against Billy, face lazily intent, watching-- watching the air between Elijah's ass and Orlando's cock, Orlando realised, shockily; watching the outrageous line of Elijah's thigh pressed against his chest. His expression was anticipatory. Almost-- prompting.

Viggo coaxed Orlando's fingers out of Elijah's body, wrapped them round Orlando's cock instead. "I wanna see you do this," Viggo whispered, mouth tilted against the back of Orlando's neck, "so much."

"You can't see from that angle," Orlando whispered back, as Elijah made little helpless noises and pulsed his leg against Orlando's hold on it, and Viggo laughed extremely lightly and guided Orlando's cock to the entrance of Elijah's body.

"I wanna feel you do this so much," he said.

"Fuck," Orlando muttered, leaning forwards, curving over Elijah's body and starting to work his hips, feeling Eiljah's other leg fold over his shoulder. The heat of his body, the stubborn resistance, god, virgin resistance-- he had a flash that this was insanity, and then Viggo's hand was tightening around his cock, and the head pressed hard against the adamant muscle of Elijah's body, and he felt it edge open just enough to get almost-inside.

The heat was pouring over him, making his teeth ache. He could remember the absolute sinful slide of his finger into this slick place, and just because his cock was bigger, just because Elijah'd never taken one before-- He couldn't stop now.

"Fuck," he repeated, pushing hard and steady, and then the muscle was starting to give and he heard Elijah yelp as the head pried inside, and he should ask about safety, or something, but jesus, what if no one had anything-- and regardless, he'd just said he couldn't stop now, and he reallyreally couldn't, and Elijah was shivering under his hands. It was good, necessary, right to sink inside him, to push his cock in deep until Viggo's fingers were pressing against Elijah's ass, to forge through that stubbornness and feel Elijah croon.

He knew that he was clean, at least, and Viggo's hand disappeared and breath was gliding down to the base of his spine, and they could just-- deal with this later, maybe? and then Viggo's tongue was lapping low, low, and Orlando had to force his hand flat on Elijah's hip because the alternative was to claw Elijah's skin.

Inside him, whoa.

"Stop," Elijah squeaked, when he tried an experimental shove, and Orlando grinned damply, ducking down across him to kiss Elijah's neck. Now he behaves like the virgin?

"Yeah, stop moving," Viggo added, breath intimate at Orlando's inner thigh.

Orlando's stomach muscles fused.

"Nice," Viggo said, his fingers dusting against the back of Orladno's balls, his mouth a wet bright point of heat sliding down towards the back of his knee, then wheeling with glacial slowness to retrace its own path.

Elijah's breath was happily panicked, his chest moving quickly, brushing Orlando's skin in gasping little slides. Orlando held still, trying to move his mouth like treacle against Elijah's throat, trying to give him time, adjustment, anything--

Viggo's teeth glided briefly against his skin, and he almost bit Elijah's shoulder.

"You alright?" he asked, instead, trying to lower his stomach enough to feel if Elijah was still hard, nuzzling at Elijah's throat to feel the pulse bat at his tongue. Elijah was still, jesus, so hot inside.

"I'm," Elijah said, and his thigh was trembling under Orlando's palm, "...yeah," and his breath wavered in something Orlando couldn't distinguish as pain or delight. He tried to ignore Viggo's mouth for a second, failed, had to fight through the sliding shocky heat of it to concentrate on Elijah at all.

"you sure?" he managed, elbow slipping onto the table, pushing up on it to see Elijah better - survey him, his mind suggested wildly, like a building. or a whore in a window in Amsterdam - and pretending it was inadvertent that he was pressing back against Viggo's mouth. Elijah had his eyes closed, looked like a debauched sunrise, flesh clean and richly coloured and gleaming succulent-bright. So fuckable. "you--" Orlando tried again, sucking in air hard when Viggo breathed high against his inner thigh, "Elijah?"

Elijah licked his lips, frowning. Orlando could feel their pulses clashing inside him, dull slick pattering warfare, like the bleep machine on Casualty when the patient went into cardiac arrest.

Vast hot stones were starting to grate together in his stomach, anticipation of Viggo's mouth as it crept closer, closer, dawdling across over-sensitive skin. "Lij," he tried again, helplessly, stroking his hand up to cover the inside of Elijah's knee.

"Mh," Elijah said, and then Orlando couldn't help his own gasp when Elijah moved gingerly against him-- and maybe the lube was thinner when it warmed up or maybe his cock was sweating or something, but whatever, it was significantly easier going. Orlando squirmed against Viggo's mouth, and Elijah felt abruptly like quicksilver in his arms, and the desire flashed through him to grind forwards hard, to pin the little sprite to the table and fuck him hard enough that the friction would scald.

He gritted his teeth. "How's that?" His own thighs ached with effort to stay still, to linger inside like he wasn't going slowly out of his mind.

"...yeah, that's," Elijah muttered, repeating that slippery little movement, and Orlando gritted his teeth harder and dared meet him, pushing in as hard as he could and then stopping, stopping after a single inch, but oh, that inch, that-- felt amazing. Elijah made a startled whimper, twisting, and his cock bumped against Orlando's stomach, and Orlando pressed in a little harder, swearing under his breath.

