NaNoWriMo - The Story So Far, Parts 85-88
Whew. I finished writing part 100 last night, hitting 50,000 words exactly at 2:15 am. I'm so very glad that I'm done before Thanksgiving.
85. Spark
6:58, are you sure where my spark is?
Dom/Orlando, NC-17, 500 words
The clock on the bedside table reads 6:58 in bright red digits when Dom gently pushes inside of Orlando. The room is dark except for the clock and a sliver of light passing under the door from the hallway outside. Orlando can barely see the outline of Dom above him. Everything is dim and grainy, and Orlando feels like he's watching the scene through a camera with the iris wide open. Dom rocks his hips and Orlando closes his eyes.
Dom is quiet, almost eerily so, as he pulls back and then slides into Orlando again. The only sound in the room is Orlando's raspy intake of air with every thrust of Dom's hips. Dom twists and rolls and Orlando bucks against him, opening his mouth soundlessly and arching back so that the top of his head bangs lightly against the headboard. Dom reaches down and pulls Orlando toward him, snugging their bodies together so that he can slide his hands under Orlando's ass. He pulls up, and Orlando changes his angle, sliding down and resting his feet on Dom's calves.
Orlando reaches down to stroke his cock, but Dom bats his hands away, grabbing his wrists together with one hand and holding them above Orlando's head. Orlando grunts in protest, but Dom lowers his mouth to Orlando's ear and bites down, causing Orlando's eyes to snap open. He has adjusted to the low light, and he can make out the strange pattern on the ceiling. It seems to be wheeling overhead and Orlando grows dizzy as Dom works his mouth from Orlando's ear to his neck, sucking lightly at the warm skin there.
Dom's thrusts grow in urgency, and Orlando twists his wrists against Dom's grip, but Dom holds him firmly, and Orlando is left desperate for friction. Dom's rhythm increases and he breathes against Orlando's ear, his warm breath fluttering the short curls on Orlando neck. Dom's hips reach a fever pace, and he comes soundlessly into Orlando.
Orlando feels Dom's heart pounding wildly in his chest when Dom collapses on top of him, and the weight of Dom's body on his still-aching cock is delicious. He grinds against Dom, impatient for his own release, and as Dom's heartbeat slows to normal, Dom chuckles very softly in Orlando's ear and then slides down his naked body to take Orlando's cock into his mouth. He takes Orlando in with one deft movement, using his hands to press his hips down into the mattress. Orlando throws an arm over his face and groans quietly as Dom sucks up the length of his shaft, stopping to place a small kiss on the tip.
The clock on the nightstand reads 6:58 in dim green digits when Billy rolls over and presses his hand into the still-warm empty space left in the sheets on the other side of the bed. The smell of Dom and himself together still lingers on the sheets, and Billy rolls over onto Dom's pillow and breathes it in.
*****
86. Strange
You call me one more time.
Dom/Viggo, PG, 500 words
"Dom. Viggo. It's three o'clock in the morning, so it's not as though I expected you to answer, and I'll be seeing you on set in three hours anyway, so it could probably wait, but I was thinking about what you said at the bar tonight. Something about the color of beer, right? Anyway, I've been trying to mix a paint the color of beer, but I can't figure out if I should try for amber or stout. They don't turn out quite right, and I think it's because I'm not committed one way or the other."
"Dom, man, you should be here for this sunrise. I know you got pretty plowed last night, but I always find that the best cure for a hangover is the sun. Vitamin D, you know, better than coffee or whatever other shit you're going to be putting in your system this morning. Drink some milk, since you're not here, okay?"
"I have this pair of pants that are the color of your eyes, and I'm just not sure that I'm comfortable wearing them. I mean, would I spend the entire night thinking about your eyes and wondering whether my pants were staring at me the way you did yesterday? Of course, I don't think my pants could look at me quite like that, but you never know. I mean, my pants know things that no one else does, you know?"
"Hey, you left your socks at my place last night. I don't know if you knew that, or if you just drove home this morning with no socks on. I wonder if your feet are as cold today as they were last night."
"It's cold outside, and I know that you're in the bathroom two doors down from the porch and that I could probably just walk in there and tell you that, but my phone was closer. You can actually see your breath out here, man, so wear a scarf today, okay? I think I washed one of yours in the last load, so it's probably in the dryer with my whites."
"I'm sorry about last night, Dom. I wish you'd answer your phone, but it's probably better that you don't, since you're always telling me that I'm better at these, anyway. I didn't know that Orlando was going to do that, you know? I just didn't expect, and I know that you're always saying, but you're always saying a lot of things, Dom, and I don't always know what to believe. Anyway, I figure you're at Billy's, so that's where I'm going."
