"'Quin?" he calls, hand on the railing that leads to the upper offices. "Tell me you're here, man. Please." His voice breaks on the last word. Please be here... "I'm here." Joaquin's voice is low, dead-sounding, as it cuts through the silence. It comes from the shadows near one broken out window. He's hidden there, in the dark, with just the glow from his cigarette to give away his position. He wants to send Orlando away, wants to be alone. But he says nothing else, because, after all, this is 'Lando. The only ones closer to him are Summer and.... No. Orlando doesn't reply, just lets out a relieved sigh. Oh, thank Christ. He moves slowly to Joaquin's position, slumps next to him on the floor. Close enough to touch, but with enough space, should Joaquin need it. "Got another one to spare?" he asks, gesturing at the clove. Wishes he had the correct words, wishes he had anything at all to offer, really. Why the hell are you here, man, he just wants to be left alone... No. The hell he should. River wouldn't want any of them to be alone... River. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. Joaquin doesn't say anything, just passes the battered pack to Orlando. There's nothing to say, nothing he can say. Nothing to fill up this raw, gaping hole that's been torn in his soul. He turns his cigarette around, stares at the red glow of the ember. Then, just as easily, his fingers twist the cigarette again so he can take a long drag off of it. Orlando lights his clove in silence, takes the first deep drag with half-closed eyes. He remembers the first time he ever tried smoking, remembers River taking him and Josh aside one afternoon and teaching them the finer points of inhaling and exhaling smoke. Far from prying and amused eyes. Remembers so much. He squeezes his eyes tight, holds back the tears by sheer force of will. His grief doesn't matter, man, it's not important. Only Joaquin is. He scoots closer, the final inch between them giving way until their thighs are pressed together, shoulders and arms brushing. "Girls're worried about you," he says softly, tilts his head to study Joaquin. Wishes it wasn't so dark. "Just needed some space." Space isn't going to do a damn thing to heal me, nothing will, ever again. Joaquin takes a deep shuddering breath and tries to get his emotions back under control. "Guess you've heard, then." His fingers brush the back of Orlando's hand, and suddenly it's too much. Joaquin pushes to his feet and starts to pace, prowling the shadows like a caged animal. He finally comes to a stop in front of the window, facing Orlando. "Yeah, I heard." Orlando doesn't move. "Rain...um...she found me and Josh. He's with her now, with the girls. They sent me to find you." Despair and a helpless kind of rage bubble under the surface of every word. He takes another long drag to calm his nerves, uncoil some of the tension. Not that it really works. "I'm sorry, man," he finally offers, even though he knows, fucking knows, that it won't help. Knows that nothing he says or does is going to help. "He was..." Was. Past tense. "...I lost a brother, too." Joaquin doesn't move a muscle. He barely breathes. Was. Lost. The words echo in his head. The refrain's enough to drive him crazy. "River...." He stops, swallows. "He...he...." No matter how hard he tries, Joaquin can't finish the sentence. He can't even form the words inside his head. River, please.... "He's...River...." And just like that, Joaquin's knees buckle. He sees the ground coming up to meet him as he crumples, but it's happening in slow motion. Like it's happening to someone else. Not to him. Not his brother. In a flash, the cigarette is crushed, and Orlando surges forward, catching Joaquin just as he falls. "Shhh..." he murmurs, wraps his arms tight around Joaquin's shaking body. "I've got you." I've got you, man. He presses his lips to Joaquin's forehead, takes another breath. Doesn't move. He's not sure he can. "Not letting go," he whispers. "Promise." "River...." Deep, wrenching sobs wrack Joaquin's body, and he clings to Orlando. Just like he used to cling to River late at night when they were little, and Joaquin had had a nightmare. But River's not there. He won't ever be there again. The thought crushes what little control Joaquin had left. "It's alright," Orlando murmurs, even though he knows he's lying. Tears run freely down his cheeks to his neck, tickling sensitive skin, but he doesn't let go of Joaquin. "I've got you, man, not letting go." He cradles Joaquin to him, wishes there was more he could do. Wishes he could take Joaquin's heartbreak and make it his own, wishes he could take Joaquin's grief and add it to his own. Wishes, for a brief moment, that he could trade places with River, that it had been him instead. "I'm so sorry..." His voice cracks as fresh sobs shake his body, and he clings tight to the brother he has left. "So sorry..." "No." Joaquin chokes the word out in a voice thick with tears. It's not true. He refuses to believe it. "He's not dead. He's not. They got the wrong body. River's not fucking dead." Each word gets progressively louder, and he starts to struggle. The tears haven't stopped, and he knows it'll be a long time before they do. No, no, no, not fucking dead, not you, River, promised you wouldn't leave me, said you'd come home. "Stop it." Orlando tightens his arms around Joaquin, shakes him slightly. His voice is choked, but the words are clear. "Don't do this, alright? Don't do this to yourself." Don't do this to me. "He's gone, man." And fuck, ohfuck, the pain at just saying the words aloud is almost unbearable, so intense that it steals his breath. I'm sorry. So inadequate. Joaquin goes limp in Orlando's arms. He doesn't want to believe it. Doesn't want to believe that the older brother he adored, the older brother he worshipped like a fucking god, isn't coming back. But the proof -- the shiny, scratched, thin sheets of metal with River's name etched on them -- is at home, clenched tight in his mother's fist the last time Joaquin saw her. "He promised," Joaquin whispers, voice broken and raw. "I know, man. I was there." Orlando presses a kiss to Joaquin's hair, smoothes his hands up a still-shaking back. "I'm sure he did everything he could." "Promised." Joaquin twists, arms wrapping tight around Orlando, face pressed against Orlando's throat. It can't be true. This is just a bad nightmare, and if he tries hard enough, Joaquin will wake up. He wishes he believed that. Orlando continues pressing kisses to Joaquin's hair, his forehead, massages a tense spine with gentle, probing fingers. "I've got you," he murmurs, scooting forward until Joaquin's practically in his lap. Let Joaquin know with every touch that he's not leaving, that he's there, solid and real. Joaquin's weight shifts until he's almost curled around Orlando. Through it all, he never once releases his hold. The tears are still flowing, silent now, wetting Orlando's skin and shirt, but Joaquin makes no effort to stop them. It's all he can do to remember how to breathe. The pain, the loss, is overwhelming. "Let go," Orlando murmurs, not really aware of what he's saying, just that it's important he keep talking. That he keeps reminding Joaquin of his presence. His own grief is pushed far to the background, ruthlessly suppressed, as he rocks Joaquin close, holds him in tight arms. "I've got you." His lips roam, comforting and warm, across whatever skin he can reach. "I'm not going anywhere." A