NaNoWriMo - The Story So Far, Parts 73-76
73. Putting the Damage On
Boy, you still look pretty when you're putting the damage on.
Billy/Orlando, NC-17, 500 words
"On your knees."
The words sent shivers up Orlando's spine, and he had no choice but to comply. It was almost muscle memory, falling to his knees in front of Billy. He knelt so quickly that his kneecaps cracked against the hardwood floor, but Orlando didn't even wince.
Billy circled him, not close enough to touch but close enough that Orlando could feel the heat radiating off of Billy, and he shivered again, half from the cold floor under him, half in anticipation. He stared straight ahead, focusing on a small fleck of peeling paint on the windowsill opposite him. Orlando was already hard, had been since he'd walked in the door and found Billy waiting for him in his living room. His cock twitched against the fabric of his jeans, and he briefly wished that he'd worn looser pants. But then, he hadn't expected Billy to show up again.
Behind him, he heard a rustling and the faint metallic click of what Orlando knew was Billy's belt buckle. His shoulders tensed reflexively, and he longed to turn around and watch Billy strip, but instead he clenched his jaw and held perfectly still.
"Take off your shirt," Billy commanded, and Orlando's fingers flew to his chest, fumbling with buttons that suddenly seemed too big for their respective buttonholes. He slid the shirt off of his shoulders and tossed it aimlessly across the room. Orlando shifted, his hips almost involuntarily twitching forward, his cock aching for relief.
Naked, Billy moved in front of him, surveying the tan expanse of Orlando's chest. He reached down and tweaked one nipple, twisting it with cool fingers until it rose to a peak, then shifted over and pinched the other one, hard. Orlando bucked and grunted, biting down on the inside of his cheek to keep silent. Billy still held his folded belt in one hand, and he rubbed it against the side of Orlando's face, the warm leather smooth against the stubble on his cheek. His cock hung just inches from Orlando's face, hard and flushed with blood, and Orlando longed to flick his tongue out and taste Billy.
"Denims," Billy said, and Orlando's hands immediately worked his zipper down. He shoved his jeans down past his hips, his cock springing free of the constricting fabric, and Orlando felt some measure of relief.
It was brief, though, and it ended when Billy reached down and looped the belt twice around the base of his cock, threading the end through the buckle and securing it with a tug. Orlando groaned at the feel of the leather constricting him, and he couldn't help but thrust forward into the air as Billy backed away.
Orlando dared a glance up at Billy. The only evidence of the older man's arousal, with the exception of his erection, was the gentle flush that colored his cheeks a light pink. He looked down at Orlando, green eyes glinting in the dim light of the room, and Orlando had to look away.
*****
74. Raspberry Swirl
Things are getting desperate when all the boys can't be men.
Elijah/Viggo, NC-17, 500 words
"Grow up, Elijah. Not everything is about sex."
But Elijah is eighteen. Of course everything is about sex. Everything in Elijah's world revolves around sex. Okay, occasionally it revolves around music, and sometimes when he's had a few too many, his world just revolves, period. But for most of his waking hours and all of his sleeping ones, everything is about sex for Elijah. Especially when he's around Viggo.
Viggo is sex, and Elijah's world revolves around sex. Therefore, Elijah's world revolves around Viggo. It reads like a geometry proof, or a logic problem: If A but not B, then Elijah would like to have sex with Viggo. Any kind of sex, doesn't really matter. Elijah's not particularly choosy about that detail, especially since his experience in the sexual arena is limited to three hand jobs from girls, one blowjob received in the back row of a movie theater, and a wank every evening since he turned thirteen.
All Elijah really knows is that he wants Viggo, in any way, shape or form that Viggo would be willing to concede to him, although he'd prefer if at least one of those ways, shapes or forms ended in an orgasm. His dreams always end in orgasm, after all, no matter whether they begin with Viggo's cock in his ass or his cock in Viggo's mouth or Viggo's cock in his mouth, or even both of their cocks in each other's mouths. Elijah's dreamed of every combination and permutation of sex with Viggo, and they all end when he wakes up with sticky sheets.
