It was about time Sean showed up, Orlando thought, and smiled. The pub was already more than half-full, mostly crew enjoying a pint before heading home. The noise was comforting. And waiting for Sean had given him plenty of time to indulge in his favorite pastime. Not that said pastime ever noticed. "That's only if I wank," Orlando replied, already scooting over in anticipation. Sean comfortably slid next to him in the booth, taking most of the room, most of the air, pressing his thigh against Orlando's in one tight splice of heat. "Quite a nice thought, that," Sean mused, eyes twinkling as he played with the ends of his goatee. "Think you'd be up for a demonstration?" Only Sean could say something bordering on crude and turn it into an almost irresistible invitation. "I suppose you'd like me to leave my blinds open one night so you can watch?" "Why would I? Y'wank about him and not me. Bad form, Orlando, really," Sean said with a mournful shake of his head. Weeks of outdoor shooting had turned shaggy blond hair practically white. It was a good look on him. "Who says I don't wank about you both together?" There was something wild, more than a little wicked, in Sean's eyes. His t-shirt stretched tight over a muscled chest when he reached for the pitcher. "Aren't you a cheeky sod?" "One does as one must," Orlando said, smile flirting over his lips. That was the nice thing about Sean – he was always up for a bit of fun. "Anyway, why shouldn't I look? Not like Vig ever notices a bleedin' thing I do, anyway." "No reason why you shouldn't," but there was something a little off in Sean's voice. Before Orlando could place it, Sean had distracted him with another round and a tall tale involving his days filming the 'Sharpe' series, and Hindu customs.
"Enough," he finally muttered and rolled out of bed, shoving his feet into a pair flip-flops and grabbing his keys. He didn't bother to pull on a shirt over his pajama bottoms. It was only a five minute walk to Sean's house. The house was quiet when Orlando let himself in, using the key that Sean had given him during their second week of rehearsals (for whenever you need a shoulder, Sean had said at the time, with one of his famously crooked grins). Which meant Sean was already asleep, like most decent people. Orlando navigated his way through the dark living room and down the hallway with familiar ease, and avoided the haphazard pile of laundry at the end of the bed. Sean was sprawled out, taking up most of the space on the mattress, sheets a tangle around his legs, riding low over truly stunning hips. Even sleeping, he radiated power, danger, so much sexual energy it was like a constant voltage of lightning. The opposite of Viggo in almost every way – amazing that they were such great friends. "Enough.". He wasn't going to think about Viggo anymore tonight – Viggo, with his quiet, artist's hands and his mad, artist's eyes. About what he wanted and had resigned himself to never getting. He kicked off his shoes and curled up in the small space next to Sean. Immediately, Sean rolled over, molding himself to Orlando's body and murmuring something indistinct, slurred with sleep. Orlando was dead to the world within five minutes.
"What's he done now?" "If I talk about it right now, Lij won't survive the rest of the day." "Fair enough." Orlando could hear the faint scratching that meant Sean was playing with his goatee again. "I'll bring a few pints of bitter, come by the house later." "I'd like that." Which was the other nice thing about Sean – he knew the value of patience. Orlando wondered if that had anything to do with the fact that he was constantly surrounded by women in his real life. "Vig's staring at you, by the way." It took considerable effort on Orlando's part not to open his eyes and see for himself. "Is he?" "Mmhmm." Sean shifted closer, deep voice rumbling delightfully in Orlando's ear. "Not sure if he's jealous of the sun on your skin or of me cozied all up to you." "Bollocks." Orlando smiled, but shifted closer. Sean's heat could rival the sun's. "You're just saying that to make me feel better." "Is it working?" "Could be." "Got something else that would make you feel a lot better," and Orlando could hear the heavy seduction in Sean's voice. As always, he reacted to it instinctively, arched his neck for the whisper-press of lips against heated skin. "You're a terrible flirt, Sean," Orlando told him, lashes fluttering slightly when he finally opened his eyes, met dazzling green ones head-on. "Nah, I'm a master at it, really." Orlando's laughter was open and loud. "Thanks, mate," he said, and meant it. Trust Sean to know exactly the right thing to do to make him feel better. "Anytime." Warm lips brushed against his for a second, and Sean sat back. "You could make it up to me." "Oh, and how would you like me to do that?" Orlando replied, dropping his voice to a purr. Sean's tongue swept out, lizard-quick, to swipe over his lips, and Orlando made sure to drop his eyes to follow the movement. "Aye, well, I wouldn't turn down that, if you're offering," Sean chuckled, "but I was thinking of taking the ferry, driving to Queenstown." Immediately, Orlando dropped easy, seductive banter in favor of friendship. "Helicopters still giving you nightmares?" "I could use the company." The shrug fooled neither of them. "You don't have to ask," Orlando said softly, and laid a hand over Sean's calloused one, squeezing gently. "If only that were true."
