Title: "Candy Perfume Boys" Authors: Brenda & Val Pairing: Dominic Monaghan/Orlando Bloom/Viggo Mortensen Rating: NC-17 Summary: Dom & Orlando set out to cheer up Viggo. Why this involves blue glitter nail polish & hot pink hair dye is anyone's guess. Disclaimer: Dom & Orlando wear eyeliner. But that's about all that's true about this story. Notes: For Buttercup. "Young velvet porcelain boys Devour me when you're with me" -- Madonna What does it take to convince these two idiots that I am not depressed? For fuck's sake, I'm just in my broody artist mode. That's it. I think, I ponder, I think some more, I contemplate chucking myself off a bridge at times just to stop the thinking, but it's only a phase. It goes away once I paint it out of my head, and then I move on to another phase. Orlando, of all people, is quite the pot to be calling my kettle moody. His mood swings so fast that it's a wonder it doesn't hit him in the ass when it swings back again. Damn pouty, bouncy motherfucker. Meant of course with the utmost love, because even though he annoys me on an almost daily basis, I wouldn't have him any other way. Neither would Dominic, I'm sure. Strikingly handsome couple they make, but right now, I'm only thinking about striking them upside their beautiful heads. If they look at me with helpful sympathy for one more minute, I think I'm going to scream. Or throw things. But then, that would only have them convinced that they're right, so I suppose I'm going to just have to go along with them. And hope that they don't torture me too badly in the name of 'cheering me up.' Hopefully this cheering up will involve large quantities of alcohol. Large quantities so that the rest is all a pretty blur that I can transfer onto canvas tomorrow without using too much red to represent their spilled blood. "Fine, let's go. But, can I just say once more, for the record, that I'm not depressed. I'm only going to shut you two up, and because I don't have anything else planned for today. Okay?" They nod in unison, and I swear Dominic's face is going to explode from the force of his smile. Bet he was never a Boy Scout. And now he's determined to make up for not doing his share of good deeds then. Young love. Beautiful to watch, but why the hell do they have to make sure everyone else around them is happy? Some of us are quite happy being...well, just being. We don't need to bounce around like a certain brunet who I still think of as Elf boy. I know he's a 'serious actor' now, but to me, he'll always be Elf Boy, bouncy twerp, who, along with his partner, is the current bane of my existence. I can just hear them - "Viggo's depressed, Orli." serious tone of voice, serious facial expression "Is he?" bounce bounce "Yes, and I think we should do something to cheer him up." seriousness changes to earnestness "Okay. Like what?" bounce bounce bounce "Let's take him out with us for the day! We'll get him to talk, we'll do fun things and get his mind completely off whatever it is that's depressing him!" earnest smile "Okay! And we can go...*insert ramble of about twelve thousand places we can go here*" bounce ad infinitum So now I'm off to have a 'fun day' with my friends, Tigger and Roo. Guess that makes me Eeyore. They've agreed to my alcohol-consumption condition, so it won't be too difficult. I'm going to insist on it being put into play right away since they've apparently thought that a crowded shopping mall is a good idea. Yes, I know it is a week day, but still, Hollywood/Highland is not my favorite place to be. But apparently we must go to Sephora to stock up on Hard Candy makeup and nail polish. If they think I'm going to be some sort of human Barbie bust to be drawn upon with various lewd colours, they've got another thing coming. That will most certainly not cheer me up. Although, now that we're here, it's not a bad place. I mean, I haven't worn makeup for fun in years, and there are a lot of glittery things that look intriguing. Orlando has announced that we're going out tonight and so we need to be 'done up properly'. This frightens me, but if I have makeup to hide behind, at least no one will recognize me. Unless they make me wash it off for the mug shot. They're buying, so I may as well take advantage of it. "Jesus, Vig! How many shades of eyeliner do you need?" Bloody Tigger. I need as many as I goddamn well choose. I'll shut him up. Open up my new Soot eyeliner and colour a mustache on his smirking face before he can blink. Quick Draw Mortensen, that's me. Little fucker. I think Dom's going to hurt something from laughing. Hmm, what's he got? I'll just pilfer his little stash while he's busy giggling at his boyfriend. I like that blue glittery nail polish. He can just have his Elf-bitch fetch him another. Oh God, that is if I can pry them off each other. Don't get me wrong, I like that they feel comfortable enough to be openly affectionate in public. They had a hard enough time deciding to come out, and I'm glad that they're together. But I don't need to always be reminded of it by seeing them grope each other in public. Even if it is rather enticing. I mean, they're beautiful separately, but together, lips fused, tongues darting in and out of view, hands entwined as their chests just barely touch? They're so goddamn sweet and hot that I don't know if I'm pissed off from jealousy or just plain horny. Probably both. Anyway, this just cost them two more nail polishes and purple mascara. And another lipstick. And I'm sitting in between them