[rps] road trip 2/2
co-written with: anatsuno and sparcck
Wednesday. Sunset.
::
The sun is setting over the desert. What a big fucking cliché is that, Orlando thinks, stretching and twisting to get out of the car, out of the passenger side and he walks around, hauls open the back door and pulls on Elijah's foot, Elijah sleepy-eyed and sprawled on the backseat, tugs him forward and half-out of the car.
Josh slaps Orlando's ass as he walks by, tugs a bit on Elijah's other foot.
"You two girls want anything?" he says, "Quick, cos I gotta piss."
"I'm right," says Orlando, not wanting to look up at Josh, bright red sun behind him, so he looks down at Elijah instead.
"Lij is alright, too."
"Mrhh?" Elijah blinks three times in rapid sucession, out of it, clenching hands that feel clammy with that sweat-against-leather feeling.
Orlando's hair is shiny with strands of sun mixed in, his face shadowed, and Lij thinks he looks definitely dodgy, fucker's planning something. What's that he just said?
When he turns his head in Josh's direction, upper body coming up and trying feebly to wrench his foot away from Orli's grip, Josh is already gone.
There's pressure in his bladder, too, and Lij's brain catches up with the words vaguely heard through the heat-induced haze.
"Let go, man, gotta piss too."
"No you don't." Orlando wrinkles his nose and smiles, probably wasted on Sleeping Beauty here, dopey in the backseat.
Orlando is crouching, the open door half-shielding them from the other cars at the gas station. Elijah has sat up, bleary but flighty, little kitty pawing at Orlando's arms to get out of the car.
"Fuck off, Orli," Elijah mumbles.
"Sorta," Orlando says and his voice is a bit dry and cracky, he's thirsty, he needs a drink, but first he needs backseat-Elijah, and he leans in and kisses him, quick and light and strange on his nose, elbows his knees apart, slides his hands fast up Elijah's thighs.
"Gotta be quick, yeah."
Fuck, no, Elijah thinks. Not now.
But Orli's used to getting his way and Lij knows it and not just him but his cock, sadly, his balls too; and as Orlando touches him with hands coming up and up, a ripple of want tightens around him, through his groin, blocking out the bladder signals from his brain.
"No, fuck, please," Lij whines, and no matter what Orli's planned they both know it's already too late to back off, one intent on getting his way and the other too weak, weak and aroused enough to cave in.
"Grr. Fucking Elf, cunt."
Elijah chooses to lie back down on the warm leather, slumps and hopes for quick, sharp, no interruption and please let no one see them, please, God.
Orlando tugs on Elijah's button-fly, enjoys the sound of the buttons popping against denim just as much as he enjoys the sound of Elijah's low Oh, yeah as Orlando's hand wraps around him, easy as pie.
"Pervert. It's only 'cuz there's a risk getting caught, hm?"
"Easy," Orlando murmurs, starts to stroke Elijah's cock one-handed, his other rubbing himself, eyes darting at the windows for people coming near.
"You like an audience just as much as me, Lij," and Orlando feels the aching twist in his belly, hot, frantic. "You little fucker, I was watching you."
Not that Orlando minded, really, but it was just a bit much, the heat and the driving and - and last night, oh christ - and then Lij, curled in the backseat dreaming about god-knows-what with his mouth open and his hips moving, and Orlando had been a bit dazed and stifled watching, no, perving Lij getting hard while he slept.
And then Josh said, "Gonna pull over," and Orlando had thought Halle-fucking-lujah.
"Watching?" Elijah wants to know, wonders what this is about for a second, but the moment's not really good for thought and he drops the question, forgets, lets the bright hot red inside his eyelids take over.
"Yeah..." he says, and it's more about Orlando's grip-and-rub-and-twist on him than anything else, and he's almost surprised by the speed of the rush in his veins, blood beating strong at his temples. It must be the heat, or the residual dream-- Fuck this is good, and he's not gonna last long, not with the added feel of internal pressure-- JE-sus.
