FIC: "Temporary Monogamy" (Prologue) (Orlando Bloom/Sean Bean, Karl Urban/Sean Bean)
Title: "Temporary Monogamy" (Prologue)
Author: Brenda (azewewish)
Fandom: Lotrips
Pairing: Orlando Bloom/Sean Bean (Karl Urban/Sean Bean)
Rating: PG-13 to NC-17 (overall)
Disclaimer: I do not own these men or these events. It's all fiction.
Summary: In the never-ending search for the perfect partner, sometimes it's a good idea to figure yourself out first.
Notes: Written for afra_schatz for the 2008 slashylotr_xmas gift exchange. The request was: Bean/Orlando or Karl/Bean, first time with a twist, something humorous, set in NZ, against the 'grain' of characterizations, featuring Bernard Hill and Eric/Viggo. I promise, I'll get to all of it.
Thanks to cupiscent for her diligent beta and for being the best sounding board ever, and to the_stowaway for her equally diligent beta and enthusiastic advice.
And a special thanks must be made to tvillingar, who gave me the idea for this fic about 6 years ago.
Prologue | Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen | Part Fifteen | Part Sixteen | Part Seventeen | Part Eighteen | Part Nineteen | Part Twenty | Part Twenty-One | Part Twenty-Two | Part Twenty-Three | Part Twenty-Four | Part Twenty-Five | Part Twenty-Six | Part Twenty-Seven (and Epilogue) |
"So, after you get to New Zealand, I think you should -"
Orlando only listened with half an ear as his agent droned on and on, ad naseum, infinita something. Latin was never his thing in school. Now, if they’d taught a class on how to unhook a girl’s bra one-handed, he’d have been aces.
Orlando rummaged through the refrigerator, phone tucked between his ear and shoulder. His agent showed no signs of needing a response beyond the occasional grunt. Which was a good thing, as mornings and Orlando had a very wary kind of truce, wherein Orlando didn’t acknowledge mornings and, most times, unless he was working, no one bothered him until noon. Except, of course, aforementioned agent.
He grinned in triumph when he found a bottle of orange juice that hadn’t expired yet, then headed to the cabinet for a glass. The floorboards upstairs creaked, so he went ahead and poured a second. Jemma would be downstairs any second, and he really wanted this conversation done. There were far better things he could be doing, since he was up and all. Taking his girl straight back to bed was high on the list.
"Anything else?" he asked, injecting his voice with just the right amount of friendly impatience.
"Yeah, one more." Orlando heard papers shuffling from the other end of the line.
"Yeah?"
Orlando gave Jemma a warm, intimate smile as she filled the doorway, all long legs and tousled hair, in one of Orlando's t-shirts and nothing else. She moved past him into the kitchen, perfume teasing his senses, and murmured, "We have to talk."
The look on her face didn't bode well. Orlando hung up on his agent without another word.
***
"I think this is the best thing for us."
"I think I can't believe we’re talking about this," Orlando said, pushing his empty glass away from him. He didn't even remember picking it up, let alone drinking from it. "You're breaking up with me before breakfast."
"I offered to cook," Jemma pointed out, with what looked like an attempt at a smile.
"Jemma..."
"Look." One of her hands covered his. The feel was warm, comforting, and already Orlando was mourning the loss. "It’s not like we're in love or anything, right?"
"No," Orlando mumbled. Because, yeah. They weren’t. Really. It was just - "But I thought we'd settled in alright together."
"We have," Jemma replied. "Here. In England. New Zealand, I mean, well..." She shrugged, the shirt slipping off an elegant shoulder. "That's the other side of the world. Who knows what'll happen. You should be free to explore that. And we can still be friends. I’ll always be here for you."
His eyes stung as he nodded. "Yeah, okay."
It only took a second for Jemma to round the table and crawl, full-straddle, onto Orlando's lap. He wrapped his arms around her, held her as close as he could. He didn't know what else to do. He was shite at breaking up.
"I’m sorry." He had no idea why he was saying it.
"Don't be," Jemma brushed her lips over Orlando’s in whisper-soft caress. "This film is important. Your career's important. We've had a great ride of it. Now, take me back to bed and let's end this proper-like, yeah?"
"Yeah, alright," he replied, and stood, bringing her with him. She wrapped those beautiful long legs around his waist, and leaned in for a slow, heated kiss. She had a point, he thought. If this was it, he may as well make the most of it.