promise, delivered with a soft kiss between Joaquin's brows. Joaquin shudders, shifts again, almost as if he's trying to crawl inside Orlando. Anything to make the pain stop. Even if it's just for a little while. "Don't leave," he mumbles in a thick voice, hands fisted tight in Orlando's shirt. Don't leave, please, need you to stay.... "I won't." Orlando lifts Joaquin's head, searches tear-stained eyes. Lets Joaquin completely in, lets him see everything. "I promise, 'Quin, I'm not going anywhere." He rests his forehead against Joaquin's, keeps his voice low. Keeps his arms around Joaquin's waist. "Gonna stay right here, just like this, long as you need me." A sniffle is Joaquin's only reply for several long minutes. But he doesn't look away, not even when he shivers. The look in Orlando's eyes is one Joaquin's never seen before. Suddenly -- absurdly, considering the circumstances -- he's very aware of how close they are. All it would take is just the tiniest tilting of his head -- the smallest shift -- to touch his lips to Orlando's. What the hell is he thinking? River is.... "I've got you," Orlando repeats, lips moving imperceptibly closer before he can think to stop it. What in God's name is he doing, man? He doesn't...well, he does, but... It's not what Joaquin wants. Not how Joaquin's ever seen him. But it's never stopped the ache or the want. "Hurts, 'Lando," Joaquin whispers, voice still rough. His eyes, wet with more unshed tears, flicker down to Orlando's mouth, then back up. Before he can change his mind or let rational thinking take over, Joaquin tilts his head just that tiniest bit and brushes his lips over Orlando's. Shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't, not the right time. A muted sound spills from Orlando's lips at the first, faint taste of Joaquin's lips. Clove, oranges...something sharper, maybe. Orlando leans in, chases the taste as he presses his lips more firmly to Joaquin's, follows instinct. What the fuck are you thinking...he's hurting, you're hurting, not the right time... Ignores the voice in his head, doesn't care about timing. If this is what he can offer Joaquin, then he'll gladly do it. Regardless of his judgement. One hand curls around the back of Orlando's neck to tug him closer. Soft curls slip along Joaquin's fingers, and a small part of him marvels at the silkiness of the strands. Not what he expected. But then, he's not sure what he did expect. Certainly not that he'd be sitting here, kissing Orlando, having Orlando kissing him back. He wonders if this is yet another of his bizarre erotic dreams of Orlando. If it is, Joaquin's not going to complain. Not with the way Orlando's shifting against him, lips parting for Joaquin's tongue. Then again, if this was a dream, he wouldn't be hurting. And River would still be…. No. Finally, something he can deal with. Something he can control in amongst all the pain and loss. He's hurting, Orlando's hurting, and this…well, this is something that Joaquin can give to Orlando, something he can do for Orlando. A little bit of shelter from the hurt. Joaquin couldn't protect River, but he can damn well protect Orlando. At the first, tentative touch, something unfurls inside Orlando's stomach, travels through him in pulsing waves of yesmoreplease. He moans as he parts his lips, invites further exploration, molds himself to Joaquin's body. Closer...he has to get closer. All thoughts of River, of grief, of the gaping hole where his older brother used to be... all of it fade until there is nothing but this. The slide of his palms across Joaquin's back, tracing each muscle, the slide of his tongue along Joaquin's, luxuriating in each new taste. Wanted this for so long...wanted you...want... Joaquin's tongue curls along Orlando's, teasing, coaxing. So easy to sink into the taste of smoke and mint. So easy to lose himself in Orlando and this moment. Make it stop hurting, please, baby, need.... Long fingers sink deep into Orlando's hair, anchoring his head when the kiss turns a little more aggressive. Joaquin wants more moans like the one he just got. Wants more of Orlando, warm and pliant, against him. Closer...more... Orlando's thoughts are a jumble of need and love, each one tumbling against each other, making it difficult to breathe. Or maybe it's the way Joaquin feels against him, so perfect and warm, with kisses like spun sugar on his tongue. He slides his lips along a stubbled jaw, clutches at strong shoulders as he maps out each new patch of skin, memorizes each new taste. Wants so much more, wants everything Joaquin can give him. Yes, please.... Joaquin surges to his feet, dragging Orlando up with him. Ignores the startled protest. There's a sofa in one of the upstairs offices, and it'll be a damn sight more comfortable than this dirty concrete floor. But just to sit on, just to be close to each other. Or so Joaquin keeps telling himself as he stumbles backwards towards the stairs, pulling Orlando with him. But he's not exactly sure how he managed to get his hands on bare skin. All he knows is that it's warm and feels good under his palms. Just like Orlando's throat under his lips. Orlando has no idea where they're going, doesn't care. Would happily follow Joaquin anywhere, as he's always done, as long as Joaquin continues to pet his bare chest (and when did he lose his shirt, anyway?), kiss him with such soft, gentle lips. They tumble into the office, Orlando's fingers busy unbuttoning Joaquin's shirt, kissing him back with everything in him. Want this so much, man, want you... only you... At the first touch of gentle fingers on his chest, Joaquin draws in a deep, shuddering breath. Just relax, yeah, slow down a bit, no need to rush. He opens his eyes, cradles Orlando's head in his hands. "Want you," Joaquin whispers, brushes his lips feather-soft over Orlando's. "Feel." One hand finds Orlando's fingers where they fumble with stubborn buttons. Orlando's palm is flattened against Joaquin's chest, over his pounding heart. "All because of you," Joaquin says, lips moving over Orlando's jaw and throat, tongue memorizing the texture and flavor of honey-gold skin. Then Joaquin slides Orlando's hand down over his stomach. Lower. Lifts his head to meet cloudy dark eyes. "Always because of you." "Only you," Orlando whispers, curls his fingers around, starts stroking in tentative, slow movements. "So much, 'Quin...always..." He chokes on the last word, emotions overwhelming him, lost in what he sees reflected back in jade green eyes. This time, when he kisses Joaquin, he holds nothing back. Gives Joaquin everything -- every ounce of love and devotion and barely contained need that's been a part of him so long he doesn't remember when it wasn't there. Doesn't remember a time when he didn't want this, want Joaquin trembling for him like this, lips conforming to his like this, tongue dueling with his in perfect synchronicity. Just like this, man...just like this... Joaquin's head falls back as his hips push forward. Orlando's hand on him, hesitantly stroking through too restrictive fabric, is better than he ever imagined. So he's not surprised that his own hands are shaking as he finishes unbuttoning his shirt and shrugs out of it. "Always, 'Lando," he murmurs, sinking his fingers into Orlando's hair again and yanking him forward. The kiss is hot and hard, blistering, incinerating, tongues and teeth clashing as Joaquin strains for more. OhGodohGod... Orlando's falling, flailing, sucked into a searing vortex that threatens to melt the skin off his bones. He meets the kiss measure for measure -- teeth and tongues dueling and marking -- slides forward until he's straddling Joaquin's hips. Grinds down, searching, seeking, pleasemoreplease, so much ache, so much want slicing through him that it's ripping him apart. "Please..." he breathes in between frantic kisses, heated hands on skin. "Please...need..." He's not even sure what he needs, what he can give. Just that he wants more, wants to give more, wants Joaquin to have everything. "Shhh," Joaquin murmurs, gentling the kiss. His hands are gentle, almost petting, as they move over Orlando's body. "It's alright, baby, gonna take care of you." He shifts his weight a little, and Orlando's the one sitting on the sofa. Joaquin kneels between his legs, lips still roaming over Orlando's throat, hands still soothing as they slip over Orlando's chest. He knows this should surprise him, but this is Orlando. 