in the damn movie. "Hello. Romeo and Romeo? Can we go now?" And of course, they have to draw apart ever so slowly, forcing me to watch their lips part inch by inch, the smile they turn on me still full of that special warmth they have for each other. Right. Alcohol. Now. Boy Scout pays for our loot, while I send Elf Boy off to get a bottle of rum. Or two. Good thing that the movie theatre's right in the complex. They don't care about bringing in shopping bags so we can hide the alcohol. I'm sneaking alcohol into a movie. I feel like the world's oldest teenager. Orlando's giggling so hard I wonder if he snuck a sip or two on the way. The movie's funny, really funny. I haven't watched a National Lampoon movie in ages, but it appears they're still hilarious. I'm sure that the rum we've poured liberally into our cokes is helping out a bit. At least Orlando and me. Dom's being the responsible one and not drinking nearly as much, which I suppose is good since he has to play chauffeur. They've got us involved in some three way hand-holding, which I'm sure only includes me because I'm sitting in between them. And I'm sure that Dom's fingers are meant to be doing that lovely obscene thing they're doing to Orlando's hand not mine. And I'm sure that Orlando's hand is meant to be somewhere else than in my lap, stroking me through my pants. Is this part of Cheer-Viggo-Up-Day or just Viggo-Gets-Included-Because-He's-In-The-Way-Day? Ah, fuck it, I'll just take another swig of my rum and coke, and settle further into the seat and not question why Dom's tongue is doing naughty things to my ear and neck. Apparently I'm not too much in the way because they manage to lean across me to kiss, Orlando's hand still moving on me as Dom, ever the helpful one, reaches across as well to unbutton and unzip me. Their faces are silhouetted by the movie, and somehow that makes it more erotic. They don't kiss for long, sliding back into their seats, hands moving together under my boxers, Dom's tongue resuming his action as Orlando now mirrors it with his own. Good thing this is a mindless movie because right now I couldn't tell you the plot if my life depended on it. Dom leaves my dick to Orlando, moving his hand up to hold me in my chair as his mouth locks onto mine, kissing away my hissed out moan as I come hard into Orlando's hand. Sweet Jesus. Dom shifts the popcorn bucket onto my lap to hide things as Orlando, apparently Boy Scout in training, grabs napkins to clean me off. Good, 'cause I don't feel like moving right now, other than to shift a bit so I can reach my straw. So, maybe it was all part of the plan for Cheer-Viggo-Up-Day. Not bad. Viggo certainly is relaxed and smiling. Although they're now curled up on my shoulders like two sleepy kittens. Guess Tigger and Roo don't mind old grumpy Eeyore too much then. They're kind of cute this way. I'm sure people wondered why I carried a mostly empty bucket of popcorn the entire way down to the parking structure, but I wasn't taking any chances. We only got a few stares, no autograph requests, so that's a good thing. Bit hard to sign an autograph while holding a cardboard container in front of your crotch to cover up the wet spot on your pants. As soon as we're back at their house, Orlando sets out on a mission to get Dominic as drunk as the two of us are, pouring only enough coke into his rum to make it a light tan colour. Then, he turns to me, staring at me as if I've grown two heads. Next thing you know he'll be calling me Zaphod. Fine by me, just keep the Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters coming. Ah, so our budding Paul Mitchell has plans for my hair. He thinks it should be coloured. Dom's eyes light up at the thought, and had I even considered refusing, I don't think they would have heard me over the volume of their discussion on just what colour it should be. I'm not even going to ask why they have a nice selection of Manic Panic colours in their downstairs bathroom cabinet. I'm not going to ask why, precisely, that particular shade of hot pink is just perfect for me. I can dye it back tomorrow or just shave it all off and go back to the buzz cut for a while. I'm feeling all warm and fuzzy and, you know, they're really not bad guys at all. Yeah, too damn perky, but hey, they're young and in love, and they care enough about me to give me a fucking incredible handjob in the middle of fucking Mann's, so they're okay in my book. And we have all this lovely makeup to play with later. And Orlando says they have plenty of clothes that'll fit me. Their house is lovely. Big, full of light, lots of lovely plump couches to squish down into. Jimmy Eat World on the stereo, not a bad band. And my head's all warm from the blow dryer, and my hair feels all soft. It even feels pink. Pink. I snort out loud at that. Where'd they go? Oh well, I can just laugh by myself. Don't feel like moving from the squooshy cushions. I'm pink. Eeyore's pink. Pink Viggo. Sounds like a band name. "Hello, the Forum is proud to present...Pink Viiiiiiiggoooo..." Ouch, ouch, hurts from laughing so hard. Fucking hell, I'm sloshed. Will just rest for a minute. Hope I don't dream about fronting a band called Pink Viggo and the Roos. * * * (Interlude) "Wonder what he's laughing at in there?" "Dunno. Now shut up, Dommie, so I can get your trousers off." Dom's busy making snow angels on the sheets, hands and legs scissoring in slow motions. Orlando just clamps his legs together between his knees and works the pants