***
(Two weeks later)
Heathrow was teeming with crowds, but that was nothing new. There were always a billion people bustling to and fro. More like an ant farm or a study in sociology than anything else, really. Orlando hefted his carry-on bag higher on his shoulder, and threaded his way through the throng to his gate. New Zealand. Halfway around the bloody world. In a completely different hemisphere.
It would be just at the end of spring there. Orlando wondered what that would be like, having Christmas at the beach instead of in the snow. He'd heard tales that the Kiwis had barbeques, of all things, instead of the traditional turkey and trimmings and pudding. Just one more thing to try to get used to. He wondered if the water really did flow in the opposite direction. If they liked tea and Hobnobs. If the country really had more sheep than people...
"Excuse me, are you Orlando Bloom?"
Orlando pulled himself out of his musings and looked slightly down into a pair of lively green eyes. The man standing before him had a pixie-ish face with ruddy cheeks and a ready smile, a thinning mop of spiky blond hair, and a slender build that spoke more of a life walking and running than at the gym.
Orlando took the outstretched hand out of habit. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"
"Billy Boyd." Twin dimples appeared when Billy smiled. "I'm playing Pippin. We're on the same flight to Wellington."
"Ah, right." Orlando remembered his agent mentioning that he and another Fellowship cast member would be sharing a flight. Said they should seek each other out to get acquainted. Orlando'd completely forgotten. "How'd you know it was me?" he asked.
"Had my agent show me yer headshot." Billy gestured at Orlando. "Yer much better looking in person." The last was said with the sauciest wink Orlando could ever remember getting from anyone, male or female.
"Thanks." He could just feel the blush creeping across his cheeks. One day - but not today, apparently - he'd learn to accept a compliment with grace. "So, want to grab a drink before our flight? We've got time."
"Absolutely." Billy clapped Orlando on the back. "It's my birthday today, so I'll let you buy the first pint."
"It's your birthday? And you're flying today? Man..." Orlando would have thrown a fit.
"I'm off to a new adventure in a strange and wonderful country to film a legendary series of books," Billy grinned. "And I just met a new friend. All in all, I'd say that's reason to celebrate."
"Yeah, you're right." They both slid onto stools at the bar. "Two pints of Stella, please," he told the bartender. "And keep 'em coming," he added, with his own wink at Billy, "we've got some celebrating to do."
***
A pint or two turned into a few or more, then into champagne on the plane when Orlando informed the stewardess - airline host, as she'd corrected - about Billy's birthday, and pretty soon, Billy and Orlando were acting like the best of friends. Billy told Orlando all about the death of his parents, growing up with just his sister, how he'd fallen into acting by accident, and his hopes for what getting this part might mean for him. ("I just want to be a part of history, y'know?" "Yeah, man, I totally hear you.")
Orlando, for his part, poured his heart out about how it had felt to find out about his real father, breaking his back, wondering if he'd ever live up to the expectations that his teachers at Guildhall had placed on him, and about how Jemma had dumped him after two bloody good years together, if he did say so himself.
"Oooh, that's harsh," Billy commented in sympathy.
Orlando slumped back on his seat. Around them, the other passengers were either sound asleep or walking the aisles to stretch their legs. "Tell me about it," he sighed. He still couldn't believe she'd done it.
"Aye, well, as I said, yer a right gorgeous bloke, you'll find someone quick-like. Someone better."
"Thanks," Orlando replied, and meant it. "So, what do you reckon New Zealand'll be like?"
"I dunno. I mean, I've never been farther east than Germany."
"Me, neither. But, uh, have you ever watched 'Xena' or 'Hercules'?"
"A little, yeah," Billy replied. '"Why?"
"Well, the shows're utter rubbish," Orlando said, hugging his knees to his chest in an effort to get as comfortable as possible. Thank Christ for flying first class. "But it's fun rubbish, y'know? Anyway, they're filmed in New Zealand and it always looks so beautiful on the screen."
"Hey, y'think that means we could meet Lucy Lawless?" Billy's eyes were bright with alcohol and excitement.
Oh yeah, he and Billy were going to get on just fine. "Christ, I hope so," Orlando sighed, thinking about Lucy's legs in her short, leather miniskirt. "That'd definitely be a story to tell the folks back home."