Elijah curved up like he wanted more, his free leg stretching higher against Orlando's shoulder. Orlando let his hips slide against the cradle of Elijah's thighs, let his cock make a long, slow dip into Elijah's ass. The heat of him, the wet wet heat--

"Mm," Viggo said, hands stroking up to cup Orlando's ass and then pushing him - fuck - deeper, and holding him there, balanced on his toes against the table and Elijah's body, trembling deep and hard in his thighs. "That works for me," Viggo said, blowing softly across the entrance to Orlando's body, and Orlando's hips jerked wildly, and Elijah crooned unpleasant things about the son of god.

Viggo's tongue followed the same tantalising path as his breath, then melted away, and Orlando's hips did it again.

"Jesus," Elijah breathed, shuddering gently, and he was sort of-- secondary, as Orlando's focus narrowed into Viggo licking close, closer, flicking, teasing, pressing steady and impossibly-slick inside-- "christ," Elijah gasped, and Orlando half wanted to bat Viggo away with one flailing hand and half wanted to die, right here, doing this, in about three hours time. Three hours of Viggo's tongue in his ass. Just. Fucking hell.

He froze, breath hitching, trying to curve his spine back and give better access without pulling out of Elijah, then laughed brokenly. "Dear god," he said loudly, then dragged at the air with his lungs, heat shimmering across his eyes. "You gotta," he managed, quieter, more insistent, "Viggo, jesus, stop."

Viggo hummed lightly, and Orlando's cock twitched hard, and Elijah yelped.

"Fuckin'-- no, really," he gasped, "stop, or I can't," then tried a different track, one more likely to get the guy's attention. "I want you inside me," he said clearly, and it was odd, because he'd imagined saying that a million times but actually voicing it made him go warm with embarrassment as well as arousal.

Elijah made a low noise of protest, and opened his eyes. "You," he said, and then Viggo was standing up behind Orlando and kissing the back of his neck, pressing a slippery finger into his ass, and Orlando exhaled sharply and stirred his hips between Elijah's ass and Viggo's hand. "Oh, god," Elijah said.

Two fingers, deft and deliberate, and it was like Viggo was gathering momentum now. Orlando thought, about time, trying to find a rhythm that'd keep Elijah happy without making him squeal, bearing down on Viggo's fingers every chance he got. The casual swipe of Viggo's thumb across his balls was almost like a taunt, wet suede dragged over aching nerves, but the fingers inside him corkscrewed deep a moment later, and he saw it fitter to curse than protest.

"You're good, right?" Viggo said, a moment later, damp hands climbing to Orlando's waist. Orlando squirmed between them, liking the way they tightened, liking the deliberate dig of Viggo's fingers into the flat slope of his hips.

"Hey," Elijah protested, when Orlando went still, and Orlando grinned at him.

"Just, one second," he said, letting his voice go wicked. "He can't fuck a moving target, can he?"

Elijah muttered something that sounded like, "you can," but held mostly still, just a minor impatient rock to his hips, just slightly pushing Orlando closer to sheer erotic insanity.

"Tell me if this hurts," Viggo said, and Orlando practically forgot about Elijah at the unmistakable wet glance of Viggo's dick against his ass. Jesus, he thought faintly, shifting on his thighs to spread for it and ignoring the way that Elijah mewled, and then Viggo's chest was brushing against his shoulderblades, and the broad dry heat of him made Orlando close his eyes.

How long had he wanted this, he started to think, how many long walks and stupid castles endured? Enjoyed too, of course, but only in the same way he'd enjoy sitting with Viggo to watch paint dry, and in the name of maybe coaxing some lingering kiss. Viggo pressed gently, deliberately, and Orlando tipped his chin down and tried keep breathing.

"C'mon," Elijah muttered, after a moment, and Orlando ignored him, trying to relax to take Viggo inside, impatience warring with desire for the hot throne in his belly.

Elijah twisted against him, clenching his ass and making hot rain patter through Orlando's body, and Orlando swallowed hard and had to steel himself against grabbing Elijah and pushing him into the table and grinding his hips to fuck him fierce-deep.

"Please," Elijah said, a moment later, and Orlando could feel the press of Viggo almost almost opening him up, and the most coherence he could muster was a short glare. "Orlando," Elijah whimpered, and Orlando squirmed, and Viggo's cock slid askew from his ass.

"Fuck," he breathed, and Elijah wriggled happily, and Viggo was back but Orlando still felt like a moving target, and damnit but that wasn't what he wanted to be.

Elijah's dazed eyes caught Orlando's attention, and it was almost like fireworks, but Orlando'd had rockets go off at his chest before and all he'd ever sustained was a bruise. Elijah's gaze contained a bit of earnest Balrog. "Orlando, c'mon--"

"one moment," Orlando said quietly, holding up one finger, and Viggo made a low noise in his throat, but backed off. Orlando lifted Elijah's sleekly rounded hips in his hands. "Be quiet," he bit off, and shoved in hard, once, twice, lifting Elijah's ass to take his cock brutally deep, and Elijah went,

"ah, shit, god, god," and then, when Orlando forced himself to thrumming stillness again and glanced over his shoulder to see Viggo smile, "oh, oh," to himself, a blissed-out incredulous few times.

"Do you wanna fuck me, then?" Orlando asked Viggo politely, and it was still weird to say that kind of thing outloud, but he could cope. How he could cope.

"If Elijah doesn't mind," Viggo said, but his smile was hard and confident, and Orlando thought that Elijah hadn't a hope in hell.

"He doesn't," Elijah whispered, eyes burning a dull blue-black, and it was like Orlando'd taken the edge off for him only to find some sort of sluggishly infinite hunger beneath. "C'mon."

