Viggo roamed the beach house, consumed by the images and thoughts swirling through his head. He was cursing his decision to pack light and not bring his paints. Yes, he had his journal and a sketchpad, but he should've known that alcohol consumption would bring ideas, and tonight his mind was filled with colors, and he had to find some way to get those colors the hell out of his head before they drove him insane. They were bright, vibrant and full of life. No muted pastels would work. He needed primary colors, so in your face that they were near blinding with their intensity. Wide swathes of hue, streaking and swirling across his canvas. Gods, he could fucking feel them in his gut! And not so much as a goddamn crayon in this fucking house! He stormed into the library, curses on his lips. He tempered his mood and his mouth when he saw Sean sprawled on the sofa, obviously passed out. Arms spread over the cushions, head lolled back, legs akimbo, he had a half-smile of drunken contentment plastered across his face. Viggo was forced to pause, sipping his scotch and smiling at his friend. They were all enjoying this time off at the beach house, and most nights ended up with many of them passed out in various rooms around the house. Tonight, obviously, Sean had been the first to succumb. Viggo searched his memory, and vaguely recalled that Sean had wandered off from the rest of them about an hour or two ago, right before Viggo's quest for color had begun. Whatever. Sean could sleep for days as far as Viggo was concerned. He just wanted some fucking source of color and a surface to spread it on. This was a library, dammit. There had to be something here that he could use. Walking over to the massive desk, Viggo began to rummage through the drawers, practically growling with frustration as he came up empty handed. "Fuck," he snarled under his breath, flopping down on the easy chair opposite the sofa, and draining his drink. His eyes settled on the coffee table, opening wide as they beheld a wondrous sight. There, still neatly in their plastic holder, were six pots of bright neon paint. "Fucking Elijah!" he mumbled, smiling as he reached for them. Just a few days ago, Orlando had given Elijah the paints as a present. They were edible body paints, and all of the cast had great fun teasing Elijah about finding a willing Tolkien fan to help test them. Elijah had merely blushed as he laughed along with them, and obviously the paints had been here ever since. Viggo smiled as he snatched up the pots. Finally, he had paint! Now he needed something to put the paint on. He was, under the influence of alcohol and in his consuming creative obsession, seriously considering the wall, when, again, he smiled as he eyes lit upon a wonderful sight, and his mind had a delightfully unique idea. The peacefully sleeping Sean had left exposed a wide expanse of tanned, smooth flesh visible under his half-buttoned shirt. Oh yes. That was a lovely possibility. Edible body paints were, after all, meant to be used on the human body. It would be perfect -- a living, breathing work of art. Viggo pushed the coffee table out of the way, and crawled on his knees over to Sean. Placing the paints carefully on the floor, he leaned forward. He bit his lip in concentration as he carefully unbuttoned the rest of Sean's shirt, and pulled it gently from the waistband of his trousers. His touch light, he pushed it away to expose more chest area. He ran his hands over Sean's skin, preparing his canvas, so to speak. Sean mumbled in his sleep, turning his head as he did. Viggo quieted, pulling his hands away. He watched for several minutes to be sure Sean was still asleep. When he was positive, he opened up each pot of paint, lining them up in a row next to Sean's left foot. This was going to be interesting. He had never painted on a person before. Bean would be the first Viggo Mortensen Living Canvas. Viggo stifled a chortle, and picked up the first pot. Royal purple, it smelled like grape. He couldn't resist tasting it. Sweet, tart, hmm, not bad at all. Grinning, he set to work, quickly becoming lost in his creation. Broad strokes of purple, blue and green soon covered Sean's chest. His left nipple had a blue circle with slashes of pink across it, while his right was mostly brown, with red accents. His abdomen was a mélange of brown, red and purple, and his right shoulder area was layered with many colors, green appearing predominately in the top layer. Viggo's fingers were his brushes. His pinky was for fine lines, ring finger for blending and index and middle fingers for big smears of pure color. He lost all concept of time and space, working quickly, yet with an almost planned deliberation