'Lando. And Joaquin can finally admit to himself that he's wanted Orlando for a long time. Trembling hands cradle Joaquin's head as Orlando slides his fingers through silky strands of hair. "Want you so much, 'Quin," he murmurs, throat closing at the well of emotion bubbling in him. "Only you..." His head tilts back, thighs sliding open, as he offers himself, moans when clever lips trail over his adam's apple, the hollow of his throat. He never thought he'd be here, never thought he'd have Joaquin's attention like this...never let himself hope. The reality is so much more, so far beyond what he'd ever dreamed. Lifting his head, Joaquin looks into Orlando's eyes. What he sees there humbles him. All he can say is "I know," as he leans in to softly kiss Orlando. What he's being offered.... Joaquin knows it's a gift beyond any he could ever hope to receive. It's one to be cherished. And he's going to make damn sure that Orlando never regrets it. When he bends his head once more, Joaquin lets his lips slide down Orlando's sternum, tongue tracing each muscle. Gradually, slowly, moving lower while his hands deftly unfasten Orlando's trousers. As the first cool gust of air hits Orlando's cock, he shivers, shifting to avoid the chill. He's still not exactly sure what's going on -- this is far different than making it with the neighborhood girls. With them, Orlando's the aggressor, the seducer, confident of his skills. Here, like this, open and vulnerable, with hungry eyes devouring every inch of skin as it's revealed... here, Orlando is lost. "Trust you," he breathes, voice hitching when Joaquin's lips find a sensitive spot just above his left hip. "Need you..." Love you...always loved you, only you... As he curls his fingers around Orlando's cock, Joaquin looks up and smiles. "You have me," he says quietly. "Always." Just like that, Joaquin places himself -- everything that he is -- in Orlando's hands. Doesn't matter that he's got a pretty good idea that Orlando has no idea what to do with him. That's alright. They'll get there. "Just you, 'Lando," Joaquin breathes, air puffing over the head of Orlando's cock before his tongue licks a slow, wet stripe up it. "Oh." Orlando's not certain if he says it aloud, or if the word is just an echo in his head. Some very distant, dim part of his mind wonders if this is simply Joaquin's way of not thinking about... well, not thinking. But the thought is buried as Joaquin's lips wrap around him, as Orlando's hips tilt up in supplication, surrender. "Love you...so much..." he chants, words barely audible over the rushing in his ears, the pounding of his heart. Whatever it was he'd been expecting, this far exceeds anything he'd ever dreamed. Joaquin doesn't flinch, doesn't pause as he hears Orlando's words. Just files them away to explore later. After they're finished here. And Joaquin has every intention of exploring them. Because, God help him, the feelings are mutual. His hand frames Orlando's hips, guiding him as Joaquin lets his tongue curl around Orlando's cock. The heavy weight on his tongue, the muskysharp taste of Orlando, fills his senses until everything else fades away. All that's left is heat and hardness and the slow, slick glide of Orlando's cock in and out of Joaquin's mouth. Ohpleaseohplease...please... Orlando lifts his hips, buries his fingers in Joaquin's hair. Lets go. Gives in. The silky, raspy slide of Joaquin's tongue is destroying any shred of coherency he'd once had, and the trust, the love, in this act, in Joaquin on his knees, giving like this... He's never felt anything like it. "Loveyouloveyou..." he chants, moans as another wave of pleasure rolls over him. Thrusts up into the wet cavern of Joaquin's mouth, hangs on. Joaquin pulls back, smiles at Orlando's whimper of protest. "Shh, baby," he murmurs, hands sliding down Orlando's thighs. "Gonna make you feel good." He smiles again when Orlando shifts and makes a soft sound. Lovely, that. Joaquin wonders what other sounds he can get. Then he sets about finding out, placing soft kisses up the inside of Orlando's thigh. His hands glide back up to grasp Orlando's hips as Joaquin licks along Orlando's balls, prepared for the reaction he gets. It's everything he hoped for. Orlando's hips come completely off the sofa as he gasps for breath. "Ohfuck..." Bites down hard on his lower lip as another wave of pleasure hits. Never knew...never knew anything could feel so good, so right... "Need you, please," he begs, no longer sure what he's begging for. Just that Joaquin has what he needs, what he's always needed. "You've got me, baby," Joaquin whispers, slides back up Orlando's body. "Shh, I'm right here." Gentle hands smooth damp curls back, and Joaquin kisses him softly. He's got to take this slow, make it good, make it perfect for Orlando. "Here, lie back, yeah?" Another soft kiss, then he's helping Orlando shift around, easing him down on the sofa. Orlando curls his hands across the back of Joaquin's neck, tugs him down for a slow, open-mouthed kiss, desperate to give back, give Joaquin even a fraction of the pleasure he's feeling right now. The soft material of Joaquin's trousers scrape heavily along Orlando's thighs as they shift, move together. "Wearing too much," Orlando smiles, heart so full he's surprised he's still breathing. He has no idea what they're doing from here, but he trusts Joaquin to show him the way. "Then why don't you take care of that?" Joaquin grins, nips Orlando's bottom lip. He sits up, pulling Orlando with him. Another quick kiss, then Joaquin slides off the sofa to stand in front of Orlando. His fingers slip through silky curls, and once again he marvels at the texture against his skin. "Gladly," Orlando grins, and tackles Joaquin's belt with enthusiasm. His breath catches again as he slides Joaquin's trousers and boxers down lean hips, gaze catching on the proud jut of Joaquin's cock as it curves up from its nest of dark curls. "So fucking gorgeous, man," he breathes, voice reverent as he leans forward, touches his lips gently to the head. The taste is deeper, richer, and Orlando widens his lips, eager to taste more. Needs to give back. A soft gasp escapes Joaquin. Orlando's inexperience shines through, but damned if there's not a hell of a lot to be said for enthusiasm. "Christ...." Joaquin breathes the word, one hand gently cradling the back of Orlando's head. Green eyes glitter through dark lashes as he looks down, watches his cock disappear between Orlando's lips. Orlando tries his