"So, I hear you and Sean are taking a little road trip," Viggo drawled, while Maggie and Davina flitted between the two of them, wielding make-up brushes like weapons. "He hates flying," Orlando shrugged, trying not to move his face too much. He loved his character, but wig-fitting had to rank right up there with the most annoying things ever. Still, it had to be better than Feet. "Surprised he didn't ask you to drive down with him." "Nah, I'd just drive him crazy." Viggo plucked at a stray bit of thread on his tunic, and Orlando greedily tracked the movement of long fingers. "You two...you're far more suited to each other." "We're good friends," Orlando replied, stressing the word. Hell, the last thing he wanted was for Vig to get the wrong idea about him and Sean. Sean might be the most dangerously sexy man Orlando'd ever met, but he wasn't Viggo.
The rest of the cast and crew had heli'd out earlier that morning, amid much ribbing by the Hobbits about Sean's 'wee sensibilities' – all said, of course, with Peter firmly between them and Sean's long reach. Dom was always complaining (with admiration clear in his voice) that Sean could find a ticklish spot on a dead man. Viggo had simply smiled at the both of them and pressed a Ziploc bag of his homemade fruit and nut mix into Orlando's hands. God alone knew what was in it, probably grass and roadkill, but Orlando had accepted it anyway, and used it as an excuse to press his fingers against Viggo's for one timeless moment. Not that Viggo noticed, of course. He'd been too busy staring at someone else entirely. "Guess who this week?" Orlando asked, glancing over at Sean, noting the relaxed grip on the steering wheel, the comfortable tilt to strong shoulders. This trip was worth it already just to see that. He propped his feet on the dash and dug into his bag of crisps with gusto. "Who?" "Craig." "Guess I have noticed he's been around a bit more, yeah," Sean replied, and stole a crisp from Orlando's hand, all without taking his eyes off the road. "Wasn't he with Marton before?" "Yeah." "So maybe Vig's working his way through the Elves now." Sean waited a beat. "Y'could be next, luv." "Liar." But Orlando was inordinately grateful that Sean would try. The best of friends, really, and who would have thought that he'd be able to call Sean Bean his best friend? "Only about the things that matter." "You've never lied to me." Sean met his gaze briefly, but Orlando couldn't decipher the look. "I've never had to."
Of course, the problem was that Sean was – or, had been – as transparent as glass. Tended to kill a bit of the mystery, really. Men like Sean were made for shadows and dark corners, for clandestine meetings in seedy bars, for whiskey and cigarettes and secrets. And while Sean lived hard, worked hard and played hard, Orlando could, most times anyway, read him like a primer. Unlike Viggo, who Orlando couldn't quite figure out, and wasn't sure he ever would. Viggo, with his mad laugh and steady hands, who smelled of the earth and had as many secrets as Mother Nature herself. But now, in the middle of nowhere New Zealand, Orlando thought maybe he might have judged too soon. Sure, he and Sean had spent buckets of time together, on and off set, but never when it was so completely just the two of them. It was nice, like discovering something new in a well-loved song. But it didn't mean he still didn't know when he could get away with things. "Stop the car." "Orlando, it's raining sheep," Sean pointed out, annoyance creeping into his voice. "In case it's escaped your notice." Time to pull out the big guns. Orlando half-twisted in his seat and batted his lashes alluringly. "I'll only be a tick, I promise." "What you said the last two stops," Sean sighed, but obediently pulled into the miniscule parking lot. Rain fizzled and popped on the hood in a metallic rhythm, almost polka-like in its speed. "And I was quick both times, too." "Y'know, bribing Vig with gifts isn't the best way into his bed." Viggo? What the hell did Viggo have to do with anything? Sean's fingers were white around the steering wheel, which wasn't what Orlando wanted at all. "Now, who said I'm buying anything for Vig?" he asked, hoping the teasing note and the smile would do the trick. "Now, be nice or I won't get you anything." And finally, there it was, that flash of wicked grin that meant everything was where it should be with them. "Y'only have one thing I want." "Cheeky," Orlando laughed, and pressed a light kiss to Sean's grizzled jaw before hopping out of the car and into the hammering deluge.