off of his body. Dom blearily peers down at his lover. "What's goin' on down there, then?" Orlando smiles, smoothing his hands up Dom's thighs, delighting in the feel of crisp hairs and smooth skin. "Not much. Just thought your lovely cock and me would get some quality time together while you nap off your drunk." "Am not drunk," Dom protests, but only half-heartedly, as Orlando's already blowing softly on Dom's dick. Fucking hell, but Orlando is magic. "Thought today was for Vig," he sighs, flopping his head back on the bed. "It is," Orlando tells him, kissing his way up Dom's length between words, causing low groans. "This is just an interlude. For us. We can perform for him later." "Love the way your mind works," Dom groans, cock now fully enveloped in the wet heat of Orlando's mouth. Grey eyes close in rapture as Dom runs his fingers through Orlando's hair, holding onto him. Orlando goes slow, moving his lips on and around Dom in strokes so soft and sublime it's like floating in lava. Orlando can never get enough of the taste of Dom, full and thick inside his mouth, never get enough of hearing those moans that reverberate through Dom's whole body, his cock, into Orlando's mouth. He could hear these moans forever, an eternity of rolling his tongue, his lips, his mouth on Dom, Dom a part of him, elemental and so very, very perfect. "Love you," Dom sighs as he comes, his orgasm just an extension of his love for Orlando and Orlando's for him, wondrous and a miracle each time. Then Orlando moves up his body, gives him a slow, open-mouthed kiss that tastes of rum and himself and themselves all tangled together and it's just...wonderful. No two ways about it. They take their time kissing and cuddling on the bed, drifting, not quite asleep, in each other's arms, until Orlando shifts restlessly, kisses Dom's nose. "C'mon, we've still got work to do." "True enough. Although he's looking much happier than he was this morning," Dom says, rolling off the bed to fetch his trousers. Orlando winks. "Imagine how pleased he'll be by tonight." "You know I'm thinking we need to find someone on a more permanent basis for him," Dom muses, as they walk back out to the living room, holding hands. "Who'd you have in mind?" Dom's grin is particularly naughty. "Bean." Orlando's eyes widen in glee. "Yes, yes, lovely idea. We should bring it up later." They reach the sofa and look down at Viggo. "Aw, look at him, Dommie, he's so damn cuddly when he's sleeping." Dom has to admit a pink-haired, passed out Viggo is just about the cutest thing he's seen all day. "Well, time to wake him up. We've got plans for him, and it's time to get them in motion." * * * "Veeeeeeeggoooooooo...." Someone is calling my name. I hope it's not a groupie. Pink Viggo's gotten awfully popular very quickly. Rough life. No, wait, I'm not Pink Viggo, I'm just Viggo, drunk guy with pink hair. Hell. I look at my watch. Oh good, I've only slept for an hour or so. Still feeling nice and happy but not quite so loopy. Now, who's calling me? Oh, yeah, Tigger and Roo. Hmm, all rumpled themselves. Somehow I don't think they spent the last hour asleep. Well, they needed some alone time after working so hard to cheer up the geezer. Now, where's that rum? I think we need another drink while young Kevin Aucoin, otherwise known as Dominic Monaghan, does my nails in that funky blue glitter polish we bought earlier. He says nails must come before makeup. Sure, whatever. I'm still not too sure about this whole clubbing thing. It's been ages since I've been at a club, let alone in full on makeup and all that. Oh well, in for a penny... We sit at the kitchen table, not wanting to get nail polish all over their lovely creamy sofas. Dommie's still a bit drunk, from alcohol and lust both, as evidenced by the goofy smiles he keeps throwing in the direction of the bedroom, where Orlando is yelling out casual, sometimes muffled, comments about his wardrobe selections for us. Apparently, I'm getting the full treatment as Dom's got some lotion out and is working it into my hands. Mmm, that feels good. I haven't had a decent hand massage in ages. I try to get them regularly; painting so much tends to make them cramp up a bit, but I've been too busy to actually schedule one. He is very talented. I think I'm a bit more jealous of Orlando now, having these hands work over his body on a regular basis...damn lucky Elf. No wonder he's so fucking bouncy all the time. I would be too if I had those hands on me every night. Not that Orlando's hands were bad either. I'd be filled with the milk of human kindness like the Boy Scout here if I had that Elvish magic in my bed. Not that I want either of them. They're too perfect together. But, if they were each single, I wouldn't mind more than just a hand job of pity. Okay, not going to get maudlin. The hand job was quite lovely, the day hasn't been as bad as I thought it would be, and now I have a freshly-laid, gorgeous man massaging my hand and chatting away to me while his boyfriend chooses clothes for me. Things could be worse. And, when we go out, I might meet someone and get lucky. Not likely though, as I don't do the casual pickup thing. Too fucking old to be bothered with it. I've got a hand. Good enough. And now my hands are relaxed, and I have dark, shiny, sparkly blue nails. I should paint my nails more often, especially before I paint canvases. Inspiring really. I want to go and paint night scenes, the blue-black of my nails, with streaks of silver. Or golden