"Sure," Viggo said, closing the space behind Orlando again, bending Orlando forwards again with one hand. "Like I said, if you're not ready--"

"I'm ready," Orlando growled, breath hitching at the light wet brush against his ass, and then Viggo's cock was forcing its slow, velvety way inside, and he wasn't, wasn't quite ready, and it burnt like hell, and he groaned outloud.

"Wanna stop?" Viggo said, and he was, like, thick, whoa, and Orlando felt sweat starting to slide down his back again, and shook his head hard, closing his eyes tight enough that they stung. "Actually," Viggo whispered, pushing in to the hilt, his body a strong warm line all down Orlando's back, "you fe-- I don't think I can."

"Don't," Orlando managed, and Viggo nudged his hips firmly, and Orlando groaned soft, again, his hands gathering beneath Elijah's hips almost of their own accord. Elijah wriggled breathlessly, legs hitching tighter around Orlando's shoulders, and Viggo's arm crept round Orlando's waist, fingers spread across his hip and thigh.

"Please," Elijah moaned, "please, please," and if they hadn't spun this out for more than an hour now, Orlando would've thought he was being melodramatic.

As it was, he wasn't sure how Elijah could form such coherent words.

"forwards, more," Viggo said faintly, and Orlando held back for a moment longer because Elijah still looked fucking sinful splayed out with a mouthed bruise on his hip and his cock almost the same skintone, and then Viggo said, "come on, Orlando," and that voice could've crumpled him at ten paces, let alone right in his ear.

Orlando swore loudly as Elijah's leg folded right up, Elijah's knee by Elijah's shoulder again, Orlando's hand wedged sweatily across the underside of Elijah's thigh to hold him down. All about Elijah, he thought faintly, lying half on top of him and pushing his cock deep, and it almost all was - except for the unimaginably good feeling of Viggo crushing close and sordid behind.

"God," Elijah moaned, head crammed back against the table, mouth open wide enough to take a whole 'nother guy inside, and then Orlando started sliding his hips, making Elijah snap and keen at the air, feeling the pure silver-black rush of Viggo matching his pace over and over with a deliberate slide of his own.

Orlando tried to clamp down on the rising swell of it all, because damnit, after all this, the least he could do is take five minutes to make the guy's day, couldn't he? and the fronts of Viggo's legs were rocking against the backs of Orlando's thighs, and Elijah was making one hell of a lot of noise, and Orlando had the distinct feeling that Elijah's day was made already-- but nevertheless, he owed it to Viggo not to come.

After all, Viggo wanted to see this, he told himself desperately, sucking in mouthful after mouthful of hot, mucky, salty air, and to let him down, no, whoa, bad idea. Who knew what could happen. Very bad idea indeed.

"...are amazing," he heard Viggo whispering, and the spur of his voice made him drive his pelvis harder against Elijah's ass, and Elijah sounded like, like the woman at the beginning of that White Zombie song, the one that sounded uncannily like she was being fucked without preamble and loving every stroke.

Well, Orlando thought dizzily, still trying to curve against Elijah without losing the dense textured heat of Viggo all up his back, if there was one thing they couldn't be accused of tonight, it was of rushing the foreplay.

He jerked his head back when Viggo's teeth rested against his shoulder, the warm fuzzy ringing of his body focusing into stark, vibrant sensation. Amazing, he thought belatedly, staring at the ceiling and hearing the low rumble from Viggo's chest sashaying against Elijah's obscenely rhythmic little cries. "You, too," he managed, looking sideways to try and meet Viggo's mouth with his own, and it wasn't gonna work, was impossible without some sort of dislodging going on, and he wound up with Viggo kissing the hinge of his jaw and a fiery set of scratchmarks across his stomach.

Branded, his brain squeaked promptly, and he could see Dom and Billy-- ha, curled up naked on the armchair together, and he must've been pretty fucking involved in the table antics this side of the room to have missed that, but apparently Billy'd decided to put the het thing behind him after all.

Much like Elijah, he remembered, grinning, as he saw Dom watching Elijah arching against Orlando's cock with the same earnest, glazed hunger from earlier, except more subdued. Billy was asleep, Orlando realised, and Dom all quiet and sprawled in his lap. Billy's arm was across Dom's stomach, and Dom was playing with his fingers, gaze intent on Elijah.

As white light started to dazzle round the smoky edge of Orlando's vision, he had a moment's hoping that Dom hadn't used Billy, hadn't used him because the guy he was really after wasn't available - and then smashed back into his body because it was suddenly fiercely imperative to make sure that he wasn't guilty of similar himself.

Elijah's skin was soap-soft and wet in his hands, and he was twisting down on Orlando's cock in staggered synchronicity with Viggo's thrusts, and Orlando stared down at him, the intensity building arc after arc-- and Elijah was crooning and gasping, and beautiful like nothing else, and Orlando fell a little in predictable love.

Not using him - not like that, at least.

Viggo's hands slid up Orlando's chest, then down his arms. "Finish him off," he whispered, voice frayed like warm ermine, and Orlando shivered through the rising heat of it all and wrapped a hand round Elijah's cock, watching his face.

Elijah went taut and frantic beneath him, and Orlando slowed right down, jarring with Viggo for a moment before everything evolved into a deep, deliberate glide. "C'mere," Orlando murmured, and it still sounded damn good, even if it wasn't entirely appropriate; "c'mon," he added, then had the feeling that he could tell Elijah to turn off his mobile and Elijah'd just nod blindly and keep on writhing like he was lying in itching powder and loving every second.

