capt_daisyshine

Thu, 05 Jan 2006 05:49:24 GMT

Title: A Genuinely Impressive Collection
Author: Captain Daisyshine Blackbeard
Pairing: RL/SB
Rating: NC-17
Series: One Sick Puppy (1/?)
Summary: Sirius has secrets. Lacy, satiny secrets. Remus has no idea what he's getting into. Into what he's getting. You know.
Disclaimer: Not mine, very sorry, &c.
Feedback: will get you sat upon, kissed, and fed chocolate.
Notes: I’ve written it in my journal for embodiment, so it’s all in my handwriting (again). Cross-posted to ilovedaisyw and remusxsirius. First in a series- One Sick Puppy shall be an exploration of kinks, fetishes, &c. Suggestions for what I should write next can be directed to haveyouseenbean@yahoo.com or my LJ.
Dedication: pr0n for: basiliskfairy, from a devoted wife, and melandry, from a hopeful suitor.

What are you planning on asking me to do?

Wed, 04 Jan 2006 04:59:41 GMT

Title: Heaven in a Wild Flower
Author: Captain Daisyshine Blackbeard
Pairing: RL/SB
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Day 3 blanketforts prompt.
Disclaimer: The puppies don't belong to me.
Warnings: sweeter than Remus's favourite chocolate.
Feedback: makes me hot.
Notes: Marauders era. I’ve written it in my journal for embodiment, so it’s all in my handwriting (again). (Incidentally, my new RxS fanart can be found in this</s>post.) Couldn't resist the William Blake quote. Cross-posted to blanketforts, remusxsirius, and ilovedaisyw. Whew.
Dedication: melandry! Ha! Whatcha gonna do 'bout it?

Tue, 03 Jan 2006 02:51:53 GMT

Title: A Darkness More Revealing Than Light
Author: Captain Daisyshine Blackbeard
Pairing: RL/SB
Rating: R
Summary: Day 2 blanketforts prompt.
Disclaimer: The puppies don't belong to me.
Notes: Post-Hogwarts, pre-Azkaban. I’ve written it in my journal for embodiment, so it’s all in my handwriting (again). Decided to write one of my own. Looking forward to this! Cross-posted to blanketforts, ilovedaisyw, and remusxsirius. Whew.
Dedication: melandry, because she was so adorable about the last one I dedicated to her.

Happy 2006.

Mon, 02 Jan 2006 05:14:03 GMT

Title: New Year’s Special
Author: Captain Daisyshine Blackbeard
Pairing: RL/SB
Rating: NC-17
Summary: The best cure for a hangover...
Warnings: Boysex, pyjama-bottom soiling.
Disclaimer: I’m only having a bit of fun...
Notes: Post-Hogwarts, pre-Azkaban. I’ve written it in my journal for embodiment, so it’s all in my handwriting. If you check out this post, I’ve got some moderately okay R/S fanart up. For the blanketforts New Year's Day Challenge. Cross-posted to blanketforts, ilovedaisyw, and remusxsirius. Whew.
Dedication: txilar, melandry, & basiliskfairy for being awesome. And, you know, puppy-shipping in general.

Wed, 09 Nov 2005 02:59:32 GMT

Title: Brothers on a Hotel Bed
Author: Captain Daisyshine
Pairing: Dave/Bean
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Dave is ready to throw in the towel. As any good hitchhiker will tell you, this is not the most prudent of ideas.
Warnings: Angsty!Daisy, Angsty!Bean, followed by fluff and mansex.
Disclaimer: These men belong to themselves, not me. And a damn shame it is, too.
Archive: Green Opals is welcome to it; everyone else, just drop me a line to let me know where it’s going.
Notes: The title song is “Brothers on a Hotel Bed” by Death Cab for Cutie. Excellent song, really, though I’ve rather twisted its meaning. I haven’t written any fic in ages; hope I’m not too rusty. Written in two hours while listening to “A Case of You” by Tori Amos on repeat. No beta; thus, all mistakes are my own. Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. Cross-posted to ilovedaisyw.
Dedication: The nice folks at Mirrormere and Green Opals, for renewing my desire to write slash. Razzleberry, moblo, my dirty sidekick, Anne Alice, and the rest of the usual crowd. It’s good to be back.

You may tire of me as our December sun is setting because I'm not who I used to be
No longer easy on the eyes but these wrinkles masterfully disguise
The youthful boy below who turned your way and saw
Something he was not looking for both a beginning and an end
But now he lives inside someone he does not recognize
When he catches his reflection on accident
On the back of a motor bike
With your arms outstretched trying to take flight
Leaving everything behind
But even at our swiftest speed we couldn't break from the concrete
In the city where we still reside.
And I have learned that even landlocked lovers yearn for the sea, like navy men
Cause now we say goodnight from our own separate sides
Like brothers on a hotel bed
Like brothers on a hotel bed
Like brothers on a hotel bed
Like brothers on a hotel bed

Dave sits on the edge of the bed, musing abstractedly. His thoughts have no clear central concept; rather, words and images flash through his mind as though some inner film projector is playing on fast-forward. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t just get up and leave, since Sean has made it so unmitigatedly apparent that he is no longer needed here.

He combs his fingers through spiky reddish hair as if he might find the answers he is seeking hidden within strands of his own dead cells. What in the world has happened between them? Dave cannot put his finger on the moment when he first realized that the (tastefully high thread-count) fabric of their relationship had begun to unravel. Perhaps there was no one moment. Perhaps it has grown older and begun to fray from simple age... Simple age.

Eureka, eh?

For Dave is always noticing new wrinkles, more of the lines around his mouth and eyes. And Sean has certainly seen them, too, in these last months. The novelty has worn off, maybe? Did Sean really only love the newness of it all? Dave’s boyish charm–his first male lover, incidentally. And now they are settling into easiness, into a rut, it seems, and Dave certainly isn’t getting any younger.

How can he have been so foolish? To give his heart on the first date, the first kiss, the first fuck. Admittedly, they had all been distinctly above-par. But sod it all, what does any of it mean? He is surely but a transition for Sean, a bridge from determinedly macho man’s man to gloriously queer.

Dave stands.

He is already wearing his trousers; he pulls on his shirt and, carrying socks and shoes, walks as silently as he can out of the bedroom, out of the house, out of Sean’s life.

*****

“Sean?”

The blond glances up, unsurprised to discover that it is Viggo who has disrupted his concentration. What subject he was so seriously pondering he could not have said, but one might surmise, from recent events, that it has something to do with his apparently former lover, Dave Wenham.

“Vig.”

“Sean, I’ve been wondering... Just what happened with you and David?”

Sean starts a little at this. How did Viggo...? Well, because he’s Viggo, of course. “Ah...” Sean scratches the back of his head absently. “I’m not entirely sure. I mean, we’d gotten a bit complacent lately, and maybe I wasn’t as affectionate as I should have been. Nothing too terrible, I hope. But I woke up yesterday morning, and he was gone.” Sean takes a long drag on his cigarette and frowns. “I miss him.”

Viggo chews his lower lip thoughtfully, taking everything in.

He has an idea.

*****

Daisy-

The Marriott Hotel, 7.30 this evening, room 1412.

Signed,

A Friend

Dave reads over the note again. It looks suspiciously like Viggo’s handwriting. What does Viggo want with him?... Maybe it’s something to do with Sean– that’s probably it. Well, he’s not going to go and humiliate himself, having The Talk and all that nonsense. It’s better off this way.

It’s ten to eight, and Dave is thirsty. He goes to the fridge for a beer, then sits down on the couch to watch an old black-and-white on the television.

A little over half an hour later, he hears a knock at his front door. With a sigh, he goes to answer it.

“Viggo. Wasn’t, ah, expecting to see you tonight.”

“I thought I might find you here,” Viggo replies, thought it is not a true reply to Dave’s statement. “Come on, get in the car. We’re already late; Sean’s been at the hotel for nearly an hour.”

A pout begins to spread itself over the Australian’s face, and he sets his feet. “I don’t need to see him. It’s over; that’s fine.”

Viggo shakes his head. “I think you might want to hear what he has to say.” Dave looks skeptical. “Seriously. Would I put you into a situation that was only going to cause you pain?” Dave shakes his head ‘no’; his pout/frown softens, and Viggo takes him by the arm. “Let’s go, then.” Dave follows, docile and meek. Viggo’s cool logic and raspy voice could move mountains.

*****

Room 1412 is a decent ride up in the lift. Dave has a bit of time to collect his thoughts in the interim between being dropped at the hotel by Viggo and reaching the door of the room. When he gets there, he steels himself. He has no idea what sort of Sean lies beyond the door– will they reconcile and fall back into old patterns, or will Sean end things once and for all...? And he has no idea what he himself wants, so that’s no help.

As he is thinking these thoughts, he knocks tentatively. An interval of mere seconds, and the door is open; Sean is ushering him inside.

The door closes; they stand awkwardly, sizing each other up, almost. Dave breaks the silence. “Um,” he says. “So... yeah.” He laughs nervously. “Sorry, I’m not really winning any points on the articulation front. What I’m trying to say is– well, ask, really– what are we doing here?”

Sean looks unhappy, and Dave immediately regrets the question.

“David,” he says, shyly. “Would you, ah, lie on the bed with me, and talk?” Sean is blushing. How could the answer be anything but ‘yes’? In wordless response, Dave lies down on one side of the bed. Sean takes the other, leaving a considerable gap between them.

They are quiet for several minutes, each lost in his own thoughts. Finally, Sean begins. “Listen, Dais–“ he catches himself, “David, I don’t know what’s gone wrong between us, but I’m willing to try to fix it. That is, if that’s what you want.”

Dave chooses his words carefully. “We– I– You–. Look, you hardly touched me anymore. I understand that I was the first man you’d been with, and it only makes sense if you’d grown bored. Maybe wanted to sample other flavors. I completely understand.”

Sean sighs. He can’t deny to himself that he’s wondered from time to time if maybe he should try on a few other men for size before devoting himself to Daisy. But he’s never seriously considered it. “What first drew you to me?” he asks suddenly. “I mean, you had to have known I was straight, or thought I was.”

Dave’s surprise is evident, but he considers it. “I suppose... You were so astoundingly beautiful, lionlike almost. I’d seen your films; I always thought you were good, and good-looking, too. And I was intrigued... I mean, we’re playing brothers. I wondered about the man who would be Boromir to my Faramir.”

“Do you know what drew me to you?” Sean asks. Dave shakes his head. “That devious grin... You looked so young and, well, evil when you were plotting something. And the brother thing. I felt close to you immediately. And you were beautiful. I’d never thought of another man as ‘beautiful’ before I met you.”

Dave scoffs at the notion. “I’m not beautiful,” he asserts.

Sean frowns, but not in anger. “How can you think that? Your eyes, your hair, your lips– my God, your lips– David, your whole being.”

For some reason, Dave is struck by the urge to curl into himself and cry. This he does, and Sean closes the gap between them, wrapping the younger man in his arms. “David,” he says urgently, “Let me show you how beautiful you are.” Dave answers with a soft moan as Sean presses against his back.

Sean rolls the redhead so that he is flat on his back and begins to remove his clothing methodically, lips tongue and teeth following to tease the patches of skin as his hands bare them. Dave’s soft cries spur him on further, faster. There is a brief interlude so that Sean can stand and remove his own clothes, but he returns immediately to his lover’s side.

They are pressed against one another on the hotel bed, desperately sweet. “Mmm,” Sean’s mouth on Dave’s chest, “you have the loveliest nipples, little brother.” Dave’s eyes widen. The Brit takes one hard round nub into his mouth and sucks on it, sending a dart of arousal straight to the younger man’s cock. Dave arches upward into the hot wet touch.

“And your hips,” Sean continues, “God, you have the sexiest hips.” He worries a small patch of flesh just inside Dave’s right hipbone, bruising it slightly, marking his lover. Dave moans. As Sean and his talented mouth head further south, Dave extends a grasping hand.

“Stop, please.” Sean complies, allowing himself to be pulled up the bed so that their mouths are even. They crash together, each fighting for control of the kiss. Tongues duel, sliding together. When they draw back, gasping for air, Sean leans in to whisper next to Dave’s ear. “I love you, Daisy,” he breathes. “Brother.”

Dave’s breath is coming in pants as he shifts and twists and maneuvers so that his head is level with Sean’s cock and his own erection is pointed at his lover’s face. Sean has still not entirely adjusted to this change in position when the head of his member is taken into the warm cavern of Dave’s mouth.

He lets loose a breathless scream.

“Oh, Jesus,” he groans. He can feel his lover smile around his aching cock, and he leans forward to take Dave into his mouth. Dave’s moan at this vibrates through Sean’s entire body, and thus begins a cycle of suck, moan, suck, lick, moan, suck.

Sean shudders at the obscene wet noises made by their mouths and cocks, and he touches Dave’s hair to let him know he’s close. Dave grabs his lover’s hand and entwines their fingers, and it is enough, and Sean is coming, and his throat is contracting around the head of Dave’s cock, and then Dave is coming, too as they scream their pleasure together, moaning around one another’s cocks.

Then it is over, and they collapse bonelessly onto the bed. Some shifting, and they are holding tightly together, showering sweet, almost chaste kisses over one another’s faces.

“You won’t leave me again, will you, Daisy?” Sean asks, trying not to let the concern creep into his voice.

“No, brother,” Dave replies, with a devious smile.

Tue, 12 Jul 2005 21:29:54 GMT

Title: As Simple as That
Author: Captain Daisyshine (haveyouseenbean@yahoo.com)
Pairing: VigOrli
Rating: NC-17
Series: Dunno yet.
Summary: Misunderstanding, sigh. Orli loves Viggo and very much wants to sleep with him, so, unsure of Viggo’s reaction, he instead sleeps with everyone else. Because that makes sense. Can they make things right?
Warnings: Round up the usual suspects: smut, angst, fluff, my pathetic attempts at humor, more smut.
Disclaimer: I disclaim.
Archive: If you want it, come and claim it. Just drop me a line, yeah?
Feedback: makes me do the no-pants dance.
Notes: *Lyrics from “Jack of All Parades” by Elvis Costello. *Unbeta’d; all mistakes are my own. *Jeez, I’d forgotten how rough third-person past-tense is for slash. But my Viggo-voice is as yet untested, and my Orli-voice is too bouncy for this particular fic. Hope it all still works.
Dedication: *matan4il, because she happened to read one of my old stories today and leave me a comment. And also because I miss her and mean to distract her further from her studies. *Razzberry Snugglecakes, as I’ve not had anything to dedicate to her in a long while. *Caitlin: here’s to getting some (non-drunken) ass!

When we first met,
I didn’t know what to do.
My old love lines
Were all worn out on you,
And the world walked round my mouth.
I didn’t mean to say it;
I just blurted it out,
And you pretended not to notice
Or be taken aback,
But I loved you there and then;
It’s as simple as that.
Oh I was everybody’s boy,
But soon that thrill just fades–
To be the love of one true heart
Or the Jack of all parades?

Orlando Bloom was a fucking idiot. Or so he kept telling himself. For one thing, Viggo was nearly twenty years older. For another, the man had been married. He was probably straight, right? So the bedroom-eyed boy from Britain had thrown himself into casual, fun, meaningless sex with fellow members of the cast. First it was Dom. Dom was funny, generous, and fantastic in bed. But then Dom had decided that he wanted something a bit more serious than the fling Orlando was offering and had gone and gotten cosy with Billy. So Orlando had moved on to ’Lijah. Lij had been very enthusiastic at first, but then he had decided that the whole ‘sex-with-men’ thing was just a phase, and he found a nice blond local girl to fool around with. Then came Liv, but she was engaged, and even Orlando, with his oft-MIA conscience, had felt guilty and called it off. A string of short-lived affairs with various and sundry friends had followed, many during the same time frame, but no matter how many people he slept with, none of them was Viggo.

Orlando thought back to his first meeting with the older actor. He’d been utterly overwhelmed. Viggo Mortensen was an incredibly beautiful man, after all, and Orlando hadn’t had any clue of what to say. Every line, every conversation starter, ever bit of trivial information he’d ever known sounded tired and shabby when he thought about using it on Viggo. So he’d politely shaken the large, long-fingered hand and introduced himself, not saying another word.

Several months had gone by since then, but Orlando was hardly any more at ease around the other man. Finding, predictably, that alcohol greatly lowered his inhibitions, the young Brit had purposely invited Viggo along to the bar as many nights as possible. One night, however, an especially inebriated Orli had leaned over and kissed the American full on the mouth and said, “I love you” loudly enough for Viggo’s ears alone, and they both knew he had meant it. Viggo played it off as if he had no idea how true it was, and he laughed and pretended it hadn’t meant anything more than that Orlando was a bit excessively drunk, and soon Orlando learned to treat the incident in the same manner. Lately, though, it wasn’t enough just to be Viggo’s friend, Viggo’s confidante, Viggo’s partner-in-crime. But he kept quiet about his feelings. Orlando Bloom was not about to let himself be that vulnerable to another person.

Why, then, was he going to Viggo’s place for dinner? He could have easily turned down the invitation and given some lame excuse about being overtired, but he didn’t want to turn down the invitation. He liked one-on-one time with Viggo, no matter how much it hurt to know that his affections would never be returned. And so he had put on blue jeans and a burgundy button-down and walked over to Viggo’s. Now, here he was, standing on the front porch, nervous as a cat at the vet’s. He knocked softly on the door.

“Just a minute!” he heard the other man call from within. Then the door opened, and Orlando stepped inside, into Viggo’s warm, friendly embrace. He allowed the American to hold him for longer than usual before drawing away uneasily. He smiled shakily as he was waved further into the house. Upon entering the dining room, Orlando felt his jaw go slightly slack. The lights were dimmed, candles illuminating the table instead. The table itself was covered with a fine red cloth, laden with several exotic-looking dishes, and set for two, wine glasses included. The younger man turned to stare at his host, confusion and warmth warring in his eyes.

“Why?” he asked quietly. Only later would he recall the sadness the question had produced in the older man’s face.

“Just because,” Viggo answered with a shrug, careless manner belying the sharp misery so evident in tightly drawn features and gently sagging shoulders. Then: “Sit, Orli.”

Orli sat, scrupulously obedient if rather tense.

Dinner passed quickly, the initial awkwardness of the two friends giving way to companionable discussion. Before either realised it, nearly two hours had gone by. Glimpsing his watch, Orlando panicked.

“Shit, I had better get going,” he said, a hint of apology in his voice. He rose from the table, picked up his plate, and was about to carry it into the kitchen when Viggo gently laid a hand on his arm.

“Wait–” (voice filled with timidity and tears) “stay, Orlando. Please.” The American looked at his guest with longing and sadness in his eyes. “Don’t go.” The older man raised a hand to the other’s cheek and stroked it lightly with the backs of his fingers. The Brit looked as if he might cry at any moment.

“Why do you want me to stay?” he asked in a breathless whisper, leaning into the tender touch of his friend’s hand and setting his plate down on the table.

Viggo bent his head forward. “Because,” he murmured against the warmth of the younger man’s neck, “I’m sick of watching you throw yourself at everything that moves.” He dropped his voice to a low growl. “I want you for mine.” Orlando shivered and, trembling, wrapped his arms around the other man.

“Why didn’t you say anything? All this time, and I was only trying to forget that I loved you,” Orlando sighed.

“Oh God, I’ve been so stupid,” Viggo said, raising his head to look into Orlando’s eyes as he spoke. “I was so scared... I thought that if I didn’t let myself get involved with you, neither of us would get hurt.” He laughed then, if bitterly and ironically. “I fucked that one up, huh?”

The younger man made a strangled sort of noise halfway between a sob and a barking laugh. “You’re not the only one who fucked things up. Instead of trying to talk to you, I just let myself be everybody’s boy and slept with all of my friends. It’s a quick-fading thrill, and there’s nothing like playing the trollop to leave you feeling cheap and degraded.” He laughed, but it was a harsh, grating sound, and his voice was heavy with tears. The two men looked at one another, not speaking, for several moments. Then, an almost imperceptible shift of Orli’s hips and Viggo moaned, low and throaty, and crushed their lips together, one hand on Orlando’s shoulder and the other twining into the hair at the top of his head.

When they drew apart for air, the Brit whimpered and pushed his lower body forward. “Viggo,” he breathed, “I need–” But here he was cut off by the other man’s lips, which caught his in a bruising, passionate kiss. Orlando allowed himself to be kissed thoroughly, allowed Viggo’s tongue to slip into his mouth and fully explore it, allowed himself to be held and cherished and fawned over, allowed the tears that had welled up in his eyes to fall like so many drops of rain. Thus far, he had been merely submitting to the older man’s wordless requests, but now he began to truly return the kiss and with such fervour that Viggo groaned his approval.

“Bed?” Orli whispered. The American did not answer, merely led the younger man back toward the bedroom, kissing some exposed part of him at every opportunity. Then they were standing beside the bed, and Viggo pressed his lips to the patch of skin left naked by the unbuttoned collar of Orlando’s shirt. Orli moaned as he felt his cock harden in anticipation, and he lost no time in divesting Viggo of his shirt. He felt hands fumbling at his waist, struggling to undo his belt buckle, and he gave Viggo a hand, shoving his trousers down his long tanned thighs and stepping out of his socks and shoes, so that he was wearing nothing but a pair of satiny, cherry-red briefs.

When he looked up again, Viggo was standing before him, naked and very blatantly aroused. Orli stood slowly, drinking in the painfully sexy sight that met his eyes. He quirked an eyebrow at Viggo’s impressive size. Viggo saw the look and merely shrugged self-effacingly. Orlando felt one corner of his mouth being tugged up into a grin. Viggo took a step forward, leaned in, kissed the edge of the smirk on the Brit’s face. Orli’s breath caught in his throat when he felt the pressure at groin level. Jesus. Now it was Viggo’s turn to grin.

Orli took a step back, feeling very much like a recent electroshock therapy patient. Something– or no, everything– about the American sent a thrill up his spine.

The older man leered slightly. “On the bed, face down,” he said, and Orli complied, gripping the bedposts in both hands. He felt Viggo lower himself over him, felt Viggo’s dick poking him in the thigh, felt Viggo’s lips sucking softly on his right shoulder, felt Viggo’s fingers sliding under the elastic of his briefs.

“Unnnh,” he moaned into the pillow. Viggo moved up his body somewhat and purred into his ear.

“God, Orli, I’ve been wanting to get my hands on this sweet little ass for months. And now I’m going to fuck you into the mattress, fuck you until you start screaming your own name.”