"Could you put the camera down? Please." "Why, are you scared?" "Don't be stupid." This was a completely different side to Sean, one Orlando had never seen, and he fancied himself an expert. Somehow, the fragility made Sean at once even sexier and more human. Of course, the idea that there were parts to Sean he didn't know unnerved him. But only slightly. "We have to turn around," Sean finally said, as he stopped the car. They could barely see the blurry shapes of trees and road through the rain. "Turn around? What are you, daft?" "The banks are washed out, Orlando, Christ. We can't go anywhere." Sean punched the steering wheel, eyes wild as he stared outside at the torrential downpour. Orlando wondered if this was what Noah felt like. "Look," he said, as soothingly as he could, hating the tension, "we need to hole up somewhere 'til the rain stops. Why don't we go back to that petrol station, call for someone to come get us, yeah?" "Heli us out in this weather?" Sean jabbed at the windshield like it was personally responsible for the rain. "Are you out of your tree, man? We're in a chuffin' monsoon." "Alright, alright, let's just..." Orlando tried to rack his brain, think of anything to calm Sean down. "Let's just head to the petrol station anyway, see if they know of some place we could hole up for a few hours." "Alright." Gradually, Sean relaxed his knuckle grip on the steering wheel. "Alright."
"I'll say one thing for you, Sean, you're never boring," Orlando stated, injecting a jovial note into his voice. Sean was still wired as tight as a coiled spring. "This wasn't supposed to happen." Sean whirled around, green eyes blazing. "Christ, I could use a drink." "Got a bottle of Skyy I was planning on giving to Billy come Christmas." Sean turned the gesture into a command. "Give it over." Orlando passed the bottle in silence, and watched, half fascinated, half curious, as Sean sat next to him on the small sofa, guzzling 80 proof vodka straight from the bottle like it was water. "You really were scared, weren't you?" Orlando finally asked, when Sean handed the bottle back to him. The vodka burned his throat on the first sip. "Not for myself, no." "Life didn't flash before your eyes, no regrets or wishing you'd done something different?" Orlando teased, even though he was more than a little interested. "Just pass me the bottle, Orlando." Alright, so that wasn't going to work. Orlando glanced around the small room, then back at Sean, then around the room again, wracking his brain and coming up with nothing. He was at a loss, not a familiar sensation where Sean was concerned, and the feeling wasn't entirely comfortable. Sean tipped his head back, throat working as he swallowed. He swiped droplets of vodka from his mouth with the back of his hand, and the gesture was so innately sexy that Orlando blinked, his own body reflexively tightening in response. "You want some?" "Yeah..." Orlando replied slowly, still staring at Sean's mouth like he'd never noticed it before. "Orlando?" And why had he never noticed how Sean's lips looked while forming his name... He tore his gaze away when Sean waved the bottle in front of him. "Still with me?" Sean asked, and Orlando nodded, even though he had no idea what Sean had just said. The second, longer sip didn't burn nearly as much. Orlando continued to watch Sean as they shared the bottle – watched and wondered, and wondered why he was watching. Sean was sprawled against him like always, taking up all of the room, all of the space (all of the oxygen, when it came right down to it), but this wasn't new. His skin, acres of it, gleamed in the dancing flames of the fire, but the rugged beauty that was Sean's naked chest wasn't exactly new, either. They were halfway through the bottle when Orlando figured it out. They weren't talking. They always talked – either lazy flirting or casual conversation or deep, meaningful talks that circled around everything and nothing – but they always talked. And Sean was always relaxed around him, like he could just let go and be, like he trusted Orlando with his secrets. This tightly coiled, silent stranger beside him wasn't his Sean. "Can I ask you something?" he finally asked, and frowned