(no subject)
Title: Up Against the Wall
Author: Captain Daisyshine (Hitchcock_Princess182@hotmail.com)
Pairing: OrliBean
Rating: NC-17
Plot Summary: Exactly what the title makes it sound like. :D Okay, okay. Beanie is straight. Isn’t he? Not if Orlando has anything to do with it!
Disclaimer: Don't sue; I promise you it's not worth it as all you are likely to end up with is my warped twisted imagination. No profit is gleaned from this writing, and I am not implying anything about the sexual orientations of the people contained herein. This. Did. Not. Happen. (except in my head.)
Warnings: Er… slash? (duh.)… Copious use of… *dramatic music*… THE F-WORD!!!! And, uh… deliberately awful comparisons of people to strawberry JELL-O. (I don’t even eat the stuff! It’s got gelatin in it!)
Archive: If you want it, let me know.
Feedback: Feed meee!!! Come on, I’ll never learn otherwise. Also, I will love you forever and ever.
Notes: My first RPS.
Dedication: To Lady Razzle, Duchess of Slashingham, for her support and fanfic goodness. And to my muses, even though all they ever do is fuck.
Look at him, there on the dance floor. He’s so young and happy, flinging himself about to this deafening awful-shite music. He’s a beautiful boy (purely aesthetic appreciation on my part, you understand)-- he even looked stunning with that mohawk. Not that it was actually so bad; it was a nice look for him-- young people can pull anything off. But I’m 100% straight, straight as an arrow, or a pole, or… anything else that is very straight. Though I suppose ‘straight as the edge of a metre-stick’ doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.
God, but if that white doesn’t make him look pure and virginal. Never mind that I can see every corded muscle he’s worked so hard to build (yeah, definitely a six-pack) and that lean, taut stomach. It should be a crime for such a good-looking boy to wear such a tight white tee, and his sweat from the exertion of dancing doesn’t exactly obscure more of his body. But I’m straight. Straight as a sword. Yep, that’s me, Mr. Heterosexual Bean. Oh, bloody fucking hell, I’ve got to stop ‘thinking only of his sword. And of my own.’
Oh, holy fuck, now he’s turned towards me, and he’s flashing that quick, exuberant grin. Orlando Bloom is amazingly untainted by the world’s evils; he is the least jaded kid I’ve met in a long time. It’s… well, it’s refreshing. I’ve known him for a good bit now, but he hasn’t seemed to be getting any more cynical in all this time.
And now he’s walking over to me, still smiling, teeth a flash of white in a tanned olive face framed by luxurious dark curls. Okay, Bean, get a grip on yourself. Use the little blood that hasn’t rushed to your dick to operate that lovely thing called your brain. Say something conversational.
“Hi, Orli.” Oh, very good, that deserves a fucking gold star.
“Hallo, Beanie.” I realise that I’m very definitely staring. Oh shit, has my jaw dropped again? I shut it abruptly. Oh, wait, it’s my turn to say something, isn’t it.
“Er, nice night out for clubbing, huh?” He’s laughing as though I’ve just said something very funny. Oh, nice one, Bean. The weather doesn’t fucking matter if you’re indoors. I try to cover.
“Er, that is, there are loads of quite fit-looking people here, aren’t there?” Yeah. Like Orlando. Fucking gorgeous. But I am definitely Not Gay.
“Yeah,” he replies, looking straight at me. Oh fuck. My mouths is too dry for me to respond. Ermmmm… Sean to Brain, Sean to Brain, feel free to start working again any time now…
“Listen, you want to go somewhere else?”
It takes a minute for the question and its implied meaning to fully register in my brain. “Sorry, what? Oh! Oh. Oh. Erm…” I can’t think.
He backtracks. “Er, I mean, to another club… It’s erm, a bit too loud in here for your tastes, I think.”
I vaguely understand what he’s saying, but mostly I’m too busy drowning in wide brown eyes, swirling chocolate vortexes framed by those inky black lashes and… wait, is that eyeliner?! I’m deeply disturbed by the fact that this is totally turning me on. Hm. Never knew I was into blokes in makeup before… Wait, what the buggery am I thinking? I am not into blokes. I look at Orlando. Shit, should I be saying something? I panic. What did he just say?