"Just figured I'd leave you one last message before we left here, because it seems appropriate that we should leave these behind, you know? I mean, all things come to a close eventually, anyway, and it's better if we just say that than leave each other wondering. Or, me leave you wondering, since I'm the one who leaves the messages anyway. Just thought I'd call you one more time."
*****
87. Suede
My fear is greater than my faith.
Elijah/Orlando, NC-17, 500 words
Orlando goes to church because he doesn't believe in anything and, in some twist of logic, he figures that means that he believes in everything. So he goes to church because he's afraid not to, because what if what he doesn't believe in is actually true, and he finds himself tap tap tapping on the pearly gates one day, and Saint Peter just laughs at him and points down? He doesn't want to end up like that, even though he doesn't think he actually believes in Saint Peter and the pearly gates, but what difference does it really make anyway?
It doesn't hurt that there's a cherubic little choirboy at the church that Orlando frequents, a blue-eyed, black-haired thing with skin so white that Orlando is actually surprised he can't see straight through it. The kid's name is Elijah, Orlando has discovered after several conversations with the woman in the huge hat who always sits in the pew in front of him. He wears the same red choir robe as the rest of the singers, and it covers what Orlando imagines is not quite a man's body yet, but not quite a boy's, either. He's all arms and hair, and he might quite possibly be the most beautiful thing Orlando has ever seen. Elijah's voice hasn't broken quite yet, and he sings like Orlando thinks an angel would, if he believed in such things.
So Orlando goes to church every Sunday, and most Wednesdays when he's not busy making his living. And every time that he goes, he waits for Elijah's voice to have broken, for the young man to be moved to the back of the choir with the non-featured singers. But every week Elijah stands in the front row and sings so clear and sweet that Orlando could almost believe in the words that he says. He could almost believe, that is, if he didn't have to go back to the same familiar street corner and earn his way in the world.
He does, of course, have to go back to that street corner. But it's easier after church, with the memory of Elijah still firmly in his mind. When he bends over in a back alley for a stranger, he imagines putting part of the money that the strange man has paid him in the collection plate the next day. When a different stranger forces his cock past Orlando's lips, Orlando pictures Elijah's face and imagines kissing his sweet, pink lips.
And Orlando does put some of the money in the plate that is passed around while Elijah and the choir sing. He lays a ten dollar bill on top of the stack of envelopes, checks and bills that have already piled up, and he passes it to the man sitting next to him without taking his eyes off of Elijah. Orlando isn't quite sure if it's his imagination, or if Elijah is looking back at him, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
*****
88. Sweet Sangria
Balmy day, sweet sangria.
Billy/Dom, PG, 500 words
There's a local restaurant that serves ten dollar bottomless sangria on Sunday mornings. It's just about the only thing that will get Dom out of bed after a long Saturday night at the bar. "Hair of the dog that bit you," is all Billy has to say, and Dom is getting dressed in the bathroom before Billy can even give him a good morning kiss.
The restaurant has a porch, and the hostess knows them well enough to take them directly to what Dom has taken to thinking of as their table. It's a two-person wrought iron table near the back of the porch, away from the salsa music that filters out from the main dining room. There's a small umbrella over the table that keeps the sun off of their faces, but Dom always brings his sunglasses. He's hypersensitive to the sun after a night of Guinness.
They order their first pitcher of sangria as soon as the waitress comes around, and Dom toys with the idea of eggs before deciding that it's probably a better idea for him to just stick to the complimentary tortilla chips. Billy laughs and orders the huevos rancheros with a side of crispy bacon, the thought of which makes Dom's stomach churns slightly, and he nibbles on the corner of a chip, the salt tasting nice on his tongue.
The conversation is light, just chatter about the previous night's festivities, with Billy occasionally sliding in a tall tale about something embarrassing that Dom supposedly did after his fifth pint. He goes so far as to claim that Dom actually sang along with "Tiny Dancer," very loudly and with admirable enthusiasm, before a too sober Elijah clapped a hand over Dom's mouth and bribed him to shut up by buying him another beer.
Dom doesn't remember any part of that, although the rest of the evening is vivid. He takes a sip of his sangria and lights his first cigarette of the day as Billy's eggs arrive and he digs in. Dom smiles when the cigarette reminds him of the way that Billy tasted the night before, the first time that Dom had kissed him, pressed up against a bathroom stall before Orlando and Elijah had stumbled in giggling. He remembers smiling at Billy and grabbing his hand, dragging them out of the bar to "someplace quieter" that had ended up being Dom's bedroom.
Billy looks up at Dom then, chewing vigorously on a piece of bacon, and Dom smiles at him from behind his sunglasses. Billy swallows and smiles back somewhat tentatively. He clears his throat and says, "So, Dommie. Last night?"
Dom pushes his sunglasses up onto his head and grins at Billy. He nudges forward in his chair so that he captures one of Billy's legs between his own, and he reaches under the table to give Billy's knee a squeeze. "Was something that I'd like to try again sometime," he answers. Billy smiles, and Dom adds, "Like right after breakfast."
