The words weren't directed at Billy, but he obeyed them anyway. Was pretty sure his legs wouldn't support him if he tried. Certainly was an interesting sight to, um, wake up to. Not that he remembered passing out or anything. Last thing he remembered was Dom pressing another glass in his hand, laughter warm on his neck as they spun around Karl's living room, the music a happy blur. Someone had definitely changed the CD. He caught his breath, released it slowly, tried to sink deeper into the sofa. Didn't want to interrupt. He wondered if Orlando and Karl even remembered he was there. Wondered vaguely where everyone else was, how long he'd been here, whether he was dreaming this. It was certainly surreal enough. Billy swallowed, throat dry, as Orlando twisted, hips moving to the driving guitar -- something slow, bluesy -- coming from the speakers. Another button slid free as Orlando's fingers danced down his chest. And it really was a nice chest, too. Billy wondered how often Orlando worked out these days, wondered if he could get the name of Orlando's trainer. Wondered, really, why the fuck he was wondering this when there were far more important things to be wondering about. Like, oh, say, for instance, why one of his best friends was performing a very hot, very private (or, not quite so private, in this case) strip tease for one of his other best friends. Contrary to popular rumor, this wasn't exactly the type of thing that happened to Billy on a regular basis. Karl lounged back in his chair, hands resting loosely on the armrests, sprawled and comfortable. Billy didn't know how he did it. If he had Orlando within arms' reach, they'd both already be naked. Fucking hell, did he really just think that? Orlando worked another button free, tongue tucked between his teeth, pushing the sides of the shirt apart. Yes. Yes, he had. 'Cause, fuckohfuck, this...it...was pretty. If the sight of a muscled, male chest could be called pretty. Billy thought maybe Orlando was the only person who could get away with that. He held his breath as the shirt drifted to the carpet. Sure, he'd seen Orlando's chest before a thousand times, but that wasn't exactly the point, now, was it? Everyone that said familiarity bred contempt had obviously never seen Orlando swaying to a sinuous guitar and a throbbing bass line. Whatever the song was, it seemed to have been crafted for Orlando. Crafted for him to tempt and tease Karl with every grind and sway of lean hips. Long fingers slid along a tanned, sculpted stomach as Orlando stepped between Karl's spread legs, not quite touching him. Karl's eyes narrowed, his fingers tightened on the arms of the chair, and Billy really had to admire the self-control. There was absolutely no way he'd be able to resist touching Orlando, running his fingers over supple skin, gliding over every muscle, raking his nails through dark hairs. Yes, he was definitely drunk. That was the only reason he was thinking this, right? 'Cause, um, no. Just...no. One button popped, then another as Orlando's hands slid down his jeans. Billy wondered what that crease between Orlando's thigh and hip tasted like, wondered if it would taste like the clove incense permeating the room. Or maybe a bit like the lager Billy'd had earlier. Or maybe like sun-warmed bread. Perhaps he'd ask Karl later. Or not, seeing as how he really wasn't supposed to be here. This isn't happening. Right. Remember that. Just some beer and Scotch-induced dream. Right now, however...right now, his brain...definitely threatening to melt. Along with his bones, nerves, morals, memories, and everything else that wasn't directly related to the sight of Orlando's jeans sliding down endless legs. He really should avert his gaze, and he knew this. But he didn't. It was like a beautiful train wreck -- no, wait. That was a terrible analogy. There was nothing twisted about this...well, aside from the fact that Billy was in the room when he knew he should've left a long time ago. No, this -- this was more like, um -- fuck it. He didn't have a description. It was just beautiful. Orlando's naked ass was beautiful. Hell, his naked everything was beautiful. Billy waited for lightning to strike, and was vaguely disappointed when it didn't. Karl let out a small murmur of appreciation at the sight in front of him (and, hell, who could blame him?), lips curving in a possessive smile that Orlando returned. Billy wondered -- okay, he was obsessing now, he could admit that -- what that was like, what it would feel like to own someone completely, have them own you. Orlando bent forward, hands resting over Karl's, trapping him in the chair. Not that Billy thought Karl minded at all. He certainly wouldn't've. Orlando's lips nuzzled Karl's ear, and Billy shuddered along with Karl, wondered what those lips would feel like on him. "Riding bitch tonight, right?" Orlando asked. Karl smiled again, a lazy smile that had Billy shifting again, painfully hard behind an unforgiving zip. "Yeah..." "Good." Orlando flicked out his tongue -- a brief dart -- along Karl's neck. He stepped back, holding out a hand. Karl's palm slid over his as he stood, and Billy marveled at how truly beautiful they were together. Karl's hand rested on Orlando's hip, hair brushing his collar as he leaned forward. Full lips met in a light, teasing kiss, and Billy sighed. Perfection like that should definitely be illegal. Orlando blinked owlishly, as he twisted in Karl's arms, gaze resting on Billy. "Hey, Billy," he drawled, as if he just now remembered that he even had a friend named Billy who might possibly still be in the room with him. "Wanna hold his hands down for me?" Did he...what?? "I..." "C'mon." Orlando held out a hand. Karl merely smiled at Billy, and pulled Orlando closer. "C'mon." The word hung in the air, resplendent with possibility.
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