best to stretch his lips, wants to take more, wants to engulf Joaquin completely, wants everything Joaquin has to offer. He lets Joaquin guide his movements with gentle touches, gentle murmurs of encouragement. Make it perfect for you...want you, want to show you... "Feels nice," Joaquin murmurs, stroking Orlando's cheek. It takes every ounce of control that he possesses to remain still. Thrusting wouldn't be such a good idea right now. Orlando needs to get used to this first. But, Christ, if his tongue keeps doing that, Joaquin's not sure how much longer he can hold on. "That's it," he says, voice ragged, "doing so good, baby." Orlando knows he's probably glowing under the praise, but he doesn't stop. Licks a slow path along the sensitive underside, tries to mimic everything Joaquin has just done for him. Tightens his lips over the head, choking slightly when he gets a bit too enthusiastic. So good, man...you feel so good... Joaquin moans low in his throat and moves his hips in tiny, controlled thrusts. Every muscle is trembling with the amount of restraint he's exerting. Orlando may be new at this, but he's a fast learner. Though, Joaquin realizes, there's a thing or two Orlando's not quite ready for just yet. "Stop," he murmurs, pulling back. It takes a few seconds to remember how to breathe, to stop shaking. The very last thing he wants Orlando to do is to stop. And it's a struggle to keep from sinking back into the warm, wet depths of Orlando's mouth. Stop... no, don't... Orlando whimpers in protest, tries to follow. "Was I..." He licks his lips, throat raspy from the mild abuse, glances up into Joaquin's eyes in entreaty. "Did I do something wrong?" "Wrong?" Joaquin frowns for a second, confused. Then he remembers, and laughs softly. The sound is warm and gentle in the quiet room, and he sinks to his knees in front of Orlando. "Oh, baby, no," Joaquin says, fingertips tracing the lines of Orlando's face. Each touch, each word, is a quiet reassurance, another bond formed between them. "You were beautiful. It just...it felt a little too good, and I don't want it to end yet." "Oh." Orlando feels more than a little silly...and very young. "I'm...um..." he laughs, the sound short. "You'd think I hadn't, well. I mean, I have, but. Not with...oh, fuck it." He closes his eyes, ignores the gentle fingers on his face. Wishes the sofa cushions would swallow him whole. "Look at me, 'Lando." Joaquin's voice is still soft and gentle, but it carries a touch of steel in it now. There's no ignoring the order. He waits until Orlando opens his eyes. Then Joaquin leans in, forehead resting against Orlando's as he cups Orlando's face in his hands. "I'm glad you haven't. I want to be the one to teach you." Joaquin doesn't move as he waits for those words to sink in. "You...um...you do?" Orlando gives Joaquin a hopeful smile, feels the band around his chest expand. Joaquin's hands on him feel very warm, very protective, and it's easy to sink into that. "I'd like that. Never, um. Never wanted anyone else...I mean. Y'know. Just you." It doesn't feel strange to make this admission, feels, instead, completely right. "Have I ever lied to you?" Joaquin smiles when Orlando shakes his head. "Don't plan on starting now." A thumb slides over Orlando's bottom lip. Joaquin's eyes darken as he watches Orlando's lips part so his thumb can slip between them. The shy, fumbling confession has loosened something inside Joaquin, and he's struck by the overwhelming urge to cradle Orlando close and protect him from the world. Including himself. "Want you to promise you'll tell me if we move too fast, alright?" "I promise," Orlando nods, and wraps his lips back around Joaquin's thumb. Tastes salty and sharp, and Joaquin's sharp intake of breath has Orlando yearning for more. He's still not certain what it is they're supposed to be doing, but it doesn't matter. Joaquin's promised to teach him, and Orlando wants to learn everything. "Greedy thing," Joaquin murmurs fondly, sliding his thumb in and out. He leans in, tongue flicking over the corner of Orlando's mouth. "Love your mouth, baby." This is, he thinks, going to be the hardest thing he's ever had to do. And the most rewarding, in more ways than one. Every nerve is screaming for release, urging him to press Orlando into the sofa, to sink into his more than willing body. But Joaquin holds back, wrapping his free hand around Orlando's erection, determined to make this absolutely perfect. Love you, Orlando happily thinks, then stops thinking at all. Joaquin's hand is warm, his strokes perfect, and Orlando sinks into the sublime sensations for a few long moments before the urge to reciprocate catches up to him. "Come up here," he murmurs, gazing at Joaquin through heavy-lidded eyes. His hips continue to rise and fall with each flick of Joaquin's very talented hand. "Gladly." Joaquin's hand doesn't falter as he slides back onto the sofa. His body curls around Orlando's until their limbs are tangled together, forcing Orlando to lie back again. It's amazing how right Orlando feels pressed against him like this. As if they were meant for each other. "Mine," Joaquin whispers, nuzzles Orlando's throat, flicks his wrist on each upstroke. "Gonna make you feel so good, baby." "Already are," Orlando gasps, head falling back on the cushions. Joaquin's tongue feels like tiny flames along already heated skin, and every stroke of his hand has Orlando's body pleading for more. He fumbles between them, manages to get his fingers wrapped around the hard length of Joaquin's cock. Strokes up, smiles when he feels Joaquin shiver around him. "Feel so fucking good," he breathes, matching Joaquin movement for movement. It's a bit different than stroking himself off, but the principle is the same. And the look on Joaquin's face is simply the hottest thing he's ever seen. "Christ," Joaquin gasps when Orlando's wrist flicks. "You're a quick study." He smiles against Orlando's neck, nipping the soft skin just below his jaw. Each stroke of Orlando's hand, growing bolder and more assured as they progress, sends Joaquin's senses reeling. And the fact that they're here, doing this together.... It's a heady thought. Joaquin clamps down on his control, forcing his body to obey even as his hips rock against Orlando's fist. "Tell me," he murmurs, propping up on one elbow while lazily stroking Orlando with his other hand, "how many times have you done this while thinking about me?" "Lots." The reply is prompt as Orlando lifts his head, brushes his lips to Joaquin's. "How many times have you? While thinking of me, I mean?" He searches Joaquin's eyes, happy to see only desire and need there -- no sadness or grief. Time enough for that later, he thinks, as his thumb catches the moisture across the head and his fingers tighten over firm flesh. It takes a moment for Joaquin to answer, because all he can focus on is Orlando's hand wrapped snugly around his cock. When he trusts himself to speak, he swallows, then smiles. Heavy lidded eyes lock with Orlando's. "Plenty," he says, shifting his weight to press Orlando deeper into the cushions. Take it slow, take it slow, don't spook him, for pity's sake. "Done it plenty of times while thinking about you like this," Joaquin continues, voice a low purr in Orlando's ear. "Naked, open, body begging for me." "Y-yeah?" Orlando shifts restlessly, breath staccato and short. "Thought about you so much...what you'd feel like, taste like..." He moans, a low, keening