“That a threat or a promise?” Orlando managed to choke out, rather distracted by the positively sinful images his brain was conjuring. Viggo only chuckled enigmatically and bent low to mouth Orli’s balls through the cloth of his underwear. He allowed saliva to pool in his mouth, kissing the Brit open-mouthed between his legs, and Orlando writhed and whimpered. Then Viggo drew the fabric aside and licked a slow trail down the crack of the younger man’s ass.

“Holy hell!” Orli cried, his hips jerking suddenly and reflexively upward. “Jesus, Vig, fuck me already! I want you to ram your huge cock up my ass until I can taste your cum in my throat.” He heard the sharp gasp from Viggo and continued. “God, I bet you know how to do it right. I bet you could fuck me into next Friday if you wanted. I bet–” Orli felt the hand clamp over his mouth and smirked into it.

A few moments later, something slick probed his entrance, and Viggo’s finger slid smoothly inside him, curled teasingly. Another finger joined it, and stretched him ever so slightly. The hand was still pressed heavily over his mouth, leaving him mute. He felt the American’s fingers leave his body, and he felt briefly bereft.

Soon enough, however, the emptiness was filled by Viggo’s hard, thick cock, and Orli felt himself inhaling desperately through his nose, seemingly unable to fill his lungs with air. Viggo stayed still inside him momentarily and leaned down to growl inches from his ear, “I’m going to take my hand off your mouth now, and I want you to scream for me. I want you to say your own name, and mine, and any other name that comes to mind, but mostly I just want to hear how good this feels.” Orlando nodded fervently and felt his mouth uncovered. He dragged the air into his lungs, but Viggo chose that moment to draw back and slam into him, and he still could not catch his breath. He groaned loudly.

“Jesus– fuck– ohhh!”

“You feel good, Orli, so tight and hot.” The Brit moaned and cried out as Viggo struck his prostate repeatedly with his thrusts. “Good boy. Now I want to hear your name in that filthy accent of yours.”

Orlando panted raggedly and gave a little moan of distress as Viggo slowed his pace, determined to drag it out or him. Damn, Vig was thorough. “Orr–” he tried, interrupting himself with a gasp. “Orrrrlanddo,” he ground out, and Viggo rewarded him with an open-mouthed kiss to his jawline and increased the pace of his thrusts, thrilling to the brush of satin up and down his cock as he pushed in and out past Orli’s so-soft briefs.

“So nice,” he said, with a little hitch in his voice as Orlando’s internal muscles gave his cock a squeeze. “Now, I’m gonna really fuck you hard, and I don’t want you to hold anything back.” Orli whimpered his assent.

Viggo rammed into him hard.

“GodfuckinghellChristJesusshitViggo!” Orlando screamed. “You’re so fucking big!”

Viggo growled deep in his chest and pushed up on his elbows, using the additional leverage to speed his thrusts.

“I can’t– hold out, Vig.”

“Then. Don’t. Try.” Each word punctuated by a toe-curling thrust into Orli’s tight little ass.

“Ohhhhh. Hurry, Vig!” Orli pushed himself up onto his knees slightly, face still pressed into the pillow and hands gripping the bedposts, and Viggo reached around and slid a hand under the edge of his briefs and grabbed his throbbing cock with a slippery hand. “That– feels... unhhh... so good,” he panted as the hand slid up and down his aching length.

Viggo moaned softly. “Come with me, Orli, baby. Please.” The last a hoarse whisper as Viggo slammed into his lover’s body over and over.

“Viggo!” Orli screamed as he came, body clamping down on Viggo’s cock, and Viggo, too, wailed his release.

They collapsed, sweaty and noodle-limbed, onto the bed. Both were silent for a few minutes. Then Viggo rolled off of Orlando onto the tangled, damp sheets. Orli rolled onto his back.

“Jesus, Vig, I think I just shot my brains out through my dick,” Orli whined. “And my underwear is ruined.”

Viggo smirked wickedly at him, one eyebrow quirked.

“Oh, sod off, you bastard.”

Viggo beamed.

“All right, if I admit that was the best I’ve ever had, will you stop looking at me like you’re going to eat me for dessert?”

“I thought that was the plan?” Viggo queried innocently.

“Guhhh,” Orlando groaned. “I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to get it up again.” Viggo cocked his head to one side. “Okay,” Orli conceded, “but not for another few hours.” Viggo rose to his knees and straddled his lover’s waist, pulling off the soiled garment with practised ease. Then he leaned forward to kiss the Brit. He licked at the seam of Orlando’s lips until they parted for him. He allowed his tongue to explore the younger man’s mouth, lapping at the inside of his cheek. After a prolonged makeout session, they drew apart.

“Mmmm. You taste good,” Viggo said, licking his lips slowly.

Orlando shot him a surfeited, lazily suggestive grin. Viggo began to move lower down Orlando’s body, watching his eyes all the while. As Viggo pressed a kiss to the head of his lover’s soft cock, Orlando had to look away. He felt his blood stirring again.

“Viggo?” Viggo raised his head from the task at hand. “There’s something I forgot to tell you.”

Viggo slides up next to his beautiful young lover. “Oh yeah?”

Orlando bestows upon him the most chaste of kisses. “Yeah.” Another kiss, this one dirty and desperate. “I love you.”

They smile like idiots at one another. “I love you, too, Orli.”

“Good.” A needy push of groin to groin. “Now, where were we?”

Tue, 07 Jun 2005 21:33:07 GMT

Another old one.

Title: “Baby, It’s You (42)”
Author: Captain Daisyshine (Hitchcock_Princess182@hotmail.com)
Pairing: OrliBean
Rating: NC-17
Plot Summary: Our dear Orlando is so very, very down. Fortunately, a large dose of one Mr. Sean Bean is just what the doctor ordered!
Disclaimer: Don't sue; I promise you it's not worth it as all you are likely to end up with is my warped twisted imagination. And maybe some LOTR action figures posed in highly suggestive positions. No profit is gleaned from this writing, and I am not implying anything about the sexual orientations of the people contained herein. This. Did. Not. Happen. (except for several times in my head. But then, we all know that‘s La-la-land.)
Warnings: Those Brits, man. They’ve got potty mouths on ’em, yeah? Angsty!Orlando, but once you get past that it’s pure, unbridled smut. Fluffy, schmoopy, sappy, twee smut, at that. Look out for the attack of the run-on sentences near the end! (Hey, how lucid do you expect our narrator to be in the middle of mind-blowing sex with Bean?!?!?!)
Archive: If you want it, let me know.
Feedback: We swears to serve the masters of the feedback. We swearses on… THE FEEDBACK!!!
Notes: Forgive me. This was dashed off relatively quickly, i.e., the idea was thought of and the thing was written in under twenty-four hours. This also means it‘s unbeta‘d, so all mistakes are my own. And it’s only my second RPS fic. Ever.
Dedication: Milady Razzle-love, Duchess of Slashingham. It’s all for you, babe, Hitchhiker references and everything. Now you can finally hear Beanie say “42”, if only in your head. And, of course, this goes out as well to those who read “Up Against the Wall” and clamoured so enthusiastically for more OrliBean. Once again to my muses, the horny bastards.

What can I do? it’s true. I can’t help myself, 'cos baby, it’s you. Baby, it’s you.
~Elvis Costello, “Baby, It’s You”

“Don’t be so fucking apathetic, Bloom,” he teases, not realising he’s unintentionally hit the nail right on the head. These days, I’m not finding it especially easy to give a shit about anything. I mean, yeah, being a part of The Lord of the Rings is cool, and all of the guys are really great. But for some reason, I feel like I’m just going through the motions lately, even when I’m acting, which I’ve always loved so passionately. It’s hard keeping up this façade, but I don’t want my friends to think there’s anything wrong. I lean around and fetch my companion a ringing smack on the arse.

“Oh, fuck you, Bean. You try being up until three in the morning with the bloody hobbits and then having a six-thirty call, and we’ll see if you really care about anything besides several aspirin, some damn strong coffee, and maybe a Benzedrine thrown in for good measure.” Oh, Oscar-worthy performance there, Bloom. Sean doesn’t suspect anything. Does he?

“Nice try, Orlando.”

“Whaddya mean?” I start out with the ‘act innocent’ tactic.

“I mean that was a beautiful performance, but it didn’t quite reach those big brown eyes of yours.” Fuck. Caught red-handed. Or brown-eyed. Or something.

“Who cares? It’s not a big deal,” I reply.

“That’s where you’re wrong. It is a big deal. Some of the guys and I have been worried about you lately. I was sent to find out what’s up.” Oh, fanbloodytastic, just fucking wonderful, my friends are all discussing my mental health over a pint.

“So, now you guys are trying to decide if I’m crazy.” I glare at him. “Well, you can fucking piss off. And stay out of my past and my personal life.” I turn to face away from him, signifying that the conversation is over. But Sean isn’t letting me get away with it.

“No one thinks you’re crazy, Orlando. And who said anything about your past? We’re just worried about you.” He looks a little bewildered. Good. Maybe now he’ll leave me the fuck alone.

“Just forget about it, Sean,” I say wearily. “I’m fine.” I turn to leave, but he grabs my wrist and stops me.

“You’re not fuckin’ ‘fine’, Orlando, and you’re absolutely not going anywhere until you tell me what’s wrong.” There’s an authoritative tone in his voice that scares me a bit, but also sort of turns me on. I’m going to pretend I didn’t just have that last thought and file it away to mull over later, when I’m alone. Right now, though, what I’d really like is to get drunk off my fucking arse, but first I’ve got to convince Sean that I’m really okay so he’ll fucking get off my case. I make my voice as calm and patient as humanly possible.

“I’m fine, Sean. Really I am.” He looks directly at me. He’s not buying it. I sigh exasperatedly. Why does he know me so well?

“Orlando,” he says after a moment, “why don’t you come back to my place for supper?” I eye him warily. “I just want to find out what‘s going on with you.”

“Why, so you can go back to the others with a nice little report of what I say?” I can feel the anger coursing through my veins, something I’ve not felt in a while.

“No, Orlando. Not so I can tell anyone anything. I care about you, whether you believe it or not.” He lets my wrist go. “Look, if that’s what you really want, you can go off to whatever club, pub, or any other place you can get pissed; it’s your choice. But I’d like for you to come over and talk to me.” Oh, you would, would you? Well, and why not? I only have to tell him as much as I want him to know, and maybe I can get some of this off my chest.

“Not going to put up a fight?” He sounds surprised, but maybe he’s faking it. What do I know?

“No.”

“Well, okay then! My car’s this way.” I pick up my bag and follow him. The drive over to his rented house is short, and Sean doesn’t press me for answers to any of the questions he asked me earlier. Here with Sean, in his car, just talking companionably, I almost feel like I could go back to caring about things, the way I used to even.

“We’re here.” Sean pulls up the drive and we get out of the car and go inside. I go to set my bag in the living room, but Sean calls out from the kitchen, “You can put your bag in the guest room. I’ve got Guinness, and God only knows if either of us is going to be fit for driving tonight.” Okay, no big deal, I’ve crashed at friends’ places a lot since I got to New Zealand-- Liv’s, Viggo’s, Elijah’s… So why do I have butterflies in my stomach? I go into the kitchen after dropping my duffel in the guest bedroom.

“I’ve got pasta shells in the oven, spaghetti sauce and ricotta cheese. That okay with you?” I nod. Mmm, pasta shells sound yummy. “You wanna put something on the stereo?” he asks.

“Fine, I’ll leave your precious kitchen! I know when I’m not wanted.” I stalk out, nose in the air. Whoa, did I just make a joke when I wasn’t trying to cover?

Hm, Sean’s got a pretty decent-sized collection of music. I put The Who in the disc changer. Ah, Tommy, that brilliant rock opera. Admittedly a bit before my time, but I like it anyway. I head back into the kitchen, where Sean, in an apron (!) and oven mitts, is taking the pasta shells out of the oven and putting them on a hot plate on the counter.

“Wow, smells good,” I say. It smells heavenly, actually. He beams at me. He should look ridiculous in the apron and oven mitts, but somehow he doesn’t. In fact, if anything, he seems more masculine, like if you put Arnold Schwarzenegger in a pink Cadillac. Eeew, why the fuck am I thinking about Arnold Schwarzenegger? Yuck, yuck, yuck! Sean takes out a giant serving fork and some plates.

“How many do you want?” he asks, indicating the pasta shells.

“Forty-two,” I reply. What? It was the first thing that popped into my head!

“Ha-ha. Oh, my aching sides. Somehow I doubt that is the question. ‘Forty-two’.” He shakes his head and rolls his eyes. Wow, he can do both at the same time? Nice.

“Wait, wait, I think the universe has just disappeared and reformed as something even more inexplicable!” I say sarcastically. He slaps my arse, returning the favour from before and chastising me for now.

“Cheeky little bugger, aren’t you.”

“Oh, so it’s not a question, then?”

“Oh, no, definitely no question about it; you are a cheeky bugger.” I shrug. I can’t exactly deny it, now can I? “Anyway, how many shells?”

“Ah, five should be good.” He serves both of us, and we go into the dining room.

“Oh, bollocks, I’ve forgotten the Guinness. Be right back,” he says, returning almost immediately with about six Guinnesses. I take an experimental bite of one of my pasta shells. Oh, tasty.

“Mmm.”

“So it gets the Orlando Stamp of Approval?” I nod eagerly. He opens two of the Guinnesses and hands me one. I drink deep, letting the familiar warmth fill me. We’re quiet for a bit, before Sean breaks the silence.

“So, wanna tell me what‘s going on with you?” Wow, no preliminary pussyfooting around the issue, he just dives right in. I like that, I guess. It proves he’s sincere, anyway. I wait a minute before speaking to “collect my thoughts“, as it were.

“My life is pretty shitty right now, but it doesn’t feel so awful with you.” Somewhere along the line, I decided I was going to be truthful, both with Sean and myself.

“What do you mean about your life being shitty?” His brow is wrinkled in concern. For me. He’s really, genuinely worried about me.

“I don’t really know. I’ve just been so blah, so… well, apathetic.” He winces. “It’s not your fault,” I assure him. “It’s just… I feel like I’m stuck in a rut that I can’t get out of. But here, it’s better. I can get mad at you, and laugh with you, and be truly happy with you. You make me feel alive again.” Wow. When was the last time I was that honest with anyone? Sean just brings it out in me. And what about this feeling in the pit of my stomach? Is that his doing, too?

“Is that why you came here with me tonight?” I nod.

“It felt like you really cared about what was going on with me.” Oh good God, I’ve gone all sappy and twee on myself. At least I haven’t got a dopey grin on my face.

“I’m glad. So, what’s with the dopey grin on your face?” Oh, shit. Shitshitshit. The warmth I feel suffusing throughout my body… it’s not… love? He smiles indulgently at me. Oh, bloody fuck, am I that transparent? Now that’s silly. Why would I be in love with Sean? Never mind that he’s bloody gorgeous, and really devoted to me… But it’s becoming more apparent by the second that there’s no other explanation for why I ordinarily feel so listless but he’s able to raise my spirits simply by his presence.

“Ehm….” He gets up out of his chair, and I find myself staring up at him, wide-eyed, as he comes to stand in front of me. “Sean…” He puts one finger to my lips to shush me. My eyes get even wider as he lowers his finger and leans in.

When our lips collide, it’s like bangers back home on Guy Fawkes Day, shooting stars in the night sky, a San Francisco earthquake, a tropical hurricane in the Caribbean, and molten lava from a volcano all rolled into one. Sean kisses like an angel who’s sold his soul to the devil. My cock is hard, my knees are weak, and it’s a bloody good thing I’m sitting down or I’d certainly have fallen over by now. I let the moan I‘ve been holding back erupt from my throat. It vibrates through my lips and into Sean‘s mouth, and then he‘s pulling me to my feet, and we’re moving over to the counter, totally wrapped up in one another, and he fumbles around on the counter behind me, pushing things out of the way so he can lift me up to sit on it. He stands there between my legs, colour high in his flushed face, lips parted, breathing almost as shaky as is my own.

“Oh God, Orlando, you’ve got no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he growls in that come-fuck-me voice that has me harder than I think I’ve ever been. I don’t answer, I just lean back in and latch myself onto his mouth again, drinking in everything about him like oxygen. His scent, his taste, the feel of his crotch grinding up against mine… I groan loudly.

“Get your trousers off,” he commands, stepping back to remove his own. I keen reproachfully at the loss of the feel of his lips on mine, but he gives me a dangerous look, and I start unbuttoning my trousers as quickly as I’m able to. I try to do it without looking so I can watch as he reveals himself to my scrutiny, but one look at the size of his cock has my head reeling, and my hands forget their task and oh God, he is *so* topping. I close my eyes and suck in a breath to keep from passing out. Fuck, he’s bloody enormous! Now he’s naked from the waist down, and he comes back over to me.

“Having a little trouser trouble, are we?” he taunts, pulling them off along with my pants as he speaks.

“Nnn…nuh.” Mmmhmm, right, ‘cos he understood that for sure. I try again. “Need…y-your cock...” Better, I suppose.

“Oh, really? Is that so?” I glower at him. How the shit is he staying so calm? I want to hit him, but more than that, I want him to impale me with his huge dick and fuck me ‘til I can’t walk straight, can’t see straight, can’t do anything at all straight. He leans over to whisper in my ear. “You want to know a secret? You can have my cock right now. It’s all yours.” Buggery, that voice is lethal. It should be registered, should require a license… or something.

“Pl… Please,” I breathe, gazing into his normally sparkling green eyes, which are currently clouded over with lust.

“Please what?” Oh God, he’s evil. But very sexy. Entirely too sexy for his own good. Or mine, for that matter. Or… Oh fuck, sensory overload; we interrupt this programme to describe how amazingly hot the look in Sean’s eyes is as he pulls my legs up over his shoulders, smirking, and reaches for the bottle of olive oil he’s left on the countertop and drizzles some of said oil onto his fingers and then reaches down under me and probes around until he finds the entrance he’s looking for and pushes in and it hurts a little but then OH FUCK! he’s found *that spot* and he’s curling his finger and brushing over the place over and over and then he’s adding another finger, and another, and… He stops and pulls them out. I whine noisily at the cessation of stimulation, but he’s too busy coating his cock in the slippery oil to pay much attention. Then he’s done and he looks up at me, eyes shining with desire and something else I can’t quite place but it doesn’t matter because he’s lining himself up, the tip of his cock at my entrance.

“This okay?”

“What are you, fucking daft?” Aha, the power of speech returns! “Of course it’s fucking okay; in fact, if you don’t fucking get inside me this second it’s highly likely that I’ll spontaneously combust and-” He clamps his hand over my mouth and begins to push in, stretching me slowly so I have time to adjust to his size. My eyes flutter shut; that’s one powerful feeling, being totally and completely filled like this, and he takes his hand off my mouth, lays me almost reverently on the counter, dishtowel under my head, and even this part is the most erotic thing anyone’s ever done with me and oh fuck, he’s starting to move inside me, pulling out carefully and thrusting in with a quick twist of his hips that has me screaming and it’s a good thing there are no other houses nearby ‘cos oh holy fucking hell that feels so good…

“SEAN!” I yell, shouting my pleasure to the figurative rafters, and he increases his pace until I think I’m going to explode if he doesn’t touch me soon. I reach for myself, but he swats my hands away and takes my swollen, leaking cock in his large hand and begins to move his hand up and down in time with his thrusts. He moans brokenly, and I clench my inner muscles around him, urging him on.

“Ohhhh fuck, Orlando-ohh!” he groans, and I feel the familiar tensing of my balls as I start to climax. My breath comes in great heaving gasps.

“Oh fuck I’m-” but I don’t let Sean finish. I crush our lips together, drowning out our combined screams as we come together.</p>

“Forty two.”

“Huh?” He looks at me like I’ve gone mad.

“Forty-two. The number of times you pushed into me. The answer to the universe.” I grin. He grins back. Oh God. This is going to be a long night.

Tue, 07 Jun 2005 21:19:16 GMT

This should have been up ages ago; I posted it in my other LJ before I switched my fic to this one, but I must have forgotten to move this particular story.

Title: “Sex, Orlando, and Everything”
Author: Captain Daisyshine (Hitchcock_Princess182@hotmail.com)
Pairing: OrliBean
Rating: NC-17
Plot Summary: Plot is like senseless violence- absolutely uncalled for, though occasionally amusing. Thus, this story has none. (No plot, that is. Though I hardly think anything in this fic could constitute senseless violence…) It’s just gorgeous men having a lot of gratuitous sex.
Series: Well, it’s a sequel to “Up Against the Wall”… Wait, does that mean this series needs a name?
Disclaimer: May I have your attention, please? Will the real J.R.R. Tolkien please stand up? *stands up, raps head smartly on random flying salmon, and sits back down* Phooey. Nothing in this story is mine, not even my imagination, oh no- my muses commandeered that months ago in a bit of a hostile takeover. They’ve set up camp and are now running it as a police state. *shakes head sadly* … No profit is gleaned from this writing, and no disrespect is meant.
Warnings: Oh, my God, there are two men! Having sex! With each other! Oh, keep your towel on.
Archive: Stick it where you like. Just lemme know.
Feedback: is better than sex. Well, actually, it’s probably not, but since I’ve never had sex, and I have had feedback… Anyway, the short and short of it is that I live for constructive criticism.

Notes: -Yep, you’re still in Beanie’s head. He’s easier to write than Orlando, and funnier. -All I’ve read for the past three days now is Douglas Adams, so you’ll have to excuse me. -Our boys probably have more demands on their time than this, but I decided to give them the day off. -I’ve reversed the positions. Sean needs to live a little. -The next in this line of storytelling is going to include someone getting fucked against the shower wall. If that’s your particular cuppa tea, let me know and I’ll put you in the dedication. -A prize there is for the first to recognise every single Hitchhiker reference in this story. Go forth, my children!
Dedication: Lady Razzle, Duchess of Slashingham, future topless-model-posing-as-a-nun, you’re the *42* reasons writing fic is worth it. Devora, I wuv you, Muffin. moblo413-- may I be the cause of many more nights of pleasant insomnia. *cuddles* Caitlin- enjoy this offering of slash, and call me. :D The fans of my writing, past, present, and future-- you are the gods and goddesses in my pantheon of fanfiction. And, uh, my muses, ‘cos they get pissy if they’re not in this bit.

“Mmm, good morning, beautiful hotel room. Good morning, warm soft bed. Good morning, twee little rays of sunshine. Good morning, half-used towels strewn about the floor from the seventeen baths I took Sunday afternoon around tea-time.” I sigh happily and stretch, then roll over on the king-sized mattress.