Orlando jerked him off fast, double time to the pace drawn by his hips, and Elijah's fists bounced against the tabletop, his head turning from side to side.

"That's right," Orlando said, coaxing, fighting the heat in his stomach curling harshly at the sight, and then Viggo was, hey - no, no way - pulling out, stepping right away from him, and Orlando said, "hey, what on earth," because he needed needed needed him, and then Elijah was whimpering and screwing up his face and coming, and Orlando found he had a musky hobbit with post-coital responses to fuck.

Well, if you insist. He pushed in hard, once, three times, eight, grinning as Elijah aftershook, but for all it was easier to control, it wasn't the same without Viggo, without those hands on his chest and that cock keeping him in time. Oi, ranger, get back here.

"Jesus christ," Elijah drawled breathlessly, rolling his hips lazily against Orlando's pelvis, his leg slipping down from Orlando's shoulder to loll off the table, the new angle making Orlando gasp. Viggo moved round the side of the table, his hand sweeping deliberately against Orlando's chest, pushing him upright, stilling him.

"I'm thinking we might want to lie him down on one of those couches," Viggo said softly, when Orlando looked at him in confusion. "He looks pretty tired."

Uh. "I'm not tired," Orlando said quickly, feeling suddenly like a child who'd been told to save the rest of the chocolate bar for the morning, and then Viggo grinned.

"Good," he said. "Me neither."

Ohh. "Maybe Elijah needs to lie down," Orlando said brightly, grinding once more deep inside him before carefully withdrawing, and Elijah mumbled something obscene and drew his feet up onto the table.

"I think he might," Viggo agreed, smirking at him. He ducked down to lick at Elijah's stomach, both hands flat on the table, his back a long strong taper of muscle towards hip. "Elijah," Viggo said, licking slowly up his chest, and Orlando realised what he was doing with a sort of shivery sigh, because Viggo was blatantly the porniest man he'd ever met. Orlando felt pretty fucking blessed right now.

"Mm?" Elijah said.

Orlando walked round the other side of the table, his whole body ringing warm and impatient, and dropped to meet Viggo's mouth over Elijah's collarbones. Viggo's tongue had that deliciously unmistakable musk to it, and Orlando found he was making little noises in his throat as they kissed, urgent and eager.

"We're just," Viggo muttered, eventually, "going to help you lie down, okay?"

"Can't move," Elijah said firmly.

Viggo grinned at Orlando. "That's why we're going to help you."

Elijah stretched his hands above his head, stretched hard, his back curving up in an arch that looked almost painful, and then he slumped back against the table, eyes closed. "Wanna sleep."

Viggo put his mouth close to Elijah's ear. "And I want the table," he said, voice the right side of menace but only just, and Orlando thought, whoa, me, that's why he wants the table, and concentrated on helping Elijah to sit up.

"Ow," Elijah said, clearly, when he was perched on the edge of the table, Viggo's hand between his shoulderblades. "christ."

Viggo grinned at Orlando again, over Elijah's head, and Orlando thought, with a crisp sleek heat, yeah. He'd done that.

Then everything was movement; "Fine," Viggo was saying, ducking and sliding a hand beneath Elijah's knees, lifting him up in the cradle of his arms and padding past the armchair to the dustsheet-swathed couches.

Dom's eyes glittered, and he raised his eyebrows at Orlando, a little grin playing at his mouth.

Orlando raised his own eyebrows, and glanced pointedly back at Billy. He wasn't the only naked guy in this room, thankyouverymuch.

Dom's grin widened, and leaned back luxuriously, tilting his head to nuzzle deliberately against Billy's sleep-quiet cheek. Cute, Orlando thought irreverently-- but it was, and that unknotted something in his chest. Dom definitely didn't look like he'd filed Billy away under Substitute.

Orlando laughed softly, something like relief, and then Dom was slithering out of Billy's lap and sidling over to him, touching Orlando's shoulder with a little witchy grin. "Look at you," Dom said.

Orlando's eyebrows went back up. "Me?"

"You look drugged," Dom said, resting his knuckles against Orlando's cheek, lazily thumbing his lower lip. "Christ, Orli."

Orlando licked the tip of Dom's thumb, then took it between his teeth and held it, sucking lightly. Dom shifted his shoulders, a visual shiver, watching Orlando's mouth.

"Like I said," he said. "You're on fire."

He drew his hand back, delighted pain flicking across his face when Orlando bit hard before releasing him, and slipped his palm down to Orlando's waist instead. "You're the drugged one," Orlando said. "Your eyes are huge." Smoky, even. Huge and smoky and so very dark. Fucked-Cleopatra eyes set in a foxy little ruffian-face.

"I just got what I've wanted for weeks," Dom said, and Orlando found himself curving closer when Dom tugged lightly on his waist. "You-- not quite there, hmm?"

Orlando's cock brushed Dom's hip, and he jerked in a small breath. All that heat was still banked away heavily, just waiting to flare, just take even the smallest breeze. "Not quite," he found himself admitting, voice tattered-paper in his throat. "Not--"

Dom tilted his hips, like a provocative woman but not, and the movement against the crown of Orlando's cock made him step forwards; Dom caught him easily, hands wending swiftly up his back. Dom wasn't hard, but the heat of his body hadn't diminished since the last time Orlando touched him, since Dom kissed him with teeth and wildfire.