as the vision in his head guided him. Sean's flesh was warm and pliant under his hands, and he wound up simply mixing colors together just so that he could knead this wonderful live medium. Fascinated, he continued to squish the paint through his fingers, oblivious to the fact that his 'canvas' had awakened, and was peering down at him through alcohol-hazed eyes. "Viggo?" The husky whisper startled him, and he glanced up in surprise. "What're you doing?" Sean attempted to sit up, but Viggo stopped him. "No, wait, don't, you'll get the paint on your shirt." "Huh? Paint?" Sean took a closer look at his chest, and realized that he was indeed covered in a variety of interesting colors. He closed his eyes, and shook his head before reopening them. The scene before him remained the same -- his chest smeared with paint, and Viggo kneeling before him, hands covered in said paint. The conclusion, even to a mostly-sobered-up brain, was as obvious as it was bizarre. "Are you painting me? I mean, y'know, on me?" Viggo regarded him calmly, albeit a bit sheepishly. "Um, yes." He hurried to defend himself, not wanting Sean to get upset. "But it is edible body paint, so I'm sure it'll come right off, but could you just wait and let me get my camera to take a picture first before you do wash it off? I didn't think you'd wake up, and I'm sorry if I did wake you, but it was just so different and the paint was mixing on your skin, and it was so warm, and just felt so incredible, and…" Sean kept trying to interrupt the rambling monologue. "Viggo...Viggo...VIGGO!!!" He finally had to shout. Viggo stopped talking, and stared at Sean. "Yeah?" "One thing at a time. Why were you painting on me in the first place? And go slowly, please. I'm still a bit fuzzy in the head." Viggo launched into a slower, clearer version of his story, explaining the overwhelming creative urges that had driven him to the library, and the serendipitous discovery of the body paints, and Sean's conveniently bared chest. Sean sat, still in the same slouched position, with his multi-hued chest exposed. When Viggo was finally finished, Sean nodded, still thinking the whole situation a bit surreal, but at least satisfied with the explanation. He smiled, beginning to laugh as he realized just how absurd it all was. "What?" Viggo smiled as well, still kneeling on the floor. "Elijah is going to kill you when he realizes you used up so much of his body paints." Viggo laughed. "Eh, probably. But he's pretty drunk tonight too. Last I saw him, he was obsessed with making chocolate chip cookies. Maybe I can just tell him that he put the paint in the batter or something." "Ha! Worth a shot, mate. So, what flavor are these infamous paints?" Sean looked down at his chest again. "The only one I know is the purple. It's grape. I didn't really care about flavor, only color." "Hmm...." Sean scraped an index finger through the gooey swirls, ignoring Viggo's protest about the effect on his 'creation. Viggo watched Sean draw his finger out of his mouth slowly, his eyes half closing as he pondered the taste. "Ah, the red is the obvious choice -- strawberry." Thoughts of his masterpiece's destruction faded into the background as the visual of Sean's languid finger sucking combined with the thought that, at least in part, Sean's warm, firm chest tasted of strawberries. And most likely, the brown painted over Sean's right nipple, nestled next to a healthy swirl of red, was chocolate. Jesus. Warm, sticky, chocolate covered fucking strawberry flavored nipple. Somehow he forced his mouth to emit words, as he leaned closer. "What's the blue?" The look on Viggo's face was not going unnoticed. Sean smiled, licking his lips. He was alone, half naked, covered in edible body paints, with a man kneeling before him who had a look of pure lust on his face. Things could get very interesting. "Why don't you tell me?" Viggo reached out a tentative finger, but found it restrained by Sean's hand. "Not that way." Viggo paused for just a few seconds, before he leaned in, holding Sean's eyes as he darted his tongue out to lick the blue shape he'd painted just above Sean's belly button. Swirling his tongue around, he took his time tasting, still meeting Sean's gaze. "Raspberry." "Pink?" Sean's voice had regained its husky quality, deepening and sounding rougher. Viggo shifted to his left, resting his right hand lightly on Sean's chest for balance. There was a thin, jagged line of the brilliant pink crossing almost the entire width of that broad chest. He kept his tongue light as the traced the path of the paint. Gradually, he increased the pressure as his mouth moved. By the time he had reached the right side, ending just under the