“Morning, Sean,” Orlando purrs contentedly, causing me to jump with a start and slam my head rather painfully into the polished mahogany headboard. Holy fucking hell! What’s he doing here?! Oh yes, that’s right, I sleep with men now. Hm. I rub the rapidly-forming lump at the top of my skull absently. Eh, I’ve had worse.

“Fuck, Orli, you scared the living shit out of me.” My breathing is fast and heavy, and I can feel my heart pounding. No, wait- that’s just the couple next door.

“Sorry,” he answers, with a sheepish smile. I shake my head.

“I can’t remember the last time I woke up in bed with anybody is all,” I elucidate. He raises an eyebrow at me. “That is to say, I generally don’t sleep with the people I, well, sleep with.” He snickers. “Not that we did an actual lot of sleeping; it was only-” I glance at my digital watch, which reads seven-thirty a.m.- “three hours.”

He gives me an ironically pitying look. “Does widdle Seanie need more sleepykins?” he mocks. I glower menacingly, or as menacingly as it is possible to glower when you’ve only just woken up after approximately three hours of sleep, before which you had a night of preposterously hot sex with one of your best mates, and are, at the moment, wearing a digital watch and nothing else, no matter how nifty said watch may be.

“Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of… erm…” Tea? Buttered scones? Out with it, Sean!

“More fantastically hot sex?” he asks presumptuously. Cheeky bugger.

“Perhaps,” I reply enigmatically. Like that’s fooling anyone.

“Mmmhmm.” He leans forward and presses his forehead against mine, then reaches out with one of those sinfully skilled hands and begins to play lightly with my cock. I twitch uneasily, and my breath catches in my throat at a particularly naughty flick of his wrist. Then he nips gently at my jawline and I toss my head back.

Whack.

He looks up sharply. “What was that?” Oh look, pretty stars… “Oh, poor Sean, have you hit your head on the bed again?” he asks. I nod. He ceases toying with my dick and raises one hand to stroke my cheek and the other to run through my hair. Then he tugs gently on the hair at the bottom of my skull, and I feel a shiver run down my spine. I throw him around and pounce on him.

“Fuck, what the hell was that?” I demand.

“So, your head’s better now?” he replies, unfazed. I don’t even dignify that with a response. Instead, I lean down and kiss him. He opens his mouth invitingly and my tongue slips inside and I moan as he pushes his hips up to meet mine and OHGOD rubs our hardening cocks together. I sit back on my heels and gaze down at him. He looks relaxed, serene almost. I want to hit him. Cocky bastard. Another wanton thrust of his hips reminds me just how ‘cocky’ he actually is. I didn‘t notice it last night, being rather occupied with other things at the time, but he really is amazingly well-endowed for such a skinny kid.

“Sean,” he growls, voice seductively soft, “I’d like to fuck you.” I groan instinctively as my eyes flutter shut. Ohh godddd the return of the boy with the incredibly dirty mouth, and the fact that my train of thought was running along the same track is not making it better. He wriggles easily out from under me and turns me over so that I’m looking up into lust-dark chocolate eyes.

“And how, exactly, would you like to fuck me?” I breathe.

“Oh, hard and fast and hot, ‘til you can feel my cock in your throat and your eyes roll back in your head, just like you fucked me last night.” I choke on the breath I was holding and stifle a moan. Then, suddenly, he climbs off the bed and walks over to the sliding glass door to my balcony. He steps out, completely in the altogether, picks up the least dilapidated of the chairs he finds, walks back in, and closes the door.

“What the shit are you doing?” I ask, totally bemused.

“We’re going to try something,” he answers. “Get over here,” he beckons. I obey, since Orlando’s commands generally turn out to be for the purpose of making sex really hot. When I‘m standing right in front of him, he suddenly drops to his knees and FUCK his hands aren’t the only talented things in his repertoire, I learn, as he practically inhales my cock.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Orli!” I shout, hands reaching out for something to steady myself with. I settle on just fisting them in his hair. My knees are already wobbling, and CHRIST the fact that he’s got my entire dick down his throat isn’t helping.

“Orlando, I’m- OH GOD!” He’s using his throat muscles to milk my cock and I can’t even begin to describe how fanfuckingtastic that feels. His hands are on my hips, essentially holding me up, but then he takes one and begins to stroke my balls and I groan hoarsely, brokenly. “SHIT!”

He releases me from his mouth for a few short seconds to murmur, “Come for me, Sean,” and I feel the familiar tensing before I come, screaming his name. He laps at my softening dick, then stands and grins at me as he licks the last traces of my come from around his mouth, catlike.

“You’re so fucking hot,” I whisper. He laughs huskily and sits down in the chair he brought inside, legs spread, fingers idly stroking his erection. I glance down and moan. He smirks. Conveniently, the bottle of lube is sitting right next to the chair, and he picks it up, flips the cap off, and pours some of the stuff onto his fingers.

“I’ve never done this before,” I confess.

“I know,” he replies, maddeningly prescient. “That’s why we’re going to take this slowly. Now, lie down.” I do. He balls up one of the towels lying around and uses it to prop my head up. “Okay, this is going to hurt a little at first, maybe a lot, but if the pain gets too bad, you absolutely have got to tell me.” I nod. “Relax,” he suggests, and I try, but since just last night I was completely convinced I didn’t even think about other guys in a sexual way, that’s a bit difficult. Orlando works one finger past the ring of muscle slowly and gently. I bite my lip and squeeze my eyes shut, but then it’s like he’s hit a magic button and my hips arch of their own accord while I let out a long, low moan of pleasure and feel myself beginning to harden for the second time. After that, the second and third fingers don’t hurt quite so much, even when he begins to scissor them a bit, stretching me from the inside, because every so often he brushes over my prostate and cancels out most of the pain. Finally, I can’t take it anymore.

“I’m ready,” I tell him, my voice surprisingly raspy to my own ears. He nods shortly and pulls his fingers out. I keen at the loss, but he puts a finger to my lips. He climbs back up into the armless chair and begins to coat his cock with lube. Then he crooks a finger at me, and I stand up, powerless to do anything but what he asks.

“Now, stand with your legs on either side of mine,” he instructs. I do so. He grabs hold of my hips and positions me over his slick, hard cock. “Okay, put your hands on my shoulders and lower yourself. Do it at your pace; I’m not going to try to tell you what to do.” I nod and put one hand on each of his shoulders. I start to lower myself slowly, but then decide that it’s probably easier to do it all in one go, and I drop suddenly.

I scream.

Orlando screams.

Fuck, that hurt, but he’s also hit my prostate dead-on and I think I’ve just seen an entire galaxy of stars. “Oh god, right there!” I cry, throwing my head back.

“Christ, Sean, you’re so fucking tight!” he growls.

“You’re so big!” I respond.

“Unnnh,” he groans and begins to thrust up, making short, sharp movements with his hips. I lean down and nip at his lower lip and he begins to kiss me, sucking my tongue into his mouth as we both moan. The kiss continues until we’re breathing raggedly and are forced apart by the need for oxygen.

He begins to thrust a bit harder, and I hear a faint sucking sound and realise that it’s his cock slipping in and out of my body. The obscene, staggeringly sexy noise begins to eat away at my control until I’m clutching at him frenziedly. “Oh god, HARDER!” I find myself shouting. He obliges, and then I’m screaming continuously, essentially bouncing in his lap in a wordless plea for more, faster, harder…OHMYGOD. And when he reaches between us and begins jerking me off mercilessly, I don’t stand a chance. I can feel my eyes starting to roll back in my head and I thrash wildly.

“Fuck, Orli, I’m-” But he silences me with a savage kiss and then I’m coming, all over his stomach, and I can feel my inner muscles clamp down on him and he screams as he joins me in the land of hazy happy warmth.

“That was wonderful,” he sighs, smiling at me. I’m still breathing hard, and I can feel myself shaking from the aftershocks of the intensity I’ve just endured.

“So…” I begin casually, “wanna shower?”

Stay tuned for the next episode of this programme! Which may or may not flatly contradict everything in this storyline, up to and including itself! (At the moment, I‘m sort of leaning towards the ‘may not‘, but yanno…) And please! Tell me what you think!

Tue, 07 Jun 2005 03:44:05 GMT

Title: Mostly Shameless (3/?)
Author: Captain Daisyshine (HaveYouSeenBean@yahoo.com)
Pairing: OrliBean
Rating: NC-17
Series: Sequel to “Up Against the Wall” and “Sex, Orlando, and Everything.” In that order. Unless you invoke time-traveling and such. Someone suggest a name for the series, please!
Summary: Hey, I know it’s been a while, but remember Sean’s suggestion at the end of the last fic that maybe the boys needed a shower? Well, no plot here, just that long-awaited shower. Because I *heart* shower!fic in a big way. Mmm, PWP.
Warnings: Er, mind the gap?
Disclaimer: I made it all up. I think. There may actually be a parallel universe or alternate reality or something where ’Landy and Beanie are shagging each other’s brains out, but, to the best of my knowledge, they are not doing so in this galaxy/dimension. The author means no disrespect.
Archive: Green Opals. Anyone else want it? Pick up the phone, you know who to call. Or something.
Feedback: I love it like a fat kid loves cake, like Michael Jackson loves little boys, like Rose loves Jack. Feedback is like liquid crack. On a stick. While you’re working that one out, drop me a line, pretty please.
Notes: God, I haven’t written in ages. Pardon moi.
Dedication: Razzie, my bestest gal; moblo413, Bunny Feeder and beta extraordinaire; my dirty sidekick; Captain Nibbles; Cap’n Sami-Jack; laura_iskra; pureanimal; jenmstar; fairyspell; darknight999; ariadni; and all of my other OrliBean ladies & gents.

“Mmnee mmfphud mpfhrrr.”

“Mmphfr?”

“Impf mphu mngud mfet mmph nf mphee...”

“Sean, what in fuck’s name are you going on about?” Orlando inquires.

I shove him off of me. “I said, we should shower.”

He raises an eyebrow, interested. “Oh? Should we now?”

“Well, yes,” I reply. “See, since we started having sex, oh, twelve hours ago... I’ve wanted to fuck you up against the shower wall.”

He chokes on his breath, and it’s a few seconds before he can reply. “Yeah?”

“‘Yeah.’”

We are quiet for a bit.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Orli asks impatiently, bounding off the bed and scampering into the bathroom. I grin and, shrugging out of the bed sheet that has wrapped itself around my thighs, follow him, albeit less enthusiastically, since I’m sore as fuck. Er, bad comparison, but you know what I mean.

Oh, shit.

The shower is fucking huge. Fully equipped. Shiny.

Orlando turns and flashes a brilliant, evil grin. “Come on, old man,” he teases. I can feel the playful snarl tugging at my lip. He wants to play that, fine. I may have only discovered my homosexual tendencies, oh, last night or so, but I catch on quick. Ish. When all of the blood in my body hasn’t rushed to my dick. Which it’s threatening to do, since Orlando has chosen this moment to begin, ah, displaying his wares, as it were.

“Wanker,” I growl good-naturedly as he turns the shower on while fondling himself idly. I still his hand and begin tracing a path down the muscles of his chest, stopping along the way to toy with his dark nipples. His mouth falls open, and his breathing becomes shallower. Good. ‘S what he deserves for teasing me, the little bastard.

“Seaaaannnn,” he whines, glaring balefully at me. I feign innocence. He steps into the shower and pulls me in beside him roughly. I nearly trip and send us both sprawling but manage to catch myself at the last moment.

The water quickly dishevels his perfect mop of curls, and, good Lord, he looks so debauched, so fucking... wet. I blink. My brain seems to ’ve gone on holiday, so now’s the time for me to start molesting him in earnest. I drop to my knees in front of him. He studiedly avoids my eyes as I gaze up at him hungrily. I smirk.

“Fuck!” he swears as I practically inhale his cock, and his controlled breathing rapidly turns ragged as I make an “O” with my thumb and index finger ‘round his dick just above the “O” of my mouth. Having a penis myself, I know how to give a good blow job. The ease with which it comes to me (ha, ha, what an awful pun) is less surprising than it ought to be. How long have I been a closet queer?

Orli gurgles above me, and I know he’s getting close. The spray of the shower hits the top of my head comfortingly. I suck harder, hollowing my cheeks. He positively wails, while all I can think is, “Mmmmm, Elven BlowPop”, even as I find myself growing hard.

“Sean, I’m gonna-“ he attempts to warn me. I reach around and grab his ass, slamming him forward into my mouth and he keens noisily as he comes, panting my name.

I stand, slightly sorer for my efforts. Fuck, but it’s worth it to hear my name pour forth from those delectable lips. Glad I stopped being latently gay and started being blatantly gay. Ah, so nice that I’m coming (hah) to terms with it.

“’Lando?” I inquire.

“Mmmm,” he replies, grinning like the cat that’s eaten not only the canary but also the parakeet, a bluejay, and three or four sparrows.

Gently, I twirl him around so he’s leaning on his arm against the shower wall. One glance down at that hot ass and my brain can do nothing but conjure images of fucking him into next Thursday. But not next Thursday, because Thursday is a terrible day, and everyone knows nothing good ever happened on a Thursday. Next Friday, then, so not only will I be shooting my brains out through my dick, but we’ll have missed Thursday. Fuck, I’m a genius.

I smirk, revelling in my own brilliance momentarily before returning to the task at hand. I can’t believe I’ve got such a beautiful creature all to myself. I lean forward to whisper dirty things in his ear while groping aimlessly for some sort of shower gel on the shelf behind me. He shivers against my chest, a delicious sensation, and I curl my fingers around my prize.

“Got it,” I rasp. “God, Orli, I’m going to fuck you until you feel it in your throat,” I purr, and he groans, pushing his hips back toward me. Flipping the cap of the gel open one-handed (bravo!), I squirt some onto the fingers of the other hand. Then, one hand braced on Orli’s hip, I begin curling my fingers into him one by one as he swears unintelligibly under his breath.

The shower is hitting my collarbone, a fine, massaging spray.

“Pl- please,” Orlando whispers shakily, as if I could deny him anything. Reluctantly (but not too reluctantly), my fingers pull out and I begin coating my cock with a thin sheen of the shower gel. Lips pressed close to Orli’s ear once more, I growl, “Ready?” He nods furiously, and I can feel him shaking.

Bracing myself with a hand on each of his hips, I push in as slowly as humanly possible. He cries out brokenly when I brush the mound inside him.

“Hard, Sean, hard, hard, Sean,” he repeats, a litany of pleading. As an obliging fellow, what else can I do?

I fuck him hard. My breath catches; he’s still unbelievably tight, even after last night. Slamming into him over and over and over until long after my brain has melted to nuclear waste, I fuck him while he begs, needing to hear my name. And then my orgasm is fast approaching and I reach around to grab his cock, which is rallying bravely, and I coax it to stand at attention as I pound into him from behind. Our screams begin to merge.

“Come for me,” I moan, shocked at my own coherence.

He draws a harsh breath, simultaneously pushing his hips forward into the circle of my fingers, and comes, screaming hoarsely, and his body squeezes it out of me; I come, too, groaning his name.

We collapse slowly onto the floor of the shower, letting the water wash away bodily fluids.

For several minutes, we are too weak even for joking, but Orli seems to recover first. He smiles a wicked smile.

“Remind me to get you dirty more often.”

Sat, 02 Oct 2004 03:40:15 GMT

Title: Up Against the Wall
Author: Captain Daisyshine (Hitchcock_Princess182@hotmail.com)
Pairing: OrliBean
Rating: NC-17
Plot Summary: Exactly what the title makes it sound like. :D Okay, okay. Beanie is straight. Isn’t he? Not if Orlando has anything to do with it!
Disclaimer: Don't sue; I promise you it's not worth it as all you are likely to end up with is my warped twisted imagination. No profit is gleaned from this writing, and I am not implying anything about the sexual orientations of the people contained herein. This. Did. Not. Happen. (except in my head.)
Warnings: Er… slash? (duh.)… Copious use of… *dramatic music*… THE F-WORD!!!! And, uh… deliberately awful comparisons of people to strawberry JELL-O. (I don’t even eat the stuff! It’s got gelatin in it!)
Archive: If you want it, let me know.
Feedback: Feed meee!!! Come on, I’ll never learn otherwise. Also, I will love you forever and ever.
Notes: My first RPS.
Dedication: To Lady Razzle, Duchess of Slashingham, for her support and fanfic goodness. And to my muses, even though all they ever do is fuck.

Look at him, there on the dance floor. He’s so young and happy, flinging himself about to this deafening awful-shite music. He’s a beautiful boy (purely aesthetic appreciation on my part, you understand)-- he even looked stunning with that mohawk. Not that it was actually so bad; it was a nice look for him-- young people can pull anything off. But I’m 100% straight, straight as an arrow, or a pole, or… anything else that is very straight. Though I suppose ‘straight as the edge of a metre-stick’ doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.

God, but if that white doesn’t make him look pure and virginal. Never mind that I can see every corded muscle he’s worked so hard to build (yeah, definitely a six-pack) and that lean, taut stomach. It should be a crime for such a good-looking boy to wear such a tight white tee, and his sweat from the exertion of dancing doesn’t exactly obscure more of his body. But I’m straight. Straight as a sword. Yep, that’s me, Mr. Heterosexual Bean. Oh, bloody fucking hell, I’ve got to stop ‘thinking only of his sword. And of my own.’

Oh, holy fuck, now he’s turned towards me, and he’s flashing that quick, exuberant grin. Orlando Bloom is amazingly untainted by the world’s evils; he is the least jaded kid I’ve met in a long time. It’s… well, it’s refreshing. I’ve known him for a good bit now, but he hasn’t seemed to be getting any more cynical in all this time.

And now he’s walking over to me, still smiling, teeth a flash of white in a tanned olive face framed by luxurious dark curls. Okay, Bean, get a grip on yourself. Use the little blood that hasn’t rushed to your dick to operate that lovely thing called your brain. Say something conversational.

“Hi, Orli.” Oh, very good, that deserves a fucking gold star.

“Hallo, Beanie.” I realise that I’m very definitely staring. Oh shit, has my jaw dropped again? I shut it abruptly. Oh, wait, it’s my turn to say something, isn’t it.

“Er, nice night out for clubbing, huh?” He’s laughing as though I’ve just said something very funny. Oh, nice one, Bean. The weather doesn’t fucking matter if you’re indoors. I try to cover.

“Er, that is, there are loads of quite fit-looking people here, aren’t there?” Yeah. Like Orlando. Fucking gorgeous. But I am definitely Not Gay.

“Yeah,” he replies, looking straight at me. Oh fuck. My mouths is too dry for me to respond. Ermmmm… Sean to Brain, Sean to Brain, feel free to start working again any time now…

“Listen, you want to go somewhere else?”

It takes a minute for the question and its implied meaning to fully register in my brain. “Sorry, what? Oh! Oh. Oh. Erm…” I can’t think.

He backtracks. “Er, I mean, to another club… It’s erm, a bit too loud in here for your tastes, I think.”

I vaguely understand what he’s saying, but mostly I’m too busy drowning in wide brown eyes, swirling chocolate vortexes framed by those inky black lashes and… wait, is that eyeliner?! I’m deeply disturbed by the fact that this is totally turning me on. Hm. Never knew I was into blokes in makeup before… Wait, what the buggery am I thinking? I am not into blokes. I look at Orlando. Shit, should I be saying something? I panic. What did he just say?

Two seconds later, it doesn’t matter.

Okay, so I’ve kissed a man before, but that was for a movie role. This is entirely different. I am really, really turned on.

Oh, fuck.

The boy’s a real professional, but somehow I get the idea it’s not because he’s done this too often before. He draws back and looks at me nervously, searching my eyes for something. I must’ve given it to him, because he takes my hand in his and leads me out of the crowd of people surrounding us. Most of them are oblivious-- or at least drunk enough not to a) recognise us or b) realise that we are both men.

We hail a cab (well, actually, Orlando does-- as a direct result of my trying to drown any Bloom-related thoughts of a sexual nature in alcohol, I am quite inebriated, to say the least) and head back to the hotel. He spends the ride molesting me.

Oh fuck, stop that, the cabbie, not in the… My breath is coming in heavy panting gasps, and I’m pretty sure I didn’t actually say any of that out loud, since my mouth is latched onto Orli‘s.

“Fuck, Orlando!” Well, that was out loud, for sure. And I’ve officially stained these jeans in a very inconvenient way. But fuck, it was worth it. I don’t think I’ve ever come before just from being groped through my trousers and kissed. The boy can surely kiss, I’ll say that. And the orgasm has sobered me up a bit, too.

“Here.” His mouth has left mine, and I whimper at the loss. “Just a minute, Sean,” he says, rich velvety voice sliding over my name like silk over smooth skin. I wonder what room he plans for us to go to-- and how we’re going to keep our hands off each other until we get there. He fumbles in increasingly too-tight pants for money to pay the cabbie, then drags me out of the car, supporting most of my weight as I’m still a bit too unsteady on my feet. The hotel staff ignore us, for which I am grateful.

“My room’s closer,” he rasps, pulling me along by the collar of my shirt. I don’t mind, though I’d never really thought of Orli as the take-charge type. Not that I’ve ever thought of the boy in a sexual context before-- I butter my bread right-side up, thanksverymuch. Except that right now, my cock doesn’t seem to be able to grasp this concept. Well, actually, it can’t really “grasp” anything, you know? Oh God, all of the blood in my brain has rushed down south, and I’m beginning to show signs of absent brain. For fuck’s sake, why the shit am I attempting to *think*? I’ve got this gorgeous, inhumanly talented boy all to myself. He pushes the “up” button for the lift, and I bounce up and down of the balls of my feet. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Orlando fidgeting impatiently, looking like he’s going to fucking jump out of his skin if we don’t get into bed pretty damn soon. I notice he’s muttering something and attempt to tune in.

“Bloody fucking…hell fucked… fucking get…already!…Sodding cock-up… shit… goddamnit…” is about all I can make out, a litany of eloquently strung-together obscenities. I allow myself a small smile at the boy’s expense. He notices at the exact moment the lift arrives, door opening to reveal its emptiness. He shoves me in, follows, hits the button for his floor, and turns on me as it closes.

