(no subject)
FIC: Captive Desire 7/?
Author: Ylith
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Orlando/Sean, Orlando/Colin, others possible
Summary: Orlando heads out west on his own, finding himself first the fixation of a dangerous and powerful man, and then the captive of a man seeking revenge.
Disclaimer: The title is from the first romance novel I ever bought. The beginning plot has a couple similarities, but my mom threw the book away when she found it, and I can’t remember how it really went after this. Haha TOTAL Wild West harlequin romance novel warning. But if you like that sort of thing….*waggles brows* therefore we have the three main characters: prissy Orli, eevol Sean, brooding cowboy Colin.
Beta: alluranna
Previous Chapters Here
“Where do you think you are going?”
Orlando shrank back at the rage in Farrell’s dark eyes, the man’s face mere inches from his own as the Irishman grabbed his arms in a vice like grip. He shook him hard, his eyes dark with anger and what looked like betrayal. Orlando could not help but cast his eyes down the man’s hard body, his muscles flared in his anger. The young man’s eyes widened as they caught the sight of the Irishman’s manhood, the limp shaft looked monstrous where it hung between his legs. Orlando colored, thankful for the cover of darkness brought by the almost set sun.
“Let me go,” Orlando insisted, attempting to shake free of Farrell’s grasp.
“I was foolish to think I could trust you,” Farrell said, his voice cold as he pulled Orlando closer. “You play the innocent with me so well…” he hissed.
“I wasn’t running away!” Orlando insisted, tugging on his arms and only succeeded in stumbling against Farrell’s nude, wet, body. He gasped at the contact, mortified to feel Farrell’s sleeping manhood against him. “I was just…”
“Just what?” Farrell asked, his eyes narrowed, one of his hands raising to tangle in Orlando’s dark curls. He tugged the youth’s head back, exposing his throat to his hot breath in a manner which made Orlando shiver with desire. Farrell’s body felt so hard against him, so sturdy…
Farrell brought his face close to Orlando’s, their noses almost brushing together as his fingers tightened in the youth’s silken curls. The young man continued to struggle, though without his previous intensity. His hands sought for something to hold as he desperately tried to recall his reason for walking away from the camp.
“I…” Orlando began. “I- I needed a moment…alone…”
“Alone?” Farrell asked, disbelief heavy in his voice. His eyes fixed on Orlando’s, the near proximity of him making it impossible for Orlando to divert his gaze.
“I was…” Orlando licked his lower lips, finding them suddenly quite dry. “I was overcome…” His breath was mere pants against Colin’s lips, the Irishman looking down knowingly at him. Farrell’s eyes darkened and Orlando wondered if he had angered him, wondered if the Irishman knew his secret lust and was disgusted by him as a result.
The grip of the fingers in his hair frightened him, but the arm that encased him tightened in a dare he say, provocative manner. Orlando’s breath caught as he felt the closeness of Farrell’s lips to his own.
“Overcome?” the man taunted. “Is it this situation which overcomes you…” one of Farrell’s brows twitched into a feint arch, his eyes flickered as they narrowed knowingly. He took one of Orlando’s hands in his own, holding the wrist captive as he raised it to his own chest. Orlando pulled at his hand, escaping three times before Farrell forced him to press his open palm over his exposed chest. “Or is it this…”
Orlando tugged away, the memory of Farrell’s flesh hot on his chilled fingers. He turned away from the man’s naked body, his heart racing and face sweltering. The heat which coursed through his body made him feel weak, cause his vision to spin. What power did this man have over him?
“For sake of decency, please cover yourself!” Orlando insisted; keeping his head pointedly turned from the vision of the other man’s body.
He heard the other man make a guttural sound in his throat, and was sure he was mocking him. Orlando cared not if he mocked him so long as he dressed. The young Englishman cursed his own wayward eyes as they snuck a glance back towards the Irishman’s body, finding him still gloriously nude before the fire, the golden light highlighting every curve of his form. Orlando watched him take his rumpled trousers from the saddlebag and shake them of any dirt, quickly averting his eyes when Farrell glanced his way.
The youth could not stop himself from looking a last time at the Irishman’s exposed member, wondering at the head of his cock. How it looked quite like the mushrooms he and his sister used to find in the park back in London…
“A man might think you’d never even looked in a mirror, given your sensitivities,” Farrell mocked, the sharp exhalation of breath he dispelled holding as much sting as a full belly laugh. “Are you sure you’re not a girl, boy? Your pretty looks make me wonder.”