Two seconds later, it doesn’t matter.
Okay, so I’ve kissed a man before, but that was for a movie role. This is entirely different. I am really, really turned on.
Oh, fuck.
The boy’s a real professional, but somehow I get the idea it’s not because he’s done this too often before. He draws back and looks at me nervously, searching my eyes for something. I must’ve given it to him, because he takes my hand in his and leads me out of the crowd of people surrounding us. Most of them are oblivious-- or at least drunk enough not to a) recognise us or b) realise that we are both men.
We hail a cab (well, actually, Orlando does-- as a direct result of my trying to drown any Bloom-related thoughts of a sexual nature in alcohol, I am quite inebriated, to say the least) and head back to the hotel. He spends the ride molesting me.
Oh fuck, stop that, the cabbie, not in the… My breath is coming in heavy panting gasps, and I’m pretty sure I didn’t actually say any of that out loud, since my mouth is latched onto Orli‘s.
“Fuck, Orlando!” Well, that was out loud, for sure. And I’ve officially stained these jeans in a very inconvenient way. But fuck, it was worth it. I don’t think I’ve ever come before just from being groped through my trousers and kissed. The boy can surely kiss, I’ll say that. And the orgasm has sobered me up a bit, too.
“Here.” His mouth has left mine, and I whimper at the loss. “Just a minute, Sean,” he says, rich velvety voice sliding over my name like silk over smooth skin. I wonder what room he plans for us to go to-- and how we’re going to keep our hands off each other until we get there. He fumbles in increasingly too-tight pants for money to pay the cabbie, then drags me out of the car, supporting most of my weight as I’m still a bit too unsteady on my feet. The hotel staff ignore us, for which I am grateful.
“My room’s closer,” he rasps, pulling me along by the collar of my shirt. I don’t mind, though I’d never really thought of Orli as the take-charge type. Not that I’ve ever thought of the boy in a sexual context before-- I butter my bread right-side up, thanksverymuch. Except that right now, my cock doesn’t seem to be able to grasp this concept. Well, actually, it can’t really “grasp” anything, you know? Oh God, all of the blood in my brain has rushed down south, and I’m beginning to show signs of absent brain. For fuck’s sake, why the shit am I attempting to *think*? I’ve got this gorgeous, inhumanly talented boy all to myself. He pushes the “up” button for the lift, and I bounce up and down of the balls of my feet. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Orlando fidgeting impatiently, looking like he’s going to fucking jump out of his skin if we don’t get into bed pretty damn soon. I notice he’s muttering something and attempt to tune in.
“Bloody fucking…hell fucked… fucking get…already!…Sodding cock-up… shit… goddamnit…” is about all I can make out, a litany of eloquently strung-together obscenities. I allow myself a small smile at the boy’s expense. He notices at the exact moment the lift arrives, door opening to reveal its emptiness. He shoves me in, follows, hits the button for his floor, and turns on me as it closes.
“So, you think that’s fuckin’ funny, do you, Bean?” I try to suppress a giggle, to no avail. “Oh, you think it’s bloody hilarious that I’m hard as granite and can’t do shit about it until we get upstairs for the sake of both our careers!” I can hear the frustration in his voice and decide not to compound it by groping him as I’d originally intended to. Besides, only four more floors to go. Oh, bloody fucking hell, I think we’re stopping. The door opens, and a well-dressed young couple steps in. I can see the awe come into the woman’s eyes as she recognises us. Fuck, why couldn’t she have been drunk?
“Ohmigod! Can I have your autographs?” Her voice is sweet, but that doesn’t stop it from grating on my nerves. It’s just dawning on her husband who we are. I hear Orli give a muffled sigh, but he takes the pen and dinner napkin she’s holding out after a quick search through her purse. He signs, then hands me the pen and napkin. The lift has stopped at our floor, door open, but I figure we’ve got another couple of seconds before it closes again.
Wrong. And fuck, does it close quickly. I don’t even have time to ask the young woman (who is between me and the door) to hold it for us.
“Oh, dear, we’ve made you miss your floor. I’m ever so sorry,” she apologises, blushing like mad.