Lij is panting now, overwhelmed, shoulders pressing down in the hot leather seat, hand scrabbling at his side and bucking his hips higher to fuck Orli's fist, not tight enough, not-- "Stronger," he pleads, almost whining, "Orli please, faster man, you're.." oh yes like this, "killing m--"
Orlando is grinning in between gulps of air, feeling high on friction and stupidity, high on Elijah’s pleading voice, never ever get enough of that sound, that catch when he loses it, so different from everyday snarky definite Elijah, god, yes.
Muscles in his thighs and knees are burning, aching from the strain of crouching, and he doesn’t know if he’s got the co-ordination to get them both off like this, can’t even begin to figure out how that’d work. Plus, he thinks, he can wait. Balance sheet in my favour, oh yes. He drops to his knees, tiny stones digging into his flesh on the gravel but at least he can balance now; Orlando licks his palm, wet, sloppy, catching Elijah’s blinking eyes, licks and looks serious, dips his head to rasp his dry tongue across the head of Lij’s cock, hear him whine. Smells the sweet smell of the leather and damp and sex, intoxicating in the heat.
Orlando swaps his hands, wet palm closing over damp skin, trying to keep the hardtight rhythm going, trying to coax out noise because the least Lij could do for him is yell. Orlando’s being so obliging, after all.
"You were dreaming," Orlando walks his fingers up, pushes his fingers in Elijah’s mouth, "Dunno what - get them wet, Lij, come on, or do you want them dry?"
As incoherent as he feels Elijah would answer but Orlando's fingers only invade him more when he opens wider to speak and he can only close his mouth around them and lick, suck avidly. There's something, sand on them, tiny scraping motes probably left by the drive, airborne until they met the skin of Orli, smiling Orli riding shotgun in the desert; just the opposite of me, Lij thinks, flying because I met the-- "Aaah," cunt, talented twisted twisting cunt.
When finally the fingers leave him - and he knows of course that it's not for long and he can't wait, on the edge already 'cause it's sharp, sharper even that he wished for, hotter; when they leave Lij finds that all he can do to tell of the dream is "Josh.. yeah,", and he fights for breath, "and you, too--" panting pathetically while the rhythm on his cock slows, while he wills it to not stop, not now, nonono no! not now.
"Sunburnt skin, pink. Lots of it," he says, baring teeth, hoping to challenge Orli to press him, force him to speed up again, to finish this and make the tremor in Lij's thighs stop before he shouts and alerts the locals.
Orlando feels his own sunburnt back at that, realises with a jolt that lying in the sun at lunchtime was enough to scorch and he loves it, knows what Lij is thinking about, the scrape of sunburn against the sunbaked car or rasping on knobbly motel bedspreads and it's hot and rushing under his skin, thinking about that, about Lij thinking that. It's almost like jerking himself off; Elijah is immobile everywhere, stretched and taut except his hips, trying to fuck Orlando's hand, trying to counter Orlando's wet grasp and he feels so slick with Orlando's spit, hot and heavy in his hand.
"Skin, huh - yeah, move, Lij," Orlando mutters, slows slightly because he doesn't want him there yet, wants to feel the pulse inside of him first. He twists down hard around Elijah's cock and stretches skin back, the head twitching and shiny as he licks a slow circle, his other hand sliding wetly down and he pushes two fingers inside Elijah, not too fast, not too slow, curves them inside, and inside feels fantastic.
"Come on, sweet thing," Orlando whispers, just needing to hear it, see it, the addictive sort of crumbling that Elijah has, "you're so easy, huh, just want you, want you to come, come on, nownow," and he twists his fingers at the same time he twists his hand, firm and deliberate.
There's a surge of sweet-and-salty in Elijah's veins when Orli licks and slides fingers in all at once, like too-hot maple syrup poured suddenly on morning bacon, and for a second it rises so high Lij has the insta-thought it's the end, feeling the rush in his cock, the forward pull, that violent throb.