"Not," Orlando whispered, the only word left floating in his mind as Dom's mouth tracked slow snowflake kisses down his neck. He started shivering, that banked heat spraying sparks in all directions beneath his skin. The kisses glided into a slow, decisive bite at his shoulder, and he exhaled hard, clutching helplessly at Dom's smooth dry back and rubbing his cock against his stomach, sparks rushing deeply molten.

"Not," Dom agreed mildly, sucking slowly at the bite, then laughing softly when Orlando squirmed. "Jesus, boy."

"No more a boy than you," Orlando managed, and Dom curved that smile at him like Orlando knew nothing, nothing, and then tilted his head, pulling Orlando into the last fraction of space between them.

"You think," he said, one hand slinking further up Orlando's spine to cup the back of his head, guide their mouths together, and then Orlando was kissing him helplessly and thinking that Dom's mouth was a vicious and spicy place to be even between orgasms, and then, finally, that the quiet edge to his tongue could be salt from Billy's skin.

He started rolling his hips gently, sucking on Dom's tongue and reeling with the slices of sparks. Dom grinned against his mouth, hands smoothing down to his ass instead, kneading leisurely, fingertips creeping dangerously close to the entrance to his body.

"You're so fuckin' tempting," he told Orlando, kissing him until Orlando's head swam, until he was about ready to cover Dom's fingers with his own hands in effort to hurry them along, and then there was other warm pressure and Dom was being eased firmly away from him, and Orlando opened his eyes.

"Go pour Elijah some of that wine, hmm?" Viggo said, standing between them, and Dom wiped his mouth slowly. Viggo grinned, a jolt of deliberate shameless arrogance that Orlando couldn't help but imagine against his cock. Orlando realised distantly that he was panting, tried to take a calming breath, failed. There simply wasn't enough oxygen per lungful right now. "There's a good boy."

Dom opened his mouth indignantly, then closed it again. "Fuck off," he said, eventually, then laughed at his own hand. "Bastard."

"Territorial, too," Viggo murmured, and Dom straightened, raising an eyebrow, glancing briefly at Elijah. Viggo nodded quickly, and suddenly it was like Orlando was locked out a circle, like Orlando didn't have a clue what the actual agenda was. "He's thirsty," Viggo said.

Dom's mouth curved, and he kissed Viggo quickly on the cheek. "Thanks," he said, and idled off purposely towards Elijah.

"What the hell," was that about, Orlando said, breaking off when Viggo turned against him and met the words with his mouth, when Viggo's fingers bit into his arms and held him absolutely in place, when Viggo's thigh pushed between his legs like some sort of demand.

That's cool. He was great with acquiescence. He could even make appreciative nuzzling noises. See?

Although, he thought, a moment later, trying to get his arms free of Viggo's hands so he could palm the muscle of Viggo's back without bending any bones, the sighing acquiescing thing comes easier when you're not being kissed thoroughly enough that you kept forgetting to breathe. Didn't help that Viggo tasted of Elijah; didn't help that Viggo's cock against his stomach brought a whole new urgency to the situation.

"How's Elijah?" he asked, and Viggo bit his lower lip sharply, then kissed down his throat. "Ah," Orlando gasped, when Viggo's mouth found the dull ache that Dom's teeth had left lying over his shoulder, and Viggo's hands slid down to his ass, pulled him in close.

"Elijah's going to doze for a while," Viggo said, looking up, finding his mouth again. "You wore him out."

"We," Orlando corrected, but the kissing was starting again, and he couldn't find the rest of the words he'd wanted. Something about them being an ace team; he couldn't remember, and was losing the will to care.

"Mm-hm." One of Viggo's hands crept to the small of Orlando's back, the other stroking lower, apparently inspired by whatever had caught Dom's attention and thoroughly more confident of what it'd find.

Orlando shifted restlessly, arching and shivering, and there was something curious and special about having left Elijah to sleep, something more precious than if Viggo had just fucked him until they came with Elijah pinned beneath them against the table.

Not that that wouldn't have been hot, he amended, a moment later, but still; this was different, and they were alone, and Viggo was more... something, now, was more-- he was more vigorous, Orlando thought suddenly, and had to bite back laughter, and then Viggo slid two fingers into him from behind and laughter lurched into a groan.

"dear god," he muttered, pressing down, letting Viggo feel the tremors as they flowed those sparks right through his veins.

He almost expected Viggo to laugh, to say something about how he wasn't a deity, just almost one - but then no, actually, because that was more Dom's style, and Viggo clearly had a style all of his own.

Orlando decided, possibly inevitably, that he liked Viggo's style. Couldn't argue with style like this, after all; not style that led to this sort of kissing, his cock riding against Viggo's stomach, so easy to slide it hard and harder and-- and then Viggo was walking him backwards, and Orlando almost fell over, and then the fingers pushed harder inside him and he almost fell over again.

Jesus, he thought, and how the hell big was this room, anyway-- and then his shoulders bumped against the wall, and Viggo was crushing him against it, hand slipping away from Orlando's ass with an ease that Orlando seriously resented, chest warm and damp and moving hard.

Viggo, Orlando realised faintly, scrunching his fists in Viggo's hair to kiss him deeper, was panting. He barely had time to enjoy the satisfaction of that before the thoughts were dissolving, and he was just wildcat and critically aroused, pushing hard against Viggo and not gaining an inch of ground, utterly pinned to the wall.

