Clean Laundry Ch. 2
Title: Clean Laundry (Ch. 2/?)
Author: misskitti
Rating: PG-13 to R
Pairings: ViggOrli maybe? I hear rumors of Liv and Cate painting each other’s nails, if you know what I mean. Might be a taste of EW/DM/BB. Because you know you like it.
Warnings: Beer! Lots of it! And manly behavior in bars. Allusions to Girly Slumber Parties(tm). A liberal amount of ass.
Beta: No one yet, any takers?
Archives: Back in that corner over there.
Summary: Wherein we experience tight leather, spandex, and things better left to the imagination of middle aged housewives.
Chapter one
~*~
“AND CUT” bellowed the bulbous form of Peter Jackson. His poor suffering directors’ chair creaked beneath him, looking ready to spill the burden it carried right into the ground.
Orlando winced. The damned tights were riding up again. Of course, it didn’t help that everyone and their brother was staring at him, front and center. They’d just finished filming the Council at Elrond scenes, and it was long past time to quit. His wig was itching him, and if he had to stare at that damned ring any longer his eyes would be crossed permanently.
“Right,” howled Jackson, “That’s it for today. We start fresh and early tomorrow with a few more scenes at Rivendell.”
Inwardly groaning, Orlando stretched his shoulders, hoping that tomorrows scenes wouldn’t involve him. Time to get out of this confining garb, and back into real clothes. Whoever had the idea that elves wore spandex must have been insane, he mused. Only an undersexed middle-aged housewife or an incredibly gay man would design such…..tight costumes.
“Spandex my ass.” He muttered.
“What about your ass?” came a husky voice from behind him. Orlando jumped three feet in the air, squeaking. Right behind him was Viggo, looking comfortable and relaxed in his leather and velour Leisure Suit of Rivendell ™. Blushing furiously, Orlando stared wide eyed at him.
“I, well, oh….bugger.” he glared at Viggo, “You have no idea how uncomfortable these damn things are!” He gestured downwards.
Viggo blinked, looked down, then back up at Orlando’s still blushing face. Biting his lower lip, he smiled back at Orlando.
“Really. I assume you’re talking about the tights, right?” he asked. Realizing the inadvertent innuendo, Orlando sputtered and turned two shades darker.
“Well, yeah.” He blustered, “I don’t know how women do it. I have spandex in places I’ve never even wanted to think about. At least you get a comfy suit.”
“You’ve never worn leather for any length of time, have you?” Viggo returned, smiling. “This thing gets so hot; I swear I’ve sweated off at least ten pounds today alone. Orlando’s brain went into full gear then, and images of “leather” and “Viggo” and “sweaty mansex” careened through his mind. An altogether too familiar feeling began to grow in the pit of his stomach, and he felt himself tighten lower down.
“Ahem, yeah.” Orlando tried to seem manly, thrusting his chest out, hands prominently on his hips. Viggo glanced down, and Orlando noticed his eyes bug out a bit. It was then that Orlando remembered that, while he was complaining about the tights, he was indeed still wearing them. And somehow they had shrunk in the last minute. His hands flew together, clenching each other attempting to cover the gaping maw at the bottom of his jerkin. He blushed more, becoming impossibly more like a tomato.
“I, uh, gotta go change out of this.” He rushed. “Wardrobe will have my ass if I...”
Viggo chuckled. Orlando scampered away franticly, looking for the nearest familiar trailer. Spying the door of his own trailer amazingly close, he made a beeline for it, when he heard Viggo holler at him.
“The hobbits wanted me to ask you if you wanted to go to the bar tonight with the rest of us…?” Viggo’s words floated over the scuttling prop boys and extras.
“Yeah, sure, whatever.” Orlando shouted back, desperate for escape. As he slipped in the door of his trailer, he caught sight of Viggo’s departing form. Despite his lack of tights, somehow Viggo managed shake his leather-encased ass just enough that Orlando had to stifle a groan. He pulled the door closed, and thumbed the lock.
“What have I gotten myself into?” he asked the curtains. The curtains had no reply.