“No, it’s okay,” I assure her, pressing the button for my floor. I finish signing the napkin. “There you go.” She takes it, beaming at her husband, who looks as excited as he could be with his wife mooning over two other men. Really she’s mostly fixated on Orli, and who could blame her? I’m feeling a bit envious of the way he smiles benevolently back at her, and, since he’s standing right in front if me, I reach down to grab his arse. He leaps about three feet in the air, and I mentally congratulate myself.
“Sorry, Orli,” I say.
“’S okay, Beanie,” he replies, and the woman looks like she’s going to pass out, what with not only sharing our airspace but getting to hear us call each other by nicknames as well. I’d roll my eyes, but I’m concentrating *really* hard on not grabbing Orlando’s arse again. It’s pretty fucking tempting, though.
At last, I hear the ding of the lift as it stops. I make sure it’s the right floor -fifteen- and step out, dragging Orlando with me. I grasp the key card in my pocket and slide it into the slot. The door clicks open, and we rush inside, slamming and locking the door behind us.
Orli shoves me roughly against the door and leans back in for another of those intoxicating kisses. I moan loudly into his mouth and roll my hips forward, grinding our cloth-covered erections together.
“Sean…” he gasps, “-I need… your- cock in me-… NOW.” With a groan, I throw my body around until our positions are reversed so that I’m pinning him to the door. I unbutton his black leather trousers shoving them down his muscular legs. I’m only mildly surprised that he isn’t wearing anything underneath. I bend down to help him out of the trousers and his socks and shoes. I go to rise, but he stops me.
“Bottle of lube in my trousers pocket,” he grinds out hoarsely. I grope around until I find my prize and stand again. Our mouths meet furiously in a clash of lips, tongues, teeth… My mouth begins to travel down his neck. When I feel vibrations from his voice box, I realise he’s saying something.
Huh?”
“I said, you’re clean, right?” Ordinarily, this could be a mood killer, but I’m so horny right now it doesn’t make a difference to my raging libido.
“Mmmhmm,” I reply, knowing Orlando knows the particulars.
“Good, ‘cause I fucking need you ramming your cock up my arse this goddamn minute!” I push my trousers and pants down to my knees and pour some lubricant on a few fingers, still pinning Orlando to the door with my hips. He sees what I’m doing and growls.
“Fuck preparation,” he snarls, and I don’t even try to work that one out. He takes the lube I’ve squeezed out and uses it to coat my dick. I take in a hissing breath at the sensation of cool fingers on my overheated flesh. Then he’s done, and I grasp his hips, raising him over my aching erection, intending to push in slowly.
“You try that slow and gentle bullshit with me and I’ll fucking kill you,” he threatens, and, using his grip on my biceps for leverage, he drops down suddenly, taking all of my member into his tight, hot passage.
He screams his agonised pleasure as I try to catch my breath.
“Give it to me hard, Sean,” he commands. “I want you to fuck me into tomorrow.” My breath hitches, and I begin to pull out slowly, the pressure almost unbearable.
“Hurry the fuck up!” I thrust back in, impaling him with my cock, and he moans as I strike the raised mound of nerves. After that, I establish a rhythm we both find acceptable; that is to say, as fast as my hips can possibly move. Orlando’s legs come up to wrap around my waist, and I push him against the wall for more leverage, fucking him mercilessly, just the way he wants it. He screams as my angle changes to hit his prostate at every pass.
“Fuck, Sean, I’m gonna…” He trails off as I grab his weeping erection in my fist and begin to pull it in time with my thrusts. I’m driving into him erratically now, and the motion of my hand on his cock wavers until he leans down and blows gently into my ear. The little teasing gesture pushes me over the edge, and I jerk hard on his dick. A few seconds later, I feel his warm come splash against my stomach, and I find my own release almost immediately afterwards. I come screaming his name.
We collapse bonelessly onto the floor, me still inside of him with his legs wrapped around my waist. I feel like a puddle of rain, or maybe strawberry JELL-O…
“Fuck, Orlando, that was amazing,” I say wearily. He gives me a weak smile.
“For me, too,” he replies, and we sit there for a few minutes, grinning at each other. Orli breaks the silence.
“I feel like a puddle of strawberry JELL-O.”