He moaned, a whole universe of frustration sloshing through him, wave after shimmering wave-- and then he was twisting a leg up over Viggo's firm, damp hip, and it was slippery and over-warm against his inner thigh, but Viggo made a low noise of approval in his throat and his hand slid to the lifted curve of Orlando's ass, and Orlando thought, oh, we're so very much going to have to do it like this now.

"C'mon, yes," he muttered, bouncing on the balls of his other foot, winding up trying to fuckin' hoist himself up, and then Viggo's hands were both there, lifting, and his other foot was abruptly bouncing against a disconcerting void, and then his legs were wrapped around Viggo's waist and all was almost right with the world.

Viggo stopped kissing him, and Orlando opened his eyes; Viggo, he thought stupidly, like in one of those children's books. See Ben run. See Beth play tag. See Viggo-- see Viggo watch Orlando like Orlando is melting ice-cream that badly needs to be dealt with, Orlando thought.

He swallowed. That was far too many syllables for kids to understand. He could feel threads of trembling in Viggo's arms, realised what an acute angle he was being held at. He wanted to rock, to shift, to fuck. He didn't dare move.

"Look at you," Viggo said softly, voice shot through with strain, and Orlando thought, what's with all the people saying that today? and said,

"umm."

Viggo smiled faintly, then shook his head, and the smile evolved into almost-laughter. "God," he said, and then heat roved into his eyes, and his grin went practically leonine. "Fucking you against a wall, huh," he said. "What would your fans say?"

"Graham'd approve," Orlando said, amazed that his mind could find any sort of retort beyond one syllable right now, and then he couldn't help it, had to pulse his hips, feel the slide of his cock against Viggo's stomach bounce through him in hot little waves.

"Hold-- hold still, a second," Viggo said sharply, and Orlando opened his mouth to protest. "You'll thank me," Viggo added, and that terrifying self-assurance, yes, that was what Orlando was talking about. That one there.

"You think," he couldn't resist saying, and Viggo's eyes flashed amused arrogance. "You don't kno--" Orlando continued, and then he was choking on the word because Viggo had lifted him, just lifted him, hands decisive, muscles trembling, lifted until he was poised against the head of Viggo's cock, and then held him there, one eyebrow coolly raised. "God, god, please," Orlando panted, and the other eyebrow went up.

"I don't... know, was that?" Viggo drawled, and Orlando gritted his teeth and clenched every muscle he had and jesus, Viggo's dick, right there, right there, brushing and wet and this had all gone on too fucking long for playing games--

"Jesus," he growled loudly, head aching from pressing into the wall so hard, and Viggo-- watched him, eyes steady, as he slowlyslowly lowered him until his cock pushed back inside. "Fuck," Orlando whispered, tightening his legs round Viggo's waist, the silken slide of it turning his voice to dust. "Aw, christ."

Viggo made a low noise in his throat, his eyes falling closed, and his arms braced around Orlando's waist, pulling him down, until Orlando could feel that first slow stroke right down to his toes.

"christ," he repeated softly, as Viggo's hands tightened on his waist, and this was just, god, exactly right, and sex this good would always be amazing, and the sizzle-slide joy that it was this particular man just made the heat of it crashing over him a few iotas more intense.

"Couldn't agree more," Viggo murmured, and then he was shifting, lifting again before dragging him hard back down, and Orlando yelped and clung and felt the wildcat spring in his blood again, and jesus, time to start wondering if he'd live through the night.

Not that he'd have an actual chance to wonder, spiked through his head, as Viggo kissed his collarbones and muttered random words and fucked him like he'd possibly never been fucked before. He was - god, he was definitely overheating. The wall was cold at his back, but that was more confusing than anything else - something exists that isn't Viggo? his mind fluted, a desperate snatch at cynicism in the middle of a luststorm - and then the heat was crazing upwards, and it just, he, they, this-- and then he was rushing at the edge and tumbling over, and reality splintered for a few endless sparkly seconds shot through with Viggo's voice twisted into a groan.

He gasped a little more, and then Viggo was gathering him closer and crushing him into the wall, shoving his hips hard, fast, fast, almost inelegant-- before Orlando felt him reel, and then they were shuddering together, and the wall became more about general support than something to brace himself against.

"Christ," he breathed, his legs slipping down from Viggo's hips, and there was an unpleasant unstable moment of disengaging before Viggo leaned into him, still panting, and the world finally swung to a halt.

He eased his arms out of their death-grip around Viggo's neck, shifted to get some feeling back in his feet. His skeleton hadn't quite woken up, he thought faintly, smiling and tipping his forehead to rest on Viggo's shoulder. They were pretty messy, he realised.

"A wall," he said. His voice was incredulous by almost the same degree that his brain was delighted. A wall! A wall.

Viggo turned his face against Orlando's neck, pressed soft kisses there, one after the other. Orlando shivered. "Thought you'd appreciate it," Viggo said. "acrobat."

"The decorator won't," Orlando said, and Viggo huffed a tiny laugh.

"It'll set our international reputations on fire."

"It'd better not," Orlando squeaked, and Viggo stroked a circle on his back, firm and lazily deliberate enough that Orlando found himself purring. "We should sit down," he managed, after a few seconds, and Viggo paused, let go of him.

Orlando wondered if he'd said the wrong thing, then quashed himself. He couldn't be so paranoid that he'd think Viggo only wanted to touch him when vertical, could he. No. Right.