Of course, Elijah makes the mistake of talking to Orlando about it, who immediately drags him to the single largest adult toy store in Wellington. Faced with a wall of buttplugs and the confirmation that Viggo is, in fact, a top, Elijah feels oddly at sea. But Orlando steps in, holding his fingers up to several different packages, mentally measuring length and girth, until he finally picks one in a pink flesh toned monstrosity that actually makes Elijah's eyes bulge even further out of his head. Orlando just chuckles and throws in a bottle of cherry-flavored lube and pays for it all as if he does that kind of thing every day.
After that, Elijah can't even look at Viggo without his cock hardening, and he's spent several lunch hours locked in the bathroom of his trailer jerking off to the image of Viggo walking in on him. He can barely spend ten minutes at the bar with the rest of the cast before the bobbing of Viggo's adam's apple as he sips his beer sends Elijah to the men's room in search of relief. Just the mention of Viggo's name is enough to get him hard.
So, of course, when Viggo tells Elijah that everything isn't about sex, Elijah just stares blankly at him and tries to imagine a world that doesn't revolve around Viggo. Immediately after that, he excuses himself and searches for the nearest restroom.
*****
75. Ribbons Undone
You mean 'a thoroughbred.'
Dom/Viggo, PG, 500 words
Dominic Monaghan, of the Hertfordshire Monaghans, had all of the breeding that accompanied his station, and yet none of the manners. Dismissed from Oxford during his first term for leading a student rebellion that postponed classes for the better part of a week, his father sent him to America, ostensibly to attend Yale. Of course, young Dominic lasted nearly two months at Yale. He was quietly expelled when the dean walked in on Dominic and a fellow student having sexual relations on the dean's desk. At that point, Dominic's mother washed her hands of the young man, sending word that he could find his own way in the world without her help.
He took a job as a publisher's assistant, which he discovered was just a fancy title for a delivery boy. With his small salary, he rented a small room in a house just outside of New Haven. The house was owned by an ornery woman and her feeble-minded husband, a miserable, childless couple. She was a chef, in the sense that she believed she could cook, but the majority of her meals seemed to consist of a boiled vegetable and unidentifiable meat, for which she charged Dominic extra on top of his rent.
Dominic woke early in the morning, before the sun rose, while it was so cold outside that he could see his breath, and he delivered papers to the local shops and a few houses. Sometimes, he'd stop by the one fruit stand that opened just as he was finishing for the morning, and he'd buy an apple or a pear for his breakfast, rather than eating at the house. He always kept a paper for himself, something that the publisher overlooked as long as Dominic delivered the rest on time and without any complaints from customers. He'd sit under his favorite shade tree and eat his breakfast while reading the bits of the paper that interested him, keeping up with the war effort and the latest propaganda flowing in about the Southern states.
It was on one of those particular mornings when Dominic Monaghan met one Viggo Mortensen. Dom had purchased his fruit and, with his newspaper tucked under his arm, was walking toward his tree, ready to spend an hour or two reading and relaxing in the crisp fall air. What he found when he arrived at his usual tree was Viggo. The man was barefoot, his shoes and very holey socks neatly arranged by his feet. He was fast asleep, leaning against the tree with his mouth open, snoring lightly.
Dominic, reluctant to concede his favorite tree to a man who looked like a wanderer, woke him up by whapping him over the head with the rolled-up newspaper. Viggo snorted and woke with a start, wiping his mouth with the corner of his jacket.
"And who might you be?" Dominic asked.
"Name's Viggo," he answered, reaching for his shoes and socks.
And that, more or less, is where the story really begins.
*****
76. Riot Poof
The sun is warming, my man is moistening.
Billy/Viggo, NC-17, 500 words
It was an ordinary New Zealand summer afternoon, a beautiful, clear weekend that they, blessedly, had off. Billy and Viggo, having decided not to join Orlando on whatever jumping-from-very-high-heights adventure he'd planned for himself and two out of the other three Hobbits, were reclining in the grass behind Viggo's house, enjoying a beer.
"Ever have sex outside, Bill?" Viggo asked.
It was the kind of question they were all used to from Viggo, the kind of random musing that usually led to an in-depth conversation about the merits of Swedish Impressionism or Confucius, or, on one memorable occasion, a lengthy soliloquy on the relative quality of organic eggs.