“So, you think that’s fuckin’ funny, do you, Bean?” I try to suppress a giggle, to no avail. “Oh, you think it’s bloody hilarious that I’m hard as granite and can’t do shit about it until we get upstairs for the sake of both our careers!” I can hear the frustration in his voice and decide not to compound it by groping him as I’d originally intended to. Besides, only four more floors to go. Oh, bloody fucking hell, I think we’re stopping. The door opens, and a well-dressed young couple steps in. I can see the awe come into the woman’s eyes as she recognises us. Fuck, why couldn’t she have been drunk?

“Ohmigod! Can I have your autographs?” Her voice is sweet, but that doesn’t stop it from grating on my nerves. It’s just dawning on her husband who we are. I hear Orli give a muffled sigh, but he takes the pen and dinner napkin she’s holding out after a quick search through her purse. He signs, then hands me the pen and napkin. The lift has stopped at our floor, door open, but I figure we’ve got another couple of seconds before it closes again.

Wrong. And fuck, does it close quickly. I don’t even have time to ask the young woman (who is between me and the door) to hold it for us.

“Oh, dear, we’ve made you miss your floor. I’m ever so sorry,” she apologises, blushing like mad.

“No, it’s okay,” I assure her, pressing the button for my floor. I finish signing the napkin. “There you go.” She takes it, beaming at her husband, who looks as excited as he could be with his wife mooning over two other men. Really she’s mostly fixated on Orli, and who could blame her? I’m feeling a bit envious of the way he smiles benevolently back at her, and, since he’s standing right in front if me, I reach down to grab his arse. He leaps about three feet in the air, and I mentally congratulate myself.

“Sorry, Orli,” I say.

“’S okay, Beanie,” he replies, and the woman looks like she’s going to pass out, what with not only sharing our airspace but getting to hear us call each other by nicknames as well. I’d roll my eyes, but I’m concentrating *really* hard on not grabbing Orlando’s arse again. It’s pretty fucking tempting, though.

At last, I hear the ding of the lift as it stops. I make sure it’s the right floor -fifteen- and step out, dragging Orlando with me. I grasp the key card in my pocket and slide it into the slot. The door clicks open, and we rush inside, slamming and locking the door behind us.

Orli shoves me roughly against the door and leans back in for another of those intoxicating kisses. I moan loudly into his mouth and roll my hips forward, grinding our cloth-covered erections together.

“Sean…” he gasps, “-I need… your- cock in me-… NOW.” With a groan, I throw my body around until our positions are reversed so that I’m pinning him to the door. I unbutton his black leather trousers shoving them down his muscular legs. I’m only mildly surprised that he isn’t wearing anything underneath. I bend down to help him out of the trousers and his socks and shoes. I go to rise, but he stops me.

“Bottle of lube in my trousers pocket,” he grinds out hoarsely. I grope around until I find my prize and stand again. Our mouths meet furiously in a clash of lips, tongues, teeth… My mouth begins to travel down his neck. When I feel vibrations from his voice box, I realise he’s saying something.

Huh?”

“I said, you’re clean, right?” Ordinarily, this could be a mood killer, but I’m so horny right now it doesn’t make a difference to my raging libido.

“Mmmhmm,” I reply, knowing Orlando knows the particulars.

“Good, ‘cause I fucking need you ramming your cock up my arse this goddamn minute!” I push my trousers and pants down to my knees and pour some lubricant on a few fingers, still pinning Orlando to the door with my hips. He sees what I’m doing and growls.

“Fuck preparation,” he snarls, and I don’t even try to work that one out. He takes the lube I’ve squeezed out and uses it to coat my dick. I take in a hissing breath at the sensation of cool fingers on my overheated flesh. Then he’s done, and I grasp his hips, raising him over my aching erection, intending to push in slowly.

“You try that slow and gentle bullshit with me and I’ll fucking kill you,” he threatens, and, using his grip on my biceps for leverage, he drops down suddenly, taking all of my member into his tight, hot passage.

He screams his agonised pleasure as I try to catch my breath.

“Give it to me hard, Sean,” he commands. “I want you to fuck me into tomorrow.” My breath hitches, and I begin to pull out slowly, the pressure almost unbearable.

“Hurry the fuck up!” I thrust back in, impaling him with my cock, and he moans as I strike the raised mound of nerves. After that, I establish a rhythm we both find acceptable; that is to say, as fast as my hips can possibly move. Orlando’s legs come up to wrap around my waist, and I push him against the wall for more leverage, fucking him mercilessly, just the way he wants it. He screams as my angle changes to hit his prostate at every pass.

“Fuck, Sean, I’m gonna…” He trails off as I grab his weeping erection in my fist and begin to pull it in time with my thrusts. I’m driving into him erratically now, and the motion of my hand on his cock wavers until he leans down and blows gently into my ear. The little teasing gesture pushes me over the edge, and I jerk hard on his dick. A few seconds later, I feel his warm come splash against my stomach, and I find my own release almost immediately afterwards. I come screaming his name.

We collapse bonelessly onto the floor, me still inside of him with his legs wrapped around my waist. I feel like a puddle of rain, or maybe strawberry JELL-O…

“Fuck, Orlando, that was amazing,” I say wearily. He gives me a weak smile.

“For me, too,” he replies, and we sit there for a few minutes, grinning at each other. Orli breaks the silence.

“I feel like a puddle of strawberry JELL-O.”

Sat, 02 Oct 2004 03:39:21 GMT

Title: “Stay”
Author: Captain Daisyshine (Hitchcock_Princess182@hotmail.com)
Pairing: OrliBean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Sap, sap, sap, sap, more sap... Did I mention the smut, by the way?
Series: None, as of yet, but perhaps... *strokes beard (or lack thereof) thoughtfully*
Archive: “Take it; it’s yours!” Just let me know, okies?
Disclaimer: Oh, boy, if you believe a word of this, it’s quite likely that you’re delusional. Or just really, really dumb. I made it all up. I’m implying nothing. *solemn nod*
Feedback: is the cherry in my martini, the olive on my sundae. Please feed me back!
Notes: I don’t really know how good I am at this yet, so pointers, praise, tips, objections, criticisms, things I can improve or things you like... Please let me know. I’ll have your babies!!! (???) (Semi-) Inspired by a beautiful Alison Krauss song and a beautiful Tennyson poem. And the figurative language is at an all-time high.
Dedication: Once again to Her Razzleness the Duchess of Slashingham, Slash Goddess Extraordinaire, for her support, pancakes, bananas, JELL-O, tartan dancing, and general slashy goodness; to moblo413 for nudging the bunnies along; to Smai for getting me hooked on slash in the first place; to Caitlin– just because I love you and you love slash (and there is nothing wrong with that!); to those who read and enjoyed “Up Against the Wall” or “Baby, It’s You” and requested more OrliBean; and finally, to my perpetually randy muses. Pervy sods in general, but they decided this fic was going to be a bit sweeter than the other two. *tweaks noses affectionately*

“Where have you been, my long lost friend?
It's good to see you again.
Come and sit for a while; I've missed your smile.
Today the past is goodbye.
Time can't erase a lovers' embrace.
Can't you hear it calling? a new day dawning?
You were longing to find–
Love's taken you far away from my arms,
And I've been here all along.
Have your eyes failed to find what took you from mine?
A vision that's faded through time...
Stay...”

“Stay”, Alison Krauss and Union Station

“Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,
Tears from the depth of some divine despair
Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,
In looking on the happy autumn-fields,
And thinking of the days that are no more...”

“Tears, Idle Tears”, Alfred, Lord Tennyson

“Beanie!” I hear an excited shout as I step off the ramp of the plane at the aeroport in Malta. Okay, someone’s here to meet me; that’s hardly unusual. But someone who calls me Beanie? I scan the faces of the crowd for one that’s familiar. Then I see Orlando. My face lights up with a grin I can’t restrain. It’s been too long.

“Orli!” I yell enthusiastically. He steps lightly over the barrier meant to keep the crowd back from the plane– Legolas’ feline movements have stuck with the boy– and runs towards me. A few security officials yell at him halfheartedly, but by that time I’ve dropped my things and he’s leapt into my arms. He hugs me tight, kissing my cheek and slapping my back with exuberance. Yeah, way too long.

“How’ve you been since I saw you, mate?” he asks, picking up my bags from where I dropped them. I wrestle him for the larger one, but he insists on carrying all of my stuff.

“I’ll get it! Anyway, how are you?”

“Hm,” I reply absently.

“That good, eh?” he teases, the worried look in his eyes belying his jest.

“Yeah,” I answer. He looks at me suspiciously. I shrug. “Really. What about you?”

“Oh, fine. I’ve had plenty of work to keep me busy. I missed you, Sean.” He looks right at me, and the effect is unnerving, like he’s staring directly into my brain. His voice and demeanour have changed from giddy to solemn in a matter of seconds. I turn away, unable to confront the seriousness in his face.

“I missed you, too,” I respond, putting it mildly. Very mildly. I turn back towards him, and when our eyes meet, I’m pinned to the spot by something I’m not sure I can explain. We stand there like overly lifelike statues for nearly a minute until something snaps us back to reality, namely the voice of the woman announcing flights over the loudspeaker system. Shaking my head, I turn around and head towards Baggage Claim to pick up my other suitcases. We take a cab over to the set.

******

“Here’s your trailer,” says Orlando. He gestures to the right. “There’s mine, the next one over. So I’ll be close by, anyway.” We go inside and set my things down just inside the door. He looks a bit uncomfortable with just hanging around.

“Right, well, if you need anything, you know where to find me,” he pronounces, walking towards the door. Something in me panics. I don’t want him to go just yet.

“Wait!” I cry. He’s already down the steps that lead up to the trailer. He turns back to look at me. I falter for a moment at the lost look in those big brown eyes the magazines are always touting as his best feature. Do I really want to involve myself in any way, shape, or form with one very vulnerable Orlando Bloom? The answer is probably no, particularly knowing what I know, but what do I know?

“Erm, do you want to stay? I could... er...” I trail off. I don’t have anything to offer him as enticement to stay. “Er, well, I haven’t unpacked anything yet, as you know, so... oh, forget it.” I’m about to go back inside when he stops me.

“That’s okay; I’ll stay anyway– that is, if it’s not too much of a bother. You probably want to unpack,” he finishes resignedly, something like hope shining doubtfully in his eyes. I shake my head, laughing at our ridiculous shared shyness.

“No, actually, what I want more than anything right now is for you to stay, and we can talk a while.” I somehow manage not to add a qualifying ‘if you’re up for it’ sort of deal. He looks at me a moment, then smiles broadly. Oh God, I’ve missed that smile.

“Me, too,” he says, chuckling, and follows me back into the trailer. We sit down on opposite sides of the sofa– the trailer is already furnished– grinning like idiots at one another. Then, for some reason, his eyes look suspiciously watery, and before I know it, I’m being faced with a crying Orlando. He’s still laughing, though. I’m feeling a bit choked up myself. Sitting here with him brings back so many memories.

“‘Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,’” I recite abstractedly, reaching out a hand to stroke his cheek. He beams at me.

“That’s Tennyson– ‘Tears, Idle Tears’. You’re quoting Tennyson at me. I don’t know why I never...” He stops, suddenly overcome with emotion. Now he’s crying in earnest, and I move closer to him so he can lay his head on my shoulder. I cradle him against me, stroking his back soothingly. I can only guess that he’s remembering things, too. Hugs that were a little over-friendly and far too lingering. Long nights spent just talking until the sun rose despite early calls. Moments where everything just seemed to freeze and we were the only two people anywhere in the world until one of us looked away and broke the spell. Now he’s repositioning himself, climbing into my lap and bracing his hands on my shoulders, gazing into my eyes sincerely, and every bit of stage fright I’ve never felt is welling up inside me, and I’m afraid I’m going to scream until he reassures me there’s nothing to be frightened of.

“Oh God, Sean,” he sighs wearily, a spark of jaded fatigue flashing in his eyes, not something I’m accustomed to associating with Orlando. “Why didn’t we ever tell each other...?” He doesn’t have to finish his question. It’s one I’ve always wanted to ask.

“I think we thought we were just being stupid to even think...” What the shit am I going on about? I try again, hoping for more coherency. “Or maybe we were too caught up in our own uncertainties,” I muse.

“If I tell you something now–... do you think it could make up for all of those other times when I wanted to say it so badly but didn’t have the guts to?” he asks, looking as scared as if I were about to skewer him with acupuncture needles.

“It could. And if I say it back?”

He smiles fondly. “I love you, Sean.”

My eyes go wide and my chest is constricted; I can’t breathe. There’s no way I could have prepared myself for the sudden force with which his admission hits me, no matter how much I was expecting it. Then I catch my breath again.

“Orlando.” I love the way his name rolls off my tongue, sliding like fresh, clean, cool summer linen against overheated skin. “I love you, too.” And suddenly he’s kissing me, just the way I’ve always wished he would, gently yet with a demanding edge that makes me moan somewhere in the back of my throat and manoeuvre us both so that he’s lying on the sofa and I’m stretched out on top of him.

“Sean,” he growls. He’s looking up at me with dark, lust-clouded eyes, Paris’ soft brown curls framing his face, and then he grinds his crotch up into mine and I’m hard as nails and my eyes are fluttering as I desperately try to keep them open. “Sean, I want–” But I know what he wants. I nod shortly and roll off him, reaching for my bag of essentials. There’s always a small bag of condoms and lube in there, thank God. I find it reasonably quickly, grabbing the little bottle and one foil-wrapped packet. I hold them up so Orlando can see.

“Yes? Is this what you want?” It wouldn’t do any good for him to be uncertain now. He nods hungrily and drops his gaze to my cock, which hardens measurably with one simple look from him. I groan and lose no time in getting his clothes off. The shirt goes quickly, but I’m almost tentative about pulling down his trousers and shorts. I do it reverently, lovingly, until he hisses at me to hurry up. When he’s finally lying there in the altogether, I suck in a breath. Christ, he’s fucking beautiful. I’d like to savour this moment, but Orlando’s having none of it.

“Fucking hurry up already, Bean!” he moans. “Get your clothes off and your cock inside me *now*.” I exhale sharply. I wouldn’t have expected him to be a dirty talker, but he’s good at it. I strip as rapidly as humanly possible and roll the condom on. I look at him, lying there on the couch, looking lethally sexy and thoroughly debauched, and I feel this wave of pure lust wash over me. Then I consider the logistics of the situation. If we try what I’ve got in mind on the sofa, someone’s going to be quite uncomfortable. If, however, we relocate our activities to the conveniently soft-carpeted floor... The possibilities are endless.

“Orli.”

“Yes?”

“Floor.”

“Yes.”

In a move worthy of his blond Elven alter-ego, Orlando leaps off the couch and comes flying at me, knocking my legs out from under me so I fall to the floor along with him. Then he pounces, straddling my hips and pinning my wrists above my head. He leans down and kisses me again, and I feel like I’m going up in smoke. When he pauses to catch his breath and simultaneously grinds his arse down on my aching cock, I let out a low, throaty moan and use all of my strength to roll us over so that I’m sitting on my knees between his parted thighs. He grins.

“Okay?” He nods. I pour some lube onto a few fingers and drop one down between the cheeks of his arse, sliding it into him slowly and gently. His eyes go huge, but he hasn’t asked me to stop, so I keep pushing it in, wiggling it a bit until I find the raised mound of nerves and stroke it hard enough to make him groan. I use his moment of ecstasy to cancel out the pain of a second finger joining the first. I hold still for a moment and then begin to scissor my fingers slightly, stretching him.

”Unnnh,” he moans, tossing his head from side to side. His back arches and he shoves his hips down, apparently attempting to impale himself on my fingers. I add a third, just to be safe, and move them around a bit before drawing back. Orlando gives a keening wail when he finds himself so empty, but I slick myself up quickly and lift his hips, encouraging him to wrap those long lean legs around my waist. I raise my eyebrows questioningly, but he only whines in response and I know he’s ready. I push in slowly– there’s no way I’m taking any chances– but he digs his heels into my lower back to pull me closer more rapidly.

“Christ, Orlando, you’re so fucking tight,” I manage to grind out hoarsely, still maintaining a few shards of control.

“You’re so fucking big, Sean,” he answers, and my eyelids flutter shut for a second as I struggle not to implode or spontaneously combust or something from the combined heat of his body and his words. But I open my eyes again, willing them not to close, as I push in the rest of the way and change my angle to hit his prostate head-on. The look on his face, one of pure rapture, is well worth the effort of keeping my eyes open, and the long, low moan he lets out finally provides me with the incentive I needed to abandon myself to the pent-up lust I’ve harboured so long for the boy, and I draw out, only to slam back into him. He screams his pleasure and I take care to repeat the action he relishes so much over and over until my breathing is ragged and he’s thrashing wildly beneath me. I reach between us and take hold of his neglected erection, stroking it vigourously in time with my thrusts.

I lean down so that my mouth is close to his ear. “I want you to come for me, Orlando,” I growl, and it’s enough to send him into orgasm. As he flies over the edge, taking me with him, we shout our mutual exaltation.

“I love you, Orlando.” Just to make sure he knows it.

“I love you, too, Sean.”

******

Lying there on the floor with Orlando, one of my best mates and the love of my life, after the hottest sex I’ve ever had, I smile. I think he’ll stay for a while.

Sat, 02 Oct 2004 03:36:51 GMT

Title: All Three Together (3/?)
Author: Captain Daisyshine (Hitchcock_Princess182@hotmail.com)
Pairing: VigOrliBean, various permutations thereof
Rating: NC-17
Series: The next bit in the All Three Together storyline I’ve started.
Summary: Viggo’s still visiting Sean and Orli in Malta. There’s lots of manlovin’ (©Razz), but I’ve found plot rather inessential at this point.
Warnings: Oh dear. This was supposed to be a quality fic, but it seems to have deteriorated into little more than an all-out smutfest. Voyeurism, language, wanking, threesomes, soiling of a ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron, and a Trojan Man gag. I really scare myself sometimes.
Disclaimer: The butler did it.
Archive: Yes please.
Feedback: My poison of choice. Oh, no, wait; that’s pastries. Mmm pastries. Sorry, what was I saying? Oh yes, feedback. *holds up sign: “will work for feedback”*
Notes: *Picks up right where the first part left off. You don’t have to read the first part, however. This makes enough sense without it, I think. *Lyrics in chapter three are from “The 59th Street Bridge Song” by Simon and Garfunkel. *Hey, here’s another challenge! Identify the origin of the title of this chapter or the quotes in Viggo’s letter. I don’t know what you’ll get, but surely that warrants at least a mention in the next dedication.
Dedication: *moblo413, feeder of the bunnies and my cofounder of the Dopey Grin Society, who also correctly guessed the origin of the title of chapter two (“Here at the Quiet Limit of the World”) to be Tennyson’s “Tithonus.” *Milady Razzle, Duchess of Slashingham and brilliant comedienne. Plenty of Beanstalk to come. Er, ahead. Um... *All my VigOrliBean girls, who I love so dearly. *My muses, because without them ~~fucking incessantly~~ nudging me along, nothing would ever get written.

“In Which it Seeméd Always Afternoon”

Slow down, you move too fast. You’ve got to make the morning last. Just kickin’ down the cobblestones, lookin’ for fun, and feelin’ groovy...

Orli awoke late the next morning to the smell of fresh pancakes.

A bit confused, he rolled out of the bed Sean and Viggo had already vacated, stumbled into the trailer’s living area, followed the intriguing scent into the kitchen, and allowed his mouth to drop open at the sight that met his sleepy eyes. For there was Sean, fucking Viggo on the kitchen table, and the only article of clothing they had on between them was Viggo’s ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron, which was admittedly pushed up above its wearer’s waist so as to allow Sean access to his lover’s magnificent cock. Orlando’s breathing grew shallower by the moment as he noticed the small details, such as the way Viggo’s eyes had rolled back into his head and he gripped Sean’s hips as if for dear life, or how Sean leaned down to lick at an already-wet collarbone. As Viggo moaned, Orli let his eyes flutter shut while his hand drifted idly down to stroke his own cock. He felt deliciously voyeuristic, as neither Sean nor Viggo had noticed him yet, and he bit down on his unoccupied hand to stifle his noises of pleasure.

“Oh God, Sean,” Viggo panted, “I’m so close...Christ!” Orlando increased the pace of his hand on his aching cock and gasped for breath.

Sean looked Viggo directly in the eyes. “Come for me, Vig,” he coaxed with a forceful thrust. Viggo shut his eyes tightly and came with a long, sexy groan, creamy white liquid spurting over Sean’s hand and the unfortunate apron. Then, still thrusting into Viggo, Sean turned to look at Orli, whose breath caught in his throat upon realising that Sean had known he was there the entire time. Sean crooked a finger at him and waved him nearer. Orli was powerless to disobey and quickly found himself standing next to the table with Viggo’s mouth about waist height, and he moaned as he felt his cock being taken into Viggo’s ridiculously talented mouth. “You, too,” Sean ordered, voice hoarse. “I want to hear you scream.” Viggo chose that moment to deep-throat him, and Orlando did scream as he came, then fell to the floor as his knees gave out. The pure debauchery of Orli being sucked off by Vig sent Sean careening over the edge as well, and he came with a groan and a shout of “FUCK!” before collapsing forward onto his lover.

Several minutes went by before anyone spoke. As was generally the case, Orli broke the silence. “I’m starved,” he said, climbing shakily to his feet.

“Pancakes in the oven,” Viggo replied, making no move to push Sean off of him and get up. Orli grabbed a potholder, took the plate of pancakes out of the oven, and set it on top of the stove. Then he turned to his lovers, both of whom were still lying sprawled on the table. He cleared his throat. They didn’t even look up.

“Ahem,” he said. Viggo raised his head.

“What’s ahem supposed to mean?” he asked teasingly.

“It means you and Beanie get the fuck off the table so I can eat my fucking breakfast,” Orlando replied, deadpan. Sean snorted. Orli glowered.

Viggo raised his hands in front of his face. “Okay, okay, we’ll get up,” he surrendered. Sean, however, wasn’t going anywhere. Orli tapped his foot impatiently. Sean chuckled. Orli began to tickle him, under his arms and chin, on his ludicrously sensitive feet, and Sean laughed and flailed and begged for mercy.

“Get off the table,” Orli commanded, mock-stern.

“Never!” Sean replied. Orli continued to tickle him. “Okay! Okay.” Sean stood reluctantly, and Viggo followed.

“That’s better,” Orlando announced.

“Yes, your highness,” Sean teased.

“Watch it,” Viggo warned. “You know what Vengeful Orli is like.” He grinned.

“Oh, shaddup, both of you,” Orli answered, carrying the plate of pancakes to the table.