nipple, Sean's eyes were completely shut, and small primal noises were coming from his throat. A vague whisper of a thought fluttered through Viggo's brain that this truly was his best work of art yet. Living, breathing, moaning art. He wanted more. "That's vanilla," he mumbled, lips still fastened on skin, sucking and licking as he experimented with blending the colors in his mouth. Pink vanilla mixed with green, which strangely enough turned out to be pistachio. Not a bad combination. He swiped a finger through some of the pink, and reached up, smearing some on Sean's lips before they opened to suck his finger in, tentatively at first, then deeper as Sean eagerly consumed the sweet paint. Sean moaned, licking the finger clean with broad swipes of his tongue. Viggo hardly noticed. His sweet tooth and his libido were utterly entranced with the veritable banquet spread out before them. He kept his right hand buried in the paint, resuming the massaging motions he'd started earlier. He swiped some more paint with his left hand to feed to Sean. Finally, his mouth feasted on the delectable chocolate covered strawberry nipple that he'd been craving for what seemed like ages. This turned Sean's small whimpers and moans into a screamed gasp of Viggo's name. He thought he might go insane from the sheer pleasure of the hot mouth fastened tight on him, nibbling and licking with complete abandon. Clutching at Viggo's shoulders for support, he continued to float on the overload of sensations he was experiencing as Viggo's marvelously talented mouth continued to suck and lick at the paint and his chest. Viggo made his way up to Sean's neck, crawling onto Sean's lap as he did for easier access. He shoved more of Sean's shirt aside, and used his left hand to smear more paint as he went while his right hand kept up the teasing torture of Sean's nipple. Meanwhile, Sean wanted his own flesh to play with, and was busy getting Viggo's now paint smeared shirt unbuttoned and mostly off his body. Finally he was successful, and they parted only briefly to completely strip off their shirts. Viggo moved to assault Sean's neck again, but pouted when he was stopped. "Not yet," breathed Sean, briefly engrossed in smearing some of the transferred paint into Viggo's chest. "All of it. Off. Now." "Hmmm?" asked Viggo, still focused on getting back to the warm sticky flesh in front of him. "Trousers. Pants. Whatever. All off, dammit. I want to fucking lick this paint off every square inch of your body." Sean's eyes were narrowed with lust as he ripped impatiently at Viggo's belt and zipper. Viggo hurried to comply, Sean's words sending a shiver through him. Living, breathing, moaning, writhing, participatory, hot as hell art. Fucking hell yes. Viggo had barely tossed his clothes aside when he found himself thrown back onto the couch on his back. Sean climbed on top of him, and they both let out ragged breaths as naked flesh finally met naked flesh. Sean leaned over, propped on his arms, and gently lowered himself onto Viggo, kissing him long and deep. The paint made their bodies slide over one another as they struggled to get as close as possible. Finally Sean broke the kiss, a wicked grin on his face as he pulled back. Reaching over the side of the couch, he came up holding one of the pots of paint. "I did go to art school, you know. I think it's my turn to explore some creative expression, don't you, Viggo?" With that, he slid down Viggo's body, pausing to lick off some of the shared paint as he went. Reaching his destination, he shot Viggo another naughty smile before dipping his fingers into the paint, and coating it liberally on Viggo's erect cock. He took his time, swirling patterns with his fingers before letting his tongue take over the creative process to draw a loud moan of gratification from Viggo. They shared 'creative impulses' until their supply of paint was entirely gone, and they were sated, exhausted and, just in general, thoroughly well-fucked. Finally, they slept, wrapped together, Sean's head pillowed on Viggo's chest. Their entwined bodies were still covered with spots of paint. * * * * Sean Astin was on his way to the library to find a book. He, John and Ian were in the midst of a discussion, and he had been making a point, but needed backup. He knew just the book, and just where it was located. He swung the door open, headed directly for the bookshelf he wanted, when he saw them, and stopped dead in his tracks. Blinking several times, he stared, unable to believe his eyes. The book forgotten, he turned and left, shutting the door quietly behind him. He walked back to the living room, not saying a word. He poured himself a fresh drink, three quarters vodka, and only one quarter cranberry juice. He sat, staring straight ahead, taking deep sips of his drink. John and Ian regarded him curiously. "Sean? You alright?" John asked. Sean closed his eyes, let out a small whimper, and drank more. "Did you get the book?" asked Ian. "No. No book." "Why not?" He shuddered. "Viggo. Sean. In the library. With Elijah's edible body paints all over them, the couch, the floor...." His voice trailed off as Ian took his almost empty glass and went to pour him another drink.
