The Cure for Fear of Flying
Title: The Cure for Fear of Flying
Author: muck-a-luck, posting in brainofck
Pairing: SB/VM/OB
Rating: (mild?) NC-17
Summary: The endless trauma of flying in small planes.
Content/warnings: None.
Disclaimer: Slash is fiction. So while we may all be demented, slash is basically the author's own porno script, populated by the individuals she feels would be ideal to fill the various roles if she ruled the universe if she were ever fortunate enough have the opportunity to bring her vision to the screen. *snortle*
Archive rights: Absolutely none. My journals only. muck_a_luck and brainofck
Note: Written for that prompt thing. This is for idlesloth, who requested Well-Shagged with SB/OB/VM.
"Bloody fucking Hell! Look at him!"
Viggo looked up from his morning paper to find Orlando standing in the doorway to the bathroom, gloriously damp and naked, hair slicked back, surrounded by a cloud of steam.
Orli was staring at Sean, who wasn't making such an elegant picture at the moment, essentially passed out, sprawled face down on Viggo's bed, one hand half-curled into a fist on the pillow by his head. He looked sweetly innocent, mouth half-open and a little stream of drool dampening his pillow. If his ass weren't so red and covered in drying spunk Viggo might actually have believed the picture.
"Mmmmm," replied Viggo, smiling softly at Sean for a moment, before grinning at Orli.
"Sorry I didn't warn you," he said, without the slightest sound of regret in his voice.
"Yeah, well, why do I feel like I'm the one who's going to be walking funny for a week, even though he's the only one that got fucked."
Orli actually did limp a little, crossing the room to the bed.
"Oi, you, make room," he muttered to Sean, shoving at his shoulder then finally rolling him over by brute strength alone to make a narrow ledge for himself.
Sean opened a bleary eye, then reached out with arms and legs and engulfed the younger man in a heavy-limbed embrace.
"Hey!" Orli squawked in protest, but Sean hadn't ever really woken up, and now had fallen back into a sleep like death. Or at least apparently had. He was now drooling contentedly on Orli's shoulder.
Viggo snorted and ruffled the pages of his paper.
"I forgot he was flying in on that crappy studio private jet. He always gets like this. Comes in and demands I fuck him til my dick practically falls off. Actually, next time maybe I should plan for you to be here when he shows up after one of those trips."
"Jesus. Maybe you should call everybody who might be in town!"
"Shut it, you, and go to sleep," Sean finally growled. "You're ruining the afterglow."
Viggo tossed the paper aside and turned off the light.
Author: muck-a-luck, posting in brainofck
Pairing: SB/VM/OB
Rating: (mild?) NC-17
Summary: The endless trauma of flying in small planes.
Content/warnings: None.
Disclaimer: Slash is fiction. So while we may all be demented, slash is basically the author's own porno script, populated by the individuals she feels would be ideal to fill the various roles if she ruled the universe if she were ever fortunate enough have the opportunity to bring her vision to the screen. *snortle*
Archive rights: Absolutely none. My journals only. muck_a_luck and brainofck
Note: Written for that prompt thing. This is for idlesloth, who requested Well-Shagged with SB/OB/VM.
"Bloody fucking Hell! Look at him!"
Viggo looked up from his morning paper to find Orlando standing in the doorway to the bathroom, gloriously damp and naked, hair slicked back, surrounded by a cloud of steam.
Orli was staring at Sean, who wasn't making such an elegant picture at the moment, essentially passed out, sprawled face down on Viggo's bed, one hand half-curled into a fist on the pillow by his head. He looked sweetly innocent, mouth half-open and a little stream of drool dampening his pillow. If his ass weren't so red and covered in drying spunk Viggo might actually have believed the picture.
"Mmmmm," replied Viggo, smiling softly at Sean for a moment, before grinning at Orli.
"Sorry I didn't warn you," he said, without the slightest sound of regret in his voice.
"Yeah, well, why do I feel like I'm the one who's going to be walking funny for a week, even though he's the only one that got fucked."
Orli actually did limp a little, crossing the room to the bed.
"Oi, you, make room," he muttered to Sean, shoving at his shoulder then finally rolling him over by brute strength alone to make a narrow ledge for himself.
Sean opened a bleary eye, then reached out with arms and legs and engulfed the younger man in a heavy-limbed embrace.
"Hey!" Orli squawked in protest, but Sean hadn't ever really woken up, and now had fallen back into a sleep like death. Or at least apparently had. He was now drooling contentedly on Orli's shoulder.
Viggo snorted and ruffled the pages of his paper.
"I forgot he was flying in on that crappy studio private jet. He always gets like this. Comes in and demands I fuck him til my dick practically falls off. Actually, next time maybe I should plan for you to be here when he shows up after one of those trips."
"Jesus. Maybe you should call everybody who might be in town!"
"Shut it, you, and go to sleep," Sean finally growled. "You're ruining the afterglow."
Viggo tossed the paper aside and turned off the light.