“There’s strawberry jam in the refrigerator, Baby,” Sean told him, no longer taunting his young lover. Orlando sulked for a few moments before smiling one of his you-could-illuminate-a-small-city-with-the-light-in-my-face smiles and kissing Sean on the cheek.

“Good morning, Beanie,” he said. “Morning, Vig,” he added, kissing the other man as well.

“Afternoon, actually,” Viggo corrected. “Good thing you two aren’t filming today.”

“Oooh, that means plenty of time to show you all of our favourite spots in Malta! There’s this little café with these delicious croissants, and-” Orli began to babble before Viggo cut him off.

“Whoa, slow down! I didn’t come to see Malta, I came to see you and Sean. I don’t really want to leave the trailer, if that’s okay,” he said.

Orlando was grinning from ear to ear. “I was hoping you didn’t want to see Malta,” he replied. “I would have been so disappointed if you’d asked us to give you a little tour.” Viggo smiled.

“Well, eat up,” said Sean. “If I know Viggo, and I do, you’re going to need all the energy you can get, because he’s been planning this for days, maybe weeks, including seducing me over pancakes.”

Viggo shrugged. “What can I say? He’s got me pegged.”

*****

The afternoon dragged slowly on in the trailer, its progress rather impeded by the lazy moods of the trailer’s occupants. They told each other everything of importance that had occurred since the last time they’d all three been together between long, slow makeout sessions, and no one bothered to get dressed. They ate a late lunch around four, then moved back to the living room couch, where Orlando decided he wanted to up the ante a bit. He slid off the couch and started licking and nipping at any accessible patch of skin, be it Sean’s or Viggo’s. When he found Sean’s hardening cock, he sucked it into his mouth greedily and began to lick at the vein on the underside, prompting Sean to moan raggedly into Viggo’s mouth and bury his fingers in Orlando’s coffee-brown curls. Orli hummed quietly, sending vibrations up the length of Sean’s cock. Sean broke his kiss with Viggo to gasp for air. Viggo leaned down to lap hungrily at Sean’s chest, wetting a nipple and blowing it dry. The combination of Orli’s hot wet mouth surrounding his erection and Viggo’s cool breath on his chest made Sean’s breathing increase until it was coming in frenzied pants, and he tossed his head from side to side, shutting his eyes and clenching his fists in Orlando’s hair.

“Open your eyes,” Viggo said in a raspy whisper. Sean did, and looked down to see himself disappearing into Orli’s mouth.

“Fuck,” he breathed. The sight was almost unbearably sexy– Orlando’s wet, swollen, glistening lips encircling his thick hard cock, cocoa-brown head bobbing up and down... Sean turned his head to kiss Viggo passionately, allowing Viggo’s tongue to slip into his mouth, but he nearly bit it off a moment later when he was sucked deep into Orli’s throat. He groaned harshly, and Viggo decided his tongue would be safer in his own mouth and began sucking on Sean’s earlobe instead.

“Jesus, Orli, I’m– going to-” Orli contracted his throat muscles, milking Sean’s cock with all he’d got. Sean cried out and came hard; Orli lapped up every drop. He let the now-soft cock slip from his mouth just as Viggo let Sean’s earlobe slip from his, and Sean gave a sweet, contented sigh. Orli was, by now, insanely horny, and he grabbed the bottle of lube from the coffee table drawer, where he and Sean had learned the hard way to keep it. Orlando then climbed into Viggo’s lap, straddling his waist, and began kissing him lustfully. He ground his hips down into his lover’s, causing both of them to moan.

“Viggo,” he said, voice husky with arousal, “I’ve got to fuck you. Are you good?” At Viggo’s eager nod, Orli stood and gestured for the other man to lie down on the carpet. He slicked himself rapidly and knelt between Viggo’s open legs. Positioning his aching cock at his lover’s entrance, Orlando took a deep breath and pushed in. Viggo made a little noise of discomfort and bit his lip, but when Orli gave him a worried look, he shook his head.

“I’m fine. Oh God, keep going!” Orli continued to push further, gently, though it took all his self-control not to slam into Viggo then and there. Finally, he was fully sheathed, and he drew back, then thrust in again at a different angle. Viggo’s mouth fell open, and he took several shallow, gasping breaths. Then:

“Oh, harder! God– Orli!” Orlando allowed himself a few more gentle, lazy thrusts before Viggo clamped his inner muscles down on Orli’s cock and Orli couldn’t help but begin pounding into him forcefully.

“Oh Jesus, Vig, you feel so good!” Orli groaned, fighting to keep his eyes open. He reached down between them and grabbed Viggo’s swollen, neglected cock, giving it a few short jerks before finding a rhythm that matched that of his thrusts.

“Or– OHGOD. I’m– more...” And Orlando gave more, shifting his hips and slamming into Viggo’s prostate with every thrust and speeding up his hand on the other man’s cock. Viggo moaned and came shouting Orli’s name. Orli felt Viggo’s velvety inner walls contract around his throbbing cock and moaned wantonly as he thrust hard into Viggo one more time before he came, moaning his pleasure. They rode out the aftershocks of their orgasms together, clinging tightly to one another as they felt Sean lie down beside them, stroking each one’s cheek with gentle fingers. Finally Orli rolled off Viggo, who gave a little sigh of disappointment as Orlando’s sated member slid from his body.

“I love you, Vig,” Orlando whispered, “Love you, Sean.” They smiled at him.

“Love you, Orli,” they said in unison.

*****

The next morning found Orli and Sean awaking to discover that Viggo had gone. There was a note on the bedside table:

My Trojan Man and the King with the “hungry heart”–

“It is time to go, to say farewell–” “and let there be no sadness of farewell when I embark.” We spent two beautiful days together, but I’ve got things to take care of at home. I’m glad you both have each other. I’ll see you as soon as possible. “So long, and thanks for all the fish”- er, sex.

All my love,

Viggo

They looked at one another and smiled.

To be continued...

Sat, 02 Oct 2004 03:35:42 GMT

Title: All Three Together (1-2/?)
Author: Captain Daisyshine (Hitchcock_Princess182@hotmail.com)
Pairing: VigOrliBean, various permutations thereof
Rating: NC-17
Series: Uh... Kinda sorta maybe a sequel to “A Little Experimentation” in that it’s the same characters and the two could plausibly go together. However, this one’s written in a different style and perspective and could stand on its own perfectly well.
Warnings: Do I have to warn for wanking and/ or theesomes? Oh look, I just did. Also rimming. Does that count as a squick? A bit of angst, some sap... All that good stuff.
Archive: Do you really even need to ask? Stick it where you want it; just let me know.
Disclaimer: If any of this had happened, would I have had the presence of mind to sit and take notes? None of it’s true, I made it all up, I’m implying nothing, there’s no such thing as gay people, etc.
Feedback: is my anti-drug.
Notes: *Okay, true, I’ve written several slash fics now, mostly RPS, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t crap. You have to let me know. *This one’s not beta’d either. Live with it. *San Francisco and London are two of my favourite cities I’ve ever visited, and, why yes, I adore Trafalgar Square, the dahlia garden, and the Exploratorium (actually, my uncle works there). *Lyrics in Chapter 1 are from “Shot With His Own Gun” by Elvis Costello, “Your Winter” by Sister Hazel, and “I Just Don’t Know What to Do With Myself” covered by the White Stripes. *If you can identify the origin of the title of either chapter, I’ll write you any sort of PWP you’d like involving any of the three guys in this story. (Within limits, of course. For example, nothing too horribly kinky.) *Look out for the subtle D. H. Lawrence reference. If you find it, you get to suggest something for the next chapter.
Dedication: Razz, my inspiration and comic muse. moblo413, feeder of the bunnies and card-carrying member of the Dopey Grin Society. ariadni, laura_iskra, and fairyspell, faithful readers. Smai, lovely (if rather corrupting) friend. jenmstar, keeper of the sexy icons. Devora, my darling Muffin. And my muses, the sexy things.

“I Arise From Dreams of Thee”

I. Another Grey, Lonely Day in the City by the Bay

Playing house seems so melancholy...

Absently, Orlando picked up the snapshot that had been taken of himself, Sean, and Viggo just after they had moved into the one-story off-white bungalow a few blocks east of San Francisco’s infamous Haight-Ashbury district. The shot was of the three of them grinning exuberantly into the camera, and he smiled genuinely, if a bit wistfully. For the time being, he was living in the cosy little house with only the dogs, Sean and Viggo being busy with their respective projects. Orli adored the Bay Area– it was quirky, engaging, and mild-weathered– but the fog could be rather dreary at times, and there was no one for him to talk to in order to ward off the sudden sinking loneliness that hit him at odd moments. After all, it was difficult to make friends when you were constantly worrying about whether they liked you for yourself or for your status as an internationally famous film star, and the young Brit was by nature a bit wary.

With a tired little sigh, Orlando set the picture back on the shelf. He shook his head violently, as if trying to shake off the persistent feelings of melancholy that seemed to follow him wherever he went. Snap out of it, Bloom, he admonished himself. He wandered around the house a few times, vaguely looking for something. He wasn’t quite sure what he wanted, but he wanted it very badly. There was a dull ache that poked and prodded him whenever he let his mind drift, something missing besides just the physical presence of his lovers. Preoccupied, he stubbed his toe on the doorframe that led into the kitchen and swore mildly. He took an apple from the refrigerator and tossed it from one hand to the other before finally deciding he didn’t want it and putting it back. He drank a glass of vanilla-flavoured Silk instead. Then he decided that he might as well go somewhere, since obviously there was no reason to stick around the house. He retrieved a lightweight jacket from the coat rack by the front door, slipped into a pair of old, well-worn trainers, and walked out to where his blue Audi was parked. He slid into the front seat, put Dire Straits on the stereo, and started driving towards Golden Gate Park. He was headed for the dahlia garden, one of his favourite places in the whole city, armed with Lady Chatterly’s Lover, which Sean had recommended on the basis that it was enjoyably well-written and still rather provocative, even seventy years after its publication. Orli had learned a long time ago to trust Sean’s recommendations.

He parked the car, chose a bench with a view of the dahlias, sat down, and started reading.

*****

Fuck.

This was getting stupid.

It was 8:30 in the evening, and here he was again, eating leftover Thai food for the third night in a row, and watching Viggo in A Walk on the Moon. Last night it had been Sean in Caravaggio, and the night before had been Viggo in G.I. Jane. It had become a nightly ritual, and he was almost religious in its observance, to watch one of his lovers in a film. He was at the part in the movie where the blouse man was fucking Diane Lane under a waterfall, and he felt no jealousy, only pity for her that she had never actually experienced the wonder of Viggo’s cock. Orli could feel himself beginning to get hard at the thought of Viggo fucking him under a waterfall and turned off the DVD player. No. Nope, nuh-uh. He was absolutely not going to get off watching A Walk on the Moon. Instead, he was going to assemble the couch he and Sean had picked out at Ikea, feed the dogs, and water Viggo’s plants.

He set his plastic plate of unfinished rice, veggie tempura, and wontons on the coffee table in front of him, stood and stretched, and walked over to where the deliverymen had set the giant Ikea box. He studied it curiously for a few moments, then decided assembling its contents into something that resembled a couch was too great a task to undertake by himself and took his plate to the kitchen, where he rinsed it into the sink. He filled the Dixie cup set aside for the purpose of watering the indoor plants with tap water and proceeded to pour some into each plant’s container. Then he grabbed the giant bag of Purina and filled each dog’s dish.

Good. Good. Okay. He surveyed the kitchen with a satisfied air. But something still nagged at him. Now what?

*****

Sometime in the night, he awoke from dreams of Sean and Viggo with a raging hard-on. He stumbled wearily into the bathroom, turned on the light, and blinked several times. When his eyes had adjusted, he pulled off his boxers, stepped into the shower, and turned on the water. He leaned back against the tiled wall and let his hand drift down to his aching cock. He made a fist around it and began to move his hand, simultaneously slipping a few fingers into himself, imagining that it was Sean’s hand on him, imagining that Sean was inside him and Viggo was inside Sean fucking both of them into oblivion while Sean’s hand tightened on Orli’s cock. Quickly, Orlando worked his fist up and down his erection and rode his own fingers, indulging in fantasy to bring himself to the edge. A sharp twist of fantasy-Viggo’s hips caused fantasy-Sean to change his angle as well and hit Orli’s prostate dead-on. Orli worked faster now, shamelessly fucking himself on his fingers and squeezing his swollen, leaking cock, and then- OHGOD- he came with a shout. Calmly, methodically, Orlando rinsed himself clean of bodily fluids, turned off the faucet, and grabbed a towel to dry off with. Leaving his boxers and the damp towel in a heap on the bathroom floor, he switched off the light and crawled back into bed.

II. On Leaving One’s Heart in San Francisco

Grey ceiling on the earth, well it’s lasted for a while...

Sean opened one eye cautiously, hoping against hope that he was somehow going to wake up in the San Francisco house, curled up in the bed with Orli and Vig, rather than his increasingly gloomy London flat, but it was not to be. He was still in London, and it was still raining, and he still had business to take care of here. Fuck. He got up, went to the bathroom, made himself a cup of Earl Grey, and sank down into the recliner in the living room with D. H. Lawrence’s The White Peacock. After rereading the same paragraph at least seven times and downing the entire cup of tea, he decided it simply wasn’t going to work. George and Cyril are obviously queer anyway, he thought grumpily. He took his cup into the kitchen and set it on the counter. He sulked about moodily for several minutes before deciding there were better uses for his time. He took one of the city’s famous double-decker buses over to Trafalgar Square and gazed up at the impervious face of Horatio Nelson. Yeah, yeah. Smug old bastard. You’ve got your little Emma Hamilton, and I’m living halfway across the world from Viggo and Orlando. Bloody unfair, that is. Feeling rather bad-tempered, Sean waved his hands in the air and yelled, scaring some pigeons and a couple of small children. He felt considerably better after that, and he headed back to his flat to have another go at The White Peacock before his afternoon meeting.

*****

Bloody fucking hell-fucked arse– He knew never to leave the house without his umbrella, and yet, here he was, walking down the street in the pouring rain, umbrella lying forgotten and dry next to the front door. This was the fourth time this week that he’d left it behind, and it was getting tedious. He was beginning to wonder whether his brain had pulled an Elvis and left the building when he realised there was something under his coat that was sticking him in the side and that something was, in fact, his umbrella. He pulled it out, opened it, wrestled for control of it against the wind, decided it was too much of a bother and ran the last hundred yards or so to his front door. Once inside, he showered off, fixed some strong black coffee, popped Pirates of the Caribbean into the VCR, and sat down with a bag of crisps.

*****

Oh, fuck. Not again, was Sean’s first thought upon waking to find himself sticky with his own come. His second was of how incredibly hot his dream had been. In it, he had been fucking Viggo senseless while Orlando rimmed him with his amazingly talented tongue. Sean moaned and tried to suppress the stirrings of a second erection with thoughts of clowns and drag queens, both of which he had an inordinate fear. Thankfully for his much-abused sheets, it worked. But he couldn’t get thoughts of his two beautiful lovers off his mind. Nostalgia for the month and a half they had spent together in their San Francisco house threatened to overwhelm him. Since that time, he had spent time with each of the other men separately, and they were both in California right now, but it had been a good while since they had all three been together. Turning over in the bed, Sean buried his face in the pillow and tried to get some sleep.

III. When London is Calling but You’ve Other Things to Do

I just don’t know what to do with myself...

Viggo sighed. He was sitting in the living room of his Topanga Canyon home, fidgeting anxiously, waiting for a reasonable time he could leave and make it to the poetry reading he was scheduled to do in L.A. no more than half an hour early. It was lonely here; Henry was staying with Exene, and Sean and Orlando were in London. After the poetry reading this afternoon, Viggo was flying from LAX up to SFO and spending what would hopefully be a relaxing weekend in the Bay Area.

He ran his fingers through his hair, which was reddish and chin-length at the moment. It was so long since he had spent time with both Sean and Orli, and it was beginning to wear on him, this constantly being separated from one or both of his lovers. And soon they would both be off to Malta to film Troy. He couldn’t claim to be entirely jealousy-free over this, especially since Sean and Orlando had been a couple for several months in New Zealand during the filming of The Lord of the Rings before they had decided they wanted to include him in their relationship. But it was less jealousy and more sadness, pure and simple, that Viggo felt at the thought of being deprived of both of them for months more.

*****

Well, the poetry reading had gone well, and that was something to be happy about. But truthfully, in his heart of hearts, Viggo was not especially happy. Oh, certainly he was pleased that the reading had been successful, but he was rather preoccupied with the absence of Sean and Orli, which gnawed at him incessantly. He frowned. He had come into the bedroom to get something, but now that he was here, he couldn’t quite remember what it was. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a little photo album sitting on the nightstand. He wrinkled his forehead. That hadn’t been there on his last visit to this house, had it? He picked it up, and a piece of paper fell out and fluttered to the ground. On recovering the note, he realised it was in Orli’s writing and had his own name at the top. Viggo, it said, I got some film developed from Henry’s visit earlier this year. These were my favourite shots. Hope you enjoy them. Love, your Elf Boy. Viggo opened the little album. There, on the first page, was the most beautiful picture of Orli and Henry clowning around at Fisherman’s Wharf. Orli was ruffling Henry’s hair and had his arm around the kid, and they had both crossed their eyes and stuck out their tongues. It was a candid taken from off to the side, probably snapped by Sean, who had a knack for getting pictures when their subjects were genuinely unaware that he was taking them. The second shot was himself, Henry, and Sean posing in front of a spray-painted shop window on Lower Haight. Henry had put bunny ears on both of them and was making the goofiest face known to humanity. Then there were several pictures of Sean and Henry in ridiculous poses at the Exploratorium and a few of Sean, Orli, and Henry by themselves or in various pairings in front of the Golden Gate Bridge and in a few spots in the University/ Telegraph area of Berkeley. The album closed with a shot of the four of them in front of the house, laughing and flushed from the day’s exertions. Viggo found that he was smiling despite himself, despite his loneliness, despite the ache of being separated from his son and lovers, despite the demands on his time... He put on a Diana Krall CD and poured himself a glass of 1999 Yellow Tail Shiraz, then went to bed feeling curiously warm and content.

*****

He awoke with a start around three in the morning, tried and failed to go back to sleep and return to his dreams of Sean and Orlando, and decided to just get up. He turned on NPR, though it was too early for anything particularly interesting to be on, and went to the shed behind the house that he’d converted into a studio of sorts. He got out a painting he’d been working on for a few weekends now and tried to paint something happy, but all that came out were wistful, nostalgic shades of lavender and pale azure in dreamy, bittersweet patterns. He was missing Sean and Orli like crazy this morning, and he could see he wasn’t in any condition to work on this particular painting. Instead, he went inside and turned on Patriot Games.

“Here at the Quiet Limit of the World”

Viggo grinned and braced himself for the onslaught of questioning, kissing, and general fawning over that he was about to endure from Sean and Orli. They had no idea he’d flown to Malta, a quiet island with a population of around 400,000, and he knew they’d be pleasantly shocked. He paid the cabbie who’d driven him from the airport, grabbed his overnight bag, and walked up to the door of the trailer with “MR. BEAN” printed above the door. He knocked. He could hear a muffled “just a minute!” from inside, where he knew the two men would be struggling to figure out whose boxers were whose and put them on so as not to be answering the door naked. Viggo waited. The door opened.

“Viggo!” Orli cried, jumping him immediately and kissing him, as he and Sean bombarded their unexpected guest with questions. “How did you get here?” “Why’d you come?” “How long can you stay?” “How was the flight?” they asked as they took his bag and began to touch him as if they weren’t certain he was really there. He smiled and waved them off, shaking his head.

“Would you like something to drink?” asked Sean, his manner practically obsequious. Viggo shook his head.

“Where’s the bedroom?” he asked rather pointedly. “This is the first time we’ve all three been together in a while.” Sean and Orli exchanged a hormonally charged look, then lost no time in dragging Viggo into the bedroom, stripping him, and removing their own shorts. Viggo felt himself caught up in the familiar whirlwind sensation his two lovers created in him with their manic energy levels and general horniness.

”C’mere,” Sean beckoned from a few feet away, and when Viggo walked over to him, he promptly began kissing the American passionately. “Mmmm,” Sean moaned, “you taste like heaven and Orli.” Viggo felt the younger man come up behind him and put his hands on Viggo’s hips as he craned his neck to join in the kiss. Viggo’s head was spinning with the intoxicating feeling of kissing both of his lovers at once while each rubbed a growing erection against him. Sean ground his hips forward and groaned harshly, and said in a gravelly whisper, “Viggo, I need to fuck you.” Viggo tossed his head back onto Orli’s shoulder, but Orli thrust his cock against Viggo’s arse and purred, “And I want to watch.”

“Does it matter what I want?” Viggo panted breathlessly. Sean laughed, deep and throaty and unbearably sexy.

“Not especially,” he replied with another push of his hips into Viggo’s. Viggo gasped and leaned forward to claim Sean’s mouth in a bruising kiss. Then Orlando backed up, leaving Viggo feeling strangely bereft. He tried to ask Orli what he was doing, but he had got as far as “Wha-” before Sean had begun raining kisses over his jawline and down his neck, and he arched his neck to give Sean better access. A few moments later, Viggo felt something cool and slick pressing into him, and it was several seconds before he realised it was Orli’s lubed-up finger. He groaned and pushed down on it, attempting to fuck himself on the finger, which Orli chose to curl and brush over his prostate at that moment. Viggo’s eyes fluttered shut and he grabbed onto Sean’s broad shoulders to steady himself. Orli added another finger, and then another, until the American was moaning quite vocally and thrusting his hips down, seeking more, more, more, and then the fingers were gone and he sighed at their loss and Sean was guiding him over to the bed and laying him down on his back and pushing into him longslowgentle but Viggo couldn't take any more of this torture and he wrapped his legs around Sean's thighs and pulled him in fastdeephard and OHGOD right *there* and he could see Orlando sitting in a chair beside the bed, toying with his own cock, mouth open and cheeks flushed with arousal and "Please, Sean, more!" Sean complied eagerly and changed his angle and began to thrust HARD, fucking Viggo into the mattress.

"Holy shit, Viggo, you're so fucking tight," Sean cried and Orli moaned and joined them on the bed and moved in behind Sean and his cock was already slicked and he pushed into Sean and "Fucking christ, Orli!" and Orli twisted his hips and Sean screamed and pushed into Viggo and Viggo groaned loudly and felt Orli's hand insinuate between himself and Sean and begin to stroke his cock fast and long and FUCK Viggo could feel the familiar tensing of his balls as he came screaming two names and it was like a chain reaction as his muscles clamped down on Sean and sent him over the edge, and then it was Orli's turn and he came with a rich, beautiful moan that sounded like pure bottled sex.

