NaNoWriMo - The Story So Far, Parts 61-64
61. Muhammad My Friend
Used to be so sweet to me.
Elijah/Orlando, R, 500 words
They got on swimmingly at first, Orlando and Elijah, two kindred spirits who found themselves suddenly half a world away from their homes. They bonded over video games in Elijah's living room, Orlando usually letting Elijah win because, despite all of Elijah's gaming experience, Orlando excelled in the manual dexterity required to shoot three bad guys in succession while executing a triple back flip. Elijah's fingers were a little too stubby, but Orlando never pointed that out. They bonded over beers in the pub, usually just a couple, since they were the lightest lightweights in the assembled cast. They helped each other run lines, late at night in Orlando's kitchen. It was really more Elijah helping Orlando when he stumbled over words that appeared backwards to him, but Elijah never got impatient with him, never goaded Orlando into getting his words out.
They bonded together in Elijah's bedroom, between the sheets, where Elijah's lack of manual dexterity didn't much matter, because Orlando's fingers were deft enough. Likewise, Orlando could always read the words that Elijah traced into his skin with fingers and teeth. They were soft, malleable, and they shaped each other into curves and lines that fit together like a key in a lock. Orlando sighed and Elijah breathed in.
And then Stuart left. Weeks of rehearsal, getting to know someone's quirks, coming to understand their take on a character, all of that time gone to waste. Orlando grew uncomfortable, got a little shaky, and they ran lines together more often, Orlando's frustration mounting after each session until it manifested itself in their bed. He stumbled, tore into Elijah and left him open, wanting and aching. Afterward, he left, an apology thrown over his shoulder like an afterthought.
Viggo arrived just before filming began. Viggo, with his larger-than-life presence, despite his mild manner. He had the cast's trust within a week, something that had taken Elijah two months to earn. Orlando went to Viggo to read lines and came home to Elijah exhilarated, filled with tales of Viggo's patience and perseverance. When they went to the pub, Elijah watched Orlando try to keep up with Viggo, even if Viggo neither noticed nor cared. And afterward, Elijah dragged Orlando home and into the bed that they shared. He brought Orlando aspirin and water and a bucket to throw up in, if he needed.
Orlando stopped letting Elijah win at their video games. He mocked Elijah's pudgy fingers, held his own hand up to Elijah's in a demonstration. His fingers were a good inch longer that Elijah's, the flat of his hand thicker, his fist heavier. Orlando poked at Elijah's shredded cuticles and rolled his eyes.
Orlando begged Elijah to fuck him, really fuck him, pleaded with Elijah in words that he'd never heard Orlando use before. So Elijah tore into him because he thought it was what Orlando wanted. He gave back everything that Orlando had given him, rough and raw and open until both of them were left wanting.
*****
62. Northern Lad
First, he loved my accent. How his knees could bend.
Dom/Viggo, NC-17, 500 words
"Dominic."
Viggo's voice alone could stop Dom in his tracks. But when he said Dom's name like that, Dom's full name in a tone of voice that was neither sweet nor stern but just Viggo, Dom not only stopped, he dropped whatever he was doing and gave Viggo his full attention.
Of course, in this case, Dom happened to be sucking Viggo's cock. Stopping was a little more difficult than usual. Viggo assisted him by burying his hands in Dom's hair and gently pulling his head up. Dom whined and looked at him. "Hmmm?" he hummed, anxious to get back to what he'd been doing.
"Fuck me."
Dom's breath caught in his throat. "Are you..." he paused. "Really?"
Viggo chuckled and let his head fall back to hit the pillow. "Don't make me ask you again, Dominic."
Dom's jaw slammed shut, his teeth clicking together. Viggo wanted him... That was new. That wasn't something that Viggo usually-- See, there were exactly two ways that Dom got off with Viggo, and neither one of them ever involved Dom doing the fucking. Not that he ever minded, of course. Viggo was agile enough with his hands and his tongue that Dom was never left wanting. But now that the opportunity presented itself, Dom realized just how much he wanted it. He smiled up at Viggo and then rolled toward the dresser, hurriedly snagging the half-empty bottle of lube from the top drawer. Dom stopped to kiss Viggo gently on the lips before climbing back down his body and settling between his legs.