~*~
Blacklocks wasn’t a highbrow establishment, but it had beer, which was more than the cast could say for their trailers. The shooting schedule left little time for jaunts to the local grocers. Needless to say, everyone was in need of some relaxation. Unfortunately for some, the ladies had opted to stay in this night, claiming a need for nail buffing instead of beer swilling. Elijah has a suspicion that nail buffing meant something more than that, but he wasn’t going to inquire, he had other things on his mind. On the walk there, Billy, Dom, and himself had discussed quite heavily the schematics for this evenings festivities. Each role was carefully coordinated. Dom and Billy glanced at each other over Elijah’s head, grinning like madmen. This was going to be fun.
The cast assembled in the bar, un-nerving the locals with their camaraderie enough to nearly clear the whole bar. The music resounded, the beer flowed, and merriment was had. John Rhys-Davies and Sean Bean managed to get into an arm wrestling match, and soon enough the rest of them were clustered about the men shouting and whooping. Peter Jackson showed up long enough to holler something about an early shoot in the morning, and that they all had better be sober for it. When he was staunchly ignored, he snatched a pint from the bar’s nearest occupant and downed it.
“On your heads then!” he bellowed, then left. No one noticed.
Somewhere about midnight, someone had the great idea to have a contest. They were all quite drunk by this time, so any idea sounded like a great idea. Billy, near the bar, shouted above the rest.
“How about ‘Sissy’?” he cried. Half of them cheered, the other half stood silent, puzzling. Apparently Sissy wasn’t as well known as he’d thought. Dom took up the slack and spoke up.
“Sissy? What’s that?” he winked at Billy, who had now moved over next to Orlando. Billy looked at Dom, shocked.
“Why, Dom, you’ve never heard of Sissy!? For shame.” He shook his head mockingly at Dom. The half of the group that was still in the dark hung off his every word. “Sissy is only the best bar game in the world, m’lad. Two of ye clasp right hands, like this.” He took Dom’s right hand in his. “And then you take turns slamming yer hands on the bar.” He threw their clasped hands down on the bar. Dom yelped. “The first one who can’t take it must be the…” he gestured to the rest of the bar.
“SISSY” they cheered.
“Oi, pipe down, not so loud. We gotta be able to hear now.” Billy grinned as Dom snatched his hand back, rubbing it lightly. Dom winked at him.
“That’s not so bad.” Dom swaggered.
“That’s not the hard part!” he gestured for a pint, “Every time you take a slam, you also have to take a swig of beer. Not no little gulp neither, its gotta be a big mouthful.”
The crowd Ooooh-ed. The decibel level grew and grew as the manly men shouted out their boasts. Elijah grinned at Dom from the corner. He covertly slipped the bartender another bill, nodding at Billy and Dom. The bartender nodded and filled two pints halfway with beer, adding water to both to top them off. Handing one to Dom, he made his way with a third full pint of full throttle beer toward Billy with the other.
“Who’s first?” piped up Billy, eyeing the man. He set them down on the bar next to Billy, tapping the watered down glass twice, as though it wasn’t setting right. No one else seemed to notice this exchange. Every man in the bar tried to out shout the other. Billy gestured for silence.
“Well, seein’ as how I know well how to play, I think I should be choosin’ the combatants!” he leered at the men. Suddenly his arm snaked out and he grabbed Orlando. The inebriated young man giggled at him and bounced.
“I think we’ll start off with Orli here, and just so you lot can see how it’s done, I’ll take him on!” the resulting groan shook the bar with a thunder of disappointed voices.
“Ready?” Orlando drunkenly smirked back at him, clasping right hands and snagging the full beer to his left. Billy raised their entwined fists.
Slam. Gulp. Slam. Gulp. Slam. Gulp. Slam. Gulp. Slam. Gulp. Two pints later, Orlando was wobbling and his slams were getting erratic. Finally, he slammed one hard, and Billy squawked. Orlando jumped up shouting his victory to the whole bar. Everyone chimed in with Orlando’s chanting of “SISSY! SISSY!” Billy sat there smugly grinning.
“Orlando.” He said. Orlando began to dance about.
“Orlando.” He spoke louder. Orlando lifted his shirt and belly smacked Sean Bean.
“Who da man?!” He yelled.
“ORLANDO!” Billy bellowed. Orlando pivoted, running smack dab into Viggo, stomach first because Viggo was seated behind him. He blinked blearily, and sat down right where he was. In Viggo’s lap.
“What!” Orlando screeched, right near Viggo’s ear.
“Last rule.” Billy grinned as he stalked over to Orlando with a full pint of beer. “Loser gets a whole beer.”