yellow sunlight to contrast with them. Yes, definitely taking the nail polishes with me. Perhaps I'll do an entire painting in them, with some of this body glitter thrown on top, some eyeliner pencils for detail work or to write with. I need to go back to Sephora soon. "What are you thinking of, Vig?" Oh, the bouncy one's back. I tell him about my idea, and he just hoots with glee, loves it, thinks it's my best idea yet. Oh, good to know my art's so appreciated. Cheeky bastard. Lucky thing he gives good hand jobs. I tell him I'll dedicate the piece to him and Dom. They both grin at me, Orlando even kissing me on the lips. Oh, let's not start this again. They've got me horny, and I don't suppose I'm going to get them to take care of it again, so let's just keep things cool. Now he's got to go and use tongue, and how am I supposed to resist that? Dom's doing those obscenely wonderful things again to my hand and Orlando's trying to give me a throat exam, tasting of rum, coke and something that I'm assuming is Dominic. Fucking hell. Then they just leave me there, feeling all flushed, panting for breath, staring at my blue nails. They laugh, both of them moving to brush kisses on my cheeks as they lead me into the bedroom for makeup and wardrobe. And it appears by the end of the evening, I'll have a nice set of blue balls to match my fucking nails. Hmm, I don't look bad with pink hair, even if I do say so myself. Loud, hot pink hair so vibrant I wonder that it doesn't have its own personality. Perhaps it does, as I can think of no other reason to be sitting in front of a dressing table while Boy Scout washes my face with those damn gentle hands of his. Now I'm wondering why I didn't make a play for those hands when we were all in New Zealand together. Lucky Elf-boy. Lucky, lucky...oh lovely, now Dom's kissing me and doing something I'm sure is illegal in the state of California with his tongue and I honestly wonder what it is about my lips today that are so irresistible. Not that I'm complaining, nope not at all, because the Boy Scout can kiss. Ah, apparently it was to soften my lips for the lip liner, who knew? Somehow I don't think most make-up artists do this with their clients, but I go with it. Tigger himself comes bouncing back in with a fresh drink and I love him at the moment. I'm hating his damn boyfriend, though, 'cause he's telling me I can't have it or I'll ruin the effect he's trying to achieve and would I sit still, please. Me, Viggo Mortensen, Master of Zen...and he's telling me to sit still. Wonder how he puts up with twitchy, bouncy Tigger Orlando. Who knew putting on lip liner would be such an erotic experience? Lovely, slow brushes of pencil across my parted lips and Dom's lips so close to mine, and it's no wonder that I'm hard all over again, wondering if I could just nip in the bathroom to take care of things before we get dressed. I have a sneaking suspicion Orlando is going to insist on dressing me himself, and I'd hate to shock him. Although maybe I wouldn't, who knows. He was just down there, he knows what it feels like. Okay, erase thought of Orlando on his knees in front of you before you really do embarrass yourself. No thought of those lips wrapped around...I try not to groan. Lucky Boy Scout. Madonna blasts through the speakers, and Dom finally considers my lips to be works of art, and even I have to admit he might be onto something. They're this beautiful glittery shade of russet and so full that I could give Angelina Jolie a run for her money. I wonder if Dom does her lips as well. Now it's Orlando's turn to have at me, and I'm really afraid of the look in his eyes as he closes my eyes with his hands. They're both chattering on about something or another, trying to decide what club, I think, but I'm just relaxing into Orlando's hands as he brushes over my lids with liner and shadow. It's nice, pleasant, and I think I should really apologize for all of my unpleasant thoughts earlier because they're just the sweetest guys. Even if they are royal cock teases. Semi-cock teases. Something. I wonder a bit at the glitter on my lashes, which are purple and really should clash horribly with the shocking pink of my hair, but don't. And if Orlando thinks it looks stunning, that I have bedroom eyes, who am I to argue? I haven't been this glammed since the 70s, and almost say something before I remember that the Wonder Boys won't even know who Bowie and the New York Dolls are. Right. More alcohol. Drunk is a good place to be and I haven't visited in at least an hour. I wonder if I could just get a full-time home here, instead of the time-share I currently have. I refrain from asking exactly why there's a shirt on the bed the exact same colour as my hair. Dom assures me I'll love my outfit and I can't quite contain my sigh of relief when he shows me a black velvet shirt and a pair of black slacks. Black I can handle. That shirt would give me a headache no amount of rum would cure. Go figure that Orlando wants to wear it, so we'll match. How twee, to borrow one of their more quaint expressions. Shocking Pink Barbie Geezer, complete with matching BoyToy. I think I'll hire someone else to dress us for the World Tour when Pink Viggo and the Roos go out on the road. Shy apparently does not exist in the Monaghan/Bloom household. I suppose that yeah, technically I'd seen the both of them in various shades of undress over the years, but that was before Cheer-Viggo-Torture-Him-With-Handjobs-And-Hot-Kisses-Day. And they