Dom pushed Viggo's thighs apart with his hands, and Viggo raised his knees. Dom spread a liberal amount of lube on the palm of one hand and the fingers of the other. He fisted Viggo's cock, squeezing gently at the base and stroking up to the tip, while he pressed one finger of his other hand against Viggo's ass. Viggo exhaled and Dom felt his entire body tighten as he slid one finger inside. Dom stilled his finger and stroked Viggo's cock again, feeling him relax under his hand. He swiveled his wrist and stroked Viggo, then slowly added another finger. Viggo hissed, and Dom froze.
"Too much?" he asked.
"Not enough," Viggo answered, his voice low and gravelly. "Fuck, Dom," he said, screwing himself down on Dom's fingers. Dom pushed, stroking Viggo's cock with one hand as he worked his fingers in and out. "More, Dom," Viggo insisted.
Dom pulled away and squatted between Viggo's legs so that their pelvises lined up. Their erections slid against each other, and Dom held them together and ran his lubed hand up and down them both. When he was thoroughly prepared, Dom pulled Viggo's hips up toward him, settling his knees just under Viggo's ass. He reached down and gently tilted Viggo's hips upward until the head of Dom's cock butted against Viggo's opening. Viggo shifted down as Dom pushed forward, and he slid gently inside.
"God bless yoga," Viggo grunted.
*****
63. Not the Red Baron
Are there devils with halos?
Billy/Viggo, PG-13, 500 words
"In conclusion, The End is pretty damn nigh."
Billy coughed into his sleeve and took another pull from the cold beer in his hand. The bottle was sweating, dripping water that landed in spots on his jeans, darkening the fabric in a pattern that he traced with the tip of one slender finger.
"What did we do wrong?" Billy asked, so quietly that Viggo was almost sure he was talking to himself, until the Scot looked up at him with glassy eyes.
"I can only imagine, Bill," Viggo answered. "Millions of years of oppression and war and killing and suicide..." he trailed off and waved a hand dismissively in the air. "Free will, you know?" he muttered. "I told him it was a mistake. Guess he's finally listening."
Billy pressed the bottom of his nearly empty beer bottle down onto his thigh. It left a perfect circle of moisture behind when he lifted it back to his lips and drained the remaining inch of liquid. "Free will, eh? Fuck," Billy spat. "I like the world. I like football and beer and fish tacos and tits and cocks and time and cars," he said. "I might even come to like humanity, given another million years or so."
Viggo sighed and took the last sip of his own beer, stretching his legs out in front of him and looking down from the ledge. "Maybe that's the problem, Billy." In the street below him, a young woman walked alone toward her car, clutching her purse. She fumbled in her pocket for her keys. When she was less than two yards from the door of her sedan, a man ran out from a darkened corner and snatched her purse, sprinting away. The woman screamed and started to run after him, but her high heels impeded her and she stumbled, twisting an ankle and falling to the pavement in tears.
"Free will," Billy laughed bitterly, watching from ten stories up. Beside him, Viggo turned his attention to the sky.
"When was the last time..." he trailed off, but Billy understood the half-asked question.
"Centuries ago," Billy answered. "In a forest outside of, I guess it's Calgary, now." He sighed. "You?"
"American Revolution," Viggo replied. "And even that was..."
Billy finished for him. "Dim. Faint. Like a trans-Atlantic phone call."
Viggo took a deep breath and looked at Billy. In the not-quite darkness of the city, his wings looked like oil slicks against the orange glow of the sky.
Before Billy knew what he was doing, he was kissing Viggo gently on the mouth, tongue flickering out to taste his lower lip. Viggo opened, and their tongues met in the middle. It was a desperate kiss, each of them struggling for control as their mouths slid together and teeth clicked. Billy felt his own wings flutter, and Viggo pulled back, a frightening smile on his face.
"Free will," Viggo said, his voice more of a rumble in Billy's chest than actually audible. "Might as well fall."
*****
64. Original Sinsuality
You are not alone in your darkness.
Dom/Orlando, PG, 500 words
Orlando went blind.