“I’m not girlish!” Orlando protested. “I merely have the breeding to know a man should not carry himself about naked when in the company of others.”
Farrell scoffed again, fastening his trousers at long last. “Did you never bath with your friends then? Enjoy a swim on a hot day in the company of another boy?”
Orlando bowed his head, embarrassment clouding his head from a convincing lie. “I’ve not had male acquaintances…” he said, his voice low and sheepish. “My only real friend has been my sister, especially after my brother’s death...”
“You mean to tell me that your only companion has been your sister?” Farrell scoffed, shaking out his shirt with a disbelieving shake of his head.
Orlando flushed hard, embarrassment turning his stomach. He’d never been confronted by such a question before, and had never felt such shame on the subject before either. He’d loved the camaraderie he had with his sister, telling her everything and listening to everything in turn. He hated Farrell at this moment for making that connection seem frivolous and empty.
Farrell stilled, his shirt held before him as he gazed at Orlando, his brows visibly furrowed in the dim firelight. “Did you mean it?” he finally asked. “You’ve never had a companionship with another?”
Orlando let his jaw jut out, his teeth set tight as he refused to allow the Irishman to see any more emotion from him. He looked away pointedly, his arms crossing over his chest as he sat heavily next to the fire.
“I had no one but my brother,” Farrell finally said, his voice low as he recalled his deceased kin. “We were never close growing up…always fighting…he helped me out though, when no one else would. Helped me get off drinking, didn’t judge me for…”
Orlando’s eyes slid to the Irishman’s surprised at the gentility of the Irishman’s voice. His posture relaxed as he listened to the man’s memories, feeling comfortable around this man before him, this newly exposed Mr. Farrell. “Didn’t judge you?” he asked softly, his head tilting to the side.
Farrell shook his head, his body steeling once again. “It doesn’t matter,” he said with his thickheaded resolve. “In truth a man needs no one but himself.”
Orlando hugged his knees, a shiver running through him as his body realized how cool the night air had become. He felt very much alone, sitting by himself on the rocky earth with no one to comfort him. He longed for the gentle touch of his sister’s embrace, her kind hands tracing planes on his back as she whispered to him. He thought of the last time he had seen her, the tears in her eyes as she begged him to write and be safe. He wished he had never left her now, finding their morning walks that he had before found growingly dull to seem unbelievable appealing.
Farrell tossed a bedroll to Orlando, the young man barely managing to catch it before it struck him in the chest. He looked up at Farrell, watching the Irishman intently as he lay out his own pallet. He balled a pair of trousers in a shirt and used it as a pillow, patting the sides to plump them.
Orlando looked down at his own bed and shivered, realizing he was too cold to sacrifice any part of his own clothing for a pillow of his own. He quickly toed off his boots and scurried beneath the blanket, curling it about himself as tight as he could manage.
Farrell settled down a few feet off, sitting with a groan after he removed his boots and gun belt. By the time the Irishman had settled in for the night, Orlando’s teeth were chattering.
The night only proceeded to get worse, the desert plain they rested in prime for the sweep of cold night air. Orlando’s legs were tucked up beneath him, his arms folded before his chest. He buried his face in the blanket, trying to shield his ears from the chill. His body was so adjusted to the heat of the sun, that its absence made the night almost unbearable. His breath shuddered out, his eyes shut as he begged sleep to overtake him.
Orlando opened his eyes when he heard movement beside him, sitting with a start when he realized the sound had been footsteps.
“Get up,” Farrell ordered, taking hold of Orlando’s arm. He jerked the youth to his feet, pulling the blanket off the cold earth and held it draped over his arm.
“What-” Orlando began.
“Come with me,” Farrell ordered, pulling the young man with him over to his own bedroll. Orlando watched the man toss his blanket down atop his own, and was delighted to feel a little warmth coming from their small fire. Farrell’s hands on his shirt startled him though, and Orlando immediately began to protest when the Irishman began to pull it from his body.
“What are you-”
The night air was cold on Orlando’s body as Farrell tugged his shirt off, tossing it down atop the bedroll. The young man didn’t even have time to protect before the Irishman had grabbed hold of his trousers and yanked them down his long legs, taking Orlando’s smallclothes with them.
Orlando yelped at both the cold and the exposure of his body to the other man’s eyes, though at present Farrell didn’t seem to be wasting time with watching him. Orlando immediately bent to retrieve his clothes, protests flying from his lips.