look great naked, both so unself-conscious and graceful as they flit about like erotic butterflies. I'd given up sculpting awhile back, but I might start it up again if they'd pose for me. Providing I could get them to stand still for five minutes. "Now you," Orlando says and yes, that is most assuredly a wicked glint in those big eyes of his, made even bigger and more vivid by Soot eyeliner and silver glitter mascara. Fairy eyes in a face so beautiful it even hurts me sometimes to look at it. And Dom, with his lovely made-up gray eyes and full, pouty lips a nice shade of sepia, is on his knees in front of me, working my zipper and belt, while Orlando unbuttons my shirt. Thinking of multiplication tables or my mother naked is pretty much useless at this point, as I've been hard for what seems like a year and it's all their fault anyway, damn those lips and tongues, so they'll have to deal with it. Hands run all over my chest and stomach and thighs and someone's making cooing noises, but I'm keeping my eyes closed so I can feel Dom's lips on my dick apparently. Okay, look down, make sure that really is and sure enough, those full lips are now sliding on me and it's all wet heat and heaven. Orlando does something with his tongue on my nipples and it's a very good thing I have good balance because these two are certainly trying to kill me. I fill my hands with Dom's hair as I come, fast and groaning, in his mouth. Fuck me. I would be more annoyed with the cat ate the canary grins on their faces if I wasn't still shaking. Okay, yes, getting dressed now, and I really am a Barbie doll or Ken doll or Rag doll, but I don't mind. I'd let them dye my hair bright orange and yellow polka-dots and dress me in a frilly dress if the package included the Orlando Bloom Handjob Special followed by the Dominic Monaghan Blowjob of the Day. I won't even need groupies when we go on tour. And the velvet feels lovely across my skin. Watching the two of them dress each other is an erotic tease that strippers would love to emulate. Their lipstick must be smudge-proof. I wonder if mine is and I almost get up to find out, but then I'd have to stop watching the two of them button and lace each other with gentle hands and loving kisses, and if they're going to put on a show for me, the least I can do is sit back and watch and sip my drink quietly. Good Samaritan Mortensen, that's me. Dom and Orli...DomandOrli...sounds like a weird pasta dish, would you like some marinara with your domandorli tonight, sir?...are finally done primping and we're bundled off into the back of a cab. No Boy Scout good-boy responsibleness tonight, apparently. Responsibility is highly overrated anyway. Had I been responsible, I would have never known the joys of hair dye and the specials at the Diner of Bloom/Monaghan. Hmm, need to ask if they take reservations or if it's first come, first serve. Get it? Sometimes my own wit surprises even me. The bottle of rum goes with us, of course, wouldn't do to leave without our most important accessory. Lovely thing rum, goes with everything. In everything. Goes very well in Dom's mouth and even better on Orlando's tongue as he sips it out of Dom's mouth. I know this because Orlando leans over to give me a taste of that tongue after he's finished with Dom and DomandOrlando flavored rum tastes very good indeed. Perhaps a call to Captain Morgan's tomorrow would be in order. Oh look, we're here, wherever here is, some place called Rage, which is somewhat disconcerting because I don't normally associate rage with bright, gaudy, in-your-face neon, but there you are. Rage it is. We're discovering our inner primal natures anyway, only mine happens to be hot pink and glitter blue. There's a ridiculously long line outside of Neon Primal Urge, but the Wonder Boys just glide right by, dragging me along with their soft hands and surprisingly sexy giggles. The doorman must know them. Ah well, they're famous pretty boys and why wouldn't he know them. Just hope he doesn't know me. Perhaps the pink will fool him. Or the nail polish. Or maybe he's distracted by Orlando's shirt. You'd think Dom would dress him better, but then I'm looking at a man who's dressed in a white ruffly shirt and tight black jeans and is wearing a hot pink glitter nail polish that matches Orlando's shirt that matches my hair. Hot Pink, the colour for Spring and Cheer-Viggo-Up-Then-Drag-Him-Out-To-A-Loud-Techno-Club-In-Full-Glam-Make-Up-Day. Oh well, could be worse. I could've been kidnapped by Elijah. Dom asks me, shouts at me actually, over the thump of the music, why I'm shuddering but I just shake my head and smile. More rum. Now please, if not sooner. Thank you. Orlando dives into the sea of people, already lost in the music with gyrating hips and arms, so it's up to Dom and I to secure a table. What passes for a table. Thing's so tiny it should be labeled non-existent. Ah yes, heavenly cocktail waitress, I'll have something very strong, thank you. Dom orders a drink that I swear is called a Cock Sucker, but I must be wrong. And the wink he sends me is just a wink between friends. And the hand on my upper thigh currently stroking in small patterns is merely to get my attention. Denial, thy name is Viggo. The neon theme has followed us into the club. Lovely thing neon, perhaps I'll do a series of photographs next using neon for lighting. Do they make neon lights in sparkly colours? "Here, drink this!" Look, lovely, a drink. There's whipped cream on it and Dom just laughs at