85. Spark
6:58, are you sure where my spark is?
Dom/Orlando, NC-17, 500 words
The clock on the bedside table reads 6:58 in bright red digits when Dom gently pushes inside of Orlando. The room is dark except for the clock and a sliver of light passing under the door from the hallway outside. Orlando can barely see the outline of Dom above him. Everything is dim and grainy, and Orlando feels like he's watching the scene through a camera with the iris wide open. Dom rocks his hips and Orlando closes his eyes.
Dom is quiet, almost eerily so, as he pulls back and then slides into Orlando again. The only sound in the room is Orlando's raspy intake of air with every thrust of Dom's hips. Dom twists and rolls and Orlando bucks against him, opening his mouth soundlessly and arching back so that the top of his head bangs lightly against the headboard. Dom reaches down and pulls Orlando toward him, snugging their bodies together so that he can slide his hands under Orlando's ass. He pulls up, and Orlando changes his angle, sliding down and resting his feet on Dom's calves.
Orlando reaches down to stroke his cock, but Dom bats his hands away, grabbing his wrists together with one hand and holding them above Orlando's head. Orlando grunts in protest, but Dom lowers his mouth to Orlando's ear and bites down, causing Orlando's eyes to snap open. He has adjusted to the low light, and he can make out the strange pattern on the ceiling. It seems to be wheeling overhead and Orlando grows dizzy as Dom works his mouth from Orlando's ear to his neck, sucking lightly at the warm skin there.
Dom's thrusts grow in urgency, and Orlando twists his wrists against Dom's grip, but Dom holds him firmly, and Orlando is left desperate for friction. Dom's rhythm increases and he breathes against Orlando's ear, his warm breath fluttering the short curls on Orlando neck. Dom's hips reach a fever pace, and he comes soundlessly into Orlando.
Orlando feels Dom's heart pounding wildly in his chest when Dom collapses on top of him, and the weight of Dom's body on his still-aching cock is delicious. He grinds against Dom, impatient for his own release, and as Dom's heartbeat slows to normal, Dom chuckles very softly in Orlando's ear and then slides down his naked body to take Orlando's cock into his mouth. He takes Orlando in with one deft movement, using his hands to press his hips down into the mattress. Orlando throws an arm over his face and groans quietly as Dom sucks up the length of his shaft, stopping to place a small kiss on the tip.
The clock on the nightstand reads 6:58 in dim green digits when Billy rolls over and presses his hand into the still-warm empty space left in the sheets on the other side of the bed. The smell of Dom and himself together still lingers on the sheets, and Billy rolls over onto Dom's pillow and breathes it in.
*****
86. Strange
You call me one more time.
Dom/Viggo, PG, 500 words
"Dom. Viggo. It's three o'clock in the morning, so it's not as though I expected you to answer, and I'll be seeing you on set in three hours anyway, so it could probably wait, but I was thinking about what you said at the bar tonight. Something about the color of beer, right? Anyway, I've been trying to mix a paint the color of beer, but I can't figure out if I should try for amber or stout. They don't turn out quite right, and I think it's because I'm not committed one way or the other."
"Dom, man, you should be here for this sunrise. I know you got pretty plowed last night, but I always find that the best cure for a hangover is the sun. Vitamin D, you know, better than coffee or whatever other shit you're going to be putting in your system this morning. Drink some milk, since you're not here, okay?"
"I have this pair of pants that are the color of your eyes, and I'm just not sure that I'm comfortable wearing them. I mean, would I spend the entire night thinking about your eyes and wondering whether my pants were staring at me the way you did yesterday? Of course, I don't think my pants could look at me quite like that, but you never know. I mean, my pants know things that no one else does, you know?"
"Hey, you left your socks at my place last night. I don't know if you knew that, or if you just drove home this morning with no socks on. I wonder if your feet are as cold today as they were last night."
"It's cold outside, and I know that you're in the bathroom two doors down from the porch and that I could probably just walk in there and tell you that, but my phone was closer. You can actually see your breath out here, man, so wear a scarf today, okay? I think I washed one of yours in the last load, so it's probably in the dryer with my whites."
"I'm sorry about last night, Dom. I wish you'd answer your phone, but it's probably better that you don't, since you're always telling me that I'm better at these, anyway. I didn't know that Orlando was going to do that, you know? I just didn't expect, and I know that you're always saying, but you're always saying a lot of things, Dom, and I don't always know what to believe. Anyway, I figure you're at Billy's, so that's where I'm going."
"Just figured I'd leave you one last message before we left here, because it seems appropriate that we should leave these behind, you know? I mean, all things come to a close eventually, anyway, and it's better if we just say that than leave each other wondering. Or, me leave you wondering, since I'm the one who leaves the messages anyway. Just thought I'd call you one more time."