Billy's lusty sigh matched Orlando's. "Oooh, I've got some news ye might not know."
"Yeah?"
"Ye know who I heard was playing Boromir?" When Orlando shook his head, Billy laid a hand on Orlando's arm. "Sean Bean."
Orlando's eyes widened. "The Sean Bean?"
"And none other," Billy nodded, awe evident in his voice.
"Wicked." Fucking brilliant, actually. Like most people in Britain, Orlando had a deep love for the Sharpe films. "I've always wanted to work with him. What do you suppose he's like?"
"Focused, I'd imagine. Brooding," Billy added, with a bright laugh. "Probably skulks about between takes being all Brando-like and intense."
Intense was a good description. Sean always looked like he'd be a right good bruiser in any pub brawl. "Bet he's got loads of advice on the craft, though."
"Viggo Mortensen, Ian McKellen, Sean Bean...they'll be our Jedi Masters." Billy flopped back onto his seat, eyes half closed. "And we'll be like sponges, soaking it all in."
Sponges. Orlando liked the sound of that, and the work it implied. He wanted to learn as much as possible, wanted to be more than just another pretty face onscreen. And fuck knew, he needed to bury himself in all the activity he could fine if he was going to get over Jemma.
***
New Zealand
Two days earlier
Sean was taking a much needed break from his latest bout of sword practice with the legendary Bob Anderson (Bob Anderson, would wonders never cease?) when Karl Urban sat next to him on the tiny benches in the studio. "So, here's how this is going to work," Karl stated, without any preamble.
"I'm sorry?" Sean blinked. He'd been here a little over a week already, but had only exchanged about a dozen words with Karl.
"Don't be. I'm going to rock your world." Karl's grin was just this shade of wicked.
"Of course you are," Sean murmured, still confused. And, he had to admit, turned on by the sight of that smile. So far, Sean had been well pleased with the looks of the Kiwi actors. And Karl, with his gorgeously muscled body and laid-back, vibrant demeanor, was certainly among the better looking ones.
"You're a good looking bloke. I'm a good looking bloke," Karl stated, echoing Sean's thoughts. "I think we need to start sleeping together immediately."
Part of Sean (the part that resided down south) was immediately interested, but this was Karl. And even though Sean didn't know Karl all that well yet, he was already wary of Karl's propensity for practical jokes. Which is what this had to be. "Have you been smoking some of Viggo's weed?"
"Hasn't everyone?" Karl laughed, and patted Sean's knee. The touch lingered. "Besides, where do you think he gets it?"
"Good point," Sean replied, his gaze riveted to Karl's fingers stroking his thigh.
Karl used his other hand to tilt Sean's chin up. His eyes were friendly, but serious. "This is no bullshit, mate. You look like you need someone to warm your bed, and you're definitely my top choice to warm mine."
"Not Viggo?" Karl and Viggo were already the fastest of friends and compatriots in crime. Sean foresaw a lengthy eighteen months of inventive pranks. Already, all the talk during rehearsals was of the theft of a couple sheep being used for the Hobbiton scenes, and their eventual discovery in the WETA workshop.
"Fuck no," Karl replied, vehemently, "he's just as likely to get me naked and paint his interpretation of the battle of Thermopylae on my chest as give me a blowjob."
Sean smothered the laugh. Karl had Viggo to the ground. "Besides, I thought you were with Harry." That was the rumor he'd heard from Craig, at any rate.
"Nah, that's been over with for awhile."
"That's not what Craig's saying."
Karl let out a derisive snort. "Craig likes to spin a good yarn, but he's not the sharpest knife in the shed. So? You up for it?"
Karl's hand was steadily creeping up Sean's thigh. As a result, Sean's voice was a husky murmur that was thick with lust. "Normally, uh, y'know, I like to be the one doing the wooing..."
Whatever he meant to say was completely lost when Karl yanked back on Sean's hair and captured his lips for a hard, bruising kiss. Sean's entire body snapped to attention; he made a small noise in the back of his throat, and grabbed his own handful of Karl's hair as he enthusiastically returned the kiss.
By the time Karl let him up for air, Sean was seeing stars and pretty much willing to agree to anything as long as he could get at Karl's mouth again. "I'll let you take me out to a nice restaurant before we fuck each other senseless," Karl grinned. His lips were delightfully bruised.
