[lotrips] makarizô
so viggo opened billy's door and grinned, truly widely grinned and pulled him into the hallway, and orlando had been surprised and pleased but more confused than anything because viggo had a green glass bottle of olive oil swinging in his hands. viggo had whispered close rustling and that was something that made orlando go prickly like his sunburn and his voice was low and delighted curving around paris prince of troy and then pulling off orlando's t-shirt, efficient arms-up and discarded on the floor, and
orlando found he had some reflex to kick off his trainers to jam one foot on the heel of the other, then wrench and kick and the hallway was sundown and humid and friendly so there it was; orlando felt perfectly undressed with no shoes or shirt, and yes he was the most beautiful boy in the ancient world, thank you, tonight at least, or so dom had hinted -
- there to confirm it were his mate viggo's broad hands reflecting covered in, holy fuck, olive oil, that's what it was for it smells like grass and bread and almonds, not olives, slippery and delicious all over, all over, over and on his skin. done the front now orrrlaaando, vig says, so turn around, and slipstroke his shoulders and down one big slide. stop and pour, it's not cold even, just kitchen warmth from by billy's brand-new stove, and all over orlando's back go viggo's oily hands, brisk but lingering and a little bit of pressure from his thumbs but got to ask: viggo, what the fuck are you doing?
doing you a favour he grins and whoa the sloppy goodbyekiss is unexpected but good, lazy and earnest hug and then viggo is slapping orlando's ass smartly and smacky towards the end of the hall. apologies and fare-thee-well, god, i fucking love that man. orlando licks his wrist to taste, what a feast he's been spread, i'd go well with tomato, he thinks, and salt. and the oil goes well with his stre tch, tired-excited delight and where the fuck are they, dom and bill and lij, why aren't they here with hugs and snark and beer, don't they know?
best take it at a run, yes, love to piss billy off and squeak heelmarks on his polished hallway, coll apse through the door, can't disappoint. and then there's that view, over the pacific and blue purple red orange yellow sunset absolute perfection on the verandah with elijah and dom arguing mock-fierce about who's better in charge of the smokey charcoal barbeque, but they're not. orlando feels burnt and acrid himself, but that is understandable really, because of the way elijah is gazing unfocused at him. not blinking, leaning against the half-open glass door palms splayed flat out beneath him. billy's mouth licking for salt open against elijah's collarbone and both of them slick with the yes with the olive oil:
oww, tang and metal orlando bites his lip rushing nervous and adrenaline and heat that isn't entirely sunburn and clink is the sound of metal on glass, soft and coppery sound it's some sort of chain wrapped and snug around both their wrists. where's dom, is he doing this too, glossed and feast-naked and oh, i get it, you fucking perverted
his mind can't seem to say it, but dom does, behind him guiding forward, voice all full of grapes and wine slaveboys, dom laughs as elijah's eyes focus lazily it seems his mouth curves something wicked, inviting orlando not for beer and steak but adriatic marble and bleached palms. orlando smells salty hot breezes when billy half turns, the obscene sweep of his eyelashes gusting suggesting watch this and orlando is so
hungry, and billy pushes his hips forwards, deliberate and hard. elijah sliding, hands caught clasped chained with billy's, slides them up and out and flat glass squeaksquealing with the friction. orlando is paris, prince of troy, remember? says dom who is just as olive and shiny with his own brassy links, ankles and neck and orlando loves that he has graspwarm metal to tug dom back and down, fall, and oh fuck. get into character, orlando wants to laugh because this isn't congratulations, come over for laughs, but better, especially
elijah now looking straight at him devilish, like orlando is tongue-skating down elijah's neck and wrists straining locked together. look at that, oh jesus fuck, billy, or should that be zeus, or something? dom might know but too late, he seems to have his hands full pushpulling orlando's jeans and then his yes his mouth yes full yes and a little experimental tug on that chain makes dom's shoulders twitch and glisten and orlando, affection coated disbeliefdelight hears himself say work harder, boy and dom does.