Elijah looked blearily at what he hoped was chocolate chip cookie dough and took an experimental bite. Not too bad. Needed more sugar. He poured a good amount of something that looked like sugar in the bowl, getting flour and sugar all over the counters and floors of the spacious beach house kitchen. He mixed the dough again, sticking his tongue out of cupid bow lips in concentration. He tried another bite -- better this time. It was still missing something, although he didn't know what. Dom stumbled in through the swinging doors at that moment. Needed more ice and chocolate vodka. Baileys was no good without it. He stopped when he saw the unholy mess in the kitchen, focused fuzzy gray eyes on Elijah. What the hell had Elijah been doing for the last half hour? Was that cookie dough on his eyebrow? The quest for more vodka was momentarily forgotten. "What's all this, then?" he asked, by way of greeting. Elijah took one look at Dom and all that bare skin and it was like a drunken light bulb flashed in his head (but very softly, so as not to hurt his eyes). He looked down at the bowl in his hands, took another look at that leanly muscled chest. Then he spooned out a bit of the cookie dough and flicked it at Dom, splashing his pecs and well-defined shoulders. "Hey!!" Dom looked in inebriated amazement at the new addition to his wardrobe (such as it was, considering he was only wearing a pair of cut-offs). "What was that for?" "Dunno. Felt like it." Elijah took a little more, this time aiming for Dom's flat stomach and stumbled the few steps forward. He took an experimental lick at the dough on Dom's chest. "Yes, this is exactly what this stuff was missing," he stated. Dom was too shocked to continue being annoyed. "What's that?" "You." Elijah bent his head again, swirled that pink tongue around a puckered nipple. "Mmm, even better." Dom just stood in frozen silence for a minute and let Elijah continue. Whoa, that felt really good. Great, actually. Better than anything he'd had in the last few months. "Um, Elijah," he said to the other man, who was still in fascinated perusal of chest and cookie dough. "What are you doing?" "Having my Dom and eating him too," Elijah replied impishly. He dipped a finger into the bowl and smeared the sticky substance on Dom's lips. "Come here so I can taste this." He dragged Dom to him and devoured. The combination of the sweet chocolate and sweeter taste of Dom's lips got Elijah hotter than he'd been in longer than he could remember. He opened his mouth, tangling tongues still tasting of sugar and chocolate. Elijah drew back. "I wonder how this would taste elsewhere." Dom could only stare at those incredible blue eyes in shock. Where the hell had the kid learned to kiss like that? He was so hard he couldn't even think, could barely draw breath. He dragged Elijah back to him, plundered those sweet lips again. Oh God...the utter responsiveness of Elijah was going to drive him crazy. He blindly reached behind him and swept items off the island counter, ignored the crashes of pots and pans falling to the floor. He pushed Elijah down, covered his body with his own, never breaking contact with those intoxicating lips. Kiss flowed into kiss; clothing flew off under eager, inexpert, drunken hands. Ah yes, the taste of Elijah was much better than the chocolate vodka. On the other hand... Dom climbed off Elijah, ignoring the whimpers of protest, and grabbed the bowl of chunky cookie dough. "I think you need to be my personal cookie sheet," Dom said and dipped his fingers into the bowl. He drew them out and rubbed the mixture all over Elijah's very hard cock. Elijah jumped, body twitching at the slight contact. "Oh yes," Dom said, gazing at his creation. "My favorite late night snack -- chocolate cock." He bent over and took Elijah in his mouth. "Ah Christ," Elijah gasped, grabbing onto Dom's head with shaking fingers. Dom sucked him off like a lollipop -- or an ice cream cone -- all enthusiastic sucks and loving licks. Dom dipped his fingers in the bowl again and again, reapplying the sticky substance and sucking it off. Elijah could only lie there and moan. Then groan. Then scream. Dom had an extremely talented mouth and