The Height of Fashion
Title: The Height of Fashion
Pairing: Elijah/Orlando
Rating: R
Disclaimer: No I don't own them, yes it is made up
Feedback: As always, any feedback is welcome!
Notes: AU. Written for Orlijah_Month 2009, Prompt 14 - Picture of Models
Orlando closes his eyes while Miranda, his make-up artist, finishes adding powder on his cheekbones.
"Am I ready yet?" he asks.
"You're good to go," Billy, his dresser, says brightly, pulling the paper shroud off Orlando's shoulders.
"A minute - we're running a bit behind," Dom adds, holding Orlando back.
From where Orlando is standing, he can just about see Elijah strutting his stuff on the catwalk, wearing a beautiful powder-blue Yves Saint-Laurent coat that brings out the colour of his eyes. He pauses at the end of the platform, tilting his hips in that unusual, oddly sexy manner he has. Orlando tears his eyes away - this is no time for an embarrassing incident in his nether regions. Elijah, he guesses from past experiences, will be turning slowly now, highly polished black patent shoes clicking together as he does so, letting the audience get a good look at his pert bottom in those nicely-fitting dark trousers...
Damn. Orlando hates it when Elijah models first.
He risks another glance. Elijah is coming back, slowly, swaying his slender hips, the oversized scarf around his neck billowing in his wake.
"Go," Dom says, lightly pushing Orlando so he leaves just as Elijah enters. Elijah knows better than to brush Orlando's arm lightly - he knows this leaves Orlando achingly hard. He doesn't even raise his eyes to meet Orlando's. Orlando finds himself on the catwalk and does what he does best - he strides slowly while looking gorgeous. He places one long leg in front of another, clad in the neatly creased trousers, such a dark shade of brown that they look almost black. The mustard coloured jumper he is wearing itches slightly against his skin, and he does his best to ignore this contact. It reminds him too much of Elijah's stubby nails...
He seems to finish quite quickly, and heads backstage, where Viggo, the next model out, grins at him as he leaves.
"Nicely done, Orli," Billy says - he is adjusting another model's belt. Tough work, Orlando thinks drily, but someone has to do it. He acknowledges Billy with a nod, then sets off in pursuit of Elijah.
Sure enough, Elijah is waiting for him in his dressing room, fully clothed except for the scarf. The blue cashmere jumper he is wearing under the coat sits delightfully low in the neck - nearly to his nipples.
"Hey," he says - he is perching on the table in front of the mirror.
"Nice get-up," Orlando replied, smiling at the coat.
"Thanks," Elijah nods, with a reciprocated grin. He doesn't comment on the mustard jumper. Orlando and Elijah are, by now, among the top male models in the world, and the designers they model for are usually more than happy to give them the outfits. This works in Elijah's favour - his wardrobe is full of smart tailored suits, beautiful jumpers, nicely fitting jeans, flamboyant coats. Orlando seems to always get a raw deal - he is stuck with vomit-coloured monstrosities that he will never wear in a million years - that he would rather walk around naked than wear. He wishes yellow doesn't look so good against his skin.
"Take it off," Elijah says, voice low and sexy and smoky.
Orlando obeys, flinging the jumper over his head, and ruffling his carefully styled curls in the process. Elijah ruffles them a little more with his small hands, while Orlando presses his mouth to his.
They draw apart, panting. Elijah's cheeks, below the make-up - not that he needs it, he has a flawless complexion - are pink. His eyes have darkened slightly.
"Fuck me," he says breathlessly.
Orlando is already in the process of unbuckling the belt Elijah is wearing, and bringing the trousers down with the underwear - Calvin Klein boxers, black silk - over his ankles. Elijah slides to the end of the table, creamy thighs exposed and spead wide, and he shoves the coat behind him so it won't get messed up. His slender fingers have flipped the button and zip on Orlando's trousers - Orlando doesn't wear underwear to these shows, he likes to feel the material against his skin. Elijah lifts the edge of the jumper to reveal Orlando's hard cock.
"Yessss," Orlando hisses as Elijah takes hold of it and gives it a few, long strokes.
"Fuck me," he repeats, as Orlando closes his eyes.
They don't bother with a condom - they haven't in a long time. The cliché is that models sleep around - not Orlando or Elijah. They discovered years back that they were only happy with one another. They use liberal amounts of lube, though - Orlando keeps a tube in his drawer in his dressing room, wherever he goes. Elijah opens the tube and dribbles the cold liquid directly on to Orlando's cock, without warming it first. Orlando moans, and begins to ease himself slowly into Elijah, whose fingers clutch his shoulders.
They fuck quietly - there is no lock on the dressing room door, and neither really want to be seen or heard. Elijah mewls softly, whimpers occasionally, but mostly into Orlando's mouth as they kiss for nearly the entire duration. Orlando groans helplessly - Elijah's body is his temple, so warm and tight and comforting....
He comes at the same time as Elijah. Neither manage to stay quiet - Elijah cries out in ecstasy, cerulean eyes springing wide open; and Orlando yells, hands tangling in Elijah's hair, in artistic tufts and waves.
They sit for a moment before Orlando withdraws, and uses a make-up wipe to clean Elijah up first, then himself. Elijah stands weakly, pulling his boxers and trousers back up, while Orlando adjusts himself inside his own trousers.
"You're beautiful," he says at last, running a hand over Elijah's smooth cheek. His make-up has run slightly with sweat - the mascara he was wearing has left black smudges under his eyes so it looks like he hasn't slept in weeks. The eyeliner, on the other hand, looks better for being smudged, Orlando thinks idly...
"So are you," Elijah murmurs, leaning his head on Orlando's bare chest, tenderly. "It's our job."
Orlando smiles, and takes Elijah's hand. "Come on. Show's over. Let's go home."
