Turnabout, LOTRPS, NC-17
Title: Turnabout (is fair play)
Author: Becca (bexone@livejournal.com)
Fandom: LOTRPS
Pairing: VM/OB/KU, EW/DM
Rating: NC-17 at the end
Feedback: pretty please with Karl on top?
Disclaimer: I don't know them, this never happened, it is all false and I made it all up.
Notes: For the contrelamontre jealousy show-not-tell challenge. Written in exactly 60 minutes. I cheated the tiniest bit with one of the forbidden words all the way at the very end.
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Elijah was giggling too hard to speak, and waved for Dom to pick up.
"It's just not bloody fair!" Orli's voice crackled down the phone lines. "Viggo was going to take me to Japan!"
"Well, you've been busy," Dom pointed out helpfully. "Not like you had that week off, anyway."
"Just because the tosser speaks Japanese is no reason to jump into bed with him. I was the one who said we should do a bed-in."
"Didn't think you meant to have quite so many clothes on," Elijah cackled on the other extension, and Orli sputtered. "Hey, did I just hear you admit you've seen the pictures? What happened to our technophobic elf?"
"MumsendsmeeverythingshefindsaboutVig," came out in a rush.
"Your mum? Why would she do that?" Dom wasn't prepared for the answer.
"Itoldherto," Orli whispered.
"Orli's got a crush! Orli's got a crush! Oh, wait til I tell Vig about this!"
"You do that and I'll tell Ian what you said to me after the Oscars, Elwood," Orli threatened.
"You wouldn't!"
"Just try me, Frodo."
"Lij? Is there something I should know about?" A hiss of feedback as the two handsets got too close.
"Eep! No, nothing -- aah -- mmm, I promise. N-nothing. Oh!"
"I'll leave you wankers to it," Orli said drily, hanging up. Stupid gits, probably weren't even listening. Bloody Karl. Bloody Viggo. Not even so attractive, really, either of them.
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"Orli would love this!" Viggo said for what felt like the three hundred millionth time. Karl fought not to roll his eyes, didn't succeed. If he had to hear that name one more time... Orli this and Orli that, and Orli had a great idea for a photo shoot (okay, so that one had been good), and Orli with his so-called fashion sense would fit in so well on the streets of Tokyo, on and on and on it went. "Orli was so excited to be in New York, I had to hang onto the back of his shirt to keep him from falling out of the limo," Viggo rambled on, never mind that he'd already told the story five times. Karl gave up and stomped off to find a phone.
"Karl? What the hell time is it, man?" Elijah's voice was thick with sleep, and in the background was the sound of Dom, grumbling mutinously.
"Time for me to strangle Viggo! He won't shut up about Orli, Orli this and Orli that and why the hell did he invite me if he's only gonna talk about him anyway?"
"Why the hell don't you ask him, mate?" Dom growled, and the phone clicked dead.
Viggo was right where Karl had left him, in raptures over the view from the window. "I can't wait to develop these. Orli'll love this view!"
"Viggo," Karl growled, spinning him around. "Will you just. Shut. Up. About Orli already?" Pinning Viggo to the wall, he stopped his mouth quite effectively.
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"Tongue in my ear!" He'd heard it from all the way across the red carpet, and months later the memory still stung. And now, they were in the next room, together, and he could hear everything. Viggo fought the urge to pound the wall and holler. Not that they'd notice it anyway.
"Nnn!" There is was, that whine of mingled pleasure and pain that Orli always made on the first stroke.
"Fuck, so tight, so tight, fuck, fuck," Karl chanted low, and Viggo knew it so well; the incredible heat and grip and man, he hoped Karl had used a lot of lube, or they'd both be sore tomorrow. Karl was a big boy. Viggo's hand slid down to his own cock, imagining that he was Karl, buried in Orli; imagining he was Orli, filled.
"Please, just move," Orli begged, finally, and Viggo knew that, too; how you could fold his leg back and he would wrap the other around your waist and wait, trembling, for you to move, and if you placed his hands on the headboard he would grip it until his knuckles turned white and never, ever let go, no matter how hard you pounded into him. "Aah! Aah! Aah!" The bed tapped the wall in time with Orli's cries and Viggo's hand on his dick.
"Oh, god, fuck, Orli!" Karl made that breathless half-laugh that meant he was coming, and Orli -- a screamer, still -- followed him. Viggo kept his eyes closed, didn't see his own cum sailing lonely into the air to splatter back on his own stomach, alone.
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"You think he bought it?"
"I'd say he's a lovely shade of chartreuse right about now, yes." Karl grinned at Orli. "You know, for a prissy elf, you're not half bad."
"Neither are you, smelly human. You want to, ah, take our clothes off and do it again?"
"You mean for real this time?" Orli nodded. "Why the hell not?"