Of course, those musings didn't generally lead to Viggo leaning over and kissing Billy on the mouth. And they certainly never led to Billy kissing back as Viggo carefully leaned him backward until he was flat in the grass.
"No," Billy breathed, when Viggo finally moved his mouth to Billy's neck, nibbling at the cord of muscle that ran from his shoulder to his ear. "I've never had sex outside."
Viggo made a noise that was half rumble, half growl, and sucked one of Billy's earlobes between his teeth, nipping at the flesh. He reached down and slid his warm hands under the hem of Billy's t-shirt, running coordinated fingers over Billy's nipples until the Scot groaned and arched and Viggo released his earlobe.
"Then it's about time," Viggo breathed into Billy's ear. He pulled at Billy's shirt, and Billy sat up momentarily to yank it over his head before reclining back into the grass. Viggo made his way down Billy's chest, licking and sucking and biting at the flesh and soft hair that covered his ribcage. He slid his tongue into Billy's bellybutton, and Billy moaned and threaded one hand in Viggo's hair.
Then Viggo shifted, moving down to tug at the button on Billy's jeans, which came undone with an audible pop. Billy lifted his hips and helped Viggo pull his pants down and off. Viggo tossed them away, where they landed on top of his t-shirt. Billy's cock bobbed to attention. Viggo grinned eagerly and used both hands to spread Billy's thighs before settling down on his belly between Billy's legs.
Much to Billy's surprise, Viggo didn't go to work on his cock. Instead, he pushed Billy's legs up until his thighs touched his chest, licked his lips and then placed a kiss on Billy's opening. Billy shuddered beneath the warm sun and peered down at the top of Viggo's head as Viggo licked a long stripe from the crack of Billy's ass to the base of his balls. He whimpered, which only spurred Viggo on. Viggo wrapped a hand around Billy's cock and pumped as he gently slid the tip of his tongue into Billy's ass. Billy bucked into Viggo's fist and cried out when the motion allowed Viggo's tongue deeper access.
Billy let his head loll back to the grass and closed his eyes against the sun.
Boy, you still look pretty when you're putting the damage on.
Billy/Orlando, NC-17, 500 words
"On your knees."
The words sent shivers up Orlando's spine, and he had no choice but to comply. It was almost muscle memory, falling to his knees in front of Billy. He knelt so quickly that his kneecaps cracked against the hardwood floor, but Orlando didn't even wince.
Billy circled him, not close enough to touch but close enough that Orlando could feel the heat radiating off of Billy, and he shivered again, half from the cold floor under him, half in anticipation. He stared straight ahead, focusing on a small fleck of peeling paint on the windowsill opposite him. Orlando was already hard, had been since he'd walked in the door and found Billy waiting for him in his living room. His cock twitched against the fabric of his jeans, and he briefly wished that he'd worn looser pants. But then, he hadn't expected Billy to show up again.
Behind him, he heard a rustling and the faint metallic click of what Orlando knew was Billy's belt buckle. His shoulders tensed reflexively, and he longed to turn around and watch Billy strip, but instead he clenched his jaw and held perfectly still.
"Take off your shirt," Billy commanded, and Orlando's fingers flew to his chest, fumbling with buttons that suddenly seemed too big for their respective buttonholes. He slid the shirt off of his shoulders and tossed it aimlessly across the room. Orlando shifted, his hips almost involuntarily twitching forward, his cock aching for relief.
Naked, Billy moved in front of him, surveying the tan expanse of Orlando's chest. He reached down and tweaked one nipple, twisting it with cool fingers until it rose to a peak, then shifted over and pinched the other one, hard. Orlando bucked and grunted, biting down on the inside of his cheek to keep silent. Billy still held his folded belt in one hand, and he rubbed it against the side of Orlando's face, the warm leather smooth against the stubble on his cheek. His cock hung just inches from Orlando's face, hard and flushed with blood, and Orlando longed to flick his tongue out and taste Billy.
"Denims," Billy said, and Orlando's hands immediately worked his zipper down. He shoved his jeans down past his hips, his cock springing free of the constricting fabric, and Orlando felt some measure of relief.