It didn't happen quickly, of course. Most things in life don't happen quickly. Instead, it was a slow, creeping dimness around the edges of his vision. He chalked it up to the blue contacts and went to see the on-set doctor, who told him to go a few days without them and try some Visine. But instead of getting better, it got worse. The darkness encroached, obliterating his peripheral vision completely until he could only see straight ahead of him. He went back to the doctor, who sent him to a real hospital, where the doctors muttered words like psychosomatic. His vision decreased until the only thing he saw was a pinprick of light in front of his face.
And then it was gone.
Weeks passed, and Orlando was shuffled from doctor to doctor, poked and prodded more than he had been since he'd broken his back. They X-rayed him, drew blood and sent him through a CAT-scan. But there was nothing to explain his sudden blindness, and eventually even the best doctors gave up. Rest and relax, they told him, as if that was a possibility.
The Fellowship went by to see him, most of them in pairs or small groups, almost as if they were uncomfortable being alone with him. John and Ian came together, feigning merriment and telling Orlando about all of their past on-set mishaps in an effort to comfort him. But they didn't have to answer him when he asked if they'd ever known anyone who went temporarily blind. The Seans went to see him together, such an awkward pairing that Orlando would have laughed under different circumstances. But the two of them and their good-natured ribbing about things that were happening on-set gave Orlando a headache.
Dom was the only one who saw Orlando alone. Orlando wouldn't have even noticed that Dom was there, if not for the weird fact that losing his hearing had sharpened his sense of smell, and he could smell the ocean on Dom before the Hobbit even reached his bedroom.
"Missed you surfing today, man," Dom said.
"Did you?" Orlando answered bitterly. "Don't know that I'll be doing a lot of surfing now, mate."
The mattress sagged and Orlando could feel Dom's weight hovering next to him. "Pity. It's gorgeous out there. The sky is so blue, cloudless, just a great big expanse of horizon. And the surf is divine. The perfect waves, man."
Dom put a hand over one of Orlando's, and Orlando felt his still-sunwarm fingers entwining with his own. He closed his eyes as Dom continued.
"And tonight," he said, his voice whisper-low, "it's going to be a perfect sunset. One of those where the sun goes down so slowly that you can actually hear it hiss as it hits the water, and the stars come out one at a time until the whole sky is like a blanket of them."
Orlando closed his eyes. "I see it," he murmured. "I see it."
Used to be so sweet to me.
Elijah/Orlando, R, 500 words
They got on swimmingly at first, Orlando and Elijah, two kindred spirits who found themselves suddenly half a world away from their homes. They bonded over video games in Elijah's living room, Orlando usually letting Elijah win because, despite all of Elijah's gaming experience, Orlando excelled in the manual dexterity required to shoot three bad guys in succession while executing a triple back flip. Elijah's fingers were a little too stubby, but Orlando never pointed that out. They bonded over beers in the pub, usually just a couple, since they were the lightest lightweights in the assembled cast. They helped each other run lines, late at night in Orlando's kitchen. It was really more Elijah helping Orlando when he stumbled over words that appeared backwards to him, but Elijah never got impatient with him, never goaded Orlando into getting his words out.
They bonded together in Elijah's bedroom, between the sheets, where Elijah's lack of manual dexterity didn't much matter, because Orlando's fingers were deft enough. Likewise, Orlando could always read the words that Elijah traced into his skin with fingers and teeth. They were soft, malleable, and they shaped each other into curves and lines that fit together like a key in a lock. Orlando sighed and Elijah breathed in.
And then Stuart left. Weeks of rehearsal, getting to know someone's quirks, coming to understand their take on a character, all of that time gone to waste. Orlando grew uncomfortable, got a little shaky, and they ran lines together more often, Orlando's frustration mounting after each session until it manifested itself in their bed. He stumbled, tore into Elijah and left him open, wanting and aching. Afterward, he left, an apology thrown over his shoulder like an afterthought.
Viggo arrived just before filming began. Viggo, with his larger-than-life presence, despite his mild manner. He had the cast's trust within a week, something that had taken Elijah two months to earn. Orlando went to Viggo to read lines and came home to Elijah exhilarated, filled with tales of Viggo's patience and perseverance. When they went to the pub, Elijah watched Orlando try to keep up with Viggo, even if Viggo neither noticed nor cared. And afterward, Elijah dragged Orlando home and into the bed that they shared. He brought Orlando aspirin and water and a bucket to throw up in, if he needed.