me when I point that out and tells me sucking cock normally involves some type of creamy substance, right. Cheeky bastard. I'd hate him, but then I might not be invited back to the Diner. Tastes pretty good. Not salty at all, though, but I don't point that out. Wouldn't do to give the boys any ideas. Ah yes, speaking of, here's Orlando, back in full-on Tigger Bounce Mode, bounding over, and the long kiss he gives Dom is only a little more thorough than the one he gives me. I've given up trying to figure them out by now. Use me, abuse me, just don't smudge the lipstick. He's flushed and smiling and so happy he should be bursting with it in a rainbow of bright colour I would have to search the Earth to find, but never duplicate. He was always happiest surrounded by noise and light and people, and I don't guess much has changed. Dom stands, tugs one arm while Orlando grabs the other. Hmm, no, I don't dance, but go ahead and drag me out on the floor anyway, guess I can just stand here and pretend I'm your bodyguard. Or pimp. Pink Viggo and the Roos is actually a cover for a prostitution ring...the fans will be so shocked. Ah well, bands like ours were meant to be a glorious flash fire across the face of rock & roll anyway. Is what they're doing really dancing anyway or just some weird form of sex with the clothes on? They do look exceptionally lovely together, though, and the neon of the lights reflects off of their intertwined bodies in an almost incandescent radiance. Wish I had my camera. I recognize the next song from earlier in the day. Madonna crooning about velvet porcelain boys. Wonder if she's met the Wonder Boys as well. If I ever meet her, I'll ask, but right now I'm off to get another drink, only I'm a bit trapped. By Dom, gyrating into my hips with his hips, holding my waist with a firm grip. Must be Orlando behind me then, grinding his pelvis into my back. A very happy Orlando, unless I'm very much mistaken. And a very happy Dom as well, doing his damndest to make sure I'm just as happy as they are in mere seconds. I'd pull away, but there's nowhere to go that isn't heat and hardness and muscle. "Relax," Dom whispers in my ear. Yeah, right, relax. He places my hands on his hips and continues to move against me, and Orlando leans in, wet tongue on my neck, still moving his hips in slow circles against my ass. Jesus. Will not come again, don't think the Roos would appreciate stains on their pants. But God, that hip thing Dom is doing feels incredible. Moving, now we're moving, and Dom's hips aren't up against mine anymore. I make a move to bring them back, but he just gives me that patented cheeky Monaghan grin and tugs me off of the dance floor, with Orlando pushing me along with his hips. Ah, okay, why are we in the bathroom again, oh, this must be why. Dom's gotten awfully good at getting my dick out of my trousers with a minimum of fuss. He and Elf boy must get a lot of practice at it. And yes, those soft hands feel exceptional, as does the Orlando tonsillectomy I'm receiving. Damn, haven't come this many times in one day in years. Feels pretty good, actually. I should do this sort of thing more often. Sinks are very convenient things to have about and I love that we have one near us. No wonder Dom chose the bathroom. That latent Boy Scout thing again, I'm sure. I'd promote him to Eagle Scout, but I doubt their position on homosexuality has changed. Ah well, their loss. "I'm thinking we need a shower," Orlando coos, and he rubs his hands along my back. "Yes, a nice, long, hot shower," Dom agrees, and his mouth is doing interesting things to my collarbone. Shower? I look from one expectant face to the other and what the hell? It's pretty fucking obvious, even to me, Oblivious Viggo, should be my new nom de plum, that the kids want me. Together. Haven't done the proper ménage a trois thing in years, but I have a feeling it's much like everything else and I'll remember what body part goes where soon enough. Shower it is. I've got a lot of catching up to do with the Wonder Boys, anyway. Starting now, I think, with those lovely, full, still pouty, made-up lips in front of me. Dom is only momentarily surprised by my initiation, but he soon gets into the swing of things. He tastes of sweat and Dom and spice and something I think is Bailey's, and I want to drink him like I would Bailey's, one sip at a time until I'm filled with the taste on my tongue. He's making little moans in the back of his throat, hmmm, let's see how many times I can get him to do that. Quite a bit, actually. Lovely. I turn my attentions, and my lips, to Orlando next, and his full, lush lips and his taste, all exotic and dark, like coffee-coated dark chocolate, fits very well with the Dom taste still rolling around on my tongue. No wonder they can't get enough of each other. Small wonder that right now I can't get enough of them. Orlando doesn't moan in the back of his throat, he growls a bit, and that's nice too. The vibrations it sends through my body are also nice. Nice word, nice. Must have been made for the Roos. A third tongue joins Orlando and me and though it's been awhile since I've shared a three-way kiss, I'm managing to hold my own against the two soft tongues and two yielding mouths that are slowly driving me insane. Right. Shower. Now. Lovely idea. Could kiss Orlando all over again for suggesting it, so I do and we're pretty much kissing and touching and rubbing on each other the entire way out of the club and on the cab ride home. Not