Author: Captain Daisyshine (Hitchcock_Princess182@hotmail.com)
Pairing: OrliBean
Rating: NC-17
Plot Summary: Exactly what the title makes it sound like. :D Okay, okay. Beanie is straight. Isn’t he? Not if Orlando has anything to do with it!
Disclaimer: Don't sue; I promise you it's not worth it as all you are likely to end up with is my warped twisted imagination. No profit is gleaned from this writing, and I am not implying anything about the sexual orientations of the people contained herein. This. Did. Not. Happen. (except in my head.)
Warnings: Er… slash? (duh.)… Copious use of… *dramatic music*… THE F-WORD!!!! And, uh… deliberately awful comparisons of people to strawberry JELL-O. (I don’t even eat the stuff! It’s got gelatin in it!)
Archive: If you want it, let me know.
Feedback: Feed meee!!! Come on, I’ll never learn otherwise. Also, I will love you forever and ever.
Notes: My first RPS.
Dedication: To Lady Razzle, Duchess of Slashingham, for her support and fanfic goodness. And to my muses, even though all they ever do is fuck.
Look at him, there on the dance floor. He’s so young and happy, flinging himself about to this deafening awful-shite music. He’s a beautiful boy (purely aesthetic appreciation on my part, you understand)-- he even looked stunning with that mohawk. Not that it was actually so bad; it was a nice look for him-- young people can pull anything off. But I’m 100% straight, straight as an arrow, or a pole, or… anything else that is very straight. Though I suppose ‘straight as the edge of a metre-stick’ doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.
God, but if that white doesn’t make him look pure and virginal. Never mind that I can see every corded muscle he’s worked so hard to build (yeah, definitely a six-pack) and that lean, taut stomach. It should be a crime for such a good-looking boy to wear such a tight white tee, and his sweat from the exertion of dancing doesn’t exactly obscure more of his body. But I’m straight. Straight as a sword. Yep, that’s me, Mr. Heterosexual Bean. Oh, bloody fucking hell, I’ve got to stop ‘thinking only of his sword. And of my own.’
Oh, holy fuck, now he’s turned towards me, and he’s flashing that quick, exuberant grin. Orlando Bloom is amazingly untainted by the world’s evils; he is the least jaded kid I’ve met in a long time. It’s… well, it’s refreshing. I’ve known him for a good bit now, but he hasn’t seemed to be getting any more cynical in all this time.
And now he’s walking over to me, still smiling, teeth a flash of white in a tanned olive face framed by luxurious dark curls. Okay, Bean, get a grip on yourself. Use the little blood that hasn’t rushed to your dick to operate that lovely thing called your brain. Say something conversational.
“Hi, Orli.” Oh, very good, that deserves a fucking gold star.
“Hallo, Beanie.” I realise that I’m very definitely staring. Oh shit, has my jaw dropped again? I shut it abruptly. Oh, wait, it’s my turn to say something, isn’t it.
“Er, nice night out for clubbing, huh?” He’s laughing as though I’ve just said something very funny. Oh, nice one, Bean. The weather doesn’t fucking matter if you’re indoors. I try to cover.
“Er, that is, there are loads of quite fit-looking people here, aren’t there?” Yeah. Like Orlando. Fucking gorgeous. But I am definitely Not Gay.
“Yeah,” he replies, looking straight at me. Oh fuck. My mouths is too dry for me to respond. Ermmmm… Sean to Brain, Sean to Brain, feel free to start working again any time now…
“Listen, you want to go somewhere else?”
It takes a minute for the question and its implied meaning to fully register in my brain. “Sorry, what? Oh! Oh. Oh. Erm…” I can’t think.
He backtracks. “Er, I mean, to another club… It’s erm, a bit too loud in here for your tastes, I think.”
I vaguely understand what he’s saying, but mostly I’m too busy drowning in wide brown eyes, swirling chocolate vortexes framed by those inky black lashes and… wait, is that eyeliner?! I’m deeply disturbed by the fact that this is totally turning me on. Hm. Never knew I was into blokes in makeup before… Wait, what the buggery am I thinking? I am not into blokes. I look at Orlando. Shit, should I be saying something? I panic. What did he just say?