sound, when Joaquin does something, some wonderful, incredible thing with his wrist that has Orlando bucking off the sofa, trying to match it with his own hand. "Yeah." Another nuzzle to warm skin, tongue licking along the tendon in Orlando's neck, leaving a wet path from ear to collarbone. "Wanted you for a long time, baby." Want. So many things Joaquin wants to do to Orlando. So many things he wants to teach him. But right now, he has to settle for just this -- simple touching and kissing -- because he can't remember if there's a lubricant of any kind in here. Damn it. But, Christ, the way Orlando keeps moaning.... The sound is like an electric current straight to Joaquin's cock. "So close," Orlando pants, blindly searches Joaquin's lips with his own. He can feel the all-too-familiar tightening in his balls, low and heavy, knows that it's a matter of a few strokes, at the most. Struggles with almost non-existent control -- not yet, too soon, want this to last -- while simultaneously sliding his fist in a blur over Joaquin's cock. Wants them to go over together. "Let go, 'Lando," Joaquin says in a ragged voice, body trembling with the effort to hold on to his control. His eyes focus on Orlando's face, drinking in every expression that flits over his features. Joaquin wants to watch Orlando come apart, wants to see if he looks as good as Joaquin's imagined. So he flicks his wrist, breath puffing gently over Orlando's lips as Joaquin says, "Let go for me, baby." Let go, and maybe it's the way Joaquin says it, full of love and awe, or maybe it's the realization that he can, that it's alright, that this is more than alright... Orlando doesn't know. Just knows yeah, alright, please as his fingers spasm over Joaquin's cock as he sucks in a last, ragged breath, gives himself over. Feels the pulse and the rush from this toes to his cock as he pumps his hips, spills in a sticky rush, Joaquin's name a muted cry on his lips. "So fucking beautiful," Joaquin murmurs, kissing Orlando's jaw, his lips. His control is stretched thread thin, and it only takes a few more erratic strokes of Orlando's hand before Joaquin joins him. He gasps Orlando's name, trying to remember how to breathe as he collapses. Breathe, that's it... It's shaky, but it's the best Orlando can do right now, with Joaquin's come all over his fingers, warm weight pressed comfortably against him, pressing him into the cushions. "Love you," he murmurs, seeking Joaquin's lips, limbs all lethargic and pliant and just. Doesn't want to move. Maybe ever. "I know, baby," Joaquin smiles, free hand smoothing damp curls from Orlando's forehead. "Funny thing is...." He pauses, takes a deep breath. This is a very delicate moment, and he knows it. Knows how it could so easily get fucked up. His fingers start a slow glide over Orlando again, and Joaquin kisses him softly. "I think I love you, too." "Think so, do you?" Orlando smiles, light fingers brushing over Joaquin's eyebrows. He's still too sated, too insanely happy to feel insecure about all that Joaquin isn't saying. It's enough that Joaquin is here. Orlando doesn't need anything else. "Never really thought about it." Joaquin returns the smile, fingers still lazily moving over Orlando's cock. "You know I've always loved you." A soft kiss punctuates the sentence. "And...." Joaquin pauses, smiling when Orlando's body starts to react to his light touches. "I've wanted you for a long time." He dips his head, licks along Orlando's neck. Savors the taste of smoke and lemon mixed with sweat. "Want you so bad, baby. Wanna show you so many things." "What..." Orlando licks his lips, stutters, "um...t-things?" His body undulates, almost of its own volition, under Joaquin's clever, light touch. Joaquin's smile is dark, laced with sin, and his lips brush Orlando's ear as he bends his head to whisper a few brief sentences. The entire time, his hand continues stroking Orlando, bringing him back to full hardness. Orlando's eyes widen to saucers even as his body writhes and twists, begs for more. "Are you..." He blinks, tries to focus through the haze of pleasure. "That's not possible. Is it?" Just the, well. The idea. Of, um, doing. That. Having it done. Those words are more than enough to confirm Joaquin's earlier beliefs. His low chuckle is dark, rich, wrapping around Orlando. "It's very possible." Joaquin drops his voice, looking into Orlando's eyes and hiding nothing. "I want to do that, 'Lando. To you." "To me?" Oh hell, that was a squeak. "You're not...you are, aren't you?" Orlando's body is still humming, needing more touches, more kisses, more of whatever Joaquin can provide, but, OhGod. That's just, um. "I don't think I'd enjoy that," he finally says decisively. Or, as decisively as he can. "Men do that? Enjoy it? You...um...you've done it?" "Men do it and enjoy it," Joaquin says, voice soft and soothing. Take it slow, keep him relaxed. Don't let him spook. "And yeah, I've done it a time or two." Soft kisses run the length of Orlando's jaw from chin to ear. "I could make you enjoy it, baby. Do you trust me to take care of you?" "Of course I do." The reply is automatic as Orlando relaxes into the soft kisses, soft words. "Always trust you." Gentle fingers frame Joaquin's cheek as he flexes the other one between them, still curled around Joaquin's slowly hardening cock. "You...liked it? Did it hurt? When he...I mean. When it was inside you?" He trusts Joaquin with his life, his soul, but he still doesn't understand how this would even work. Or, to be honest, fit. "It'll hurt at first, yeah," Joaquin murmurs, rocking into Orlando's fist. So good, baby, love the way you touch me.... "But that goes away." More soft kisses over Orlando's throat and jaw. Gentle fingers slide through his hair, soothing, relaxing, petting. Joaquin knows damn well he's skating a very thin line here. "I'll be gentle, baby," he whispers, eyes locked with Orlando's. Nothing hidden, letting Orlando see everything. "I'll go slow...can make it so good for you, 'Lando. Promise." "Must have been a special guy," Orlando whispers, voice thick with arousal and love. "To, um. Trust like that. Give yourself like that." He can admit, in the smallest part of himself, that he wishes it had been him. That they could be discovering this entire new and terrifying and wonderful world together. But, he reasons, someone has to be the experienced one. "Trust you," he says, placing himself in Joaquin's hands. If Joaquin's done this...if it's pleasurable...then, maybe. Get up, idiot. Get up and see if Summer left the damn oil olive the other night. Do it. Go on. Go, quick, before he changes his mind. Joaquin takes a deep breath, rests his forehead against Orlando's. Of all the times to be having a crisis of conscience. But Orlando trusts him. And that's something Joaquin has never -- will never -- betray. Ah, fuck. Not like this.... "Never been anyone I trusted more than you," Joaquin says very quietly, not mentioning River. That trust doesn't need to be mentioned. It's always gone without saying. "Just you, 'Lando." He waits for those words to sink in, knowing he may have just put an end to the entire afternoon. "You...?" Orlando's brows wrinkle in confusion as he searches fathomless green eyes. "I don't..." Only he does, finally. "Oh." A small smile curves his lips as he gives Joaquin a simple, soft kiss. "I trust you," he says again, knows he doesn't have to say anymore than that. Lets his thighs fall open as he lies