"Yeah, alright," Sean replied dazedly. His stay in New Zealand was definitely looking up.
(To Be Continued...)
Author: Brenda (azewewish)
Fandom: Lotrips
Pairing: Orlando Bloom/Sean Bean (Karl Urban/Sean Bean)
Rating: PG-13 to NC-17 (overall)
Disclaimer: I do not own these men or these events. It's all fiction.
Summary: In the never-ending search for the perfect partner, sometimes it's a good idea to figure yourself out first.
Notes: Written for afra_schatz for the 2008 slashylotr_xmas gift exchange. The request was: Bean/Orlando or Karl/Bean, first time with a twist, something humorous, set in NZ, against the 'grain' of characterizations, featuring Bernard Hill and Eric/Viggo. I promise, I'll get to all of it.
Thanks to cupiscent for her diligent beta and for being the best sounding board ever, and to the_stowaway for her equally diligent beta and enthusiastic advice.
And a special thanks must be made to tvillingar, who gave me the idea for this fic about 6 years ago.
Prologue | Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen | Part Fifteen | Part Sixteen | Part Seventeen | Part Eighteen | Part Nineteen | Part Twenty | Part Twenty-One | Part Twenty-Two | Part Twenty-Three | Part Twenty-Four | Part Twenty-Five | Part Twenty-Six | Part Twenty-Seven (and Epilogue) |
"So, after you get to New Zealand, I think you should -"
Orlando only listened with half an ear as his agent droned on and on, ad naseum, infinita something. Latin was never his thing in school. Now, if they’d taught a class on how to unhook a girl’s bra one-handed, he’d have been aces.
Orlando rummaged through the refrigerator, phone tucked between his ear and shoulder. His agent showed no signs of needing a response beyond the occasional grunt. Which was a good thing, as mornings and Orlando had a very wary kind of truce, wherein Orlando didn’t acknowledge mornings and, most times, unless he was working, no one bothered him until noon. Except, of course, aforementioned agent.
He grinned in triumph when he found a bottle of orange juice that hadn’t expired yet, then headed to the cabinet for a glass. The floorboards upstairs creaked, so he went ahead and poured a second. Jemma would be downstairs any second, and he really wanted this conversation done. There were far better things he could be doing, since he was up and all. Taking his girl straight back to bed was high on the list.
"Anything else?" he asked, injecting his voice with just the right amount of friendly impatience.
"Yeah, one more." Orlando heard papers shuffling from the other end of the line.
"Yeah?"
Orlando gave Jemma a warm, intimate smile as she filled the doorway, all long legs and tousled hair, in one of Orlando's t-shirts and nothing else. She moved past him into the kitchen, perfume teasing his senses, and murmured, "We have to talk."
The look on her face didn't bode well. Orlando hung up on his agent without another word.
***
"I think this is the best thing for us."
"I think I can't believe we’re talking about this," Orlando said, pushing his empty glass away from him. He didn't even remember picking it up, let alone drinking from it. "You're breaking up with me before breakfast."
"I offered to cook," Jemma pointed out, with what looked like an attempt at a smile.
"Jemma..."
"Look." One of her hands covered his. The feel was warm, comforting, and already Orlando was mourning the loss. "It’s not like we're in love or anything, right?"
"No," Orlando mumbled. Because, yeah. They weren’t. Really. It was just - "But I thought we'd settled in alright together."
"We have," Jemma replied. "Here. In England. New Zealand, I mean, well..." She shrugged, the shirt slipping off an elegant shoulder. "That's the other side of the world. Who knows what'll happen. You should be free to explore that. And we can still be friends. I’ll always be here for you."
His eyes stung as he nodded. "Yeah, okay."
It only took a second for Jemma to round the table and crawl, full-straddle, onto Orlando's lap. He wrapped his arms around her, held her as close as he could. He didn't know what else to do. He was shite at breaking up.
"I’m sorry." He had no idea why he was saying it.
"Don't be," Jemma brushed her lips over Orlando’s in whisper-soft caress. "This film is important. Your career's important. We've had a great ride of it. Now, take me back to bed and let's end this proper-like, yeah?"
"Yeah, alright," he replied, and stood, bringing her with him. She wrapped those beautiful long legs around his waist, and leaned in for a slow, heated kiss. She had a point, he thought. If this was it, he may as well make the most of it.