It was brief, though, and it ended when Billy reached down and looped the belt twice around the base of his cock, threading the end through the buckle and securing it with a tug. Orlando groaned at the feel of the leather constricting him, and he couldn't help but thrust forward into the air as Billy backed away.
Orlando dared a glance up at Billy. The only evidence of the older man's arousal, with the exception of his erection, was the gentle flush that colored his cheeks a light pink. He looked down at Orlando, green eyes glinting in the dim light of the room, and Orlando had to look away.
*****
74. Raspberry Swirl
Things are getting desperate when all the boys can't be men.
Elijah/Viggo, NC-17, 500 words
"Grow up, Elijah. Not everything is about sex."
But Elijah is eighteen. Of course everything is about sex. Everything in Elijah's world revolves around sex. Okay, occasionally it revolves around music, and sometimes when he's had a few too many, his world just revolves, period. But for most of his waking hours and all of his sleeping ones, everything is about sex for Elijah. Especially when he's around Viggo.
Viggo is sex, and Elijah's world revolves around sex. Therefore, Elijah's world revolves around Viggo. It reads like a geometry proof, or a logic problem: If A but not B, then Elijah would like to have sex with Viggo. Any kind of sex, doesn't really matter. Elijah's not particularly choosy about that detail, especially since his experience in the sexual arena is limited to three hand jobs from girls, one blowjob received in the back row of a movie theater, and a wank every evening since he turned thirteen.
All Elijah really knows is that he wants Viggo, in any way, shape or form that Viggo would be willing to concede to him, although he'd prefer if at least one of those ways, shapes or forms ended in an orgasm. His dreams always end in orgasm, after all, no matter whether they begin with Viggo's cock in his ass or his cock in Viggo's mouth or Viggo's cock in his mouth, or even both of their cocks in each other's mouths. Elijah's dreamed of every combination and permutation of sex with Viggo, and they all end when he wakes up with sticky sheets.
Of course, Elijah makes the mistake of talking to Orlando about it, who immediately drags him to the single largest adult toy store in Wellington. Faced with a wall of buttplugs and the confirmation that Viggo is, in fact, a top, Elijah feels oddly at sea. But Orlando steps in, holding his fingers up to several different packages, mentally measuring length and girth, until he finally picks one in a pink flesh toned monstrosity that actually makes Elijah's eyes bulge even further out of his head. Orlando just chuckles and throws in a bottle of cherry-flavored lube and pays for it all as if he does that kind of thing every day.
After that, Elijah can't even look at Viggo without his cock hardening, and he's spent several lunch hours locked in the bathroom of his trailer jerking off to the image of Viggo walking in on him. He can barely spend ten minutes at the bar with the rest of the cast before the bobbing of Viggo's adam's apple as he sips his beer sends Elijah to the men's room in search of relief. Just the mention of Viggo's name is enough to get him hard.
So, of course, when Viggo tells Elijah that everything isn't about sex, Elijah just stares blankly at him and tries to imagine a world that doesn't revolve around Viggo. Immediately after that, he excuses himself and searches for the nearest restroom.
*****
75. Ribbons Undone
You mean 'a thoroughbred.'
Dom/Viggo, PG, 500 words
Dominic Monaghan, of the Hertfordshire Monaghans, had all of the breeding that accompanied his station, and yet none of the manners. Dismissed from Oxford during his first term for leading a student rebellion that postponed classes for the better part of a week, his father sent him to America, ostensibly to attend Yale. Of course, young Dominic lasted nearly two months at Yale. He was quietly expelled when the dean walked in on Dominic and a fellow student having sexual relations on the dean's desk. At that point, Dominic's mother washed her hands of the young man, sending word that he could find his own way in the world without her help.
He took a job as a publisher's assistant, which he discovered was just a fancy title for a delivery boy. With his small salary, he rented a small room in a house just outside of New Haven. The house was owned by an ornery woman and her feeble-minded husband, a miserable, childless couple. She was a chef, in the sense that she believed she could cook, but the majority of her meals seemed to consist of a boiled vegetable and unidentifiable meat, for which she charged Dominic extra on top of his rent.