that I remember much of it, I only have eyes, and everything else, for the two beautiful boys with me, who've managed to turn Cheer-Viggo-Up-Day into DomandOrli-Do-Viggo-Day and that's just fine with me. Peachy. More than. The master bathroom of the Monaghan/Bloom household has been tricked out with a nice stand-alone shower that could easily fit the entire Fellowship, okay slight exaggeration, but it's big. Certainly big enough for three. And watching the two of them undress each other is a lot more fun, now that it's an interactive experience. Tanned skin and golden skin bared to my touch and gaze and each other's touch and gaze and mine to them, and I'm looking at them, so dark and fair, like the sun and moon, each beautiful and essential, and I really wish I had my camera. Or paints. The contrast of glitter blue nail polish on satin cream skin would make for a lovely series of lithographs. Pink Viggo Porn goes Glam. It's a shame that the glitter make-up has to wash off, but watching Dom and Orlando devour each other with wet tongues, sliding slick bodies over each other, more than makes up for it. I lean back a bit and continue to gaze at them, trying to decide which part I like best, perhaps the way Orlando's tanned throat is bared to Dom's pink tongue, or maybe Orlando's slender fingers on Dom's hip, just holding him there, like he can't get enough of touching him. I don't blame him, if I had the Boy Scout's skin to touch at will, I'd make him walk around naked all the time so I could feel it whenever I got the urge. Which would be all the time, and probably play havoc with the rest of my life, but it would be worth it. Jesus, I'm getting sappier than a tree in the springtime, watching the two of them, but it's young love and it's beautiful, and sap is essential for tree growth. Porn as education, I wonder if PBS will pick up the series. "You're thinking, Vig, stop it," Orlando laughs, and pulls me under the spray with them, sandwiching me between the two of them again. He's right, far too much thinking, who needs thought with all of this skin and lips in front of me and behind me, rubbing against me in delicious waves. Happy Dom's doing that little hip thing again and Happy Orlando's rubbing his dick all over my back and ass again in slippery circles. And, no, life just doesn't get any better than this. Happy, horny, wet Roos rubbing all over me. I should get 'not depressed' more often if this is the result. Although, damn, the Boy Scout must be rubbing off on me because I think that they haven't come nearly as much as I have and we need to change that. Mmmm, I wonder what they look like when they come? I wish I had one of those waterproof vacation throwaway cameras so that I could capture it. Yes, I am a pervy old man now. I don't care. Pink Viggo Porn will support the band when we're in between gigs. I slide out from in between them, watching how their bodies just melt together as if they'd never been apart. My turn to be a sandwich bun instead of the meat. Yes, sandwich buns have it good, although I still don't like the damn sesame seeds. But I don't have sesame seeds. Seed. Oh yes, have plenty of that apparently, as I've been spewing it all over the place all damn day. But now it's my turn. Boy Scout sandwich, hands everywhere. I love water. I love it sliding everywhere, making everything slick and slippery and so much more fun. Wonder if we can go to a water park tomorrow? Probably not, probably would get arrested for lewd acts on the water slide. Don't want to traumatize the kiddies. Wonder if we can rent out a water park? Yes, must look into that. But first, must enjoy Boy Scout ass against my dick and reach around to feel Tigger ass under my hands. They have great asses. I want to watch Tigger enjoy some of this, so I slide Dom around, realizing that this will mean I get more of those lips. Orlando, again, that Boy Scout training rubbing off on him (and against him too), knows just what to do. They know each other so well, and that makes it all the more incredible to watch. He's kissing Dom's neck and I'm kissing Dom and then we're kissing each other. Orlando's hand joins mine on Dom's cock, and I watch how Dom's eyes close and hear little moans come out. I want to feel them, so I kiss him again, feeling them tickle my tongue. But I want to watch him, so I lift my head, and yes, it's just like abstract poetry right there on that beatifically expressive face when he comes, and I need my camera now. Perhaps I'll just leave one here next time I come over. That is, if my reservation at the Diner is still open. Still have to take care of Tigger though, so Dom turns again and slides my hand to Orlando's cock and it's not quite silk, not quite velvet, the smoothness of it warm marble under my fingers. Better than any sculpture, better than any clay, living art, changing art, fluid muscle under my hands to knead and twist into a creation of my choosing. Art galleries should always have an inter-active Orlando statue. Dom's hand joins mine for a moment, then he slithers, seal-like and just as quick, to his knees and his warm tongue laps against my hand and Orlando throws his head back in divine supplication. I lean forward to suckle on that throat and the vibrations against my tongue as he comes are amazing, no wonder Dom's so fucking happy all the time. If I had those vibrations all to myself, I'd throw out every battery I have and just run on Orlando energy. Drying off is also quite the experience, terry cloth