when Sean started, tearing his eyes from the flames to look near Orlando, but not quite meeting his gaze. "Yeah, go on." "What did you mean earlier?" Sean's brows furrowed, and Orlando almost leaned forward to smooth them before he also realized that Sean hadn't touched him once since they'd stepped foot inside the cottage. No teasing touches, no lingering hands on skin, no cozying up to each other, sharing heat. "What d'you mean?" Sean asked, and Orlando had to force himself to remember the question. "Earlier, when you said you weren't scared for yourself." He had no idea why it was so important, and maybe it wasn't, but it had to be better than Sean not talking to him at all. "Well, I wasn't." "You seemed terrified," and the tension was still so thick that Orlando could practically taste it. It filled the too-large space between them, and every time he breathed, he could feel the space getting larger. He tried to chase it away with another quick jolt, but maybe his tongue and throat were numb. "What does it matter if I was?" "That's a stupid thing to say." "Is it?" Green eyes, normally so clear, were clouded when they met Orlando's, and he couldn't read a single emotion in them. Sean's shoulders were still hunched up, thighs bunching and unbunching beneath faded denim, and the tension ricocheted off the walls. "Sean..." Orlando set the bottle on the coffee table with a dull thunk. He leaned in, not quite touching, not sure if he was allowed to touch, and felt a pang somewhere deep inside him when Sean turned his head back towards the fire. "What is it you want?" Orlando had to strain to hear the low reply. "What does it matter?" "It matters to me." "You want to know what I was thinking when we were out there?" The short bark of laughter was like a gunshot. "Yes." "You sure about that? Or would you rather save your energy on your other pursuit?" "Sean..." It stared out as a warning, then stuttered, died when Sean finally turned his head. Their eyes met, caught, held. The tension snapped back, zinged through them with an audible pop. They were on each other a moment later, ravenous and heated, tongues twisting in a tango of greed. Sean framed Orlando's head, finally touching him, holding him in place, a willing prisoner to the hard press of lips, the harder slide of tongue, the soft rasp of stubble. Vodka, spice, dark desires, darker promises – Orlando could taste them all, needed them all, needed to gorge himself, feast on each moan, on willing flesh, on Sean. Sean in his arms, writhing under his hands, impatient for his touch, his kiss. For the first time in over an hour, everything made sense again. "Sean..." he breathed, just to hear the sound, to test the voluptuous vowel on his tongue. "C'mon, lad, don't be shy...not now..." "Never." With an impatience Orlando wouldn't have believed possible, he surged forward, searing his hands on bare skin. "Please...Sean...please..." "No, Christ, no begging," Sean breathed, and ran teeth along Orlando's shoulder. "Fuck all, but you have the most flawless skin..." "Mark me." Sean glanced up, startled, wary. "Orlando..." "Brand me," and Orlando didn't know where the words were coming from, but he meant it. Sean needed no further invitation. He loomed over Orlando, at once menacing and the safest person Orlando had ever known, then leaned in, teeth scraping, biting at the juncture of Orlando's neck and shoulder. Orlando moaned and arched, shivered and twisted. He wanted to beg, but he was afraid that if he tried to speak, nothing would come out. So he pleaded with his body instead, ran greedy hands along Sean's back, groaned wordlessly with every sharp bite. "Still flawless," Sean murmured, and the words sounded as though they were spoken through a tunnel; indistinct, unimportant. Orlando heard the harsh rasp of a zipper, then felt Sean's hands on him, finally on him, sliding slick and perfect.
"No," and Sean drew the word out until it stretched between them like taffy, slow and viscous. "No, it doesn't change anything." Orlando only had a second to wonder at the defeat in Sean's voice before warm lips covered his again, driving away thought, time and what he really wanted.
Continued in Falls the Shadow
|