Orlando paled when he saw the Irishman take off his own shirt, his naked chest again exposed before him in that same manner which made Orlando’s blood boil and his heard race.
“Lie down” the Irishman said, his voice hard and raspy with no room for protest. He pushed Orlando’s shoulder until the boy dropped to the blanket, immediately sliding under it to escape the desert night. He looked up to see Farrell pushing his own trousers down his legs, his sleeping cock bared right before Orlando’s eyes. The young man gaped at it for a moment, the Irishman seemingly unaware of his captive’s fixation.
Quick as he had been stripped, Orlando realized that Farrell was pulling the blanket back with the intention of laying beside him…next to him…against him…nude and firm. Orlando quickly scurried away, the night air cold on his bare flesh.
“What do you think you are doing?” Orlando yelped, struggling to cover his groin, mortified to feel the familiar warmth that Farrell invoked growing at a rapid rate. Orlando pressed the blanket down harder against his member only to find it pressing back against him with growing insistency.
“It’s freezing,” Farrell said, his body so very naked and so very near. “I could hear you chattering…this will keep us warm.”
Orlando’s eyes were wide as a deer’s as the Irishman reached out to grab his arm, scooting back again with the blanket securing his modesty. He winced when the small sharp stones in the earth scratched over his buttocks. His eyes found focus on Farrell’s cock when the sheet was pulled away from it, the Irishman not at all conscious of his own nudity. He rose to is knees, moving himself closer to Orlando. He leaned forward and took Orlando’s arms in hold, dragging the young man closer. His hands felt hot against Orlando’s oversensitive skin, the young man losing his will to resist as he was steadily pulled towards the other man.
Orlando finally allowed Farrell to draw him back onto the blanket, his body still stiff but losing it’s will to resist as the Irishman pushed him down onto the blanket. Orlando punched his discarded clothes under his head, keeping his knees tucked up to hide his half swollen cock. He found his eyes drawn to Farrell, the man’s ease in his own skin something he couldn’t help but admire and desire for himself. Orlando was so uncomfortable in his own skin, overly aware of every place Farrell touched him as he settled himself beside him.
The young Englishman’s jaw was tight as he waited for Farrell to finish moving about beneath their blanket, each movement allowing a draft to slip beneath the fabric. Orlando could feel some heat from the man, but not much. He pressed his hands over his sex, hoping to hold his unruly member down and keep himself from even further embarrassment.
“Good night then,” Orlando finally murmured, hoping to prompt the man into sleep.
Farrell then turned onto his side, raised on an elbow as he looked down at his captive. Orlando stared up at him, his entire body still as he waited, unsure of what to expect. His lower lip slid between his teeth, the sharp sting of his teeth on his soft flesh making him feel less vulnerable somehow.
“Turn over,” Farrell said, his voice low and raspy.
Cold fear washed over Orlando at the man’s hushed order. He was not at all sure of what to expect from the other man at that moment, unable to read the emotion in the dark eyes hovering above him. He wanted to speak, to question the man’s motives, to protest. The words refused to come, though, so finally with a spinning head he turned onto his side. He kept his hand safely cupped over his cock to hide it from the other man as he shifted over, his knees immediately tucking up.
Orlando kept his eyes focused on the darkness before him, his entire body alert as he listened to the rustling of the Irishman moving, his ears ringing as he felt the heat of the man’s body pressed against him. He felt the hardness of Farrell’s chest against his back, one of his hands sliding with palm open up Orlando’s hip and around his slim waist to rest on his belly. Orlando inhaled sharply at the contact of Farrell’s hand on his naked skin, aware of every flicker of those cool fingers on his flesh. He felt his stomach quiver under the touch, and he buried his face in his arm to keep from moaning.
Orlando’s fingers tightened into a fist when he felt Farrell’s rough knees on the sensitive backs of his thighs and then push intently down to the folds of the youth’s own knees. Orlando took in a sharp breath when an intimate piece of Farrell’s anatomy pressed against his buttocks, the man’s cock pressing insistently against him as the man nestled closer.
The shuddered whimper that escaped his lips was not completely contained by the crook of his arm. His chest rose and fell heavily, and he was mortified to know that Farrell most likely felt every shift of his body. He shut his eyes tight and tried to ignore the man’s warm body, ignore the nude member resting right against him.
“Boy.”
Farrell’s hardened voice caught Orlando by surprise, and the youth immediately opened his eyes, gazing again into the dark of the night. His body froze as he waited for Farrell to speak again.