as foreplay or after-play or between plays, perhaps Pink Viggo and the Roos is really a sports team. Tag-team sex sports. ESPN never had it so good. Off to the bed now, with a quick detour to the kitchen for another bottle of rum, yes, it's been hours since I've had DomandOrlando flavoured rum, and I'm eager for the taste again. The sheets are nice and cool under my body as Dom and Orlando sit on either side of me, rising to kiss over my prone body. Tongues swirl and twist in a tangle and I watch, loving the way they move with each other, into each other, one soul with separate bodies melding into one in a giant fondue of lust. "I'd like to watch the two of you together." My voice is a bit rough, a bit low, but the smiles they give me let me know they heard. Sure, Vig, whatever makes you happy, and I fucking love that Boy Scout mentality. I sit up, scoot back amongst the pillows, and watch as they move over each other and on each other in a ballet so beautiful Tchaikovsky himself couldn't have written one better. I know that this is a mental videotape that I'll replay often for myself. Knowing what they feel like, knowing what they taste like, makes it even better. I sit happily amongst the pillows, stroking myself slowly as they move, Orlando moving on top of Dom. I can be a Boy Scout too, and hand over the lube. But they're still making this an interactive experience and have me help Orlando with it. Better than Epcot, this is. They shower me with more kisses before I lean back again. Their movements are so coordinated, so perfectly in synch that it nearly hurts to watch. But it's the most exquisite sort of hurt, the kind that leaves you wanting more, and I can't tear my eyes away. Orlando leans in to kiss Dom with such care and tenderness as he slides inside of him. The expression on Dom's face deserves to be cast in plaster or bronze or something. Commemorated forever alongside David as one of the wonders of the world. And the noises they draw from each other need to be recorded. Perhaps used as background music for the newest Pink Viggo and the Roos single. Or just as the single itself. They move as if they've done this forever, will be doing it forever. Their bodies are perfectly in tune with each other and the contrast of skin tones is beautiful. Orlando never takes his eyes from Dom, lust and love just overflowing out onto Dom, who just floats and basks in it. Dom's own eyes are having trouble staying open, and I sympathize. If I had Orlando doing those things to me, moving his hips in a perfect rhythm as his lips trailed over mine and his hand was wrapped around my cock, stroking, I don't think I could do more than what Dom's doing, which is just moaning and clinging and moving and gasping. It's completely erotic and arousing to watch them, and I'm happy they let me into their little cocoon for the day. I try to hold on until they come, wanting to watch every bit of their dance, and just barely succeed. They come together, why would they do otherwise? Dom's loud, moaning Orlando's name as he writhes beneath him. Orlando's quieter, his face contorting, his eyes closing and his entire body shuddering as he whisper-chants Dom's name over and over. I'm next, finally letting myself come with, I'm sure, a big, stupid smile on my face. They're wrapped up in each other, whispering in each other's ears, grinning away at each other, and then they're pulling me in. Should've known I couldn't escape their clutches for long. Not that I'd want to. Orlando's a complete puddle, just lying in between us, Cheshire Cat grin on his face. Dom is, of course, busy with the towels, concerned with cleaning us all up and not at all with getting in a few spare gropes as he does. Nope, not him. Yeah, right. We're all tangled under the covers, arms and legs mixed up together. Dom winds up on the other side of me and they both wrap themselves all around me. Apparently we're doing Do-Viggo-Until-He-Can't-Move-Anymore-Day to the fullest extent and having a sleepover now. "Are you happy now, Viggo?" Dom mumbles, his fingers entwining themselves with Orlando's and resting on my chest. "If I say no, do I get more of this tomorrow?" We all laugh together and shift around a bit more, getting comfortable. Then Orlando speaks up, surprising me since I thought he was incoherent and about two seconds away from total unconsciousness. "You know, Vig, last time we talked to Bean, he sounded a bit depressed. Practically hung up on Dommie. I think that you could, you know, pass it forward. Like that movie. Only not. He'd look good with blue hair, don't you think?" I laugh, but you know, it's not a bad idea. I haven't seen Sean in ages, and I've been meaning to go visit him at some point. Why not now? Full of the Boy Scout love and all. He needs a good cheering up. I've wondered what he tastes like. I think he'd go good with rum. And glitter would look fabulous brushed along that jawline, those lips maybe purple, no, hot pink so when it's smeared on my cheekbones, it matches my hair. My body refuses to let these thoughts go any further. It demands proper rest. I have to agree. The Roos have worn out Pink Viggo, and he needs sleep. I vaguely try to remember that line from Sixteen Candles, but only remember "Donger need food." I wonder if DomandOrlando is a good breakfast. Somehow I think it is. I'll need a nutritious breakfast if I'm to continue spreading the love all the way to England. Onto Twee Slut If you enjoyed this fic, please leave feedback here. Thanks!