back. Whatever happens now, they'll discover it together. As they're meant to. Joaquin closes his eyes again and takes a few slow, deep breaths. The trust that Orlando is showing.... It's overwhelming. Humbling. And Joaquin feels something swell inside his chest. "Love you, baby," he murmurs, brushes a soft kiss over Orlando's lips. "Just lie here for a moment, yeah?" Orlando nods, doesn't trust himself to speak. He's still not entirely certain this will work, but, now that the decision's been made, he's decided to simply enjoy himself. He admires the play of muscles in a strong back as Joaquin makes his way to the desk, admires the lean lines and solid planes of a very nice body. His hand is still sticky with residue, but he likes that, likes that part of Joaquin is still on him, as he wraps his fingers around his cock. Starts to lazily stroke, watching Joaquin through hooded eyes. "Starting without me?" Joaquin smiles and watches Orlando once he's discovered that, yes, Summer did indeed leave the olive oil. He'll have to remember to thank her later. It'll be amusing to see her try to figure out why. The small bottle dangles from his fingers as he strolls back to the sofa, eyes roaming over Orlando's naked body. So fucking gorgeous. And all Joaquin's. Still a little hard to believe. Orlando stretches, feels the weight of Joaquin's eyes on him like a physical caress. "Like what you see?" he murmurs, fingers dancing along the length before wrapping around, stroking up. His hips rise off the bed as he meets his fist halfway. "You coming or not?" "Love what I see," Joaquin murmurs, kneeling between Orlando's thighs. He settles back, watches Orlando, admires as Orlando moves and writhes for him. "Want you to keep your eyes on me, baby." The bottle of oil is set aside, and slick fingers circle Orlando's opening. Light, teasing touches that just barely feather over puckered skin. Joaquin's completely focused now, everything else fading away until there's only Orlando. And Joaquin's desire -- his need -- to make this good. Orlando nods, swallows hard as light, slick fingers brush over, then dip, barely touching. So far, so good, and it's pleasant, nice, makes Orlando's skin itch in a good way. He keeps his eyes focused on Joaquin, rubs his teeth across his lower lip. Relaxes further with each feather-touch, relaxes further with each stroke of his fist on his cock. "Like this," he breathes, moan catching in his throat as the tip of one fingers curves just inside him. "Relax, baby," Joaquin murmurs, easing his finger in a little farther. His free hand rests on Orlando's stomach, rubbing in small circles. "Promise I'm not gonna hurt you." He smiles, keeps touching Orlando, murmuring soft encouragement to him. But Christ, it's hard to maintain this slow pace, working just one finger in and out. He smiles when Orlando relaxes again, hand growing steady where it strokes his cock. "That's it, baby," Joaquin croons, gently adding a second finger. "Doing so good." Orlando tries for a smile, isn't sure he succeeds. It doesn't hurt -- not quite -- but it's uncomfortable. He's full in a way that makes him want to slide further into the fingers moving inside him, and yet slide away from the intrusion. He keeps his eyes on Joaquin, doesn't dare look down. "Kiss me," he begs, needing the distraction. Joaquin just smiles, leans down to brush his lips over Orlando's. It's teasing, pulling Orlando's attention away from Joaquin's fingers pushing deeper. "Doing so fucking good, 'Lando," Joaquin whispers, and then really kisses Orlando. His tongue easily parts Orlando's lips, slides in, mimicking his fingers movements as he goes deeper, twisting, turning, searching for the spot he knows will make Orlando forget all about the discomfort. This part's not so bad, Orlando thinks, as he plays with Joaquin's tongue, slips his own over and around. The fingers inside him are almost pleasant now, something he can focus on in small doses, and that little twisty thing Joaquin is doing is actually quite-- -- OhFUCK. Orlando's eyes fly open in shock as an intense wave of pleasure sends shocks all through his body, so hard he goes numb for a moment. That was... Joaquin twists his fingers again, and Orlando writhes helplessly, clenching around him, the second wave better than the first. "That's it, baby, ride it out." Joaquin smiles, lifts his head to watch Orlando. He doesn't want to miss a single second of this. His fingers drag over the spot again and again, light strokes alternating with firmer nudges. And each one gets the desired reaction. Beautiful. Simply beautiful. "Please..." Orlando's writhing, twisting, gasping pleaseohplease, thoughts a jumble, body on fire. "Please, I can't..." Because this is just. So. He rolls with the next shock, back bowed, skin stretched so tight it hurts, but, oh. Oh. Glorious, aching hurt and more, please, need more. Clutches onto Joaquin's biceps, slippery with sweat, mouth open, pleading, needs... Needs. "Shhh," Joaquin murmurs, kissing Orlando softly. Doesn't remove his fingers. Not yet. Wants to make the transition smooth. One trembling hand works oil onto his own aching cock until it glistens, and Joaquin's stretched to the breaking point. Only then does he ease his fingers out, hushing Orlando's whimper of protest with another kiss. "Relax, baby." Joaquin's voice is low, firm, as he positions himself and starts to slowly (oh, God, so fucking slowly) push forward. Relax, Joaquin says, and Orlando wants to, he really does. But, oh God, how's he expected to be able to relax when the pressure building inside him is so... Please, he thinks, and tilts his hips. Hurts, man, fucking hurts, but his body is still riding the pleasure, and he doesn't care. Just wants Joaquin inside him, wants more. He pushes up with his hips, sucks in a sharp breath when the pain outweighs the slick fullness, digs blunt nails into Joaquin's back. Waits for the pain to ebb before moving again, slowly easing Joaquin inside him. In all his life, he's never felt anything quite like this. Exquisite agony, and God. Just... "Shh, shh, baby, it's alright, I've got you." Joaquin's voice is ragged, and sweat pops out in beads on his forehead. It's agonizing, holding back like this, when all he wants to do is sink himself fully inside Orlando. He knows that would be the absolute worst thing to do. But, fuck, he's so tight.... He uses tiny, slow pushes, gradually working his cock inside Orlando until skin touches skin. Then Joaquin stops to let Orlando adjust, let him get used to the intrusion and all the new sensations. It's several heartbeats before Orlando can open his eyes, control rapid-fire breathing. "Fucking lied, man," he laughs, breathless and high. "Hurts like a son of a bitch." He smiles, wraps his legs awkwardly around Joaquin's hips, thinks this is good. He can get used to this. Being connected like this, full and stretched, with Joaquin's weight on him and in him. "They say it goes away." Joaquin gives him a small, helpless smile. It's killing him to know that he's causing Orlando pain, but it can't be helped. "Just remember I've got you, yeah? And I love you." Orlando's smile at those words is the most beautiful thing that Joaquin's ever seen. He flexes his hips a little, smiles himself when Orlando gasps. "Here..." Gentle hands shift Orlando's legs, pull them a little higher, while Joaquin continues watching Orlando's eyes, seeking any sign of pain or second thoughts. "Just remember my