Orlando felt Farrell shift behind him again, breath hot against his ear as Farrell spoke in a low rumbling voice to him. “While you spoke before of your past companions, you never once mentioned the Duke.”
Orlando stilled at the other man’s words, unsure of the point that the Irishman was trying to make. He waited a moment, and then when Farrell did not speak again, he tried to stammer out an excuse, the lie not coming with the ease of the former.
“I suppose…” Orlando began softly, having to stop and wet his lips which had become particularly dry. “I suppose that in the moment…I did not consider our relationship to be one of companionship…I…” Orlando sought for an excuse that might appease the other man. “I have not known him for long…”
There was an exhalation against the back of his throat that Orlando could not decipher, and he waited for Farrell to speak. His face burned as he felt the man move behind him, the fingers stroking his belly ever so slightly.
“Did the Duke not make a lasting impression then?” Farrell asked cockily, the blunt tips of his fingers dragging over the skin below Orlando’s bellybutton and drawing out a gasp of surprised pleasure from the youth. “Was he that bad a lover that you tremble now? Is that why you shake like one that’s never been touched?”
Orlando shook his head, pushing back in an attempt to create space between his body and Farrell’s only to feel the man’s cock press against the cleft of his buttocks, the previously soft flesh hardening against him. The youth gasped at the contact, his head swimming as Farrell’s fingers raked down his belly until the man’s hand covered his now aching cock, cupping him with a firm grip.
“Did he touch you this way?” Farrell growled into Orlando’s ear. He’d moved up onto his elbow, his breath now hot on Orlando’s cheek. “Is that why he isn’t memorable to you…he took care of only his needs?”
“Mr. Farrell…stop,” Orlando mumbled, his breath caught. He’d never been touched by another in such a manner, the situation overwhelming his senses in every way. He was frightened by the man’s caresses, and more so by his own reactions. He did not know what Farrell intended to do to him…the man was obviously aroused…did he intend to force Orlando to service him?
“Does this make you nervous?” Farrell asked, the tone of his voice almost mocking. “How very virginal you seem.”
“Mr. Farrell,” Orlando gasped, his back arching as the Irishman’s fingers brushed over the delicate skin of his testicles. “Please stop this trespass…unhand me…”
“Am I not good enough for you?” Farrell asked with a hiss, his thigh moving against the back of Orlando’s.
Orlando shook his head, grabbing at the man’s hand in an attempt to push it away. “Would you act as the man you hate?” He finally asked, hoping he did not sound too desperate as he spoke. “Do you intend to force me?”
Farrell released him, his arm again wrapping about Orlando’s waist. His sex was still pressed against the youth from behind, but he did not grope him. He said nothing else, and Orlando wondered if he wanted him to sleep apart from him. The youth himself wished to be alone, unable to endure the temptation of the man behind him. He feared that if he was not left alone, he would no longer be able to resist giving in to the dark Irishman behind him, forgoing any decency remaining in him to allow the man to ravish him.
Orlando found it strange that he desired the Irishman to take him. He was appalled at his own desires for Farrell to show him the ways between two men, to introduce him to intimacy as he had removed him from every other comfort level he had previously held. Farrell frightened him, to be sure, but there was something in the brooding Irishman which Orlando found undeniably enthralling. His desire for the man was unannounced and unexplainable, but fierce and at the moment…overwhelming.
“Shall I move?” Orlando asked, his eyes still fixed on the desert before them.
Farrell’s response was to pull him closer, molding their bodies together until they touched from chest to toe. Orlando could feel the man’s lips resting near his naked shoulder, ghosting over his skin as he spoke.
“It’s a cold night…we both need the body heat.”
Orlando sighed, filled with a feeling that could have been relief or regret.
They lay in silence, Orlando’s body still but relaxing as exhaustion won over his trembling nerves. He closed his eyes, trying to slow his rapid breathing and calm himself. He could feel Farrell’s breath against the back of his neck, and found himself counting the exhalations of the Irishman’s lungs in his head.
Orlando breathed in deep when Farrell’s nose pressed against the joint between his neck and shoulder, his thumb resting against Orlando’s chest.
“I would never force you,” the man said, his voice low and soft. Orlando thought he sounded apologetic, a sentiment he had yet to receive from the other man. He said nothing in response, his felt himself relax back against the other man, which Farrell seemed to approve of as he rested his nose on the nape of Orlando’s neck and sighed contently.
TBC...