Definitely not moving. Every single muscle ached. Muscles he didn't even know he had screamed in protest. He thought maybe they could have introduced themselves before yelling at him, but it seemed he had a body with absolutely zero manners. Which worried him, since he was British. Manners were everything. Orlando ducked his head under the spray, gave a little whimper of gratitude. Even his scalp hurt, and how the fuck was that possible? Scalps weren't supposed to hurt. They were supposed to, like, house his hair and his brain. Scalps shouldn't even have nerve endings, as far as he was concerned. Right, okay, clearly he needed to lie down. Except he was never leaving the shower. Maybe he could have the bed brought in here and be a bathtub merman. That was what they were called, right? Mermen? Eh, something like that, couldn't think, didn't matter. If he could do that, his life would be perfect. Cool air hit his skin as the shower curtain was opened and strong, heavily muscled arms wrapped themselves around Orlando's back a second later. Orlando slumped back against the hard chest and stomach pressed against him, sighing in contentment. Okay. Amend earlier statement. Now things were perfect. "Heard you had a brutal day today," the low voice rumbled in his ear. "Sucked. Going to quit, except m'not moving," Orlando mumbled, tilting his head slightly to allow soft lips access to his neck. "You'll feel better after a good night's sleep." Orlando stared down at the dark hands splayed across his stomach. Lovely hands Lawrence had. Large and capable and elegant and wicked and ohfuck, that felt good. Very capable. Orlando would've whimpered, but he was speechless. "Just relax," Lawrence murmured, fist moving in lazy circles. Relax, uh huh. Sure, Orlando could do that. He turned slightly, buried his face into Lawrence's shoulder, hands resting limply on Lawrence's hips. Not that all of him was limp. 'Cause, um, yeah. Orlando would probably have to be truly dead before Lawrence's touch didn't affect him. "Feels, um...yeah...uh --" "Hush." Orlando felt Lawrence's chuckle vibrate along his body, and it was just as nice as the hand languidly moving over him. Lawrence had a nice laugh. Almost as nice as the rest of him. Kinda silly to think that, though, wasn't it? Wasn't Lawrence's laugh a part of him? Shouldn't it be equally as lovely as, say, his kneecaps? Not that Orlando thought he'd be writing odes to Lawrence's kneecaps over the laugh or anything. Even though the kneecaps were nice. Just not as nice. Alright, so Orlando was discriminating. Not like he could write an ode, anyway. Maybe he'd get Viggo to do it for him. "Why're you smiling?" Lawrence asked, brushing his lips across Orlando's curved ones. "Gonna write an ode." Orlando yawned, then returned the kiss, shivering into Lawrence's fist still moving over him. "Can't wait to read it." "Mmmm --" Orlando's soft gasp was mostly inaudible as Lawrence's fingers tightened and did some incredibly delicious thing...and Orlando was definitely boneless now. Skin him and he'd make a nice filet. Yes, and very drained. And the water was turning lukewarm. "Bed," he mumbled, snuggling into Lawrence's warmth. "Your wish." Orlando could only smile, eyes closed, when Lawrence picked him up and carried him out of the shower. There were worse things in life than being cosseted. Not that he'd, like, want to make a habit of it. Manly guy and all. And British, couldn't forget that. Right, argue with Lawrence later about manliness and cosseting. Sleep now. With Lawrence, and all of that lovely warmth.
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