***
(Two weeks later)
Heathrow was teeming with crowds, but that was nothing new. There were always a billion people bustling to and fro. More like an ant farm or a study in sociology than anything else, really. Orlando hefted his carry-on bag higher on his shoulder, and threaded his way through the throng to his gate. New Zealand. Halfway around the bloody world. In a completely different hemisphere.
It would be just at the end of spring there. Orlando wondered what that would be like, having Christmas at the beach instead of in the snow. He'd heard tales that the Kiwis had barbeques, of all things, instead of the traditional turkey and trimmings and pudding. Just one more thing to try to get used to. He wondered if the water really did flow in the opposite direction. If they liked tea and Hobnobs. If the country really had more sheep than people...
"Excuse me, are you Orlando Bloom?"
Orlando pulled himself out of his musings and looked slightly down into a pair of lively green eyes. The man standing before him had a pixie-ish face with ruddy cheeks and a ready smile, a thinning mop of spiky blond hair, and a slender build that spoke more of a life walking and running than at the gym.
Orlando took the outstretched hand out of habit. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"
"Billy Boyd." Twin dimples appeared when Billy smiled. "I'm playing Pippin. We're on the same flight to Wellington."
"Ah, right." Orlando remembered his agent mentioning that he and another Fellowship cast member would be sharing a flight. Said they should seek each other out to get acquainted. Orlando'd completely forgotten. "How'd you know it was me?" he asked.
"Had my agent show me yer headshot." Billy gestured at Orlando. "Yer much better looking in person." The last was said with the sauciest wink Orlando could ever remember getting from anyone, male or female.
"Thanks." He could just feel the blush creeping across his cheeks. One day - but not today, apparently - he'd learn to accept a compliment with grace. "So, want to grab a drink before our flight? We've got time."
"Absolutely." Billy clapped Orlando on the back. "It's my birthday today, so I'll let you buy the first pint."
"It's your birthday? And you're flying today? Man..." Orlando would have thrown a fit.
"I'm off to a new adventure in a strange and wonderful country to film a legendary series of books," Billy grinned. "And I just met a new friend. All in all, I'd say that's reason to celebrate."
"Yeah, you're right." They both slid onto stools at the bar. "Two pints of Stella, please," he told the bartender. "And keep 'em coming," he added, with his own wink at Billy, "we've got some celebrating to do."
***
A pint or two turned into a few or more, then into champagne on the plane when Orlando informed the stewardess - airline host, as she'd corrected - about Billy's birthday, and pretty soon, Billy and Orlando were acting like the best of friends. Billy told Orlando all about the death of his parents, growing up with just his sister, how he'd fallen into acting by accident, and his hopes for what getting this part might mean for him. ("I just want to be a part of history, y'know?" "Yeah, man, I totally hear you.")
Orlando, for his part, poured his heart out about how it had felt to find out about his real father, breaking his back, wondering if he'd ever live up to the expectations that his teachers at Guildhall had placed on him, and about how Jemma had dumped him after two bloody good years together, if he did say so himself.
"Oooh, that's harsh," Billy commented in sympathy.
Orlando slumped back on his seat. Around them, the other passengers were either sound asleep or walking the aisles to stretch their legs. "Tell me about it," he sighed. He still couldn't believe she'd done it.
"Aye, well, as I said, yer a right gorgeous bloke, you'll find someone quick-like. Someone better."
"Thanks," Orlando replied, and meant it. "So, what do you reckon New Zealand'll be like?"
"I dunno. I mean, I've never been farther east than Germany."
"Me, neither. But, uh, have you ever watched 'Xena' or 'Hercules'?"
"A little, yeah," Billy replied. '"Why?"
"Well, the shows're utter rubbish," Orlando said, hugging his knees to his chest in an effort to get as comfortable as possible. Thank Christ for flying first class. "But it's fun rubbish, y'know? Anyway, they're filmed in New Zealand and it always looks so beautiful on the screen."
"Hey, y'think that means we could meet Lucy Lawless?" Billy's eyes were bright with alcohol and excitement.
Oh yeah, he and Billy were going to get on just fine. "Christ, I hope so," Orlando sighed, thinking about Lucy's legs in her short, leather miniskirt. "That'd definitely be a story to tell the folks back home."
Billy's lusty sigh matched Orlando's. "Oooh, I've got some news ye might not know."