The three of them collapsed onto the bed, sticky and sated and smiling.

"So, who's up for round two?" Orli asked, provoking groans and laughter.

"I love you," they all three say together.

Sat, 02 Oct 2004 03:32:06 GMT

Title: “Pretty Boy”
Author: Captain Daisyshine (Hitchcock_Princess182@hotmail.com)
Pairing: OrliBean
Rating: NC-17
~~Plot~~ Summary: PWP. Orli is worried that Sean thinks he’s pretty like a girl. Orli is wrong. Smut ensues.
Series: Not that I know of.
Disclaimer: I made it all up. I make no claims and mean no disrespect.
Warnings: Smut, sap… the usual suspects.
Archive: Green Opals; anyone else who wants it lemme know.
Feedback: rocks my socks.
Notes: Lyrics from “Somebody Told Me” by The Killers. Still have no beta; all mistakes are mine.
Dedication: Razz: my little fuck-her-she’s-British comic muse. :D moblo413: I’m going to miss my bunny feeder. *cuddles* Smai, The Corrupter. Caitlin, who had better leave a bloody comment. :D My OrliBean girls- here is my latest humble offering. The muses… Stop hiding the sodding plot lines in your mountains of smut!!!

Somebody told me that you had a boyfriend who looked like a girlfriend…

“Sean?” Orlando asked tentatively. It was early in the afternoon; the cast had been given the day off from filming.

“Hm?” Sean replied groggily. He had been having a pleasant nap after his morning romp with Orli.

“Do you think I look like a girl?”

Sean was certain, had he been standing, he would have fallen over laughing. As it was, he attempted to restrain the snorts and chuckles threatening to give away his mirth. He shook with silent laughter; a quiet giggle escaped. Orlando glared at him. “Sorry, Love. But where would you get that idea?” Sean inquired. “Who said that?”

“No one,” Orli lied. “It’s just, I know that I’m sort of a ‘pretty boy’-” here Sean tried to protest, but Orlando shook his head: “No, no, no one told me that; I figured it out on my own. But, I was thinking, and I *am* essentially the girl in the relationship.”

“What do you mean?” asked Sean.

“Well, in bed… I’m always- I mean, I never… You-”

Sean interrupted. “You mean you’re always the one getting fucked.”

Orli crimsoned slightly at this, but nodded and pressed on. “So, I was thinking…”

“You’d like to maybe try something different?” Sean suggested. Orlando smiled, relieved.

“Er, well, yes,” he answered. Sean nodded thoughtfully. Orlando waited expectantly for him to say something.

“So…” Sean began. “When were you thinking you’d like to try fucking me for a change?”

Orli swallowed hard. Then he laughed nervously. “Well, actually…” Sean reached down and groped his lover, feeling the young man’s enthusiasm already.

“Now, Orli? I want you to fuck me now.”

Orlando gasped and pushed his hips forward into Sean’s hand. “Yes… Now.”

Sean grinned and rolled over to grab the lube from the nightstand. Then he moved back towards Orli with a heavy, sleek, panther-like grace and began kissing the boy reverently, then more passionately. Orlando moaned, thinking that soon he was going to be inside Sean, fucking him into next Wednesday. He ground his hips into Sean’s, letting the other man feel how hard he was already.

Sean groaned. He’d never thought about how amazing it would feel to have Orli fuck him. Now he was glad the boy had raised the issue, and he rolled onto his back invitingly. Orli smiled anxiously and knelt between his lover’s legs. Sean handed him the bottle of lubricant.

“Love you, Baby,” Sean said reassuringly. Orlando poured gel onto a couple of fingers and looked at the other man for approval. Sean nodded. Orli slipped a finger down between Sean’s parted legs and pushed it gently into his lover. Sean winced; it had been a couple of years since he’d had anyone inside him. Orlando held still until Sean smiled shakily, then curved his finger tentatively and felt around for the raised cluster of nerves that would send Sean over the moon. He found it and stroked it repeatedly the way he liked.

“Fucking Christ, Orli,” Sean breathed. Encouraged, Orlando added a second finger and began stretching his lover carefully, gently, the way Sean had done with him his first time.

“Okay?” Orli asked. Sean gasped in reply as Orlando brushed his prostate.

“Oh God, stop,” Sean ground out. Orli looked worried. Had he done something wrong? Sean’s next words proved otherwise. “Enough! I’m ready.” Orlando raised an eyebrow. “Just fuck me, Orli!” Orlando fought to catch his breath. He pulled his fingers back and poured more lube into his hand. He was shaking as he slicked his cock, trembling in anticipation. “Please,” Sean whispered. Orli positioned his cock at Sean’s entrance, smiled at his lover, and began to push in.

“Jesus, Sean, you’re so fucking tight,” Orli panted. Sean didn’t say anything, just grabbed Orlando’s hips and pulled them forward HARD. He screamed.

“ORLANDO!”

Orli pulled back and pushed back in slowly.

“Fuck, Orli, FASTER!” Sean cried. Orli let go of his inhibitions and slammed into Sean, hardfastdeep, hitting Sean’s prostate head-on with every thrust. Sean’s eyes rolled back into his head. Oh, God. Orli bent to kiss Sean’s forehead and grabbed his hand, linking their fingers together. Sean focused his eyes on Orlando. “Orli,” he moaned, “I’m going to come.” Orlando felt his cock throb so hard he thought he was going to explode; all of the blood in his body had rushed to his groin, and he reached between them and grasped Sean’s cock, giving it a few hard tugs and then Sean was coming, and the expression on his face was pure ecstasy as Orli continued to slam into him, groaning his name and hitting *that* place, even while come shot out of Sean’s cock in creamy white spurts, splattering onto Orlando’s stomach and then:

“FUCK, Sean!” And Orli was coming, too, hard and long, deep in his lover‘s body.

“I love you, Orlando,” Sean whispered with a sigh as Orli pulled out and lay down beside him.

“Mmmm, love you, too, Beanie,” Orlando answered, kissing him sweetly.

*****

Several hours later, Sean grinned. He was *SO* glad Orli was not a girl.

Sat, 02 Oct 2004 03:29:21 GMT

Title: Fireproof
Author: Captain Daisyshine (Hitchcock_Princess182@hotmail.com)
Pairing: VigBean
Rating: NC-17
Summary: PWP. Angry sex. Rahr. Sean plays a dirty trick so he and Viggo will fight and then make up.
Series: Not on your life. Though a DaveOrli companion piece is in the works.
Disclaimer: Only the words and ideas are mine. The characters belong to themselves. Dammit.
Warnings: Angst. And smut. Don’t forget the smut.
Archive: You betcha! Green Opals can have it, anyone else just take it and drop me a line.
Feedback: Pretty please? My goal in life is to eventually make it into a second page of comments.
Notes: Ooh look, I’ve finally written something with a hint of darkness. Lyrics from “Indoor Fireworks” by Elvis Costello. My newfound beta, the fabulous moblo413, has gone on vacation. So, as usual, all mistakes are mine. This is my first VigBean. Oh, and DTs (delerium tremens) is what you get when you’re having alcohol withdrawals.
Dedication: *Lady Razzle, Duchess of Slashingham and dead drummer for Slash: you make me proud to belong to the fandom. :D *Caitlin: here be more mansex. We gotta find us some men. ;) *moblo413: I eagerly await your return. *dalehead, ariadni, laura_iskra, fairyspell, and my other faithful readers: without you I’d be nothing. I love you all to bits.

You were the spice of life,
the gin in my vermouth,
and though the sparks would fly, I
thought our love was fireproof.
Sometimes we’d fight in public, Darling, with
very little cause,
but different kinds of sparks would fly when
we got on our own behind closed doors.

“Sean, maybe you should ease off on the Guinness…” Viggo says, glancing pointedly at the table in front of Sean, which is littered with empty glasses. “We’ve got an early call tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, ’m fine,” Sean answers with a careless wave of his hand. Viggo frowns.

“Sean, last time you drank this much, you got up in the morning sick with alcohol poisoning. Do you really want a repeat of that, especially with everyone already a bit on edge as it is?” Viggo asks rather more loudly than absolutely necessary. Sean crimsons; they’re at the pub with several of their friends, and he doesn’t appreciate being reminded of that embarrassing incident in front of everyone, so he strikes back.

“Dun go pretending you know everything about me, Viggo Mortensen,” Sean replies, a dangerous edge in his voice. Their friends are starting to stare; the tension in the air is palpable.

“Fine, get yourself fucking pissed, Sean. Enjoy it. Do it over and over and over again. And then next week you can go jump off a fucking bridge in a fit of the DT’s for all I care. I’m leaving.” Viggo climbs out of the booth and storms out of the dingy little pub, accompanied by Sean’s growl of “I’m not a bloody alcoholic.”

Outside, Viggo stomps over to his car and gets in. He starts the engine and heads for his rented house. Behind the wheel, he is considerably calmer. It’s not the first time he and Sean have fought like this, and it certainly won’t be the last. Their relationship has been volatile, dynamic, passionate from the beginning, which adds up to a fantastic sex life and a deep, potent love. However, their little differences often lead to huge blowouts not unlike the one they’ve just had.

Then, there he is, at his own house and not Sean’s where he spends most of his nights. Angry at himself and at Sean for letting a little quarrel escalate into something so ridiculous once again, Viggo goes inside, shrugs off his clothes, and crawls into bed.

*****

Meanwhile, back at the ~~Batcave~~ pub…

“Fuck,” Sean swears, seeing Vig’s car gone. Orli looks at him sympathetically.

“Lemme give you a ride home,” offers Orlando. He’s practically sober, having arrived at the pub later than the others after about an hour of deliberation on what to wear to impress Dave Wenham, on whom he’s got a bit of a crush. David didn’t show up tonight anyway, and Orli’s willing to play therapist to Sean just to remind himself that his own troubles are comparatively minor. Well, that and Sean’s a good friend.

Sean nods. “Okay.” He and Orli get into the car.

“Where ’m I taking you? You’re not even drunk, are you?” Orli asks incredulously.

“My house, and no, I’m not. I got everyone to leave their empty glasses in front of me.” Sean replies.

“Why on earth would you do that?”

“Make-up sex with Vig is fucking incredible.” Orlando stares. Sean grins.

“Think Viggo will be at your house?”

“Wouldn’t count on it. He gets angry, he doesn’t usually sleep at my place.”

“You two are always going at it, huh.”

“Viggo and I do three things: fight, fuck, and say ‘I love you.’ Generally in that order.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of that?”

“Why should I? I love him, and he loves me. Besides, have you ever had make-up sex?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“You should try it sometime. Hey, how’s your sex life these days?”

Orli mumbles something incoherent that sounds vaguely like ‘Great; my hand and I have taken our relationship to a whole new level.’

“That good, huh?”

“Eh.”

“Things not going anywhere with Dave?”

“WHAT?” Orli splutters, practically driving off the road. “You know about that? But I haven’t told anyone! Is it that obvious?”

“To me. But then, he confessed to fancying you, and I’ve just been watching to see if you maybe fancied him.”

“He fancies me?”

“Don’t look so shocked, Orli. You’re a beautiful boy. Well, here we are!” Sean climbs out of the car and walks up the front steps to his house. Once inside, he strips down to his boxers and lies down on the couch. He can’t sleep in the bed without Viggo.

*****

Viggo has been ignoring him all day, and Sean is getting tired of it. So when he sees Viggo getting into his car, he runs over and jumps in.

“What the fuck are you doing, Sean?” Viggo asks coldly.

“Going home with you.”

“Fine.” Viggo is silent the entire drive to the house, and Sean feels a little thrill course through him when he realises Viggo has driven to Sean’s place, which means that’s what he thinks of as home.

Viggo stops the car but doesn’t get out. Sean can feel the waves of hostility radiating towards himself. “Out,” Sean commands. Viggo shakes his head. Sean leans closer and growls into Viggo’s ear, “It’s going to be very difficult for you to fuck me against the wall in the car, Viggo.” Viggo swallows, and shivers slightly as Sean’s tongue snakes out to lick his earlobe. Then Sean draws back, climbs out of the car and goes into the house, swivelling his hips to draw Viggo’s focus to his magnificent denim-clad arse. Viggo is left sitting in the car, watching him go inside.

Sean smiles to himself. He knows what’s coming next.

“Drop your jeans,” Viggo orders him, in a low, gravely voice dripping with sin and licentiousness. He’s standing silhouetted in the doorway, the setting sun providing brilliant backlighting that makes him appear even more godlike that he already is. Sean is quick to obey, pushing his jeans down his thighs as Viggo shuts the door behind him. He goes to take them off entirely but instead finds himself pressed against the wall behind him.

“That’s more like it,” Sean rasps as Viggo grinds his cloth-covered cock forward into Sean‘s crotch.

“Shut up,” Viggo says, unbuckling his belt.

Desire pools in Sean’s stomach, and he smirks. “Yes, Sir, Master Chief,” he answers as Viggo unbuttons his own blue jeans and pulls out his stiff, aching cock. Viggo glares at him menacingly, and Sean can feel the spark of electricity as their eyes and cocks meet simultaneously. He gropes around in his pocket for the tube of lubricant he always makes certain to have on hand and gives it to Viggo. Viggo takes it and pours a liberal amount over his cock.

“Jesus, Sean,” Viggo whispers as Sean uses his grip on Viggo’s shoulders as leverage to raise himself off the ground and wrap his legs around Viggo’s waist.

“Fuck me,” Sean growls, and drops onto Viggo’s cock. He shrieks piercingly; Viggo is long and thick, and he’s just hit Sean’s prostate HARD, and the mingled pleasure-pain makes Sean dig his nails into Viggo’s shoulders as he struggles to hold on.

“Oh GOD,” Viggo breathes, feeling his throbbing cock encased in Sean’s tight heat.

“Fuck, Vig, MOVE!”

Viggo complies, pulling out and slamming back into Sean, forcing him against the wall and pinning him there with his upper body while he impales Sean over and over again with his huge cock.

“Unnnh,” Sean moans; he’s being held motionless while Viggo thrusts into him, and his aching cock is trapped between their bodies, and the friction is almost enough to send him over the edge but not quite, and he groans his frustration and then, oh sweet merciful god, Viggo is taking him in hand and stroking him in time with his powerful thrusts and Sean is screaming his pure mindless ecstasy as he comes, his inner muscles clamping down on Viggo’s cock and sending him soaring as well.

They collapse into a boneless heap in on the floor.

“You weren’t drunk last night, were you.”

“Nah. Just trying to get a reaction out of you.”

Viggo smiles ruefully at Sean’s confession. “Dirty fucker.”

“I believe that would be you,” Sean replies, receiving a smack on the head for his cheek.

“Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

They smile and begin rolling around the floor, slapping each other playfully.

Sat, 02 Oct 2004 03:28:57 GMT

Title: Talking Without Speaking
Author: Captain Daisyshine (Hitchcock_Princess182@hotmail.com)
Pairing: OrliBean
Rating: NC-17
Plot: Plot? What plot? Oh, you mean the plot! Well, um, Sean knows something Orli doesn’t. Essentially a PWP.
Series: Not that I know of. I’ve been known to be wrong about this sort of thing before, however.
Disclaimer: *shifty eyes* It wasn’t me.
Warnings: Smut, my feeble attempt at humour. And language. I usually forget to warn for that because it’s sort of a given.
Archive: Green Opals; anyone else just ask.
Feedback: Holy peppermint sticks, Batman! Feedback is the olive on my sundae, the cherry in my martini (shaken, not stirred. Or something). I love feedback like a fat kid loves cake, like Michael Jackson loves little boys. My sole goal in life is to one day make it onto two pages of comments. Feed me back?
Notes: Lyrics from “All Grown Up” by Elvis Costello. Unbeta’d, and written in under 24 hours. Pardon moi.
Dedication: *Smai, I hold you personally responsible for getting me addicted to slash to begin with. Yeah. So there. *Caitlin, I hold you personally responsible for… I dunno, encouraging Smai or something. *Razzle, I hold you personally responsible for my original desire to write RPS. *Everyone who has ever responded to a fic of mine, I hold you personally responsible for my continuing desire to write slash. (And, to quote the Beach Boys, “God only knows what I’d be without you.”) *My muses, I hold you personally responsible for… well, everything.

All grown up,
and you don't care anymore,
and you hate all the people that you used to adore ,
and you despise all the rumours and lies of the life you led before.
Did I hear you right?
You're feeling hounded and pushed around;
you want to just lay down and die.
If all of this life has been such a big disappointment to you,
why don't you stop blaming some guy
and go give the next one a try?
But look at yourself;
you'll see you're still so young.
You haven't earned the weariness
that sounds so jaded on your tongue.

Sean Bean was a smug fucker if Orli’d ever seen one. Always poncing about with that stupid, condescending smirk on his face, like he knew something Orlando didn’t. It was fucking exasperating. Who did he think he was, anyway? Orli decided he was just going to have to ignore Sean’s arrogance and try to get on with the other man, or this would be a very, very long shoot.

“Orli!” Well, here was his chance, he thought, as Sean walked into the main area of the Cuntebago after a long day’s work.

“’Lo,” Orlando replied.

“How’s it going?” Sean asked.

Orli fought the urge to tell Sean to stick it up his arse. “Um, okay,” he said noncommittally.

“Doesn’t sound ‘okay’ to me,” Sean replied.

“Hmmm.” Orli attempted to keep his responses vague and monosyllabic.

Sean tried again. “You seem sort of stroppy lately. Wanna tell me what’s going on?”

No, Orli, ‘Go fuck yourself’ is not an appropriate reply. “I’m fine,” Orlando answered wearily.

“Uh-huhhh. Don’t seem so fine.”

Whatever. You can go take a flying leap, you fucktard. “I’m fine, Sean.” Just drop it.

Sean shrugged. “Just trying to help.”

Why don’t you help yourself sod off? “I don’t need help,” Orlando said, a bit more forcefully than he had intended. Sean looked puzzled, almost hurt.

“Okay,” Sean responded. He was already dressed in street clothes, and he walked out the front door of the trailer. Orlando watched him go with a sigh. He didn’t mean to be so awful to everyone all of the time; it just came out that way, particularly to poor Bean. Orli had a nasty suspicion that maybe Sean really did know something about him that others didn’t notice, that he himself didn’t even realise. Ah well. That was a problem he would think about some other time. He pulled on his tee, grabbed his bag, and walked out of the trailer.

“Boo.”

Orli leaped approximately three feet in the air at the sudden noise just beside him. “Holy living fuck, Sean, I thought you’d left!” Sean was doubled over with laughter, so much so that he couldn’t speak. Finally, he got his breath back.

“Jesus, Orli, you look like hell.”

“Thanks to you,” Orlando snapped back.

“Sorry, mate. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to talk. I’ve been worried about you since I met you.”

“Well, don’t.”

Sean changed topics so abruptly Orlando’s head spun. “So, how’s your sex life?”

“What the FUCK?”

“Well?”

“None of your business,” Orli mumbled, face crimson.

“Ah. Not too great, I take it.”

“Bastard.”

“What happened to you? Something, obviously. Before you got here, even.”

“Bugger off.”

Sean grinned. Orli paled. “Don’t sound so jaded, Orli. You’re still young, you know. As for the lack of sex life, that can be easily remedied. I don’t know any woman on the set who wouldn’t sleep with you in an instant.”

“Yeah, well…” Orli muttered.

“Or any guy either, for that matter.”

Orli looked up sharply. “Who says I fancy blokes?” Sean laughed, long and hearty. Orlando blushed.

“You say so much without speaking, Orlando.” Sean smiled. “God, if you only knew how long I spend thinking about you every day, wondering about you.” Orlando shivered. Sean’s voice was pure fluid sex in and of itself, but what he was saying…

“How do you mean that?” Orlando asked, breathless.

“I think you know, Orli. Stop blaming some bloke from your past and get on with your life.” Orlando’s breath caught in his throat. Was he that transparent? Apparently so. “Why don’t you come home with me tonight?” Sean invited.

“I’m not going to go home with you just because you want me to,” Orli replied spitefully.

Sean chuckled. “Well, don’t. Come home with me because you want to.”

“Okay,” Orli answered, suddenly meek upon realising he didn’t have to think anymore; he could just give himself over to feeling. Sean would look out for him. Docilely he took Sean’s hand and followed the older man to his car. He wondered how it could possibly be so easy to just let go of everything that had been on his mind; every worry, every little care suddenly seemed so insignificant now that he was going home with Sean, who was perhaps the only person who genuinely understood him. He felt a lightness, which was quickly replaced by horniness as it dawned on him that he and Sean weren’t exactly going back to the other man’s place for a nice hot cuppa. Orlando suppressed a sigh as he imagined Sean sinking into him, filling him with his cock, pounding into him and drowning out everything else.

“Here we are, Orlando,” Sean said, rolling Orlando’s name around in his mouth as if to taste it. Orli shuddered, thinking of other tastes. He climbed out of the car and followed Sean timidly into the house.

Once inside, Orlando proceeded to jump the other man with all of the pent-up lust that had rushed in on him during the drive home.

“Goddamn, Sean, fuck me,” Orli rasped, shoving Sean against the front door and devouring his mouth with searing, yearning kisses. He grabbed hold of the front of Sean’s shirt and pressed him into the door as he kissed him almost violently. Sean moaned into Orlando’s mouth, pushing his hips forward so Orli could feel how hard he was. He’d thought of little more than this for some days now, and the fact that Orlando wanted it as much as he did made the blood rush straight to his cock. He felt a thrill of power knowing the boy was his for the taking. He was really going to have to fight for control with this one, though- Orlando was not just going to give in to Sean’s every whim.

“Bed?” Sean inquired as Orli’s lips progressed to his neck.

“Floor?” Orli asked in response. Sean groaned and turned them so Orli was pressed next to another door leading off the hallway. He groped around for the handle and found it, sending the pair of them stumbling into the living room. Sean flipped the light on and half-led, half-dragged Orlando over to a relatively clear expanse of carpet, tried not to think about getting rug burn *there*, and sat down heavily, receiving a lapful of horny Orli almost immediately afterward. They fell to kissing one another fervently. Until Sean remembered something that would likely prove a bit of an inconvenience.

“Fuck.”

Orli stopped kissing Sean’s neck and looked up. “What is it?”