Orlando stopped letting Elijah win at their video games. He mocked Elijah's pudgy fingers, held his own hand up to Elijah's in a demonstration. His fingers were a good inch longer that Elijah's, the flat of his hand thicker, his fist heavier. Orlando poked at Elijah's shredded cuticles and rolled his eyes.
Orlando begged Elijah to fuck him, really fuck him, pleaded with Elijah in words that he'd never heard Orlando use before. So Elijah tore into him because he thought it was what Orlando wanted. He gave back everything that Orlando had given him, rough and raw and open until both of them were left wanting.
*****
62. Northern Lad
First, he loved my accent. How his knees could bend.
Dom/Viggo, NC-17, 500 words
"Dominic."
Viggo's voice alone could stop Dom in his tracks. But when he said Dom's name like that, Dom's full name in a tone of voice that was neither sweet nor stern but just Viggo, Dom not only stopped, he dropped whatever he was doing and gave Viggo his full attention.
Of course, in this case, Dom happened to be sucking Viggo's cock. Stopping was a little more difficult than usual. Viggo assisted him by burying his hands in Dom's hair and gently pulling his head up. Dom whined and looked at him. "Hmmm?" he hummed, anxious to get back to what he'd been doing.
"Fuck me."
Dom's breath caught in his throat. "Are you..." he paused. "Really?"
Viggo chuckled and let his head fall back to hit the pillow. "Don't make me ask you again, Dominic."
Dom's jaw slammed shut, his teeth clicking together. Viggo wanted him... That was new. That wasn't something that Viggo usually-- See, there were exactly two ways that Dom got off with Viggo, and neither one of them ever involved Dom doing the fucking. Not that he ever minded, of course. Viggo was agile enough with his hands and his tongue that Dom was never left wanting. But now that the opportunity presented itself, Dom realized just how much he wanted it. He smiled up at Viggo and then rolled toward the dresser, hurriedly snagging the half-empty bottle of lube from the top drawer. Dom stopped to kiss Viggo gently on the lips before climbing back down his body and settling between his legs.
Dom pushed Viggo's thighs apart with his hands, and Viggo raised his knees. Dom spread a liberal amount of lube on the palm of one hand and the fingers of the other. He fisted Viggo's cock, squeezing gently at the base and stroking up to the tip, while he pressed one finger of his other hand against Viggo's ass. Viggo exhaled and Dom felt his entire body tighten as he slid one finger inside. Dom stilled his finger and stroked Viggo's cock again, feeling him relax under his hand. He swiveled his wrist and stroked Viggo, then slowly added another finger. Viggo hissed, and Dom froze.
"Too much?" he asked.
"Not enough," Viggo answered, his voice low and gravelly. "Fuck, Dom," he said, screwing himself down on Dom's fingers. Dom pushed, stroking Viggo's cock with one hand as he worked his fingers in and out. "More, Dom," Viggo insisted.
Dom pulled away and squatted between Viggo's legs so that their pelvises lined up. Their erections slid against each other, and Dom held them together and ran his lubed hand up and down them both. When he was thoroughly prepared, Dom pulled Viggo's hips up toward him, settling his knees just under Viggo's ass. He reached down and gently tilted Viggo's hips upward until the head of Dom's cock butted against Viggo's opening. Viggo shifted down as Dom pushed forward, and he slid gently inside.
"God bless yoga," Viggo grunted.
*****
63. Not the Red Baron
Are there devils with halos?
Billy/Viggo, PG-13, 500 words
"In conclusion, The End is pretty damn nigh."
Billy coughed into his sleeve and took another pull from the cold beer in his hand. The bottle was sweating, dripping water that landed in spots on his jeans, darkening the fabric in a pattern that he traced with the tip of one slender finger.
"What did we do wrong?" Billy asked, so quietly that Viggo was almost sure he was talking to himself, until the Scot looked up at him with glassy eyes.
"I can only imagine, Bill," Viggo answered. "Millions of years of oppression and war and killing and suicide..." he trailed off and waved a hand dismissively in the air. "Free will, you know?" he muttered. "I told him it was a mistake. Guess he's finally listening."