It slows and fades, though, and it takes a few seconds more, a few endlessly good seconds of Orlando's fingers curved and rubbing inside of Lij, of his manic, amazing wet hard twist around Elijah's cock, of his sure voice pleading for it--Lij slides down on the seat to meet more fingers, his hand collides with the hot leather of the seatback; every new bit of sensation helping to topple him over the edge and he's gone, growling to hold the Fuck! he wants to shout, growling and whining and thrusting more and more shallowly in Orli's hand. It's almost painful, too sharp with the push of a full bladder behind, shrill sensations all mixed up, the urge to piss returning stronger even as aftershocks sweep through Lij.
His hand grips on the edge of the seat to pull him back up as he surveys the damage on his t-shirt, panting in the murky air, slightly annoyed. "Should have been on you, man. Should've painted your pretty fucking face instead of my shirt. Shit."
Orlando is smiling way too wide for someone in his position, end of the day desert sun blazing red on his back, kneeling in the gravel with a hard-on visible a mile away tenting his pants; but Lij doesn't feel too inclined to pity right now.
"Brilliant, dude, now-- if you please could let go so I can go pee and rinse my shirt, hmm? Plus if you don't move people are gonna start wondering. Like. Really."
Elijah can't help grinning, though, Orlando's smile just too infectious and all these lazy endorphins in him, warmly coating his mouth. Lij likes surprises, after all. Orli's always full of them. It's good.
It never ceases to delight Orlando just how contrary Elijah is; how he's not an angel, how he's bratty, filthy-mouthed, sarcastic. How he doesn't let anyone push his buttons without a little bit of revenge. Painted your pretty fucking face, yeah, that would've been more like it. Orlando licks his lips, thinks about that some more, ignoring the whine in his knees and thighs in favour of the pulse in his groin. Elijah is scrambling though, making moves to get up and out, clearly not going to reciprocate-- that's fine, Orlando didn't expect that, didn't really even want it, wanted Elijah's reactions more than anything-- and muttering about people seeing them.
Yeah. That's true. A quick look around and there are potential spectators, although no truckers in plastic baseball caps, no horrified Valley teenagers are close enough to contend with, thank christ, so Orlando pitches forward and up, bending over to brush the gravel from his combat pants, bending over to adjust himself. He can wait.
"Just take it off." Orlando grins at Elijah, who is still looking at his t-shirt disgustedly while he buttons up. Elijah stands, stretches and crosses his arms in front of him, so close to Orlando that when he pulls the shirt off it brushes across Orlando's face, and he smells desert and car and sweat and come and something sweet like icecream, all faint and mingled. And nice. Elijah balls the t-shirt up, snakes a finger out to poke lightly in Orlando's belly-button.
"Thanks," he winks.
Orlando rests his elbows on the car, ignoring the metallic scorch, watches Elijah jog over to the bathroom, crossing paths with Josh. He can't work out what they're saying, but he can see Josh's lopsided smile roll into raised eyebrows when Josh looks over towards the car.
Orlando gives him a little wave.
::
When Josh steps out of the dim, dank bathroom, the heat of the day immediately scorches the humidity off of him, and he feels a kind of languid burn across his shoulders through his thin undershirt and into his belly. He's overtired, he thinks, overstimulated, and he had for one second, wanted to jerk off right there into the little metal toilet, just to get some kind of relief. Because Orlando, christ, and Elijah in the backseat. There's only so much one guy can take.
He stretches his arms up over his head, kind of enjoying the lazy pull of muscle against that buzz is in his stomach.
He squints, sees Elijah jogging towards him, and whatever is coiling in him pulls hard and sharp at Elijah's bare chest, splotchy flush on his belly and dark nipples hard. He can't help the smirk that twists his mouth.
"What?" Elijah snaps.
"Good nap?"
Elijah smacks his belly with the back of his hand. "I haveta pee, dude, move it."
Josh looks towards the car and sees Orlando give a little salute type of wave. Turns, looks at Elijah, who's backing towards the bathroom and shakes his head.