wasn't afraid to use it. Oh fuck -- where had he learned that little tongue-flick thing? "Dom," Elijah moaned, "you have to stop." Dom lifted his head, licked sticky lips. "Why?" "Cause I'm two seconds away from coming." "Then come. I bet it's as sweet as the cookie dough," Dom stated and bent back down. Elijah tried -- really he did. And lasted about thirty more seconds before losing himself in the best orgasm of his life. Dom crawled back up on top of him, kissed him again. He tasted of Elijah and chocolate -- a potent combination. "Good Lord, where did you learn to do that?" Elijah asked, when he somewhat got his breath back. "Secret, not gonna tell." Dom grinned. He rubbed some more of the concoction on Elijah's chest, kissed his way around that chiseled stomach. "I think you could be my favorite topping," he said. "My turn now." Elijah shifted until he was on top of Dom. He straddled Dom's hips and winked. "I still haven't finished my taste-test." "You know I only came in here for another drink," Dom said, bringing Elijah's head down again for another feverish kiss. God, he could nibble that mouth all night long. "That's okay," Elijah replied, sinking his teeth into Dom's lower lip. "We can do body shots when we run out of cookie dough." * * * * Ian walked into the kitchen, intent on getting another bottle of wine. He stopped in his tracks just inside the door. Dom and Elijah were passed out, sprawled naked on the island in the middle of the kitchen with what looked like...was that cookie dough?...and Jell-O?...stuck to their hair and various body parts. He looked around at the mess and saw an empty bottle of chocolate vodka lying on its side on the floor. Ian took another long look at the young men, sleeping so innocently in each other's arms, contained a smile and back out of the kitchen, silent as a cat. (Not that it mattered. Judging by the snores, Dom and Elijah were definitely out for the rest of the evening). He walked back into the living room, smirked at John and Sean. "Dominic and Elijah in the kitchen with some cookie dough," he told them as he sat back down on the sofa. "No wonder it was so…loud…in there." "Ah yes, I had heard the young Hobbits were screamers," John replied, raising his glass of wine. "Here's to youth. Enthusiasm is a gift." "Indeed," Ian replied. "Too bad they can't be enthusiastic and quiet," Sean muttered, downing another vodka and cranberry. It was going to be a long night.
"Dammit," Karl swore. Harry just smirked, shrugged a muscled shoulder. "Remember this was your idea." "I know," Karl said, surveying the billiards table. There were far too many solid balls on it. He wanted to blame it on the poor lighting (only candlelight in this room…Karl hadn't had the nerve to ask why). Or the two bottles of port he and Harry had consumed. He refused to admit it was just that he generally sucked at pool. He had to find some way to distract Harry so he could catch up. "I want to thank you guys for having me out here," Harry was saying. "This has been a lot of fun." "Hey, least I could do to thank you. Even if you do come to my friends' house and beat me at billiards." "Can I help it that I'm the better man?" Karl lifted a dark eyebrow, hazel eyes impish. He eyed Harry, admiring the solid build of him, the long dark hair, the lively brown eyes. He'd wanted Harry since the other man had directed him in "The Price of Milk" last year. "We could raise the stakes." "Try me." "Every ball sunk means an article of clothing." "You know, I was warned about these beach house parties." Karl smiled. "Why else do you think I come to them?" "Is this like an initiation right to be in the cast of this movie?" "No, but it means I might win this next game," Karl replied. Harry reset the table and Karl broke. Sunk the two -- solids again. Fuck...he wasn't doing too well with solids tonight. Of course, it also meant Harry had to remove an article of clothing. Figures the fucker would choose his belt. Tease. Karl missed his next shot and Harry bent over the pool table to take his. His jeans were now slung loosely on solidly muscular hips...hmm...maybe getting rid of the belt wasn't such a bad idea. Karl wondered if those hips tasted as good as they looked. Harry sunk the ten. Karl removed his shirt. Maybe Harry would take the hint. "You're trying too hard," Harry commented. But didn't take his eyes off the display of skin. And completely banked the cue ball. Karl smirked, took his next shot. And sunk the three. Harry removed a sock. God, did the man have no imagination? Karl sank the seven. Harry removed his other sock. Granted, Harry had nice feet, but this was getting to be a bit much. "This isn't exactly what I had in mind," Karl