Fuck all this. He'll just have to figure something else out, since the very 'helpful' lady at the front desk didn't seem to be too concerned that his best friend (and some friend you are...shut up) was currently getting fucked six ways to Sunday, and not in a good way, mind, by the unholy duo of Karl and Orlando. 'Security and privacy issues, sir,' she'd said, when he'd asked for Karl's room number. She'd oh-so-helpfully offered to call the room. Like that would help. They wouldn't pick up. Fuckfuckfuck. And double fuck. Alright, deep breath, remember your Zen, practice some of that crazy yoga shit that Liv's always going on about, and if you pick up your cell phone again to leave another frantic message for Elijah... Christ, now he's talking to himself. Stellar. And he has to take a piss. Knowing his luck, Elijah'll choose that exact moment to leave. Hold it and risk the fall-out, race to the loo, get it taken care of? In the end, it's a safe bet that the bladder will always win. He races to the lobby toilet, practically dancing in his haste to get his zipper down. Sometimes a good piss is better than sex, man, the relief is just that fucking amazing. Of course, thinking about sex has him thinking about Siobhan (and he really needs to call her) and from Siobhan it's only a short jump to Elijah. Elijah, at the mercy of the two of them and what they're capable of. And Dom should know. Karl on his own was enough to almost kill him. Not that he's thinking about that, either. He's washing his hands, debating calling Elijah again, and cursing himself for thinking it, when the door opens. Ah, Christ, you have got to be kidding me... "Hullo, Dom," Orlando smirks, leaning against the sink next to Dom. Karl leans back against the door, arms crossed like the good guard dog Dom supposes he is. Well and truly fucked. "Where is he?" Dom asks, unable to even meet Orlando's eyes full on. He uses the long mirror instead, searching those pretty brown eyes for answers. His hands clench the sides of the sink, searching for purchase on slick porcelain. "Gone, baby, gone." Orlando practically sings it. His hip rests comfortably on the sink, jeans riding low enough that Dom could get a tantalizing glimpse of skin if he wanted. Which he doesn't. "Left hours ago, actually," Orlando continues. "Well before you arrived on your stead looking to rescue him." "Well, someone has to," Dom spits out, shifting his venomous gaze to Karl, who calmly looks back at him, at ease in a way he hadn't been in the hallway just a short while ago. Gotten to you once, cocksucker, I can do it again. "The two of you tire with fucking with his head that easily?" "His head was the last thing we were fucking," and Dom belatedly realizes it was a grave tactical mistake to take his eyes off of Orlando. The heat along his back is punctuated by the press of Orlando's body against him, one fluid line touching Dom from feet to shoulders, arms wrapped over his, fingers laced together. "Let go," Dom whispers, because if he doesn't, he'll start trying to find a way to fight back. And the last thing he wants is to make this physical. "You don't want me to," Orlando murmurs, lips caressing the shell of Dom's ear. "Fuck off." Dom knows better than to try and move. Well and truly fucked. He meets Orlando's eyes through the mirror, ignores Karl, for the moment. Focus on one threat at a time. "I don't want this. Or you. Or him." "You sure about that?" A low purr against the nape of his neck, body pressing so close to his that breathing is next to impossible. "Karl's told me all about how you used to moan for him, how you used to beg for his cock. What makes you think you wouldn't sink to your knees for the both of us?" You son of a bitch, Dom thinks. Maintain, maintain, don't flicker, don't look at Karl, don't remember, even for a moment, what he'd felt like over you, in you, pounding into you, thick and hard. "Karl doesn't know how to keep his mouth shut," Dom replies through gritted teeth. "And he exaggerates." "Does he?" One hand lifts from his, and Orlando's fingers start dancing up his arm. Orlando grins when he sees the goosebumps that Dom can't control. "I think you're lying." Soft scrape of teeth along Dom's nape. "You remember. You remember that look Karl can get -- when he's looking through you, when he strips your soul bare -- you remember soft kisses along your pulse as he tells you exactly how he's going to fuck you, in such detail that you're practically coming just from the words." Orlando's hips snap forward, rubbing, enticing, fuckfuckfuck. "You remember the slow roll of anticipation in your belly as his cock -- that big, beautiful, thick cock of his -- rubs along your ass just before he slides in so good and tight." "Enough." It's a ragged plea. Dom wants to close his eyes, but can't. Don't do this, don't make me want this... "No, not nearly enough." Dom watches in both shame and anticipation as Orlando beckons Karl to them, watches Karl's hips roll with a kind of helpless despair. "You think you're too good for what we're giving to Elijah," Orlando continues, dragging Dom's head back into the crook of his shoulder. "You should know better," Karl murmurs against his other ear, and Dom finally closes his eyes. Onto No Regrets
|