Netherlands v Italy
Title : Holland v Italy (Group C, game two)
Author: dalehead
Pairing : Orlibean
Rating : NC-13
Summary : More about the football
Disclaimer: This is entirely made up.
Author’s Note : Sorry for the shortness of this, I had huge computer problems.
“Zenden looks a bit like Vig,” Sean wiped tomato sauce off his chin, paused to let Orlando lick the remnants away.
“I see what you mean … why are the Dutch so democratic?”
“Fuck knows,” Sean shook his head. “If they fuck up though, they’ll have to change their formation.”
Putting his plate down, Orlando reached for his beer. “I hate ITV, shall I put Five Live on, I prefer their commentary.”
“Only if you can find the radio without moving,” Sean liked watching football with Orlando in his lap.
~~
Some time later both Orlando and Sean were on their feet.
“Noooooooooo … Cunts … Bastards …”
“Sean, calm down!”
“There goes my fucking orgasm, bastards! Why couldn’t you support the fucking Dutch,” Sean was screaming at this point, he was red in the face and looked like he was about to have an apoplectic fit.
“Calm down…” Orlando glanced at his lover and was very glad it was nearly half time. He turned the sound down as the adverts blared out, they’d never got round to turning the radio commentary on.
“I don’t even care that much,” Sean sat down and reached for his own beer. “I haven’t come for ages and I was looking forward to it,” it never occurred to him to ask Orlando to rescind his decision. He never argued about his orgasms, for all that they were more often lovers than Master and boy, or rather the lines between the roles were blurred. But right now he was so tempted to beg, mainly because he wanted to see the second half without worrying about the state of his cock.
“You’ve gone longer than a day without an orgasm,” Orlando commented. “Why has it got you so wound up today?” he was surprised how pissed off Sean looked.
“Yeah, I know but this is random, I mean Italy should have won but they’re obviously not going to but that’s football, I mean …” Sean sighed again. “Sorry, you’re right, I can wait until tomorrow.”
Orlando felt a little guilty, Sean was right. It had been a random comment; he might just as easily have decided to let his boy come if Italy lost. Sometimes being a dominant required the wisdom of Solomon. He would find a way round this but not until after the second half.
By the time Kuyt had set up the third goal, Sean was sunk in despair; he barely acknowledged the end of the match, just slumped further down on the couch. They watched the last moments, the mindless chattering of the Viggo look alike before Sean turned the TV off.
“I’m going to bed,” he leaned over, kissed Orlando and stumped off up the stairs. The moment he was well out of earshot, Orlando begun to chuckle quietly. He knew exactly how to get around this. And later possibly, he might remind Sean not to be such a gimp. Tomorrow was Spain’s first match so they’d asked Viggo and Lij to come round for paella.
Better make sure Sean’s in a better mood.
Still smiling Orlando took his time locking up and washing the few pots. Finally he turned the lights off and headed upstairs to tend to his very put upon boy.
Netherlands 3-0 Italy
Author: dalehead
Pairing : Orlibean
Rating : NC-13
Summary : More about the football
Disclaimer: This is entirely made up.
Author’s Note : Sorry for the shortness of this, I had huge computer problems.
“Zenden looks a bit like Vig,” Sean wiped tomato sauce off his chin, paused to let Orlando lick the remnants away.
“I see what you mean … why are the Dutch so democratic?”
“Fuck knows,” Sean shook his head. “If they fuck up though, they’ll have to change their formation.”
Putting his plate down, Orlando reached for his beer. “I hate ITV, shall I put Five Live on, I prefer their commentary.”
“Only if you can find the radio without moving,” Sean liked watching football with Orlando in his lap.
~~
Some time later both Orlando and Sean were on their feet.
“Noooooooooo … Cunts … Bastards …”
“Sean, calm down!”
“There goes my fucking orgasm, bastards! Why couldn’t you support the fucking Dutch,” Sean was screaming at this point, he was red in the face and looked like he was about to have an apoplectic fit.
“Calm down…” Orlando glanced at his lover and was very glad it was nearly half time. He turned the sound down as the adverts blared out, they’d never got round to turning the radio commentary on.
“I don’t even care that much,” Sean sat down and reached for his own beer. “I haven’t come for ages and I was looking forward to it,” it never occurred to him to ask Orlando to rescind his decision. He never argued about his orgasms, for all that they were more often lovers than Master and boy, or rather the lines between the roles were blurred. But right now he was so tempted to beg, mainly because he wanted to see the second half without worrying about the state of his cock.
“You’ve gone longer than a day without an orgasm,” Orlando commented. “Why has it got you so wound up today?” he was surprised how pissed off Sean looked.
“Yeah, I know but this is random, I mean Italy should have won but they’re obviously not going to but that’s football, I mean …” Sean sighed again. “Sorry, you’re right, I can wait until tomorrow.”
Orlando felt a little guilty, Sean was right. It had been a random comment; he might just as easily have decided to let his boy come if Italy lost. Sometimes being a dominant required the wisdom of Solomon. He would find a way round this but not until after the second half.
By the time Kuyt had set up the third goal, Sean was sunk in despair; he barely acknowledged the end of the match, just slumped further down on the couch. They watched the last moments, the mindless chattering of the Viggo look alike before Sean turned the TV off.
“I’m going to bed,” he leaned over, kissed Orlando and stumped off up the stairs. The moment he was well out of earshot, Orlando begun to chuckle quietly. He knew exactly how to get around this. And later possibly, he might remind Sean not to be such a gimp. Tomorrow was Spain’s first match so they’d asked Viggo and Lij to come round for paella.
Better make sure Sean’s in a better mood.
Still smiling Orlando took his time locking up and washing the few pots. Finally he turned the lights off and headed upstairs to tend to his very put upon boy.
Netherlands 3-0 Italy