commented, shaking his head. "Well, you've been trying to get down my pants so long that I need to make it worth your while, don't I?" So, he had noticed. "Thought I was being subtle." "You're not very good at it," Harry replied, smiling. "I have eyes." "So why didn't you do anything about it when we were working together?" Karl asked. Honestly, they'd been together all day every other day for three months. "Timing," Harry replied. "I don't fuck my crew." "What about co-stars?" Harry lifted a dark eyebrow. And winked. "Why don't we just finish this game?" Karl was so distracted by the sight of that wink that he completely missed his next shot. Harry smiled and bent over. He took careful aim and, instead of going for any of the stripes, sunk the 8 ball with a beautiful shot. "Oops," he said, straightening that long body, not sounding sorry at all. "Looks like I lost." He tossed his shirt on the floor. His pants and briefs joined it moments later. Karl went utterly still, his cue-stick dropping to the floor from nerveless fingers. Harry's naked body gleamed in the candlelight -- thickly muscled arms and pecs flexed, strong thighs beckoned, inviting his touch. He licked suddenly dry lips. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this," he said and reached out a hand to smooth it over satin skin. Harry shuddered, placed a rough hand over Karl's. "Then take," he invited. Karl leaned forward, brushed that long dark hair out of Harry's eyes. Brown eyes full of want stared back at him, tempting him with forbidden pleasure. Karl had always loved breaking rules. He hovered an inch above Harry's lips, inhaled...earthy, rich, Harry. "I'm going to make you burn," Karl promised and finally claimed his kiss. Harry matched him in intensity, slanting his head, taking, giving, knotting Karl's hair in his large hands. Karl was consumed, wreathed in flames, coherent thought totally deserting him. He'd never been kissed like this, like he was something precious, something necessary. Harry pushed him down on the felt table and practiced, nimble fingers divested him of his jeans, his boxers. "I've had fantasies about your chest since we filmed that vat scene," Harry stated. He ran his tongue up Karl's sternum -- licking, nuzzling, playing. Karl lay back on the table, hands tangled in that gloriously thick hair and just took. This was so worth waiting for. Harry roamed all over Karl's body, leaving no spot unloved, no inch un-kissed. Karl had never been so thoroughly pleasured. Harry looked up at Karl, a questioning look on that chiseled face. "I wonder..." He clambered off the table, took one of the candles out of its casing along the wall. He brought it back to the table and trickled a few drops of candle wax over Karl's stomach. Karl jumped at the contact. God, that was hot. But good. Different. Harry blew on the wax, cooling it, and the contrast was unreal. Unbearable. "I think I like the idea of branding you," Harry said, eyeing Karl's stomach. He dripped a little more of the viscous liquid onto Karl's body, running a finger along the trail. Karl writhed, wanted more of the pleasure/pain. He'd never felt anything like this. "Do you burn for me?" Harry asked, looking down at him with a soft smile. "Let me show you," Karl whispered. He took the candle out of Harry's hands. "Lie down." Harry obeyed and Karl rolled over on top of him, straddling those lovely hips. He tilted the candle, dripping hot liquid over that spectacular chest. Harry started, then sank into the table as Karl's hands followed the wax. He poured and kneaded, entranced by the feel of hot wax and hotter skin. He bent his head, took that sweet mouth under his again...Ah yes. This was so much better than any wet dream. "I've got to have you." Karl moaned it in the other man's mouth. "Now, if not sooner." "Always nice to inspire others." Harry pulled the Karl's hips to his, rubbed their erections against each other. Karl thought he might die from the pleasure. He blew out the candle in his hand, let it slip from his fingers. He grabbed onto Harry, rocking back and forth, lost in the unbearable friction. "Ah God, Karl...God..." Karl swallowed Harry's moans with another kiss, sloppy, wet, intense. Harry pulled him closer, restricting breath, cutting off blood flow. But, who needed it? All Karl needed were those strong hands quivering over his back, those hard thighs flexing under his, those gasping groans coming from that desirable mouth. Harry shifted, rolled Karl under him again, trapped him between solid body and solid table. He placed another forceful kiss on Karl's lips, lifted his head and chest. It still bore streaks of candle wax on it and just seeing it made Karl's dick twitch. "You