Billy pressed the bottom of his nearly empty beer bottle down onto his thigh. It left a perfect circle of moisture behind when he lifted it back to his lips and drained the remaining inch of liquid. "Free will, eh? Fuck," Billy spat. "I like the world. I like football and beer and fish tacos and tits and cocks and time and cars," he said. "I might even come to like humanity, given another million years or so."
Viggo sighed and took the last sip of his own beer, stretching his legs out in front of him and looking down from the ledge. "Maybe that's the problem, Billy." In the street below him, a young woman walked alone toward her car, clutching her purse. She fumbled in her pocket for her keys. When she was less than two yards from the door of her sedan, a man ran out from a darkened corner and snatched her purse, sprinting away. The woman screamed and started to run after him, but her high heels impeded her and she stumbled, twisting an ankle and falling to the pavement in tears.
"Free will," Billy laughed bitterly, watching from ten stories up. Beside him, Viggo turned his attention to the sky.
"When was the last time..." he trailed off, but Billy understood the half-asked question.
"Centuries ago," Billy answered. "In a forest outside of, I guess it's Calgary, now." He sighed. "You?"
"American Revolution," Viggo replied. "And even that was..."
Billy finished for him. "Dim. Faint. Like a trans-Atlantic phone call."
Viggo took a deep breath and looked at Billy. In the not-quite darkness of the city, his wings looked like oil slicks against the orange glow of the sky.
Before Billy knew what he was doing, he was kissing Viggo gently on the mouth, tongue flickering out to taste his lower lip. Viggo opened, and their tongues met in the middle. It was a desperate kiss, each of them struggling for control as their mouths slid together and teeth clicked. Billy felt his own wings flutter, and Viggo pulled back, a frightening smile on his face.
"Free will," Viggo said, his voice more of a rumble in Billy's chest than actually audible. "Might as well fall."
*****
64. Original Sinsuality
You are not alone in your darkness.
Dom/Orlando, PG, 500 words
Orlando went blind.
It didn't happen quickly, of course. Most things in life don't happen quickly. Instead, it was a slow, creeping dimness around the edges of his vision. He chalked it up to the blue contacts and went to see the on-set doctor, who told him to go a few days without them and try some Visine. But instead of getting better, it got worse. The darkness encroached, obliterating his peripheral vision completely until he could only see straight ahead of him. He went back to the doctor, who sent him to a real hospital, where the doctors muttered words like psychosomatic. His vision decreased until the only thing he saw was a pinprick of light in front of his face.
And then it was gone.
Weeks passed, and Orlando was shuffled from doctor to doctor, poked and prodded more than he had been since he'd broken his back. They X-rayed him, drew blood and sent him through a CAT-scan. But there was nothing to explain his sudden blindness, and eventually even the best doctors gave up. Rest and relax, they told him, as if that was a possibility.
The Fellowship went by to see him, most of them in pairs or small groups, almost as if they were uncomfortable being alone with him. John and Ian came together, feigning merriment and telling Orlando about all of their past on-set mishaps in an effort to comfort him. But they didn't have to answer him when he asked if they'd ever known anyone who went temporarily blind. The Seans went to see him together, such an awkward pairing that Orlando would have laughed under different circumstances. But the two of them and their good-natured ribbing about things that were happening on-set gave Orlando a headache.
Dom was the only one who saw Orlando alone. Orlando wouldn't have even noticed that Dom was there, if not for the weird fact that losing his hearing had sharpened his sense of smell, and he could smell the ocean on Dom before the Hobbit even reached his bedroom.
"Missed you surfing today, man," Dom said.
"Did you?" Orlando answered bitterly. "Don't know that I'll be doing a lot of surfing now, mate."
The mattress sagged and Orlando could feel Dom's weight hovering next to him. "Pity. It's gorgeous out there. The sky is so blue, cloudless, just a great big expanse of horizon. And the surf is divine. The perfect waves, man."
Dom put a hand over one of Orlando's, and Orlando felt his still-sunwarm fingers entwining with his own. He closed his eyes as Dom continued.
"And tonight," he said, his voice whisper-low, "it's going to be a perfect sunset. One of those where the sun goes down so slowly that you can actually hear it hiss as it hits the water, and the stars come out one at a time until the whole sky is like a blanket of them."
Orlando closed his eyes. "I see it," he murmured. "I see it."