Shading his eyes against the glare off the cars around them, Orlando contemplates going in to buy a coke, just to be able to roll the glass bottle behind his knees where the seat sticks, but it's like the sun has its thumb on him, pinning him to the spot, and he can't be arsed moving.
Josh lopes around the car and Orlando turns his head to squint at him.
"'m hot."
Josh leans forward, level with Orlando's face, peering sideways at him, eyebrows raised. "Did you--" and he points at the backseat, points at imaginary Elijah.
"--uh-huh." Orlando nods, returns the sideways, serious glance.
Josh pushes himself back, slaps his hands on the canvas hood. "Good man." He nods decisively, solemnly, before they both start snorting with laughter.
Orlando pulls himself off the car as well, still smirking, rolls his neck and flexes back on ankles, bends his knees forward; he can still feel the gravel indentations, mixed with the scorch of the car. The car.
He steps into Josh's breathing space. Tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. Flutters his eyelashes. Hooks a finger in the belt loop of Josh's jeans.
"Jo-sh-ua."
Josh slaps Orlando's fingers away from his pocket, where they are sliding towards the keys.
"No."
"Aww, man, come on!"
Orlando wriggles with impatience and Josh shoves him to arm's length. "Or-li," he drawls and Orlando grimaces.
"Just until the next stop."
Josh thinks about stretching out in the back seat, sun-and-Elijah warm, but then he remembers being thrown into the wheel well when Orlando slammed on the brakes somewhere just out of LA because he "got distracted."
Over Orlando's shoulder, he sees Elijah ambling out of the bathroom, t-shirt dark with water and slung over his skinny shoulders.
"Hey man," Orlando breathes, and Josh hadn't realized he was crowding him against the car, bracing his hands on either side of Orlando's arms. And, yeah, those are Orlando's fingers, halfway inside his pocket again, and yeah, that's Orlando's fucking hard-on against his thigh.
Josh looks down and Orlando's hand freezes and he laughs, shuddery, pressing into Josh with shoulders and hips. "Thought you..."
Orlando smirks. "Thought I..."
Josh has one second to decide, his own dick jumping at the feel of it, the sight of Elijah coming closer and he wants to say something funny but the words stick in his throat.
Josh reaches down and Orlando's eyes go half-lidded, only to snap back open when the door bumps his ass as Josh tugs it open. "The fuck?" he says and Josh smiles.
"Shut up and get in. We're out."
::
Elijah's feeling good, more awake now that his various needs have been tended to, reveling in the weight of damp cool cotton on his torso as he walks back to the car. That's not gonna last, not with the temperature in this place, even if the sun's almost gone now, but it's okay for now.
When he gets there it's like he missed something once again, always some shit going on between those two and the air is just, dunno, intense around them. They both look like up to their eyeballs in testosterone and Lij glances down to check on the stiffy situation-- yep, of fucking course.
He knows the feeling. Can feel it spread to him already, lapping at the edges, fanning on the steadily glowing embers in his gut.
Lij decides intervention is necessary now, before the tide really turns; Orli, and Josh too, look vaguely frozen.
He pushes close enough to get the passenger door open wider and slithers in the seat, careful not to touch them, snarking "Get in the back, Orli. Your turn. I don't trust your wandering hands not to kill us all."
Two sets of eyes look at him with narrowing pupils and he pretends he can't feel the heat of it at all; need to get them moving for chrissakes, just so they can go somewhere where it's actually possible to indulge, somewhere not this gas station with bystanders to offend and no mattress to bounce on. Though the hood is tempting, shining with crimson in the sunset.
But. Not here, not now.
"Josh, behind the wheel. Or did you want me to drive your car?"
If there's one thing you can distract Josh with, it's the easy, slightly macho stuff; Lij knows that much.
He turns the radio on and starts fiddling with buttons in search for the random music that will suit the moment, single-handedly extracting from his half-crushed pack and lighting the postorgasmic cigarette he's been longing for.
Let's get this show on the road again, he thinks, taking a long satisfying drag. Get the fuck onwards with the program.