"I'm just not sure I can walk that far," he heard himself saying, meeting Viggo's eyes, making his voice light.

Viggo smirked at him. "Oh yeah?"

Orlando peered over Viggo's shoulder. The sofas honestly did look a long way away; there were two tufted hobbit heads poking up over the back of the nearest one, and he couldn't even decide whose they were. Billy and Lij, he thought, eventually. Dom must be - somewhere else, ha.

He was so sharp.

"Yeah," he said, and tried for puppydog eyes, then found himself giggling. The dull exertion-ache was pierced a couple of times by genuine jabs of pain, and he wound up nudging closer to Viggo, pouting a little. He felt simply deliciously used. "Carry me?"

Viggo didn't look altogether impressed. "What sort of caveman do you think I am?"

The image of Viggo wrapped in furs - eh, didn't really do it for him. Naked worked better. Or denim - Orlando had a feeling he might develop a mild obsession with those jeans, if Viggo let him. Regardless. "You saying I'm heavy?"

Straight-faced, Viggo nodded.

"Oi," Orlando protested, squaring his shoulders, "You - earlier, though," and Viggo's smile slid evil again.

"Caught up in the moment?" He made a show of rubbing one arm. "Won't be doing that again for a while."

Orlando gasped indignantly. "I'm an elf!"

"Not quite as light as Legolas, sweetheart, for all you're a skinny little thing," Viggo said, and Orlando, at a loss, tossed his head at him. If he'd had elf-hair, he thought sullenly, Viggo might not have burst out laughing, but hey.

"If I was light as Legolas," he drawled, trying to fight through Viggo's laughter and ignore it all at the same time, "you wouldn't have had all that friction."

Viggo went quiet, and Orlando could almost see the flashback flickering through his eyes. "That's true."

"Gravity is your friend," Orlando prompted, because for all it was nice to know Viggo glazed over at thinking about fucking him, he'd quite like some regular attention right now, and Viggo caught his hand.

"It is," he said, and kissed his knuckles. "So are you." Very much back in the present.

Orlando's mouth went dry-- dryer, actually, he realised, with an unpleasant shiver, and he twisted his hand in Viggo's, led him urgently over to the sofas. Strength in thirst, oh yes. Gah. Parched. "Wine?" His voice was too suddenly-tattered for more words than that.

Elijah was sprawled in one corner of the couch, sloe-eyed. Billy was slumped next to him - not directly; maybe, like, a cushion apart - and Dom was lying across them both, head resting in Elijah's lap, Billy's hand on his thigh. Elijah was putting his fingers in the mug Orlando had brought to house the dozen or so paper cups the wine was actually supposed to go in, then dipping them into Dom's mouth. Billy had his eyes closed, but his fingers were roving hypnotically against Dom's thigh. Elijah, Orlando decided, was fascinated with Dom's mouth, and didn't even seem to get bitten that often.

"Wine," he whispered, hopefully.

Billy opened one eye. "On the floor, you lazy git," he called, and Orlando smiled his thanks and looked around and yes, sure enough, two paper cups full of deep-indigo gloss. He snatched one up, sucked in a strong, tart mouthful, then swallowed hard. God, so good.

"Here," he said, passed it to Viggo, and ducked to pick up the other one. He saw Billy smirk at their interlaced fingers, and ignored him. So what if he had to pick cups up seperately. He was gonna enjoy touching Viggo just as long as he was allowed.

"Sit down," Dom said, and Viggo released his hand.

Damn, Orlando thought.

"Okay," Viggo said. He whipped the dustsheet off the second couch, flapping it a few times, then folded it lengthways and laid it out on its couch cushions. "Just thinking of your decorator," he told Orlando, sitting down, then stretching back along the length of it.

Orlando sipped his wine, then topped up his cup. Where the hell was he supposed to sit? The others looked pretty happy, all squadged up, but Viggo - it'd be pretty awful if things went uncomfortable now. "Wine, people?" he said hopefully, and Elijah shook his head.

"I'm alright," Dom said, grinning at him, then tilting his head up and kissing Elijah's thigh. Orlando swallowed, took a step towards Billy, then almost stumbled when Viggo's leg hooked round his shins, tugging him backwards.

"I need a top-up," Viggo said.

Orlando twisted round, then felt a litle fizzle of relief when Viggo's leg slid higher up the back of his thighs. Being steered to Viggo Mortensen's naked reclining body, he thought. Life was pretty good.

He sat down gingerly, those little jab-aches making him wonder how Elijah was doing this fine evening, and then Viggo was gathering him close, arms drawing Orlando's back warmly against his chest, and their thighs felt good together, and the dustsheet was crisp and cool.

This is... nice, Orlando thought, resting his head on Viggo's shoulder. Nice. Lying around with four exhausted naked men, on dustsheets, in a big room. Huh. He started wondering if the seperation, the sofa-relegation, was a mark of something else, and then Elijah was chirping, "So was that fourteen?"

"Yes," Dom said, deadpan, "we've got seven more turns to go--"

Orlando felt Viggo laugh, kind of shaky, and shifted comfortably against him. "For fifteen," he said, sipping his wine, wet noise of him swallowing surreally close to Orlando's ear, "we'll do something calm, I think. Unless you kids insist on tumbling around some more."

"Fifteen was going to be a two-on-one ticklefest, so don't you even pretend to be the calming influence, Mr. Mortensen," Billy retorted, smirking, and Dom barked soft laughter.