*****
87. Suede
My fear is greater than my faith.
Elijah/Orlando, NC-17, 500 words
Orlando goes to church because he doesn't believe in anything and, in some twist of logic, he figures that means that he believes in everything. So he goes to church because he's afraid not to, because what if what he doesn't believe in is actually true, and he finds himself tap tap tapping on the pearly gates one day, and Saint Peter just laughs at him and points down? He doesn't want to end up like that, even though he doesn't think he actually believes in Saint Peter and the pearly gates, but what difference does it really make anyway?
It doesn't hurt that there's a cherubic little choirboy at the church that Orlando frequents, a blue-eyed, black-haired thing with skin so white that Orlando is actually surprised he can't see straight through it. The kid's name is Elijah, Orlando has discovered after several conversations with the woman in the huge hat who always sits in the pew in front of him. He wears the same red choir robe as the rest of the singers, and it covers what Orlando imagines is not quite a man's body yet, but not quite a boy's, either. He's all arms and hair, and he might quite possibly be the most beautiful thing Orlando has ever seen. Elijah's voice hasn't broken quite yet, and he sings like Orlando thinks an angel would, if he believed in such things.
So Orlando goes to church every Sunday, and most Wednesdays when he's not busy making his living. And every time that he goes, he waits for Elijah's voice to have broken, for the young man to be moved to the back of the choir with the non-featured singers. But every week Elijah stands in the front row and sings so clear and sweet that Orlando could almost believe in the words that he says. He could almost believe, that is, if he didn't have to go back to the same familiar street corner and earn his way in the world.
He does, of course, have to go back to that street corner. But it's easier after church, with the memory of Elijah still firmly in his mind. When he bends over in a back alley for a stranger, he imagines putting part of the money that the strange man has paid him in the collection plate the next day. When a different stranger forces his cock past Orlando's lips, Orlando pictures Elijah's face and imagines kissing his sweet, pink lips.
And Orlando does put some of the money in the plate that is passed around while Elijah and the choir sing. He lays a ten dollar bill on top of the stack of envelopes, checks and bills that have already piled up, and he passes it to the man sitting next to him without taking his eyes off of Elijah. Orlando isn't quite sure if it's his imagination, or if Elijah is looking back at him, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
*****
88. Sweet Sangria
Balmy day, sweet sangria.
Billy/Dom, PG, 500 words
There's a local restaurant that serves ten dollar bottomless sangria on Sunday mornings. It's just about the only thing that will get Dom out of bed after a long Saturday night at the bar. "Hair of the dog that bit you," is all Billy has to say, and Dom is getting dressed in the bathroom before Billy can even give him a good morning kiss.
The restaurant has a porch, and the hostess knows them well enough to take them directly to what Dom has taken to thinking of as their table. It's a two-person wrought iron table near the back of the porch, away from the salsa music that filters out from the main dining room. There's a small umbrella over the table that keeps the sun off of their faces, but Dom always brings his sunglasses. He's hypersensitive to the sun after a night of Guinness.
They order their first pitcher of sangria as soon as the waitress comes around, and Dom toys with the idea of eggs before deciding that it's probably a better idea for him to just stick to the complimentary tortilla chips. Billy laughs and orders the huevos rancheros with a side of crispy bacon, the thought of which makes Dom's stomach churns slightly, and he nibbles on the corner of a chip, the salt tasting nice on his tongue.
The conversation is light, just chatter about the previous night's festivities, with Billy occasionally sliding in a tall tale about something embarrassing that Dom supposedly did after his fifth pint. He goes so far as to claim that Dom actually sang along with "Tiny Dancer," very loudly and with admirable enthusiasm, before a too sober Elijah clapped a hand over Dom's mouth and bribed him to shut up by buying him another beer.
Dom doesn't remember any part of that, although the rest of the evening is vivid. He takes a sip of his sangria and lights his first cigarette of the day as Billy's eggs arrive and he digs in. Dom smiles when the cigarette reminds him of the way that Billy tasted the night before, the first time that Dom had kissed him, pressed up against a bathroom stall before Orlando and Elijah had stumbled in giggling. He remembers smiling at Billy and grabbing his hand, dragging them out of the bar to "someplace quieter" that had ended up being Dom's bedroom.
Billy looks up at Dom then, chewing vigorously on a piece of bacon, and Dom smiles at him from behind his sunglasses. Billy swallows and smiles back somewhat tentatively. He clears his throat and says, "So, Dommie. Last night?"
Dom pushes his sunglasses up onto his head and grins at Billy. He nudges forward in his chair so that he captures one of Billy's legs between his own, and he reaches under the table to give Billy's knee a squeeze. "Was something that I'd like to try again sometime," he answers. Billy smiles, and Dom adds, "Like right after breakfast."