::
Wednesday. Sunset.
::
The sun is setting over the desert. What a big fucking cliché is that, Orlando thinks, stretching and twisting to get out of the car, out of the passenger side and he walks around, hauls open the back door and pulls on Elijah's foot, Elijah sleepy-eyed and sprawled on the backseat, tugs him forward and half-out of the car.
Josh slaps Orlando's ass as he walks by, tugs a bit on Elijah's other foot.
"You two girls want anything?" he says, "Quick, cos I gotta piss."
"I'm right," says Orlando, not wanting to look up at Josh, bright red sun behind him, so he looks down at Elijah instead.
"Lij is alright, too."
"Mrhh?" Elijah blinks three times in rapid sucession, out of it, clenching hands that feel clammy with that sweat-against-leather feeling.
Orlando's hair is shiny with strands of sun mixed in, his face shadowed, and Lij thinks he looks definitely dodgy, fucker's planning something. What's that he just said?
When he turns his head in Josh's direction, upper body coming up and trying feebly to wrench his foot away from Orli's grip, Josh is already gone.
There's pressure in his bladder, too, and Lij's brain catches up with the words vaguely heard through the heat-induced haze.
"Let go, man, gotta piss too."
"No you don't." Orlando wrinkles his nose and smiles, probably wasted on Sleeping Beauty here, dopey in the backseat.
Orlando is crouching, the open door half-shielding them from the other cars at the gas station. Elijah has sat up, bleary but flighty, little kitty pawing at Orlando's arms to get out of the car.
"Fuck off, Orli," Elijah mumbles.
"Sorta," Orlando says and his voice is a bit dry and cracky, he's thirsty, he needs a drink, but first he needs backseat-Elijah, and he leans in and kisses him, quick and light and strange on his nose, elbows his knees apart, slides his hands fast up Elijah's thighs.
"Gotta be quick, yeah."
Fuck, no, Elijah thinks. Not now.
But Orli's used to getting his way and Lij knows it and not just him but his cock, sadly, his balls too; and as Orlando touches him with hands coming up and up, a ripple of want tightens around him, through his groin, blocking out the bladder signals from his brain.
"No, fuck, please," Lij whines, and no matter what Orli's planned they both know it's already too late to back off, one intent on getting his way and the other too weak, weak and aroused enough to cave in.
"Grr. Fucking Elf, cunt."
Elijah chooses to lie back down on the warm leather, slumps and hopes for quick, sharp, no interruption and please let no one see them, please, God.
Orlando tugs on Elijah's button-fly, enjoys the sound of the buttons popping against denim just as much as he enjoys the sound of Elijah's low Oh, yeah as Orlando's hand wraps around him, easy as pie.
"Pervert. It's only 'cuz there's a risk getting caught, hm?"
"Easy," Orlando murmurs, starts to stroke Elijah's cock one-handed, his other rubbing himself, eyes darting at the windows for people coming near.
"You like an audience just as much as me, Lij," and Orlando feels the aching twist in his belly, hot, frantic. "You little fucker, I was watching you."
Not that Orlando minded, really, but it was just a bit much, the heat and the driving and - and last night, oh christ - and then Lij, curled in the backseat dreaming about god-knows-what with his mouth open and his hips moving, and Orlando had been a bit dazed and stifled watching, no, perving Lij getting hard while he slept.
And then Josh said, "Gonna pull over," and Orlando had thought Halle-fucking-lujah.
"Watching?" Elijah wants to know, wonders what this is about for a second, but the moment's not really good for thought and he drops the question, forgets, lets the bright hot red inside his eyelids take over.
"Yeah..." he says, and it's more about Orlando's grip-and-rub-and-twist on him than anything else, and he's almost surprised by the speed of the rush in his veins, blood beating strong at his temples. It must be the heat, or the residual dream-- Fuck this is good, and he's not gonna last long, not with the added feel of internal pressure-- JE-sus.