Pairing: Elijah/Orlando
Rating: R
Disclaimer: No I don't own them, yes it is made up
Feedback: As always, any feedback is welcome!
Notes: AU. Written for Orlijah_Month 2009, Prompt 14 - Picture of Models
Orlando closes his eyes while Miranda, his make-up artist, finishes adding powder on his cheekbones.
"Am I ready yet?" he asks.
"You're good to go," Billy, his dresser, says brightly, pulling the paper shroud off Orlando's shoulders.
"A minute - we're running a bit behind," Dom adds, holding Orlando back.
From where Orlando is standing, he can just about see Elijah strutting his stuff on the catwalk, wearing a beautiful powder-blue Yves Saint-Laurent coat that brings out the colour of his eyes. He pauses at the end of the platform, tilting his hips in that unusual, oddly sexy manner he has. Orlando tears his eyes away - this is no time for an embarrassing incident in his nether regions. Elijah, he guesses from past experiences, will be turning slowly now, highly polished black patent shoes clicking together as he does so, letting the audience get a good look at his pert bottom in those nicely-fitting dark trousers...
Damn. Orlando hates it when Elijah models first.
He risks another glance. Elijah is coming back, slowly, swaying his slender hips, the oversized scarf around his neck billowing in his wake.
"Go," Dom says, lightly pushing Orlando so he leaves just as Elijah enters. Elijah knows better than to brush Orlando's arm lightly - he knows this leaves Orlando achingly hard. He doesn't even raise his eyes to meet Orlando's. Orlando finds himself on the catwalk and does what he does best - he strides slowly while looking gorgeous. He places one long leg in front of another, clad in the neatly creased trousers, such a dark shade of brown that they look almost black. The mustard coloured jumper he is wearing itches slightly against his skin, and he does his best to ignore this contact. It reminds him too much of Elijah's stubby nails...
He seems to finish quite quickly, and heads backstage, where Viggo, the next model out, grins at him as he leaves.
"Nicely done, Orli," Billy says - he is adjusting another model's belt. Tough work, Orlando thinks drily, but someone has to do it. He acknowledges Billy with a nod, then sets off in pursuit of Elijah.
Sure enough, Elijah is waiting for him in his dressing room, fully clothed except for the scarf. The blue cashmere jumper he is wearing under the coat sits delightfully low in the neck - nearly to his nipples.
"Hey," he says - he is perching on the table in front of the mirror.
"Nice get-up," Orlando replied, smiling at the coat.
"Thanks," Elijah nods, with a reciprocated grin. He doesn't comment on the mustard jumper. Orlando and Elijah are, by now, among the top male models in the world, and the designers they model for are usually more than happy to give them the outfits. This works in Elijah's favour - his wardrobe is full of smart tailored suits, beautiful jumpers, nicely fitting jeans, flamboyant coats. Orlando seems to always get a raw deal - he is stuck with vomit-coloured monstrosities that he will never wear in a million years - that he would rather walk around naked than wear. He wishes yellow doesn't look so good against his skin.
"Take it off," Elijah says, voice low and sexy and smoky.
Orlando obeys, flinging the jumper over his head, and ruffling his carefully styled curls in the process. Elijah ruffles them a little more with his small hands, while Orlando presses his mouth to his.
They draw apart, panting. Elijah's cheeks, below the make-up - not that he needs it, he has a flawless complexion - are pink. His eyes have darkened slightly.
"Fuck me," he says breathlessly.
Orlando is already in the process of unbuckling the belt Elijah is wearing, and bringing the trousers down with the underwear - Calvin Klein boxers, black silk - over his ankles. Elijah slides to the end of the table, creamy thighs exposed and spead wide, and he shoves the coat behind him so it won't get messed up. His slender fingers have flipped the button and zip on Orlando's trousers - Orlando doesn't wear underwear to these shows, he likes to feel the material against his skin. Elijah lifts the edge of the jumper to reveal Orlando's hard cock.
"Yessss," Orlando hisses as Elijah takes hold of it and gives it a few, long strokes.
"Fuck me," he repeats, as Orlando closes his eyes.
They don't bother with a condom - they haven't in a long time. The cliché is that models sleep around - not Orlando or Elijah. They discovered years back that they were only happy with one another. They use liberal amounts of lube, though - Orlando keeps a tube in his drawer in his dressing room, wherever he goes. Elijah opens the tube and dribbles the cold liquid directly on to Orlando's cock, without warming it first. Orlando moans, and begins to ease himself slowly into Elijah, whose fingers clutch his shoulders.
They fuck quietly - there is no lock on the dressing room door, and neither really want to be seen or heard. Elijah mewls softly, whimpers occasionally, but mostly into Orlando's mouth as they kiss for nearly the entire duration. Orlando groans helplessly - Elijah's body is his temple, so warm and tight and comforting....
He comes at the same time as Elijah. Neither manage to stay quiet - Elijah cries out in ecstasy, cerulean eyes springing wide open; and Orlando yells, hands tangling in Elijah's hair, in artistic tufts and waves.
They sit for a moment before Orlando withdraws, and uses a make-up wipe to clean Elijah up first, then himself. Elijah stands weakly, pulling his boxers and trousers back up, while Orlando adjusts himself inside his own trousers.
"You're beautiful," he says at last, running a hand over Elijah's smooth cheek. His make-up has run slightly with sweat - the mascara he was wearing has left black smudges under his eyes so it looks like he hasn't slept in weeks. The eyeliner, on the other hand, looks better for being smudged, Orlando thinks idly...
"So are you," Elijah murmurs, leaning his head on Orlando's bare chest, tenderly. "It's our job."
Orlando smiles, and takes Elijah's hand. "Come on. Show's over. Let's go home."