Orlando leered and reached out for the glass, but Billy was faster. He nipped back around Viggo, who was still entrapped by Orlando, and seemingly bemused by the whole situation.
“Nah, Orli. You don’t get to drink it…” Billy smirked, “YOU GET IT ON YOU!” And with that he proceeded to pour the whole pint on Orlando’s head. The bar erupted into raucous laughter, slapping backs and knees. Orlando sputtered, and then licked his lips, tasting the last of the beer.
Viggo was also soaked by beer now as well. He shook with laughter, which only made Orlando bounce in his lap harder. Wet jeans rubbed against wetter jeans. Somewhere in the whole debacle, Orlando subconsciously realized he had another hard on. But the drunken Orlando didn’t care.
Billy was shortly joined by Dom, who slapped Orlando on the wet shoulder.
“You’re a mess, ya big nancin’ elf. Best you get back home and dry off.”
“How’m I gonna get home?” he slurred. “S’not like I can find the way back, ev’n if I was sober, *hic* and I sure ain’t sober now!”
“Someone more sober’ll have to guide you.” He looked around. “We need a good man, a ranger or sumthin.” He grinned at Orlando, than looked at Viggo. “Whoops! Look like you got hit pretty good as well Viggo! Might be best if you both get goin’, before you catch cold.”
Viggo glared at them a bit, while the rest of the bar was setting up for the next set of combatants. Then rolled his eyes, and stood up. Seems Viggo had managed to stay fairly straight tonight, avoiding the drinking games. As he stood, his arms slipped down and under Orlando’s plush rear, lifting him up with him as he stood. Cradling the tall man like a koala bear, he began striding towards the door. Orlando blinked dazedly at the moving room. Elijah, Dom, and Billy looked at each other, grinning like fools. John Rhys-Davies bellowed from the bar. Hugo Weaving slammed his fist down with JRD’s. Beer was had, and the night went on sans elf and ranger.
~*~
“Why’m I floatin?” mumbled Orlando.
“Because,” Viggo’s voice floated back over his shoulder, “I am carrying you home.”
“Then why’m I backwards?”
“Because you sat on my lap and because you are drunk.”
“Oh. Why’m I drunk?”
“Because you were drinking and you won Sissy.”
“So’m not a sissy?”
“No.”
“Ya sure?”
“Though the makeup ladies would disagree, I don’t think you’re a sissy.”
“Good.”
“Though I do think you’re rather stupid for drinking that much.” Viggo muttered, realizing that as he spoke the last words he could hear a soft buzz in his ear. The boy had fallen asleep. Viggo groaned silently. Good thing they had been housed in a real hotel this week, as walking back to the trailers would’ve been hell. Especially with a sack of potatoes in his arms. The lady at the front desk gave him quite a look when he walked past. He ignored her. So did the man in the elevator. He was also ignored. Walking down the narrow hallway wasn’t as easy, it became more of a shuffle. Orlando’s long and slender legs were flung wide. Enticing as that may have been for many, that didn’t make the hallway any easier to pass. They nearly knocked a vase of flowers off a table when Orlando flopped limply to the other shoulder. Viggo struggled, but finally managed to reach Orlando’s room. He carefully leaned the boy against the frame, and went about searching Orlando’s pockets for the key. He was so intent in finding the damned thing, that he almost didn’t hear the squeak and giggle from the door across the hall.
“Quit that!” a girlish voice shrieked, “I just need some ice. And maybe a nice cold soda.” He turned a bit, and saw Liv sneaking out of Cate’s door, clad in only a slip of a nightie.
“Better make it fast, you minx!” came a voice from within the room. Viggo gaped as Liv streaked past him, and he could almost see the nearly nude form of Cate before the door slammed shut. He grinned, and intensified the search for Orlando’s key, hoping to get in before Liv returned.
He was not so lucky. As he stretched a hand deep into Orlando’s back pocket, Liv came streaking back down the hall, ice bucket and coke in hand. She skidded to a halt mid-stride, eyes wide. Gaping at Viggo, caught with his had in the cookie jar she giggled. He raised an eyebrow at her, then lifted his hand to miming drinking beer. She snickered and nodded wisely. He glanced at the door behind him, where she had just come from. She blanched, eyes wide. She gasped lightly, pleaded with her eyes. He glanced at the snoring form of Orlando, than back at her. They winked slyly at each other, and put fingers to lips, smiling. Liv returned to Cate’s room, and Viggo finally found Orlando’s key, deep in his front pocket.