Lij is panting now, overwhelmed, shoulders pressing down in the hot leather seat, hand scrabbling at his side and bucking his hips higher to fuck Orli's fist, not tight enough, not-- "Stronger," he pleads, almost whining, "Orli please, faster man, you're.." oh yes like this, "killing m--"
Orlando is grinning in between gulps of air, feeling high on friction and stupidity, high on Elijah’s pleading voice, never ever get enough of that sound, that catch when he loses it, so different from everyday snarky definite Elijah, god, yes.
Muscles in his thighs and knees are burning, aching from the strain of crouching, and he doesn’t know if he’s got the co-ordination to get them both off like this, can’t even begin to figure out how that’d work. Plus, he thinks, he can wait. Balance sheet in my favour, oh yes. He drops to his knees, tiny stones digging into his flesh on the gravel but at least he can balance now; Orlando licks his palm, wet, sloppy, catching Elijah’s blinking eyes, licks and looks serious, dips his head to rasp his dry tongue across the head of Lij’s cock, hear him whine. Smells the sweet smell of the leather and damp and sex, intoxicating in the heat.
Orlando swaps his hands, wet palm closing over damp skin, trying to keep the hardtight rhythm going, trying to coax out noise because the least Lij could do for him is yell. Orlando’s being so obliging, after all.
"You were dreaming," Orlando walks his fingers up, pushes his fingers in Elijah’s mouth, "Dunno what - get them wet, Lij, come on, or do you want them dry?"
As incoherent as he feels Elijah would answer but Orlando's fingers only invade him more when he opens wider to speak and he can only close his mouth around them and lick, suck avidly. There's something, sand on them, tiny scraping motes probably left by the drive, airborne until they met the skin of Orli, smiling Orli riding shotgun in the desert; just the opposite of me, Lij thinks, flying because I met the-- "Aaah," cunt, talented twisted twisting cunt.
When finally the fingers leave him - and he knows of course that it's not for long and he can't wait, on the edge already 'cause it's sharp, sharper even that he wished for, hotter; when they leave Lij finds that all he can do to tell of the dream is "Josh.. yeah,", and he fights for breath, "and you, too--" panting pathetically while the rhythm on his cock slows, while he wills it to not stop, not now, nonono no! not now.
"Sunburnt skin, pink. Lots of it," he says, baring teeth, hoping to challenge Orli to press him, force him to speed up again, to finish this and make the tremor in Lij's thighs stop before he shouts and alerts the locals.
Orlando feels his own sunburnt back at that, realises with a jolt that lying in the sun at lunchtime was enough to scorch and he loves it, knows what Lij is thinking about, the scrape of sunburn against the sunbaked car or rasping on knobbly motel bedspreads and it's hot and rushing under his skin, thinking about that, about Lij thinking that. It's almost like jerking himself off; Elijah is immobile everywhere, stretched and taut except his hips, trying to fuck Orlando's hand, trying to counter Orlando's wet grasp and he feels so slick with Orlando's spit, hot and heavy in his hand.
"Skin, huh - yeah, move, Lij," Orlando mutters, slows slightly because he doesn't want him there yet, wants to feel the pulse inside of him first. He twists down hard around Elijah's cock and stretches skin back, the head twitching and shiny as he licks a slow circle, his other hand sliding wetly down and he pushes two fingers inside Elijah, not too fast, not too slow, curves them inside, and inside feels fantastic.
"Come on, sweet thing," Orlando whispers, just needing to hear it, see it, the addictive sort of crumbling that Elijah has, "you're so easy, huh, just want you, want you to come, come on, nownow," and he twists his fingers at the same time he twists his hand, firm and deliberate.
There's a surge of sweet-and-salty in Elijah's veins when Orli licks and slides fingers in all at once, like too-hot maple syrup poured suddenly on morning bacon, and for a second it rises so high Lij has the insta-thought it's the end, feeling the rush in his cock, the forward pull, that violent throb.