"Yeah?"
"Ye know who I heard was playing Boromir?" When Orlando shook his head, Billy laid a hand on Orlando's arm. "Sean Bean."
Orlando's eyes widened. "The Sean Bean?"
"And none other," Billy nodded, awe evident in his voice.
"Wicked." Fucking brilliant, actually. Like most people in Britain, Orlando had a deep love for the Sharpe films. "I've always wanted to work with him. What do you suppose he's like?"
"Focused, I'd imagine. Brooding," Billy added, with a bright laugh. "Probably skulks about between takes being all Brando-like and intense."
Intense was a good description. Sean always looked like he'd be a right good bruiser in any pub brawl. "Bet he's got loads of advice on the craft, though."
"Viggo Mortensen, Ian McKellen, Sean Bean...they'll be our Jedi Masters." Billy flopped back onto his seat, eyes half closed. "And we'll be like sponges, soaking it all in."
Sponges. Orlando liked the sound of that, and the work it implied. He wanted to learn as much as possible, wanted to be more than just another pretty face onscreen. And fuck knew, he needed to bury himself in all the activity he could fine if he was going to get over Jemma.
***
New Zealand
Two days earlier
Sean was taking a much needed break from his latest bout of sword practice with the legendary Bob Anderson (Bob Anderson, would wonders never cease?) when Karl Urban sat next to him on the tiny benches in the studio. "So, here's how this is going to work," Karl stated, without any preamble.
"I'm sorry?" Sean blinked. He'd been here a little over a week already, but had only exchanged about a dozen words with Karl.
"Don't be. I'm going to rock your world." Karl's grin was just this shade of wicked.
"Of course you are," Sean murmured, still confused. And, he had to admit, turned on by the sight of that smile. So far, Sean had been well pleased with the looks of the Kiwi actors. And Karl, with his gorgeously muscled body and laid-back, vibrant demeanor, was certainly among the better looking ones.
"You're a good looking bloke. I'm a good looking bloke," Karl stated, echoing Sean's thoughts. "I think we need to start sleeping together immediately."
Part of Sean (the part that resided down south) was immediately interested, but this was Karl. And even though Sean didn't know Karl all that well yet, he was already wary of Karl's propensity for practical jokes. Which is what this had to be. "Have you been smoking some of Viggo's weed?"
"Hasn't everyone?" Karl laughed, and patted Sean's knee. The touch lingered. "Besides, where do you think he gets it?"
"Good point," Sean replied, his gaze riveted to Karl's fingers stroking his thigh.
Karl used his other hand to tilt Sean's chin up. His eyes were friendly, but serious. "This is no bullshit, mate. You look like you need someone to warm your bed, and you're definitely my top choice to warm mine."
"Not Viggo?" Karl and Viggo were already the fastest of friends and compatriots in crime. Sean foresaw a lengthy eighteen months of inventive pranks. Already, all the talk during rehearsals was of the theft of a couple sheep being used for the Hobbiton scenes, and their eventual discovery in the WETA workshop.
"Fuck no," Karl replied, vehemently, "he's just as likely to get me naked and paint his interpretation of the battle of Thermopylae on my chest as give me a blowjob."
Sean smothered the laugh. Karl had Viggo to the ground. "Besides, I thought you were with Harry." That was the rumor he'd heard from Craig, at any rate.
"Nah, that's been over with for awhile."
"That's not what Craig's saying."
Karl let out a derisive snort. "Craig likes to spin a good yarn, but he's not the sharpest knife in the shed. So? You up for it?"
Karl's hand was steadily creeping up Sean's thigh. As a result, Sean's voice was a husky murmur that was thick with lust. "Normally, uh, y'know, I like to be the one doing the wooing..."
Whatever he meant to say was completely lost when Karl yanked back on Sean's hair and captured his lips for a hard, bruising kiss. Sean's entire body snapped to attention; he made a small noise in the back of his throat, and grabbed his own handful of Karl's hair as he enthusiastically returned the kiss.
By the time Karl let him up for air, Sean was seeing stars and pretty much willing to agree to anything as long as he could get at Karl's mouth again. "I'll let you take me out to a nice restaurant before we fuck each other senseless," Karl grinned. His lips were delightfully bruised.
"Yeah, alright," Sean replied dazedly. His stay in New Zealand was definitely looking up.
(To Be Continued...)