do realize we don't have any kind of lube here," Harry said. Fuck. "Well, we could always use the port." "Now I know you want me," Harry joked, the laughter breathless with need. "And there's always the candle wax," Karl speculated. "Don't you think that would be painful?" "I don't know. But it would be worth it." "Let's just stick to the old-fashioned method, shall we?" Harry said, and licking his hand, slid it up Karl's painfully erect cock. "Old-fashioned's good," Karl gasped, before completing losing himself to pleasure. They could always use the candle wax for other things. * * * * John took one look at the two males sprawled on the billiards table and his jaw actually dropped. Of all the people in the world, Karl and Harry would have been the last two he would have picked to get together. He surveyed the room, reminded himself to call someone to get the stains out of the table, and went back to the living room where Ian and Sean were still sitting. "Karl and Harry in the billiards room with something that I sincerely hope is candle wax," he stated, settling back down on the sofa. "Isn't that interesting?" Ian mused. "I wonder why they didn't get it out of their systems when they made that movie together? Well, they're the only ones left, so I guess it was just a matter of time." "They're not the only ones left," Sean stated suddenly, looking up from his…fourth? fifth?…vodka cranberry. "Still got Billy and Orli intha house somewhere." Ian's eyes widened a little. "Surely you jest, Sean. Orlando and Billy?" "Hey, with all the strangeness going on tonight, Sir Knight, I'd not be a bit surprised," John replied. Ian just shook his head. "I think I need another drink."
"Wonder what it feels like?" "What, the sex?" "No, I mean, I know what sex feels like with a woman, I imagine it's much the same. I mean this stuff...having it on you, having it in you...you know, that sort of thing." "It's slick and smooth, but not all gloppy like lotion. Just the right consistency." "And how do you know?" Billy had a shocked look on his face. Orlando blushed slightly, debating whether or not to try to brush it off. His alcohol intake decided for him. Not. Hell, it was no big deal, just a few innocent experimentations with a friend. Nothing had really happened. "Not the 'in you' part...but y'know...a drunken night with a mate, and we were both curious so, um...." "What? What did you do?" "Uh, nothing much. His roommate had some of that," he gestured to the WET, "and we put it on each other, and you know, had a wank." "Together?" Orlando looked down. "Well yeah, he, um, did me, and then I did him." "With this?" Billy waved around the bottle. Orlando nodded. "And that's it?" Orlando didn't answer, seemingly engrossed with the way the ice was melting in his drink. Billy's eyes got even wider. "Orlando? What else did you do?" "Nothing much," Orlando mumbled. Billy tried to persuade him to divulge the details, but he steadfastly refused. They sat in silence, sipping their drinks, for a few minutes longer. Finally, Billy could take it no more. "Did it feel good?" "Billy! For fuck's sake, could we talk about something else?" Orlando got up, and began to pace. "I just want to know if it felt good when your mate wanked you off." "You've never had a girl wank you off? Pull the other one, Billy." Billy rolled his eyes. "Of course. But never one of me mates. Dunno, think it'd be pretty weird. But maybe not cause you've both got the same equipment, and so maybe it'd be better cause you know what works already. So I'm askin' you about it. Stop being such a bloody prude already, Orlando. You just admitted you experimented with guys, so obviously you're not repressed." He paused, and they both smiled. He got up, and moved close to Orlando, laying a hand on his shoulder in what he hoped was an understanding manner. "So, tell me if it was better than with a woman or what already." Orlando blushed even deeper, draining his drink and slamming the empty glass on the table before responding. "Yes." "Yes, what?" "Yes, Billy." Billy removed the understanding hand, and turned it into a fist with which to punch Orlando in the shoulder. "Fucking smart ass bastard! We're drunk as shit, we'll only have vague memories of this in the morning, so get over your choirboy bloody prudeness and tell me what the fuck it feels like really." Orlando's eyes narrowed as he listened to Billy's tirade. So he wanted to know what it felt like, did he? Curiosity killed the cat, an adage Billy might wish he had remembered before long. He stepped closer, turning suddenly, and pinning Billy against the wall with his arms. Grinning, he moved so that their bodies were only inches apart. "Why should I tell you