Carefully lifting the sleeping Orlando again, he shouldered past the now unlocked door, and into the room. He stepped over piles of clothes, grimacing. Gingerly he laid Orlando down on his bed, unwrapping the boy’s arms from around his neck. He stood up, stretching, then bent back down to strip Orlando of the beer sodden shirt that was now just sticky. Orlando mumbled, and flung an arm out, clocking Viggo on the shoulder. He swallowed the yelp when the arm hit a bruise from the day’s sword practice. He got the shirt off Orlando just as the young man rolled to the side, curling up a little. Viggo then slipped a hand down to Orlando’s pants, also hit by the beer. The boy groaned when Viggo’s hands slipped the belt loose, and thrust his hips forward when Viggo slipped the zipper down. Taking a deep breath, Viggo grasped the jeans, and pulled. They stuck a little at the ankles, but came off easily, considering they were wet. Taking both shirt and pants, he laid them carefully on the arm of a chair, then turned back to Orlando.
Shivering, he had curled up in an impossibly small ball on the edge of the bed. A tiny frown graced his lips, and Viggo couldn’t help but smile. Poor boy. He stepped over an empty bag of M&M’s and lifted the sleeping Orlando up enough to grasp the blanket beneath him. Orlando purred and wrapped his arms around Viggo again, throwing him off balance. He lost his footing and fell forward onto Orlando, who was still wrapped around his neck. Orlando stayed asleep, smiling now, wrapped warmly under the strong frame of the man above him. Viggo, on the other hand, was frozen scant millimeters above Orlando’s face. He could smell the beer, but more than that the light dusky scent of skin. Sweet smooth skin faced him, and Orlando’s light cologne wafted upwards, reminding Viggo of home, the farm, and the woods. Entranced by Orlando’s scent, he stared at the younger mans soft lips.
Just as he was about to stand and regain his footing, Orlando moved his head slightly, and their lips met. Viggo stifled a moan as Orlando’s lips caressed his own. Orlando moaned in his sleep, tightening his hold on Viggo’s neck. He shuddered as he felt Orlando press his lips against him harder, forcing him to kiss back. Viggo nearly lost it when Orlando slipped his tongue out and delicately licked at Viggo’s lips. When that same tongue invaded his own mouth, plundering the deep expanse mercilessly, Viggo might’ve fallen if he weren’t already pinning the young man to the bed. Orlando kissed Viggo like there was no tomorrow, caressing his neck with flittering butterfly touches. He ground his hips, clad now in only boxers, hard against Viggo’s jeans, moaning against his lips when the rough material rubbed his hardness through the thin boxers. Viggo was lost in a sea of Orlando, entranced by the scent, captured by his lips, and nearly enslaved by the soft pliant body beneath him.
“Mmmmmluffffyou,” moaned Orlando through the press of lips, caressing Viggo’s spine. As his searching hands began to pull the stronger man’s shirt up, Viggo froze. Much as it was surprising and nice, he knew that Orlando was drunk. That was no way to…never mind. He slowly broke the kiss, ignoring the murmuring pleas of Orlando’s sleeping mouth. He untangled Orlando’s arms from about his neck, and stood up. Orlando frowned lightly, and mewled like a kitten. Viggo reached down the bed and pulled the blanket up and over the lithe form beneath him. Tucking the edge under the boy’s chin, he saw the petulant mouth turn into a sweet smile. He leaned over and placed a chaste kiss on Orlando’s forehead.
“Good night Orli” Viggo whispered into the darkness, reaching over to set the alarm clock with enough time for Orlando to wake the next morning for the shoot. He stepped carefully over the mounds of clothes and snack foods, making his way towards the door. “Sweet dreams.” he said as he closed the door lightly. The darkness of the room took over Orlando’s body, and a light snore could be heard again. Viggo leaned back against the door, sighing.
“What the hell was that?” he whispered to the hallway.
“I don’t know, but you might want to get out of that shirt, you reek of beer.” Liv’s voice wafted over from the balcony at the end of the hall. Smoke snuck out from between her petulant lips. “Or else there might be rumors…”
“I might say the same about that cigarette, Liv dear. I think we’re even.” Viggo stared at her appraisingly.
“Even.” She grinned, winking again.