"I'm pretty glad Mr. Mortensen gatecrashed our procedings," he said, winking at Viggo, and Orlando shifted blissfully.

"Me too," he said.

"For fifteen," Viggo repeated, and then Elijah was chirping,

"me too," and the room was all rumbly with satisfied male laughter again.

"Wow, we never guessed," Dom said, and Elijah covered his mouth deliberately with one palm.

"--For fifteen?" Viggo said, again, then waited until the three hobbits on the other sofa looked over expectantly, "We're going to sit and enjoy this nice legal drop of alcohol, I think."

"Huh. Two new experiences in one night," Elijah said.

Orlando smiled, then paused, swinging round to look at Elijah incredulously. Did he just-- no, 'cause Elijah was smirking now, putting his fingers back in the wine, all too innocent. "Fuck off," he grinned, and Elijah blew him a kiss.

"Thought you preferred innocent little things," he retorted, and Orlando thought of Viggo, and, no - experience does it for me, actually - and then he wondered if Elijah was trying to get him to switch sofas, and ugh, this was getting far too complicated. He needed a lie-down. He was already lying down. He needed--

"Everyone's a little partial to innocence," Viggo said, and Elijah grinned and dabbed his fingertip against Dom's mouth.

-- a bed.

But for now, he thought, smile growing on his mouth again, Viggo would do.

"We could do this another time," Elijah said, and Dom, sucking Elijah's finger, hummed approval.

"We sort of... lost track of you," Billy agreed, "so maybe there should be some sort of regrouping, hmm?"

Elijah stretched happily, one-handed. "That works."

Viggo tightened his arm across Orlando's chest. "We might skip that, yeah?" he whispered, and Orlando blinked.

"Um."

Viggo chuckled. "Okay, put it another way: would you have dinner with me tomorrow night?"

Something went stunned and swirling in Orlando's stomach. "God, yes," he heard himself say, loud enough to make the others look round.

"How 'bout it, huh?" Elijah said, lazy wicked heat in his eyes. He sipped the wine himself. "Like you said. I'm legal now."

Viggo's fingers swerved slowly down Orlando's chest, and Orlando shifted against him. "Sure," Viggo said, and if the quick-glaze in Dom's face was anything to go by, Viggo made Elijah's version of lazy-wicked look amateur. Viggo tipped his mouth against Orlando's throat, kissed him twice. "If I've got you for dinner, I'm all for sporadic group sex," he murmured, and Dom opened his mouth indignantly, then scrambled up and grabbed Billy and kissed him hard on the mouth.

"We're having dinner too," Dom said triumphantly, eventually, letting Billy go and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Billy toppled against Elijah, looked startled, then wound up nuzzling his collarbones. "We're having a big romantic dinner and you're not invited."

Orlando found himself giggling, then felt Viggo's chest vibrate behind him and didn't bother trying to turn it into Manly Laughter (tm).

"Okay," Viggo said, nodding. "You hobbits have dinner, or supper, or third lunch, and I'll kidnap the elf for a feast in Gondor. And we can regroup next Thursday and share notes."

"Thursday's not good for me," Dom said.

Orlando raised his eyebrows.

"Friday?" Dom said quickly, then held up one finger. "Just a moment."

Viggo's finger swept up to Orlando's chin and nudged; Orlando abandoned the uncontrollably sweet image of Dom trying to get a very engrossed Billy and Elijah's attention, and tipped his head back onto Viggo's shoulder, met Viggo's mouth with a small sigh.

This was-- also uncontrollably sweet, he thought faintly, getting incrementally more lost in the restless luxury of Viggo's mouth, a dialogue in two acts of velvet and wine.

"Okay," Dom said loudly, "Friday's good for us," and then, louder still, "a-hem," and Orlando felt Viggo grin against his mouth as he twisted back. Dom looked slightly mollified when Orlando stuck his tongue at him. "Friday," Dom said again.

Friday, Orlando thought. Looked like they had a da-- an arrangement, then. Not exactly what he'd expected, when he'd demanded that they all wind Elijah up good and proper for his birthday, but better than a slap round the face with a wet herring. Better than--

His mind veered away from one answer: anything.

"Works for us," Viggo was saying, then touching his mouth to the back of Orlando's head, "right?"

"Got no other plans," Orlando agreed, watching Billy gaze sleepily at Elijah. Billy looked fucking drunk, now he considered it, those hawky eyes soft and halfmast. Orlando would be following him, he thought vaguely, if he drank too much more of this on an empty stomach. They had a couple more bottles. That might not be an altogether bad thing.

He saw Billy blink when Elijah looked over at him; Elijah smiled slowly, then Dom burst out laughing and mimed a swoon. The attention Billy and Elijah turned on Dom was, Orlando thought faintly, pretty damn intense. In Dom's shoes, he wasn't sure what he'd do. His own feeling for Elijah, overwhelming and deep and ephemeral, seemed playful and harmless compared with the electricity over there.

"So are you available for me, Thursday?" Viggo asked, and Orlando slammed back over here, over where ephemera couldn't be further from his mind.

"Thursday," he said, swallowing, reaching back for his wine. "Yeah. I should think I'll be free."


<streeetch> wow, that was long. Thanks to buffett and Dale for an exceptional mix of patience and advice and squee, and to LC and Meghan for similar coolnesses. eee.


What exactly was going on in that chair? Subversion
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