It slows and fades, though, and it takes a few seconds more, a few endlessly good seconds of Orlando's fingers curved and rubbing inside of Lij, of his manic, amazing wet hard twist around Elijah's cock, of his sure voice pleading for it--Lij slides down on the seat to meet more fingers, his hand collides with the hot leather of the seatback; every new bit of sensation helping to topple him over the edge and he's gone, growling to hold the Fuck! he wants to shout, growling and whining and thrusting more and more shallowly in Orli's hand. It's almost painful, too sharp with the push of a full bladder behind, shrill sensations all mixed up, the urge to piss returning stronger even as aftershocks sweep through Lij.
His hand grips on the edge of the seat to pull him back up as he surveys the damage on his t-shirt, panting in the murky air, slightly annoyed. "Should have been on you, man. Should've painted your pretty fucking face instead of my shirt. Shit."
Orlando is smiling way too wide for someone in his position, end of the day desert sun blazing red on his back, kneeling in the gravel with a hard-on visible a mile away tenting his pants; but Lij doesn't feel too inclined to pity right now.
"Brilliant, dude, now-- if you please could let go so I can go pee and rinse my shirt, hmm? Plus if you don't move people are gonna start wondering. Like. Really."
Elijah can't help grinning, though, Orlando's smile just too infectious and all these lazy endorphins in him, warmly coating his mouth. Lij likes surprises, after all. Orli's always full of them. It's good.
It never ceases to delight Orlando just how contrary Elijah is; how he's not an angel, how he's bratty, filthy-mouthed, sarcastic. How he doesn't let anyone push his buttons without a little bit of revenge. Painted your pretty fucking face, yeah, that would've been more like it. Orlando licks his lips, thinks about that some more, ignoring the whine in his knees and thighs in favour of the pulse in his groin. Elijah is scrambling though, making moves to get up and out, clearly not going to reciprocate-- that's fine, Orlando didn't expect that, didn't really even want it, wanted Elijah's reactions more than anything-- and muttering about people seeing them.
Yeah. That's true. A quick look around and there are potential spectators, although no truckers in plastic baseball caps, no horrified Valley teenagers are close enough to contend with, thank christ, so Orlando pitches forward and up, bending over to brush the gravel from his combat pants, bending over to adjust himself. He can wait.
"Just take it off." Orlando grins at Elijah, who is still looking at his t-shirt disgustedly while he buttons up. Elijah stands, stretches and crosses his arms in front of him, so close to Orlando that when he pulls the shirt off it brushes across Orlando's face, and he smells desert and car and sweat and come and something sweet like icecream, all faint and mingled. And nice. Elijah balls the t-shirt up, snakes a finger out to poke lightly in Orlando's belly-button.
"Thanks," he winks.
Orlando rests his elbows on the car, ignoring the metallic scorch, watches Elijah jog over to the bathroom, crossing paths with Josh. He can't work out what they're saying, but he can see Josh's lopsided smile roll into raised eyebrows when Josh looks over towards the car.
Orlando gives him a little wave.
::
When Josh steps out of the dim, dank bathroom, the heat of the day immediately scorches the humidity off of him, and he feels a kind of languid burn across his shoulders through his thin undershirt and into his belly. He's overtired, he thinks, overstimulated, and he had for one second, wanted to jerk off right there into the little metal toilet, just to get some kind of relief. Because Orlando, christ, and Elijah in the backseat. There's only so much one guy can take.
He stretches his arms up over his head, kind of enjoying the lazy pull of muscle against that buzz is in his stomach.
He squints, sees Elijah jogging towards him, and whatever is coiling in him pulls hard and sharp at Elijah's bare chest, splotchy flush on his belly and dark nipples hard. He can't help the smirk that twists his mouth.
"What?" Elijah snaps.
"Good nap?"
Elijah smacks his belly with the back of his hand. "I haveta pee, dude, move it."
Josh looks towards the car and sees Orlando give a little salute type of wave. Turns, looks at Elijah, who's backing towards the bathroom and shakes his head.