“What are we going to use for lube?” Sean groaned, planting a kiss on the tip of Orli‘s nose. Just because he’d dreamed of this didn‘t mean Sean was prepared.

“I’ve got shower gel or something in my bag in the car,” Orlando offered, nipping at Sean‘s jawline.

“If we’re going all the way to the car, we might as well try making it to the bed as well,” Sean answered.

Orli scrambled off of Sean’s lap, leg brushing against the older man’s already-aching cock. “Why not. Might as well have a proper first time for the two of us,” he said, standing rather stiffly and helping Sean to his feet.

“Right, I’m going for the shower gel,” Sean announced, the expectant note in his voice telling Orli there was something Sean wanted him to say or do.

“And, what? You want a trumpet fanfare? Go get the fucking shit! And try not to poke anyone’s eye out with that thing,” he advised, gesturing towards the massive erection Sean was sporting.

“Bossy Elf,” Sean grumbled, opening the door.

“And you like it that way!” Orli called after him as Sean retrieved the shower gel from Orli’s gym bag.

“I offer this shower gel as a token of my horniness, Milord,” Sean mocked upon returning with his prize.

“Aha! The gallant Sir Sean!” Orlando teased.

“Whatever. Just shut up. This way,” Sean directed, leading Orli into his bedroom. Every move he made rubbed his cock against the denim of his jeans, since he hadn’t bothered putting on any knickers after his shower at the trailers, and he was ready to fuck Orlando Bloom into next Wednesday. “Take off your clothes and lie down on the bed,” he ordered, and Orli was past joking by now. He stripped as Sean fumbled in a nightstand drawer for a condom. Finding it, Sean removed his own clothes, tore open the little foil packet, and rolled the thing on.

“Fucking Christ, Sean,” Orlando breathed upon catching his first glimpse of Sean’s wonderfully large cock. And THAT was going to fit into him how, exactly? Ah well. Let Sean figure that one out. “C’mere, big boy,” Orli entreated. Sean nearly choked on the breath he’d just taken. Every word out of Orli’s mouth sounded dirty to him on account of the accent, different from his own, but when the kid actually *meant* it to… Sean wasted no time in sitting between Orlando’s legs and slicking up several fingers. He looked up at Orli and raised an eyebrow. Orli nodded his approval. Sean slipped a finger down between the cheeks of Orlando’s arse and pushed it into the boy, past the tight ring of muscle. Orli let out a slight whimper of discomfort, but Sean soon alleviated any pain he might have been feeling by brushing the finger against Orli’s prostate.

“Oh God, Sean! Do that again,” Orli cried. Sean obliged, adding a second finger, then a third, and stretching Orli patiently though all he really wanted was to be inside him, fucking him into the mattress. “Nuggh,” Orli gurgled incoherently. “Need… Fuck! Sean, I need you inside me, I’m ready, just for God’s sake fuck me!” Sean moaned and poured some of the shower gel into his hands, working it over his cock. Then he lay over Orlando and raised his hips, ready to impale the kid. “Now, Sean.”

Orlando screamed.

Sean had picked an angle to enter him that stimulated his prostate mercilessly. “Jesus, oh fuck!” Orli groaned.

Sean gasped for breath. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he growled.

“Oh God, move!” Sean pulled back and slammed into Orlando’s tight hot body. “Fuck yes, Sean! Right *there*!” Orli panted. Sean pulled out and thrust into him again and again and again, the rhythmic slap of skin on skin making them both moan. “Faster,” Orli begged, and Sean indulged him, fucking him hard fast hot and “OH GOD!” and then Sean’s hand was on Orli’s cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts and Orli was screaming his pleasure.

“Fuck, Orlando,” Sean groaned, locking eyes with the younger man as he slammed into him ruthlessly. Orli’s eyes were black as coffee grinds with lust.

“God, Sean, I’m going to-” Sean cut him off, slamming his mouth into Orli’s as he felt the first shocks of the boy’s orgasm, and Orlando’s inner muscles clamped down on Sean’s cock and he was coming, too.

Spent and sated, Sean rolled off his young lover, allowing his cock to slide out of Orli’s body in a move that prompted sighs from both of them.

“Fucking amazing.”

“What was? That?” Sean asked.

“Actually, I was referring to the shower gel,” Orli replied with a wicked smirk.

Sean smacked him. “Cheeky fucker.”

Orlando smiled. “The sex was great, too.”

“No kidding,” Sean responded, grinning like a madman.

“C’mere, big boy,” Orli beckoned, drawing Sean in for a kiss.

Sat, 02 Oct 2004 03:28:23 GMT

Title: Discovery
Author: Captain Daisyshine (Hitchcock_Princess182@hotmail.com)
Pairing: DaveOrli
Rating: NC-17
Plot: Ha-ha. Oh wait, you weren't joking were you? Well, you’re in luck; no plot here. Just beautiful men.
Series: Er, no. Not really. This is the promised companion piece to "Fireproof."
Disclaimer: These sexy, sexy men do not belong to me. They belong to themselves. I cries a sad cry.
Warnings: Mansex.
Archive: Well, sure! Drop me a line!
Feedback: is too sexy for words.
Notes: This is the first slash I've written involving anyone other than Viggo, Orlando, and/ or Sean Bean. I hope it's all right. And, uh, my beta is still on vacation.
Dedication: Razzle Dazzle and pureanimal, lilypossibly (begging gets you everywhere ;D), Caitlin the Cure-ious, ariadni, moblo413, my dirty sidekick (yay fiancées!), and all my other slashy pals.

Orlando sat slumped down in the front seat of his rented car, feet propped up on the dashboard, chewing thoughtfully on his lower lip, musing.

So. Dave Wenham fancied him.

Orli had had his eye on the older man for what felt like forever, fantasising about him and sneaking glances when he was sure no one was watching. But he had never dreamed Dave might be watching back.

Beanie was the one who had told Orlando that Dave had a crush on him, and while Sean was rather given to teasing, he wouldn't lie about something like that. So Orlando had to decide what his next move was going to be. He had dropped Sean off at home and driven around for a while before pulling over to ponder his options. The only one that seemed to make any sense was to drive to Dave's house, knock on his door, admit to his own feelings in a mature, non-threatening manner and see what happened. (The other options included climbing into David's house through a bathroom window in the hopes of catching him in the altogether, going home and getting really ridiculously drunk and hiring a hooker, or just sitting there. None of these sounded especially promising.)

Okay, Bloom, you can do this. Just take a couple of deep breaths and try not to be spastic. Orli turned on the engine and drove over to Dave's place. Steeling himself for what might turn out to be one of the more embarrassing confessions he'd ever made, he swallowed his fears, his pride, and a bit of slightly Guinness-flavoured saliva and walked up the path to the front door.

He knocked.

Dave answered, wearing nothing but a towel and his digital watch. Orli found it somewhat odd that he had noticed the digital watch, what with the whole sexy expanse of naked DaveChest. It looked pretty nifty, however. The watch, that is.

"Orli! What're you doing here?" Dave appeared pleasantly surprised, Orli thought, which boded well.

"Er, I was just, uh, in the neighbourhood... or something... and thought I'd... stop by?" Oh, God, Orli, you're a fucking idiot. Why don't you just drool all over him and get it over with? Dave looked a bit bemused, but happily so.

"Well, come on in! Uh, I should put some clothes; I'll be right back. Have a seat," Dave said, gesturing towards the couch and walking back towards his bedroom.

Well. That could have been amazingly embarrassing. Dave unwrapped his towel and dropped it, exposing his erection. He opened his drawer and pulled out a shirt, deferring thinking of what to do about his, ahem, *problem* for the time being. Then he thought of Orlando, sitting on the couch in his living room, just two rooms away, thought of walking in there now and watching Orlando's eyes grow wide with shock, imagined Orlando pulling down his own trousers and letting Dave fuck him... Sometime during this decidedly dirty train of thought, Dave's hand had drifted down to his cock, which was clamouring for release. Oh God, that was better...

"David?"

Fuck. Oh, fuck.

"Oh, shit, I'm so sorry! God, I didn't mean to walk in on..." Orlando trailed off. The sight was too stunning for words. There was Dave, cock jutting proudly and leaking from the tip, strawberry-blond hair spiky and messy, lips parted as he breathed in sighs and gasps, eyes dark with lust. In the end, Orlando decided, it was the eyes that did him in.

Slowly, fluidly, moving as if in a trance, Orlando advanced on Dave.

In reality, it was Dave whose eyes expanded, growing wide and worried and wild, then baffled and bewildered as Orlando knelt in front of him. Orli smirked up at Dave before moving his head forward and engulfing Dave’s aching cock in the warm wet heat of his mouth. David let out a long, low, guttural moan and threaded his fingers into the stripe of soft brown on the top of Orlando’s head. He tried to restrain himself, to keep from grabbing the back of the boy’s skull and thrusting wildly. He didn’t want to come this way, anyway, though his cock certainly seemed to feel differently as Orli licked at the underside along the vein there.

“God, Orlando! Stop…” Orli pulled back and looked up at him with scared eyes. Dave shook his head. “You aren’t doing anything wrong; just the opposite, in fact. But I was wondering-” Dave crimsoned. Orli’s eyes grew wider and a smile tugged at the corners of his shiny, wet lips.

“Dave, what would you say if I said I wanted you to fuck me?” Orli asked. Dave gulped. Orli smiled shyly as he shrugged out of his clothes. Standing naked in front of Dave, he leaned forward to kiss the other man’s lips. Dave moaned and grabbed the back of Orlando’s head, pulling him closer, so close.

“I’d say… I’ve got… supplies… in the nightstand draw-- er,” Dave replied between frenzied kisses. Orli smiled against his friend’s mouth and drew back, searching the aforementioned drawer for its promised contents.

“Eureka!” he cried, holding up one little foil-wrapped packet and a small tube triumphantly. Dave just looked horny, Orli’s joke lost on him. “C’mere,” Orli commanded, and David obeyed, allowing Orli to roll the condom onto him and slick up his cock with lube, trying very hard not to just throw the boy down and shag him senseless. Then Orlando stood and purred into Dave’s ear, “Ready to fuck me ‘til I can’t sit for a week?”

David moaned harshly. “Don’t you need… preparation?”

Orli shook his head. “This isn’t my first time, David. Right now I just need you to ram your cock up my arse so far I can taste your come in my throat.” Dave uttered a strangled cry and threw Orlando down onto the bed. But Orli was having none of it. He flipped Dave over and straddled his hips. Biting his lip, Orlando raised himself over David’s erection, positioning at his entrance. Slowly, he lowered himself until he was sitting flush against Dave’s thighs. The colour was high in his cheeks, and he was breathing heavily. Dave squirmed beneath him helplessly, gasping for breath and trying his damnedest not to pass out at the unbelievably intense hot tightness that gripped his cock. Suddenly, he could feel Orli relax. “Move, David,” Orlando moaned. How could Dave do anything but obey? He thrust his hips upwards slightly. “Ohhh, fuck!”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Orli,” Dave panted, “you’re so tight.” Orlando groaned and began to raise and lower himself over David’s cock.

"Oh, fuck, Dave," Orlando gasped, as Dave shifted his hips to hit Orlando's prostate head on. Orli leaned down and kissed the other man's neck, his lips, his eyes, then sat back and rode Dave shamelessly, bouncing up and down at breakneck speed, tossing his head side to side and squeezing his eyes shut tightly. "Fuck, I'm going to-" Orli choked on his words and came hard, jets of creamy white shooting out over David's chest and inner muscles clamping down on David's cock. Dave moaned and came, too, Orli still rocking over him.

Orli collapsed forward onto Dave's chest and smiled against the other man's body. Dave smiled as well. Orli didn't say anything, but Sean Bean was going to get a big fucking fruit basket.

Sat, 02 Oct 2004 03:27:42 GMT

Title: At Your Door
Author: Captain Daisyshine (Hitchcock_Princess182@hotmail.com)
Pairing: OrliBean
Rating: NC-17
Plot: Sweet, smutty PWP. Don’t rot your teeth out, Loves.
Series: Uhhh…
Disclaimer: Not ours, Preciousssss.
Warnings: Sap.
Archive: Green Opals may have it; others just ask.
Feedback: We swears to serve the Masters of the Feedback… We swearses on… the Feedback! No, really.
Notes: Lyrics from “500 Miles (I’m Gonna Be)” by The Proclaimers. (Also the beginning song in Benny & Joon.)
Dedication: moblo413, my fabulous beta, who had better be on the lookout for errors in this fic because I just couldn’t wait to post it. ;D *cuddles* Razz, my Lovemuffin. My dirty sidekick. iolanthe42, with whom I will be going on a long excursion into the Smutty Mountains. My lovelies: Caitlin, Smai, laura_iskra, dalehead, ariadni, fairyspell, pureanimal… Everyone. If I left you out, leave me a comment and you’ll get a shout-out next time. Also, the wonderful people down at Green Opals, who have so graciously asked to archive many of my fics.

When I wake up, yeah, I know I’m gonna be
I’m gonna be the man who wakes up next to you
When I go out, yeah, I know I’m gonna be
I’m gonna be the man who goes along with you
When I get drunk, well, I know I’m gonna be
I’m gonna be the man who gets drunk next to you
And if I haver, yeah, I know I’m gonna be
I’m gonna be the man who’s haverin’ to you
But I would walk 500 miles, and
I would walk 500 more
Just to be the man who walked
A thousand miles to fall down at your door

Sean loves Orlando. It’s apparent in his every gesture, vocal intonation, and fleeting glance when he’s with the boy. To an inexperienced observer, Orli might appear oblivious or even callous, but in reality he pretends aloofness because he adores it when Sean lavishes loving little looks and touches on him. In private, Orlando is just as demonstrative as Sean is, but in public, it is Sean who makes their love so evident.

Maybe it’s because Sean is so clearly devoted to Orlando, so obviously ready and willing to do anything and everything, should Orli ask it. At any rate, their love radiates warmth and makes everyone around them smile indulgently and exchange knowing looks.

******

Sean opens sleepy green eyes to the sight that greeted him almost every morning; yet, it's one that he never tires of. As his vision clears itself of its early-morning haziness and focuses on the even-breathing figure lying next to him, Sean allows himself a dopey grin. He doesn’t care how fucking twee it was; he loves Orlando Bloom, Orli loves him back, they have fantastic sex, and it makes him smile internally as well as on the outside. He is, for the first time in many years, purely and uncomplicatedly happy. He beams lopsidedly at his sleeping lover, who, almost as if on cue, awakes to gaze into murky emerald depths.</p>

"Morning, Sean," Orlando whispers raspily. He pouts slightly, inviting Sean's kiss. Sean leans down and kisses him lightly, chastely. Orli frowned. He lifts his lips to Sean's and kisses him deeply, tongue probing and fingers reaching out to toy with messy blond hair. Sean, being rather sharpe (sic), catches on quickly and thrusts his tongue into Orlando's mouth. Orlando moaned and sucks on it, his hand slipping down to Sean's hip. Sean draws back, breathing heavily. It's not often that Orlando wants sex this early in the morning; he's generally too exhausted. But that's his intention this particular morning, as evidenced by the impressively fast-growing ~~(just add Sean!)~~ erection he's rubbing against Sean's thigh.

"Orli..." Sean growls, his own cock beginning to twitch somewhat uncomfortably.

"Can I fuck you, Sean?" Orlando asks, voice smooth as silk.

Sean gapes, then swallows. Hard.

"I'll take that as a yes?" Orlando's question isn't especially 'questioning', but Sean doesn't honestly give a shit. He *likes* it when Orli presumes. It means Orli trusts his love for what it is- genuinely unconditional.

That's not really what's on Sean's mind at the moment, however. "Fuck, Orli..." he sighs, and Orlando reaches over to the bedside table where, conveniently, they always keep a tube of KY.

"Are you good, Sean?" Orlando asks, and Sean knows Orli wants to skip preparation. Which is just fine by him. He loves the fullness when Orlando's cock is inside him before he's been stretched. He nods eagerly and spreads his legs, allowing Orli to kneel between them.

Orlando slicks his own cock thoroughly, biting his lip to keep from moaning at his own touch. Sean gazes at him through heavy-lidded eyes, and it's all Orlando can do to keep from jacking off right then while Sean watches with those bedroom eyes and coaxes him on. He raises an eyebrow.

"Oh God, fuck me Orli," Sean pleads, and Orlando has to clamp his hand over Sean's mouth, unable to listen to that sinfully rich voice as he slides in.

"Fuck," Orli breathes, chest heaving. "Christ, Sean- so tight..." Sean groans, though it's muffled by Orli's hand. Orlando feels the vibrations ripple up his arm and moves his hand to Sean's cheek instead, stroking it tenderly as he pushes in the rest of the way. He looks at Sean, who appears to be in the most exquisite agony.

"Move," Sean whispers, and Orli does. He pulls out and slams back in, brushing Sean's prostate. Sean jumps and pushes back on Orli's cock. "To the left," he breathes. Orli obeys. "Oh, fucking Christ, right THERE!" Sean screams, and Orli lets go, pounding relentlessly into his lover. "More, Orli, more..."

"Oh, Sean, God, I'm going to-" Orli inhales sharply as Sean's inner muscles squeeze his cock. "Come with me, Sean."

With a scream, Sean does, sending Orli flying simultaneously.

******

Beautiful. That's what Sean thinks, anyway.

Sat, 02 Oct 2004 03:26:44 GMT

Title: Like Never Before
Author: Captain Daisyshine (Hitchcock_Princess182@hotmail.com)
Pairing: OrliBean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Sap and smut and sex with men, oh my!
Summary: Sean is out to prove to Orli just how much he loves him.
Archive: Green Opals can have it; everyone else just ask.
Disclaimer: I make no claims.... Er, except for that mutant half-tie. I want that thing.
Feedback: makes me happy inside.
Notes: lyrics from “Songbird” by Fleetwood Mac.
Dedication:moblo413, beta extraordinaire- thanks, babe! My dirty sidekick (*cuddles*). Razzberry Snugglemuffin. Captain Nibbles, because she is going away to Ecuador and will likely not be reading slash for a very long time. (Love you!) Cap’n Sami-Jack. My OrliBean ladies (you know who you are).

For you, there’ll be no more crying,
For you, the sun will be shining,
And I feel that when I’m with you,
It’s alright, I know it’s right
To you, I’ll give the world
To you, I’ll never be cold
’cause I feel that when I’m with you,
It’s alright, I know it’s right.
And the songbirds are singing,
Like they know the score,
And I love you, I love you, I love you,
Like never before.

Sometimes Sean isn’t sure that Orli knows Sean loves him, that Orli really truly knows and believes it in his heart of hearts. Sean has tried to tell him, but so often his words come out jumbled and awkward, and he can’t, just can’t, seem to get the words right to tell Orli that he loves him more than anything. And even though Sean has never loved anyone the way he loves Orlando, all his former eloquence is for naught when he tries to tell the boy that he loves him.

And then, sometimes, Sean knows that he doesn’t need words to tell Orli that he loves him, knows that any words he could find wouldn’t mean a thing next to the way he touches Orli, the way Orli touches him. It’s those moments when their touches say everything that Sean thinks Orli knows, knows how Sean loves him so much it hurts.

If only he could be sure.

******

Orlando’s eyes are lit up with a bright, jeweled fire that turns Sean’s insides into warm and wonderful jelly, and Sean’s chest is so tight he can’t catch his breath; that’s how beautiful Orlando is. Sean wants to kiss Orlando right there, in front of all their friends, just so they can all see how Orli is Sean’s reason for everything. But their friends don’t know about the two of them yet; they only met a few months ago, and they’re afraid the others might think they’re rushing into things. So, instead, Sean waits a reasonable length of time after Orli has gone in before walking into the pub to shouts of “Bean!” and “Hey man!”

And Sean smiles. It’s his special smile, the one he usually saves for Orlando, the one that only Orli fully understands. Everyone who sees it knows that Sean is in love, but he is very careful never to let anyone see him smile it toward Orlando.

Or so he thinks.

“Hey, Sean.” Viggo slides into the booth where Sean is sitting and watching the younger guys.

“Mmm,” Sean replies, not looking up, eyes glued to the dancing hobbits, but, most of all, the long lithe body of *his* Elf.

“So, how long have you and Orlando been a couple?” Viggo asks, the epitome of nonchalance. Sean chokes on his Guinness, which displays an unfortunate propensity for going down the wrong tube, splutters, coughs, and finally catches his breath.

“I’m sorry, but- what?”

Viggo grins. “Jesus, Sean, it’s all over your face ever time you look at him.”

“Whoops.”

“I think it’s wonderful.”

“Me, too,” Sean sighs, but there is a trembling note in his voice.

Viggo looks at him sympathetically. “Trouble in paradise?”

Sean shakes his head, quick and firm. “No, nothing like that. It’s just that I love him, and I’m not always sure he knows that.”

“Have you told him?”

“Of course! What do you take me for, a bloody fool? I don’t expect him to be a mind reader.”

Viggo smiles indulgently at Sean’s defensiveness. “Just asking. What makes you unsure?”

“Well, sometimes he looks at me like he’s scared shitless that I’m just going to walk away and end the whole thing.”

“You’re not, are you?” Viggo asks, one eyebrow raised suspiciously.

“No! Being with Orlando is the single most amazing thing I’ve ever felt. He’s so innocent, and smart, and sexy… I could never leave him. He’s wonderful. I want to wrap up the world in ribbons and shiny paper and give it to him for Christmas.” Sean looks wistfully at his lover out on the dance floor.

Viggo, by now, is sitting, listening, enraptured. “Have you told him all that?” he inquires.

“Well, no, I suppose not,” Sean admits.

“Tell him,” Viggo replies simply, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and maybe it is, Sean thinks.

Sean looks Viggo in the eyes and grins. “Thanks, mate.”

“No problem. Now take him and go, and tell him everything you just told me,” Viggo answers, smiling benevolently.

******

“Where are we going?” Orli asks excitedly. Sean has been very secretive since they left the pub, and the younger actor’s curiosity is mounting by the second.

Sean doesn’t answer, only smiles mysteriously. Orli grins wickedly at him and leans his head over into Sean’s lap. When Orli begins to mouth Sean’s half-hard cock through the denim of the other man’s jeans, Sean nearly wrecks the car. “Jesus fucking Christ!” he shouts. Orlando laughs, low and silky and seductive. “All right, if I tell you where we’re going, do you promise you won’t try to kill me again?” Sean asks, wary. Orlando nods, still smirking. “We’re going to a hotel. Does that answer your question?” Orli looks perplexed.