turn's next," Orlando says, and gasps when the head of Joaquin's cock hits OhGod that spot. "Move," he begs, crossing his ankles in the small of Joaquin's back and pushing up. "Touch me. Please...need...anything...God..." He no longer remembers why he thought this wouldn't work, why he didn't want to do this. Can't remember when he didn't have Joaquin deep inside him, flexing and twisting down in unbearably slow thrusts. More, please, more... Joaquin braces up, hands on the arm of the sofa by Orlando's head. Angles his hips just so, and...yeah. Right there. Slow withdrawal, followed by a slow push in. The way Orlando grips his cock, pulling him in deeper with each thrust, is exquisite. And Joaquin wonders why he ever waited so long. But then even that's gone as he starts to move, taking his time, watching Orlando writhe and buck under him. "Touch yourself for me." Sweaty, slick fingers curve around his cock as Orlando moves, matches Joaquin thrust for thrust. He parts his lips for Joaquin's tongue, trades slow, wet kisses, gasps when Joaquin shifts, cock hitting that spot again and again. Not gonna survive this, he'll die of pleasure first, but that's alright with him...just as long as Joaquin doesn't stop moving, doesn't stop hitting that spot, doesn't stop kissing him... Doesn't. Stop. Joaquin's control is sorely tested when Orlando clamps down on him, muscles gripping his cock tight. And the sounds he makes.... That soft, breathless little groan is almost enough to push Joaquin right over the edge. "So beautiful, baby," Joaquin murmurs as he kisses Orlando softly, brushes damp curls from his forehead. He slows down long enough for Orlando to ride out the aftershocks rippling through him. Soft murmurs and gentle touches help ease him, still his trembling. And Joaquin knows his own orgasm isn't far away as he flexes his hips. He's dead or dying or in Heaven or someplace. Floating along, drifting, everything he is scattered like raindrops. Joaquin's still inside him, still touching him, still kissing him, and it's nice, so nice to simply relax, wrap still trembling limbs around Joaquin, and just take whatever Joaquin gives. "It's alright," he murmurs, or thinks he does. It's alright, everything's alright, just let go. Let go and let me. "Love you..." "Love you, too," Joaquin whispers, barely audible. But every ounce of feeling is in the next kiss, and it's blistering, obliterating. Joaquin only breaks it when he feels the familiar tightening in his balls. "God...love you, baby...." Strong arms wrap around Orlando, hold him tight, as Joaquin buries his face in the curve of Orlando's neck and lets go. Feels so good, so right to let Orlando in, to surrender like this to him, with him. Joaquin's shuddering above him, inside him, spilling warm and wet, and Orlando rides it out with kisses and touches, lets Joaquin know he's here, he's real. It's alright. Breathing's good, so he concentrates on that, on the feel of his heart beating in odd sync with Joaquin's. He's still wrapped, monkey-like, around Joaquin's body, but he doesn't bother to move. Isn't really sure he can. This was just so...unexpected? Unplanned, certainly. Beyond anything. "Love you," he murmurs again, nuzzles a sweaty neck. Breathes. A soft shudder ripples up Joaquin's spine. He's just coherent enough to hold part of his weight off Orlando. God.... He returns the nuzzle, not willing to move yet. Definitely not willing to let go of Orlando yet. Maybe not ever. Mine. "Don't leave," Joaquin whispers, delayed shock setting off tremors in his muscles. "Couldn't drag me away." Orlando tilts into the kiss, holds Joaquin tight through the tremors. "Not going anywhere, promise." They could burn New York, the States, the world, and nothing could pull him away from where he is. The trembling doesn't abate, and Joaquin can't seem to find his center. All he can do is hold on to Orlando, try to keep his sanity intact as every single second of the afternoon slams into him. 'Lando. River. Love you. Please, no, no.... "D-don't leave m-me," Joaquin manages to say through clenched teeth. He knows he needs to relax, breathe. Ease his death grip on Orlando. But he can't. "I promise." Orlando rains kisses over Joaquin's forehead, cheeks, lips, repeats the words over and over, wishing there was something he could do. Something he could say. All he can do is offer his love, his body, hope it's enough. "Right here, 'Quin, I'm right here." Kisses tightly squeezed eyes. "Feel me. I'm real." "He p-promised, too," Joaquin grates out, suddenly, incredibly, furious. "Said he'd come back. He promised!" The tears that come this time are scalding, pouring down Joaquin's face like water rushing over a broken dam. Harsh, wrenching sobs accompany them, sounding as if they're torn from his very soul. The pain's back, raw and fresh and aching, and this time there's no numbness to soften the impact. "I know, man, I know." All Orlando can offer is comfort, his own grief. He shifts until they're side by side, wraps his arms tight around Joaquin's shivering, trembling body. Lets go, and lets the sobs come, lets his tears mingle with Joaquin's, mourns his brother, mourns what will never be. Nothing will ever be completely right in his world again, and nothing will change that. Joaquin doesn't know how much time has passed when he finally gets the tears back under control. All he knows is that the shadows have shifted along the wall as the sun sinks towards the horizon. And he knows that they should get up and dress, return to his family. But he doesn't want to move. Not yet. He closes swollen, burning eyes, breathes through parted lips against Orlando's throat. His entire body feels bruised, limp, drained. There's a hollowness inside that he doesn't think will ever be filled again. Hurts to breathe, hurts to think, but Orlando forces himself to do both. "I'm so fucking sorry," he whispers, voice raw and aching. He clutches Joaquin to him, a lifeline, not letting go, not now, not ever. "Love you so much, man..." But love isn't going to be enough. And he knows this. Accepts it, and offers it, anyway. Orlando's love, freely given, is gladly accepted. It helps, in a small way, to ease some of the pain. "Thank you," Joaquin whispers, finally able to ease his grip. He still doesn't let go completely. Not ready for that. Doesn't think he'll ever be ready. Hopes Orlando won't mind. "Stay with me," Joaquin says, lifting his head just enough to look at Orlando. "Tonight. Come home with me and stay. Please?" "Alright." Orlando brushes damp strands of hair from Joaquin's forehead, smiles his acquiescence. "I'll stay as long as you need." Josh'll most likely be with Rain all night, and his mum and sister will understand. They're all family and this... well, it's not going to be easy. But if Orlando's company will help, then he's glad to give it. Happy to give anything and everything. "Might need you forever." Joaquin strives for a teasing tone, but it falls flat. It's too much effort to joke about something he's afraid might be the truth. And if Orlando stays with him.... Joaquin won't have to face the long, dark hours alone. His family will understand. "Don't want to be alone tonight," he whispers. "Need to hold you." "Me, too." It's nothing less than the truth. Orlando brushes his lips across Joaquin's to seal the deal, then gently starts to untangle himself. They really do need to get out of here, get back. "Just, um, I don't think I'm up for..." He twinges