Two seconds later, it doesn’t matter.
Okay, so I’ve kissed a man before, but that was for a movie role. This is entirely different. I am really, really turned on.
Oh, fuck.
The boy’s a real professional, but somehow I get the idea it’s not because he’s done this too often before. He draws back and looks at me nervously, searching my eyes for something. I must’ve given it to him, because he takes my hand in his and leads me out of the crowd of people surrounding us. Most of them are oblivious-- or at least drunk enough not to a) recognise us or b) realise that we are both men.
We hail a cab (well, actually, Orlando does-- as a direct result of my trying to drown any Bloom-related thoughts of a sexual nature in alcohol, I am quite inebriated, to say the least) and head back to the hotel. He spends the ride molesting me.
Oh fuck, stop that, the cabbie, not in the… My breath is coming in heavy panting gasps, and I’m pretty sure I didn’t actually say any of that out loud, since my mouth is latched onto Orli‘s.
“Fuck, Orlando!” Well, that was out loud, for sure. And I’ve officially stained these jeans in a very inconvenient way. But fuck, it was worth it. I don’t think I’ve ever come before just from being groped through my trousers and kissed. The boy can surely kiss, I’ll say that. And the orgasm has sobered me up a bit, too.
“Here.” His mouth has left mine, and I whimper at the loss. “Just a minute, Sean,” he says, rich velvety voice sliding over my name like silk over smooth skin. I wonder what room he plans for us to go to-- and how we’re going to keep our hands off each other until we get there. He fumbles in increasingly too-tight pants for money to pay the cabbie, then drags me out of the car, supporting most of my weight as I’m still a bit too unsteady on my feet. The hotel staff ignore us, for which I am grateful.
“My room’s closer,” he rasps, pulling me along by the collar of my shirt. I don’t mind, though I’d never really thought of Orli as the take-charge type. Not that I’ve ever thought of the boy in a sexual context before-- I butter my bread right-side up, thanksverymuch. Except that right now, my cock doesn’t seem to be able to grasp this concept. Well, actually, it can’t really “grasp” anything, you know? Oh God, all of the blood in my brain has rushed down south, and I’m beginning to show signs of absent brain. For fuck’s sake, why the shit am I attempting to *think*? I’ve got this gorgeous, inhumanly talented boy all to myself. He pushes the “up” button for the lift, and I bounce up and down of the balls of my feet. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Orlando fidgeting impatiently, looking like he’s going to fucking jump out of his skin if we don’t get into bed pretty damn soon. I notice he’s muttering something and attempt to tune in.
“Bloody fucking…hell fucked… fucking get…already!…Sodding cock-up… shit… goddamnit…” is about all I can make out, a litany of eloquently strung-together obscenities. I allow myself a small smile at the boy’s expense. He notices at the exact moment the lift arrives, door opening to reveal its emptiness. He shoves me in, follows, hits the button for his floor, and turns on me as it closes.
“So, you think that’s fuckin’ funny, do you, Bean?” I try to suppress a giggle, to no avail. “Oh, you think it’s bloody hilarious that I’m hard as granite and can’t do shit about it until we get upstairs for the sake of both our careers!” I can hear the frustration in his voice and decide not to compound it by groping him as I’d originally intended to. Besides, only four more floors to go. Oh, bloody fucking hell, I think we’re stopping. The door opens, and a well-dressed young couple steps in. I can see the awe come into the woman’s eyes as she recognises us. Fuck, why couldn’t she have been drunk?
“Ohmigod! Can I have your autographs?” Her voice is sweet, but that doesn’t stop it from grating on my nerves. It’s just dawning on her husband who we are. I hear Orli give a muffled sigh, but he takes the pen and dinner napkin she’s holding out after a quick search through her purse. He signs, then hands me the pen and napkin. The lift has stopped at our floor, door open, but I figure we’ve got another couple of seconds before it closes again.
Wrong. And fuck, does it close quickly. I don’t even have time to ask the young woman (who is between me and the door) to hold it for us.
“Oh, dear, we’ve made you miss your floor. I’m ever so sorry,” she apologises, blushing like mad.