“What are we going to a hotel for?” Sean just shakes his head and keeps driving. Viggo told him about this place; the staff are (is) supposedly very discreet, and there are always vacancies. Add that to the charming, secluded, woodsy locale, and you’ve got yourself a perfect weekend getaway, Viggo said. Sean looks out the window, watching for the sign that will tell him when to turn. He spots it and goes left, driving down the narrow lane to the front of the hotel. It’s small, but the sign out front says ‘VACANCY’ in bright fluorescent letters, and Sean parks the car.

“Here,” he says, and he and Orlando get out and walk into the lobby, up to the front desk, where a smiling, professional blond checks them in and gives them the key to their room.

Orlando frowns. “What are we doing here?” he asks. Sean only smiles enigmatically and leads Orli to the lift, which they take to the second floor. They walk to their room, 206, and Sean unlocks the door, opening it for Orli and following him in.

Orli walks around inquisitively, exploring the little room and the bathroom leading off it. Then he turns to Sean and furrows his brow confusedly. “What’s all this for?” he asks.

“I wanted to bring you somewhere special, away from everything,” Sean replies.

“Why?”

“I want to show you how much I love you.” Orli begins to protest that it’s too much, but Sean holds up a hand to silence him. “Please, Orlando. Just let me love you.” Orlando can feel the sharp, beautiful sting of tears threatening to fall, but he refuses to let them. He doesn’t want this moment to become about his need for comfort. He wants it to be about Sean’s need to love him, and he holds back the tears, and Sean loves him even more for it.

Sean steps closer to Orli, then draws him into his arms and begins to kiss his lips heatedly, passionately, smolderingly. Sean’s mouth slowly drifts down Orlando’s neck, and he mumbles between kisses, “I love you, Orlando. You’re beautiful and wonderful and smart and sexy, and I love you…”

Orli would normally blush to hear such things from Sean, but he’s not embarrassed by Sean’s love for him, and he runs his fingers frenziedly through Sean’s hair, replying, “God, Sean, I love you, too.” Sean stops kissing Orlando long enough only to get both of them undressed, then stands again, pressing his body against Orlando’s, letting Orli feel how much Sean wants him.

“I love you, Orli,” Sean whispers raspily, his unimaginably sexy voice making Orlando’s knees feel suspiciously unstable. Though Sean’s hard cock pressed into Orli’s hip might have something to do with that as well.

“I want you… to-” Orlando gasps, choking on his words as Sean begins kissing his collarbone open-mouthed. “Oh God, Sean, fuck me,” he pants, wrapping one leg around the backs of Sean’s thighs and grinding their hips together.

Sean moans brokenly and leans down to pull a tube of lubricant from the pocket of his trousers, which are in a pile with the rest of their now-extraneous clothing. He rises and kisses Orlando again, melting his lover with the heat of his mouth, then pushes Orli backwards until his knees hit the bed and they tumble onto it together, tangled limbs and hungry mouths and eyes. They wrestle briefly, but it is Sean who ends up on top, as they both want it to be.

“ I love you, Orli.” Sean takes the lube and pours some onto a few fingers. He kneels between Orlando’s legs and pushes one finger into Orli’s tight, hot opening. Orli’s forehead wrinkles in discomfort, but then Sean brushes his prostate and he nearly flies off the bed.

“Oh, fuck, Sean, right there, do that again, fuck me with your fing-” But Sean cannot take any more and he silences Orlando with a searing kiss as he pushes another finger in. He begins to scissor the digits inside his lover, stretching him. The last thing he wants is to hurt Orli. Then, finally, he draws back and pulls his fingers out.

“Are you good?” he asks. Orlando nods feverishly. Sean slicks his cock with lube and begins to push in, ever-so-slowly. Orlando’s body grips him tight, and it takes a great effort not to just pound into the boy this second, especially as Orli writhes under him and makes all sorts of sexy faces, moaning and begging Sean to go faster, harder, deeper.

And then Sean is pushed in to the hilt, and Orlando can’t stand it any longer. “Fucking Christ, Sean, move!” he shouts. Sean moves pulling out only to thrust back in with all of his strength. Orlando screams his pleasure and pushes his hips down on Sean’s thick cock. “Oh, God, more!” he cries. “Fuck!”

“I love you,” Sean responds. “So good…” And he slams into Orlando over and over until they’re both moaning with every thrust, and then Sean says, “Come for me, baby. Let me see you.” And Orli does just that, wailing his release as his inner muscles clamp down on Sean’s cock, squeezing his orgasm out of him. Sean comes with a groan and collapses on top of Orlando.

“I love you, Orlando.”

“I know, Sean.”

Sean hits him “Cheeky bastard.”

Orli smiles. “I love you, too.”

Wed, 29 Sep 2004 11:03:12 GMT

Title: Maybe I Can Stand Alone
Author: Captain Daisyshine (HaveYouSeenBean@yahoo.com)
Pairing: OrliBean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: mild angst, sap, sex.
Summary: Orlando overreacts. Sean fixes things. Then they have sex.
Archive: Green Opals can have it; everyone else just ask.
Disclaimer: Only my words are my own.
Feedback: makes me do a little dance of joy.
Notes: lyrics from “Maybe” by Alison Krauss. Italics denote events that have already taken place.
Dedication: moblo413, my lovely sweet beta lady. Razzie my dear. Captain Nibbles, as she is in Ecuador and I don’t think they have slash there. ;D (Just kidding.) Smai, for being my pal. My dear darling OrliBean gals who I have neglected. <3 you all.

Yesterday the odds were stacked in favour of my expectations
Flyin’ above the rest, never fallin’ from my nest
Tuesday came and went and now I’m in a little situation
Maybe it’s for the best; I can live alone I guess
Maybe I can stand alone
Maybe I’m strong as stone
Even thought the bird has flown
Maybe he’ll fly on home
Forgive me if I’m keeping you apart from better conversation
I’m hung up on all my doubt, tryin’ to sort the whole thing out
Tell me that I’m smart enough to deal with all the information
Spinnin’ inside my head, every word he ever said
Maybe I can stand alone
Maybe I’m strong as stone
Even thought the bird has flown
Maybe he’ll fly on home . . .

Maybe he can stand alone, Orli thinks, even though he knows he’s lying to himself, and he feels lost and shattered without Sean. But he has to keep lying to himself, has to keep telling himself everything will turn out all right, or he’ll remember that he’s broken and helpless and alone, lonely, so lonely, and Sean is somewhere else, not there with him. He can’t let himself remember that just yesterday they were shopping for furniture at Ikea to fill this big empty house with things they picked out together, can’t let himself remember that last night they were out on the deck together with only a blanket, stargazing; he won’t let himself remember the crystalline beauty of the night sky and the feel of Sean’s cock inside him as the blanket slid over his hips. He refuses to think for a moment about that beautiful, perfect end to a beautiful, perfect Tuesday, because it’s gone now, gone with the morning light, gone with Sean.

Orli has to pretend he’s not aching and crushed inside, has to pretend that his chest isn’t so tight he can’t catch his breath. He’s got to be steady as a mountain, strong as stone. The trouble is, mountains can crumble, stone can crack, and Orli is worried that his heart will never heal. Sean is the sun to his moon; Orli can only reflect the light Sean projects, can only shine fleeting silver to Sean’s eternal bright gold. But he fucked things up; he told Sean how much he needs him, and Sean spooked and left before dawn. Maybe he’ll come back. But right now, Orli has to concentrate on pulling himself together, can’t think of Sean or how much he misses him.

"You’re so beautiful," Sean says, eyes filled with sharp, shining wonder, as he gazes upon Orlando’s stunning dark beauty, lying beside him on the blanket that is damp with sweat and come. Orlando blushes and thinks it’s Sean who is truly beautiful, that he is only taking Sean’s radiance and reflecting a pale shadow of it back to him, like a mirror covered with a filmy residue.

"You’re beautiful, Sean," Orlando replies solemnly. "I’m nothing without you." There is a flicker of something in Sean’s eyes, a brief flash like the panic of a fox pursued by hunting hounds, but it’s gone again just as quickly. Something has changed irrevocably, though, and Orlando wants to cry, wants to take back his words, wants to curl up into a ball and hide. Sean sees Orli’s trembling. aching fear and wants to reassure him that everything is okay, but everything is not okay, and Sean is having all of these crazy thoughts he can’t control. But then the sharp misery in Orli’s eyes brings Sean back, and he gathers his young lover to him in what is meant to be a comforting embrace.

Orlando chokes back tears as they go back inside and climb into bed, fights desperately not to cry until Sean goes to sleep, and then he allows himself the luxury of a few tears.

And now Sean is gone. Orli woke up to find the bed strangely empty, and when he realized that Sean had gone, he wept bitterly. Why did he have to go and spoil it by telling Sean something that no one was ever meant to know? Orli is moping about the house miserably when the doorbell rings. He’s sure it’s no one he’ll be especially excited to see, but he gets up to answer it anyway, because, really, has he got anything better to do?

"Hey."

Just the one word. It’s Sean, and Orlando doesn’t know what to do about that.

"Sean."

"May I come in?" Sean asks tentatively.

"Of course," Orlando replies, attempting to sound indifferent to Sean’s presence. "It’s your house as much as it’s mine." Sean gives him a pained smile, understanding, infuriatingly, exactly why Orlando is acting this way. Orli wants Sean to be angry, sad, repulsed, anything but gentle and timid.

Sean steps inside, shutting the door softly behind him. "Orlando, what you said last night-"

"Don’t." One word. And Sean is suddenly overwhelmed by uncertainty. Maybe he should just go. But no, that will make coming back that much harder. No, he has to talk to Orli now.

"Look, Orlando, all I was saying is that you caught me off guard with what you said. For you to be nothing without me– well, that’s a pretty big responsibility on my shoulders, yeah?" Sean laughs, harshly. "I was scared. I admit it. I ran off this morning because I didn’t know how I was going to face you when I woke up. But then I spent the whole day thinking, thinking about how much I love you and how much you mean to me and how I refuse to lose you over anything as stupid as you saying something that scares me. So I’m back, whether you like it or not," Sean concludes.

Orli allows him only the briefest of moments before pouncing. He kisses Sean frantically, sucking on the other man’s lip, running his fingers through sandy hair, wrapping a leg around Sean’s waist. "God, Sean, I was afraid you were never coming back." Orlando shivers as Sean strokes a path down his jaw. "I was so afraid . . . " Orli trails off. Sean leans forward and presses his lips gently to Orlando’s.

"I’m so sorry Orli." Sean shakes his head miserably. "But I’m here now. And I’m never going to leave you again."

Orli smiles sadly. "You shouldn’t say that."

"I mean it, Orli. You’ll never get rid of me," Sean says with a grin. Orli laughs softly, and Sean can feel his heart melt even as the wave of relief washes over him. They lean together, fusing at the mouth, kissing hungrily. A subtle shift of Sean’s hips makes Orli moan and push back, grinding their heated erections together through the denim of their jeans. Sean draws back, mouth open, breathing shallowly. "Wanna fuck?"

It’s not the most romantic thing to say, but it has Orli so hard he can’t breathe.

"Christ, Sean," Orli pants. "Upstairs?" He thrusts his hips forward, drawing a groan from Sean’s lips.

"Not gonna make it," Sean whispers hoarsely, guiding Orli backwards into the living room. "I want to fuck you right here, now." Orli’s breath catches in his throat, and he backs up until he’s pressed against the wall.

"Ye- oh yeah." Orli grabs Sean’s hand, pulls him forward, and they are standing pressed thisclose and Orli can feel the wall against his back. He reaches down between himself and Sean and cups Sean’s erection through his jeans. "Hmm, caught between a rock and a hard place," Orli breathes, and Sean’s eyes flutter shut.

"God, Orli," Sean groans, stripping them both in record time as Orlando stands, deceptively passive and content, and when Sean stands again, Orli attacks him, kissing him feverishly, fisting his hands in sandy hair and rubbing their naked cocks together cruelly.

"Fuck me, Sean," Orli rasps. "Fuck me until I can’t walk. God, now, Sean!" Sean bites his lip, his breathing harsh and ragged as he fishes in the pocket of his discarded trousers for the bottle of lube he’s learned from many months’ experience to keep on hand at all times. Grasping his prize, he stands once more and insinuates a knee between Orli’s thighs, spreading them wide. He looks Orlando right in the eyes, and his gaze is so scaldingly hot that Orli wants to look away, but he can’t, so he just stands there, transfixed, staring as Sean slicks up a few fingers and begins to work one into Orlando’s tight body. Sean grins hungrily, looking for all the world as if he wants to eat Orli for dessert. He slips another finger into his lover and begins to scissor the pair of them, stretching Orli. "Enough!" Orli whispers vehemently. "Jesus, Sean, just fuck me!"

There is a sharp intake of breath as Sean coats his own swollen cock with the cool, slippery lubricant and moves between Orli’s legs, raising the younger man’s hips so that Sean’s cock is right at Orli’s entrance. "You good?" Sean asks, panting.

"Yes, God, Sean, now!" And Sean slams into Orli. Orli screams. "Oh FUCK! Hard, Sean, hard!"

Sean presses his chest close to Orli’s to hold his lover against the wall while he fucks him, thrusting into Orlando’s tight heat over and over, long and deep and hard and fast, and his breath is coming in gasps as he leans in to kiss Orli’s eyelids, his jaw, the tip of his nose . . . And then he can feel himself getting close and he changes his angle, hitting Orli’s prostate with every thrust, and Sean wraps his long fingers around Orli’s cock and strokes it in time with his thrusts.

"Fuck, Sean, right there! Oh GOD–" and Orli comes hard, his come splashing against Sean’s belly and his own, his internal muscles clamping down on Sean’s aching cock, and that’s all Sean needs before he’s coming, too. They crumple into a helpless, noodle-limbed heap on the floor, breathing shakily and trembling with aftershocks.

"I love you so much, Orli," Sean sighs.

"I love you, too, Sean," Orli answers.

They sit together in quiet contentedness for a few minutes.

"Orli?"

"Yeah?"

"I’m never going to leave you."

Orli looks up at Sean, whose eyes are suspiciously wet. "Oh God, Sean, don’t cry– you’ll make me cry, too," Orli says with a smile, choking on his last words. Sean leans down to kiss him, and they let the tears run down their faces, mingling, as they smile, and now they are both shining like the sun.

Wed, 29 Sep 2004 11:02:22 GMT

Title: Let’s Just Get Naked
Author: Captain Daisyshine (Hitchcock_Princess182@hotmail.com)
Pairing: VigOrli
Rating: NC-17
Series: Nah.
Summary: PWP. Make-up sex.
Warnings: S. E. X. Here there be bad words, and two boys in love. With each other. Sensibilities offended? Feel free to bugger off.
Disclaimer: It wasn’t me.
Archive: Hell yeah.
Feedback: better than ice cream.
Notes: Lyrics from “Let’s Just Get Naked” by Joan Osborne.
Dedication: moblo413, my darling, in payment for answering a certain challenge. No Tennyson in this one, I’m afraid. ;P

I know what you’re hiding from me,
You know what I’m hiding from you,
I know that you hurt me real bad,
You know that I hurt you bad too.
Let’s just get naked,
Just for a laugh,
Let’s just get naked,
It’s a trip and a half...
And I’m pissed off about being the cops,
And you’re pissed off about being a maid,
And how long ‘til they shut off the phone,
‘Til the next time we get laid?
We’ve been together so long...
Let’s just get naked,
Just for a laugh,
Let’s just get naked,
It wouldn’t be so bad.

Orli threw up his hands. “I give up!” he shouted. Viggo just frowned.

“What’s happened to us?” Orlando asked a few moments later, gentler.

Viggo shrugged. He looked unhappy. “I don’t know,” he replied softly.

A flash in Orli’s eye was all the warning Viggo had before he felt himself being knocked to the floor.

“What the fuck?”

“Let’s just get naked, Vig. I’m tired of fighting.”

“Oh, right, because sex solves everything.”

“Maybe not, but it’s better than yelling.” Viggo couldn’t deny this, so he didn’t try. Besides, he was tired of fighting, too. He’d much rather fuck Orlando into next week.

“Okay, clothes off,” he said, voice husky with desire. Fighting with Orli always got him worked up.

Orlando grinned rapaciously. “Better.”

“Didn’t ask for your opinion. Now get your clothes off.” Orli shivered slightly. Viggo didn’t get like this often, but when he did, it was always incredibly hot. Submissively, Orlando stripped off his tee, then unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them down past his knees. Orli looked up for approval to go on. Viggo nodded. Orli pushed down his shorts and stripped them off along with his blue jeans. Then he stood, naked and on display. He trembled under Viggo’s lustful gaze as the older man’s eyes raked up and down his body, appraising him. Then Viggo stepped closer, closer, and reached out a hand to touch Orlando’s face, stroking the high cheekbones with the backs of his fingers. The simple movement was enough to make Orli’s eyes flutter shut as he repressed a moan and leaned into the touch. Viggo shook his head. “Nuh-uh.” Orli drew back, rebuked. “I make the rules this time,” Viggo growled, voice positively dripping with sex. Orli could feel his cock begin to throb at Viggo’s unusual show of authority, and he bit down on his lip to prevent a gasp from escaping. Viggo leaned forward and nipped gently at the side of Orli’s neck. Then he pressed his lips to the mark his teeth had made, and he could feel Orli’s pulse beginning to race beneath his mouth.

“Viggo...” Orli whispered. Viggo did not reply. Instead he began to suck on Orlando’s lower lip greedily, twining his fingers into the rich brown curls at the back of his lover’s head.

“Mmm,” he moaned, venturing a lick at the crease between Orlando’s lips, which parted eagerly to admit his tongue. Then all was burning dancing fire as the two men fused at the mouth, and Viggo immediately sought and gained dominance of the kiss. Orli was certain he was going to be incinerated by the heat of Viggo’s mouth, and he reached out with both hands to hold onto his lover’s shoulders in an attempt to steady himself. Viggo wrapped his tongue around Orlando’s, and Orli shifted his hips forward, endeavouring to gain some sort of contact for his pulsing cock. Viggo obstinately continued to hold his body away from Orli’s, and when he broke the kiss, Orlando’s head was reeling and his cock ached for some sort of release.

“Please,” Orli breathed.

“‘Please’ what?” Viggo taunted.

Orli strove to retain even the tiniest bit of coherency as Viggo bent his head to trace Orlando’s collarbone with his tongue, but it wasn’t working especially well. “You... I– Jesus, Vig, touch me– oh, God!– ” Orli rasped in his fuck-me-I’m-British voice as Viggo’s hand dropped to encircle his pulsating cock. Viggo raised his head to kiss his lover again, thrusting his tongue into Orli’s mouth the way he wanted to thrust his cock into the boy’s body. “Nnnnn–” Orli groaned. With his free hand, Viggo unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them over his hips, then removed the offending garment along with his boxers.

“Need to fuck you,” Viggo told Orli. Orli just moaned his approval and thrust his hips forward, bringing their burning erections into sizzling, gasp-inducing contact. After a few seconds, Viggo stepped away from Orlando. Hastily, he retrieved the tube of lubricant from its traditional hiding-place on the bookshelf behind a volume of Shelley’s poetry and returned to his lover. “Turn around,” he whispered into Orli’s ear, his voice sinful in its hoarse depth. Orli obeyed, turning so that his back faced Viggo. Viggo slicked up several fingers, tossed the tube onto the couch, then wrapped a hand around the front of his lover’s chest to steady him. “Relax,” he soothed, tender for all his show of control. Easier said than done, Orlando thought, but kept quiet as Viggo pushed a finger into him. His determined silence was put to an abrupt end a few seconds later, however, as Viggo curled his finger and brushed Orli’s prostate. Orli let out a low, throaty moan and wriggled a bit, seeking more, just more... Viggo added a second finger and began to scissor them, preparing his lover. Orlando’s breathing was coming in heavy, panting gasps, and he fought the urge to turn around, knock Viggo to the ground and ride him shamelessly.

Viggo suddenly removed his fingers from Orli’s body, and Orli whined noisily. Viggo sat on the couch and recovered the lube. Orlando watched, breath coming in short, erratic puffs, jaw slack, as Viggo slicked up his thick, hard cock. “Over here,” he growled, beckoning to the younger man. Orli walked over to the couch as if in a trance. “Now straddle me,” Viggo commanded. Orli climbed into Viggo’s lap, legs spread and knees on the couch on either side of the other man’s thighs. In this position, he could feel Viggo’s cock nudging at his entrance, and he moaned softly. Orli lowered himself slowly onto the large shaft until he was sitting flush against Viggo’s lap. His eyes flickered shut, and for several seconds there was no sound but the thick, raspy breathing of the two men. Then Viggo broke the silence.

“Ride me,” he ground out, with a little thrust of his hips.

Orlando’s breath caught in his throat. “Ye-ess,” he breathed and began to raise and lower himself at a moderate pace.

“Like this,” said Viggo in a voice hoarse with arousal, taking hold of Orli’s hips and thrusting faster.

“Vig– OH!” Viggo shifted his hips, changing the angle of his thrusts to slide against the raised mound of nerves inside Orli with every pass. Orlando screamed and dug his nails into Viggo’s shoulders.

“God, Orli, you feel fucking incredible!” The pressure on Viggo’s cock was driving him wild, and he pounded into Orlando mercilessly.

The slap-slap-slap of Orli’s arse on Viggo’s thighs turned him on immeasurably, and he did ride Viggo’s sizeable cock, bouncing up and down frenziedly. “Unnnh,” Orli groaned. His cock was throbbing so hard he was afraid he might explode if he didn’t touch himself, so he reached down to take his erection in hand, but Viggo’s hand encircled his wrist, restraining him. “Jesus, Viggo!” Viggo let go of Orli’s wrist and grabbed his cock instead, pumping it in time with his thrusts. “Fuck!” Orli cried. “Shit– Viggo, I’m going to come...” Viggo thrust harder, faster– “Oh- Fuck!”– and Orli came screaming his name. “VIGGO!” The warm, wet come hit Viggo’s stomach, and Orli’s inner muscles clamped down on his cock.

“Fuck, Orl-ando!” And then Viggo was over the edge as well, shooting his seed deep within his lover’s body. When the aftershocks had finished wracking both their bodies, Orli slid off of Viggo’s lap and sat beside him on the couch.

“Viggo.”

“Orli?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, Orli.”

“Mmm.” Orli smiled, resting his forehead against Viggo’s. “And Vig?”

“Yes?”

“Remind me to argue with you more often.” Viggo hit him affectionately.