at the stiffness of his joints, the soreness from where Joaquin had been inside him. A pleasant enough reminder of earlier, but not anything he's dying to repeat soon. Too intense, too much, and he hurts. "Maybe alternatives?" Joaquin manages a small smile and brushes one last kiss over Orlando's lips before reluctantly releasing him. "Not asking you for sex, baby," he says quietly, sitting up, knees pulled up to his chin as he watches Orlando. "Just want to hold you." He watches the way Orlando moves, stiff, obviously sore. Silently curses himself for getting so carried away. "A hot bath'll help. And I'll give you a massage later." Joaquin holds up a hand when Orlando's eyes dart towards him. "Just my hands, baby. Promise. And maybe my mouth." "Massage me with your mouth, hmm?" Orlando's eyes light up, wide and full of mirth, as he contemplates that rather nice image. "Think I'd like that." He manages to find his trousers in and amongst the entire tangle of clothing, starts to slowly drag them on. Reality intrudes with every passing moment, and he's beginning to seriously wonder if this has all been just a pleasant dream. Ah, well, even if Joaquin changes his mind about the whole thing come morning, he has this. No one can take it away from him. "Perhaps." Joaquin smiles as he watches Orlando for a moment, then begins to slowly redress. He doesn't much care if all his buttons are done up or his shirt's tucked in. There's still a hole deep inside, still a raw, searing emptiness, but he can push it aside for now. As long as Orlando's near. When he's as dressed as he plans on getting, Joaquin comes up behind Orlando, wraps strong arms around his waist. "I love you," he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to Orlando's shoulder, relishing the warm, firm body against him. "Thank you." "Welcome." Orlando finishes with the last button on his shirt, and places his hand over Joaquin's, relishing the warmth, the intimacy of the moment. Odd that this feels more naked and real than when Joaquin was inside him (and he's still not really ready to think too much about that just yet). "We'll get through this," he says, instead, because they will. There will always be a River-sized gap, but the family, both of blood and the heart, will continue to thrive together. Because that's how River would have wanted it, and fucked if Orlando's not going to make certain it happens. Joaquin takes this moment to hold Orlando, not quite ready to face the outside world. He knows what will happen when they leave. Home and his grieving family wait. Thank God Orlando's going to be there with him. Joaquin's not sure he could get through it on his own. "No regrets, yeah?" he asks, words muffled against Orlando's shoulder. The last thing Joaquin wants is for Orlando to regret what's happened. Or to think Joaquin used him. "No regrets." Orlando twists, loops his arms around Joaquin's neck. "No matter what happens tomorrow, no regrets. Love you, brother." And it's true. Always will be. "Love you, too." Joaquin smiles, brushes his fingers over Orlando's cheek before kissing him softly. "Even if it's not exactly brotherly at the moment." Orlando laughs, as he's meant, heart a little lighter. "I would hope not." He pauses, tilts his head. "You, um. Mentioned earlier, that, um. You'd been wanting this, me, whatever we just did. How long?" Call it morbid curiosity, but he has to know. "You," Joaquin replies. He doesn't look away, doesn't flinch. Lets Orlando in so he can see everything. "And this. For a very long time. Couple years, at least." "Years?" Another squeak, but damn. Years? "Why didn't you...y'know, say anything? Do anything?" A faint smile crosses Joaquin's face. "Baby, how old are you?" He waits until Orlando mumbles out eighteen. "I never said anything because I didn't think you were interested. Never did anything because, well...." He shrugs, smiles again. "You were too young." "Too young?" Orlando blinks, unsure whether to be insulted. "Alright, then." He's sure his smile feels a little forced, but tries for it anyway as he slips out of Joaquin's arms and sits to put on his shoes. Too young, he thinks. How long before that's an excuse to push me away, relegate me back to what we were? Fuck. Said the wrong thing. Immediately, Joaquin's on his knees in front of Orlando, gentle fingers gripping his chin and forcing his head up until Joaquin can look into dark eyes. "Were too young, 'Lando. This afternoon would have never happened if I still thought that." "I'm the one that pushed this, not you," Orlando reminds them both. "Took advantage." And yeah, he can admit that to himself. "Been wanting you so much, for so long, and you needed...I needed..." He shrugs out of Joaquin's grip, drops his gaze to his hands. "Just needed to be with you, be close to you. Never intended..." "Baby, look at me." Joaquin's voice is soft and gentle, and he waits until Orlando looks up. This is not how he wanted this conversation to go. "You didn't take anything I didn't give freely. We both needed the same things." One hand cups Orlando's cheek, fingers slipping over warm skin. A pause while Joaquin searches for the right words. "I didn't intend for this to happen, either, but I'm glad it did. And regardless of who pushed it...regardless of what some people say about me, I do know how to say no. If I hadn't wanted this, hadn't wanted you...if I'd thought you were still too young, don't you think I'd have said no?" "Dunno," Orlando shrugs, even though he does. "Maybe." Another shrug. "No. No, I guess I don't." It still hurts, though, lingering edges that he knows are firmly linked to his insecurity about all of this. It's all so new and different and real. Not easy, like his fantasies. "Have I ever lied to you?" Dark eyes search Joaquin's, and then Orlando shakes his head. Joaquin smiles, catches Orlando's hand in his. "Then believe me when I say that I would have said no. I don't think you're too young now, alright?" "Alright." Orlando squeezes Joaquin's hand, is relieved when Joaquin squeezes back. Whatever happens, he knows... together, man. Always. "Sorry I'm acting like such a girl." "Think it's expected your first time and all." Joaquin grins and stands, tugging Orlando up with him. Relief floods through him now that it's over. So close, baby, so close to fucking it up for us. "Just remember that I love you and I don't take just anyone home to Mom." "Man, if you even hint to your mom about what just happened, I will spend my life plotting the perfect revenge. And I'll get Josh to help," Orlando promises, his laughter bright and clear. Everything's gonna be alright. They have each other, have Josh, have the girls, and yeah, it's enough. "My mom would probably just be happy she wouldn't have to worry about grandchildren for a while." Joaquin grins and gives Orlando a quick, hard kiss before releasing him. No matter what happens once they step back outside, Joaquin knows that he can make it now. "Love you," Orlando murmurs, squeezes Joaquin's hand again, then stands. "Just remember I'm with you. We're all with you. And we're not leaving." "I know. Thank you." Brushing his knees off as he stands, Joaquin smiles at Orlando. Takes a deep breath. Tries to prepare himself for the next few hours. "Shall we?" "Yeah." Orlando risks another light brush of lips across Joaquin's -- a reminder, a promise -- before following Joaquin out the door. Onto Gift
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