Shading his eyes against the glare off the cars around them, Orlando contemplates going in to buy a coke, just to be able to roll the glass bottle behind his knees where the seat sticks, but it's like the sun has its thumb on him, pinning him to the spot, and he can't be arsed moving.
Josh lopes around the car and Orlando turns his head to squint at him.
"'m hot."
Josh leans forward, level with Orlando's face, peering sideways at him, eyebrows raised. "Did you--" and he points at the backseat, points at imaginary Elijah.
"--uh-huh." Orlando nods, returns the sideways, serious glance.
Josh pushes himself back, slaps his hands on the canvas hood. "Good man." He nods decisively, solemnly, before they both start snorting with laughter.
Orlando pulls himself off the car as well, still smirking, rolls his neck and flexes back on ankles, bends his knees forward; he can still feel the gravel indentations, mixed with the scorch of the car. The car.
He steps into Josh's breathing space. Tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. Flutters his eyelashes. Hooks a finger in the belt loop of Josh's jeans.
"Jo-sh-ua."
Josh slaps Orlando's fingers away from his pocket, where they are sliding towards the keys.
"No."
"Aww, man, come on!"
Orlando wriggles with impatience and Josh shoves him to arm's length. "Or-li," he drawls and Orlando grimaces.
"Just until the next stop."
Josh thinks about stretching out in the back seat, sun-and-Elijah warm, but then he remembers being thrown into the wheel well when Orlando slammed on the brakes somewhere just out of LA because he "got distracted."
Over Orlando's shoulder, he sees Elijah ambling out of the bathroom, t-shirt dark with water and slung over his skinny shoulders.
"Hey man," Orlando breathes, and Josh hadn't realized he was crowding him against the car, bracing his hands on either side of Orlando's arms. And, yeah, those are Orlando's fingers, halfway inside his pocket again, and yeah, that's Orlando's fucking hard-on against his thigh.
Josh looks down and Orlando's hand freezes and he laughs, shuddery, pressing into Josh with shoulders and hips. "Thought you..."
Orlando smirks. "Thought I..."
Josh has one second to decide, his own dick jumping at the feel of it, the sight of Elijah coming closer and he wants to say something funny but the words stick in his throat.
Josh reaches down and Orlando's eyes go half-lidded, only to snap back open when the door bumps his ass as Josh tugs it open. "The fuck?" he says and Josh smiles.
"Shut up and get in. We're out."
::
Elijah's feeling good, more awake now that his various needs have been tended to, reveling in the weight of damp cool cotton on his torso as he walks back to the car. That's not gonna last, not with the temperature in this place, even if the sun's almost gone now, but it's okay for now.
When he gets there it's like he missed something once again, always some shit going on between those two and the air is just, dunno, intense around them. They both look like up to their eyeballs in testosterone and Lij glances down to check on the stiffy situation-- yep, of fucking course.
He knows the feeling. Can feel it spread to him already, lapping at the edges, fanning on the steadily glowing embers in his gut.
Lij decides intervention is necessary now, before the tide really turns; Orli, and Josh too, look vaguely frozen.
He pushes close enough to get the passenger door open wider and slithers in the seat, careful not to touch them, snarking "Get in the back, Orli. Your turn. I don't trust your wandering hands not to kill us all."
Two sets of eyes look at him with narrowing pupils and he pretends he can't feel the heat of it at all; need to get them moving for chrissakes, just so they can go somewhere where it's actually possible to indulge, somewhere not this gas station with bystanders to offend and no mattress to bounce on. Though the hood is tempting, shining with crimson in the sunset.
But. Not here, not now.
"Josh, behind the wheel. Or did you want me to drive your car?"
If there's one thing you can distract Josh with, it's the easy, slightly macho stuff; Lij knows that much.
He turns the radio on and starts fiddling with buttons in search for the random music that will suit the moment, single-handedly extracting from his half-crushed pack and lighting the postorgasmic cigarette he's been longing for.
Let's get this show on the road again, he thinks, taking a long satisfying drag. Get the fuck onwards with the program.
::