Dominic woke early in the morning, before the sun rose, while it was so cold outside that he could see his breath, and he delivered papers to the local shops and a few houses. Sometimes, he'd stop by the one fruit stand that opened just as he was finishing for the morning, and he'd buy an apple or a pear for his breakfast, rather than eating at the house. He always kept a paper for himself, something that the publisher overlooked as long as Dominic delivered the rest on time and without any complaints from customers. He'd sit under his favorite shade tree and eat his breakfast while reading the bits of the paper that interested him, keeping up with the war effort and the latest propaganda flowing in about the Southern states.
It was on one of those particular mornings when Dominic Monaghan met one Viggo Mortensen. Dom had purchased his fruit and, with his newspaper tucked under his arm, was walking toward his tree, ready to spend an hour or two reading and relaxing in the crisp fall air. What he found when he arrived at his usual tree was Viggo. The man was barefoot, his shoes and very holey socks neatly arranged by his feet. He was fast asleep, leaning against the tree with his mouth open, snoring lightly.
Dominic, reluctant to concede his favorite tree to a man who looked like a wanderer, woke him up by whapping him over the head with the rolled-up newspaper. Viggo snorted and woke with a start, wiping his mouth with the corner of his jacket.
"And who might you be?" Dominic asked.
"Name's Viggo," he answered, reaching for his shoes and socks.
And that, more or less, is where the story really begins.
*****
76. Riot Poof
The sun is warming, my man is moistening.
Billy/Viggo, NC-17, 500 words
It was an ordinary New Zealand summer afternoon, a beautiful, clear weekend that they, blessedly, had off. Billy and Viggo, having decided not to join Orlando on whatever jumping-from-very-high-heights adventure he'd planned for himself and two out of the other three Hobbits, were reclining in the grass behind Viggo's house, enjoying a beer.
"Ever have sex outside, Bill?" Viggo asked.
It was the kind of question they were all used to from Viggo, the kind of random musing that usually led to an in-depth conversation about the merits of Swedish Impressionism or Confucius, or, on one memorable occasion, a lengthy soliloquy on the relative quality of organic eggs.
Of course, those musings didn't generally lead to Viggo leaning over and kissing Billy on the mouth. And they certainly never led to Billy kissing back as Viggo carefully leaned him backward until he was flat in the grass.
"No," Billy breathed, when Viggo finally moved his mouth to Billy's neck, nibbling at the cord of muscle that ran from his shoulder to his ear. "I've never had sex outside."
Viggo made a noise that was half rumble, half growl, and sucked one of Billy's earlobes between his teeth, nipping at the flesh. He reached down and slid his warm hands under the hem of Billy's t-shirt, running coordinated fingers over Billy's nipples until the Scot groaned and arched and Viggo released his earlobe.
"Then it's about time," Viggo breathed into Billy's ear. He pulled at Billy's shirt, and Billy sat up momentarily to yank it over his head before reclining back into the grass. Viggo made his way down Billy's chest, licking and sucking and biting at the flesh and soft hair that covered his ribcage. He slid his tongue into Billy's bellybutton, and Billy moaned and threaded one hand in Viggo's hair.
Then Viggo shifted, moving down to tug at the button on Billy's jeans, which came undone with an audible pop. Billy lifted his hips and helped Viggo pull his pants down and off. Viggo tossed them away, where they landed on top of his t-shirt. Billy's cock bobbed to attention. Viggo grinned eagerly and used both hands to spread Billy's thighs before settling down on his belly between Billy's legs.
Much to Billy's surprise, Viggo didn't go to work on his cock. Instead, he pushed Billy's legs up until his thighs touched his chest, licked his lips and then placed a kiss on Billy's opening. Billy shuddered beneath the warm sun and peered down at the top of Viggo's head as Viggo licked a long stripe from the crack of Billy's ass to the base of his balls. He whimpered, which only spurred Viggo on. Viggo wrapped a hand around Billy's cock and pumped as he gently slid the tip of his tongue into Billy's ass. Billy bucked into Viggo's fist and cried out when the motion allowed Viggo's tongue deeper access.
Billy let his head loll back to the grass and closed his eyes against the sun.