when I can show you?" Billy's eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his head. He squirmed, trying to escape Orlando's grasp. "Orlando, mate, I'm just curious, that's all. Don't get all weird on me. I'm not a poofter or anything. Now just let me go, and we'll go get some more drinks, and if you don't want to talk about this, you don't have to." "No, let's do talk about it. As a matter of fact, I have a question for you now. Have you ever kissed another man?" Billy's eyes were still the size of saucers. "Nnno..." "Do you want to?" "No, uh, of course not. I like birds." "Are you sure?" Orlando leaned even closer, moving his right hand from the wall to Billy's jawline. Slowly, he moved it back and forth in a gentle caress. His voice was low and smooth and he held Billy's eyes with his. "Are you sure that you wouldn't like to just try it once? With a mate? Like me, perhaps? No one else will ever have to know. Just us." Billy was shaking with fear, and something else that he absolutely refused to admit was anticipation and arousal. He would just say no, and Orlando would back off. Then Billy would go find the others, and get so pissing drunk that he couldn't see, and pass out. Orlando just kept moving closer and closer. His lips were almost touching Billy's now, and Billy could feel hot breath on his skin. All Billy had to do was say no, and it would all be over. He intended to speak, but only managed to barely part his lips in invitation. In his eyes, Orlando saw the 'yes' he was unable to speak out loud. Smiling, he closed the distance between them, lowering his lips gently to Billy's. The kiss was deep and intense, leaving no room for escape. None was needed though, because Billy sank right into it, desire wiping away any trepidation. He wrapped his arms around Orlando, and groaned as he felt Orlando's tongue dancing around his own. "Do you want me to show you what it feels like, Billy?" He nibbled round Billy's ear, alternating sharp nips with soothing licks. Billy was nearly incoherent, and simply mumbled. "What was that?" Orlando repeated, moving down to decorate the side of Billy's neck with a nice complement of small hickeys. "Yes," Billy whispered, head thrown back, eyes closed. Orlando led him to the couch, pausing to kiss Billy senseless again before removing his shorts and boxers. Pushing Billy gently to a sitting position, he half-knelt/sat beside him. Grabbing the bottle of WET, he squeezed out a generous amount into his hand. He smiled in anticipation as he lowered his hand to Billy's waiting erection. A whimper and an intake of breath accompanied the contact of flesh. Orlando watched as Billy closed his eyes, leaning back into the cushions. He moved his hand slowly at first, wanting to see Billy's face change. Gradually he sped up his rhythm, leaning over to press languid, hot, wet kisses to Billy's mouth and chest. Billy squirmed beneath his touch as Orlando quickly learned what touches and places made him moan with pleasure. Finally, he begged for release, and Orlando sped up even more, swallowing his scream with a fierce kiss. They slumped together, lying back on the couch, tangled together. "Want to see what else you can use the WET for, and how good that can feel, Billy?" Orlando nuzzled Billy's neck as his hand traced aimlessly around Billy's chest. Billy wrapped himself around Orlando, slightly intimidated by the thought, yet deliciously excited by it as well. "Just the once then." His hands were already reaching to undo Orlando's trousers. "Or maybe twice?" Orlando chuckled, his own hand reaching for the bottle * * * * After the noise died down, and it became obvious that it wouldn't be starting up any time soon, Ian had to go investigate. John had finally gone to his room, and he knew that after the library scene, Sean would be hesitant to even go to his own room. He had to smirk yet again. The youngsters truly were inspiring. He had honestly not thought about Orlando and Billy ever getting together in such a way. But they had, and judging from the clothes, furniture and knicknacks strewn about the study, in a very enthusiastic and dedicated manner. He'd even forgive them for using up most of his present to do so. "Billy and Orlando. In the study with apparently over half a bottle of the lubricant that Elijah got me for the next time Nick visits," he said, when he came back in living room. "HALF A BOTTLE?! Jesus Christ, what the hell did they do with an entire half bottle of lube? No, wait, don't answer that, I don't want to know." Sean moved to the bar, pushed aside the cranberry juice, and took a swig of vodka. Straight from the bottle. Onto Swap Meet
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