“No, it’s okay,” I assure her, pressing the button for my floor. I finish signing the napkin. “There you go.” She takes it, beaming at her husband, who looks as excited as he could be with his wife mooning over two other men. Really she’s mostly fixated on Orli, and who could blame her? I’m feeling a bit envious of the way he smiles benevolently back at her, and, since he’s standing right in front if me, I reach down to grab his arse. He leaps about three feet in the air, and I mentally congratulate myself.
“Sorry, Orli,” I say.
“’S okay, Beanie,” he replies, and the woman looks like she’s going to pass out, what with not only sharing our airspace but getting to hear us call each other by nicknames as well. I’d roll my eyes, but I’m concentrating *really* hard on not grabbing Orlando’s arse again. It’s pretty fucking tempting, though.
At last, I hear the ding of the lift as it stops. I make sure it’s the right floor -fifteen- and step out, dragging Orlando with me. I grasp the key card in my pocket and slide it into the slot. The door clicks open, and we rush inside, slamming and locking the door behind us.
Orli shoves me roughly against the door and leans back in for another of those intoxicating kisses. I moan loudly into his mouth and roll my hips forward, grinding our cloth-covered erections together.
“Sean…” he gasps, “-I need… your- cock in me-… NOW.” With a groan, I throw my body around until our positions are reversed so that I’m pinning him to the door. I unbutton his black leather trousers shoving them down his muscular legs. I’m only mildly surprised that he isn’t wearing anything underneath. I bend down to help him out of the trousers and his socks and shoes. I go to rise, but he stops me.
“Bottle of lube in my trousers pocket,” he grinds out hoarsely. I grope around until I find my prize and stand again. Our mouths meet furiously in a clash of lips, tongues, teeth… My mouth begins to travel down his neck. When I feel vibrations from his voice box, I realise he’s saying something.
Huh?”
“I said, you’re clean, right?” Ordinarily, this could be a mood killer, but I’m so horny right now it doesn’t make a difference to my raging libido.
“Mmmhmm,” I reply, knowing Orlando knows the particulars.
“Good, ‘cause I fucking need you ramming your cock up my arse this goddamn minute!” I push my trousers and pants down to my knees and pour some lubricant on a few fingers, still pinning Orlando to the door with my hips. He sees what I’m doing and growls.
“Fuck preparation,” he snarls, and I don’t even try to work that one out. He takes the lube I’ve squeezed out and uses it to coat my dick. I take in a hissing breath at the sensation of cool fingers on my overheated flesh. Then he’s done, and I grasp his hips, raising him over my aching erection, intending to push in slowly.
“You try that slow and gentle bullshit with me and I’ll fucking kill you,” he threatens, and, using his grip on my biceps for leverage, he drops down suddenly, taking all of my member into his tight, hot passage.
He screams his agonised pleasure as I try to catch my breath.
“Give it to me hard, Sean,” he commands. “I want you to fuck me into tomorrow.” My breath hitches, and I begin to pull out slowly, the pressure almost unbearable.
“Hurry the fuck up!” I thrust back in, impaling him with my cock, and he moans as I strike the raised mound of nerves. After that, I establish a rhythm we both find acceptable; that is to say, as fast as my hips can possibly move. Orlando’s legs come up to wrap around my waist, and I push him against the wall for more leverage, fucking him mercilessly, just the way he wants it. He screams as my angle changes to hit his prostate at every pass.
“Fuck, Sean, I’m gonna…” He trails off as I grab his weeping erection in my fist and begin to pull it in time with my thrusts. I’m driving into him erratically now, and the motion of my hand on his cock wavers until he leans down and blows gently into my ear. The little teasing gesture pushes me over the edge, and I jerk hard on his dick. A few seconds later, I feel his warm come splash against my stomach, and I find my own release almost immediately afterwards. I come screaming his name.
We collapse bonelessly onto the floor, me still inside of him with his legs wrapped around my waist. I feel like a puddle of rain, or maybe strawberry JELL-O…
“Fuck, Orlando, that was amazing,” I say wearily. He gives me a weak smile.
“For me, too,” he replies, and we sit there for a few minutes, grinning at each other. Orli breaks the silence.
“I feel like a puddle of strawberry JELL-O.”