Sequel to 'The Night That Never Happened'. Much by way of thanks to Amaranth who battled my tense changes and won.
The gathering was in full swing when Orlando arrived at Billy's, clutching a six-pack of beer in one hand and two packets of tortilla chips in the other. Billy opened the door and pointed him in the direction of the kitchen, snagging the beers as Orlando passed.
The music coming from the lounge was loud and Orlando cocked his head, listening intently for a moment. Smashing Pumpkins' "Bullet with Butterfly Wings"; that could only mean one thing, Elijah had control of the CD player. Grinning, he stepped into the room and was promptly handed one of his beers by Billy and pushed into the nearest couch. "Sit down, you daft elf." The couch groaned as Elijah slid over the back and landed with a thud on the seat.
"Orlandoooo, you made it!" Elijah was bouncy, more bouncy than usual and judging by the flushed tone to his skin, was heading rapidly toward tipsy, if not drunk. Orlando chuckled and ruffled the younger man's hair. "Yeah, bloody Jeep wouldn't start. Had to wait for a taxi."
"Ah, but you're here now."Orlando slid down in the seat and stretched out, legs crossed loosely at the ankles. "How's shooting going?"
Dominic laughed. "It's going pretty good. We've been stuck on Treebeard for the last 2 days. He's so bloody tall, we stay up there during breaks and they send up tea and biscuits. How about you?"
"Mostly shooting horse-riding scenes. It's getting to the stage where I end up walking like John Wayne by the end of the day."
"Me and Sean are still doing the long, lonely trek to Mordor. And am I glad of this break or what."
The conversation idled off into bits of set gossip and Orlando took the time to watch Elijah's face animate as he talked at length about some bootlegs he'd borrowed off one of the cameramen - a fellow Smashing Pumpkins and Radiohead fan - which lead to a long, semi-drunken debate about whether Thom Yorke was a creative genius or just a pretentious wanker. Orlando nursed his beer and grinned.
Later on in the evening they started watching films, all squashed together on the one couch because otherwise the screen wasn't visible. Orlando excused himself half way through the latest Arnie-blockbuster, claiming he was dying for a drink, and wiggled out from under Elijah's legs and headed towards the kitchen. Pouring a glass of water, he stared out at the garden, taking the moment to enjoy the peace and quiet. The door swung open, letting in a blast of noise from the video. He turned around, watching as Elijah stepped in.
"Hey. Want a glass?"
Elijah lifted himself on to the counter and nodded. "Yeah. Thanks."
Orlando poured another glass and handed it over, fingers brushing against Elijah's in the process. Elijah drained the glass in one go. "I'm sober, in case you're, you know, wondering."
With a grin, Orlando stepped forward so he was between Elijah's legs. "So am I."
Elijah's hands made themselves at home behind Orlando's neck, moving him in closer as Orlando's hands landed on Elijah's waist. "Good." said Elijah and pulled Orlando in for a kiss.
Soft. Wet. Warm. In his arms. Elijah. Kissing. Skin. Mouth. Lips. Breathy little whimpers and Elijah tasted of clove cigarettes and the faintest trace of alcohol. Orlando groaned into his mouth, hands tightening around Elijah's waist, memories of past kisses, sloppily drunk, running through his head. Elijah's skin was warm to his touch, each movement making them both groan.
Elijah slides off the counter and back onto the floor, keeping his body pressed against Orlando's. Hello, sweet, sweet friction.
The lounge is empty, the TV still playing the abandoned video but neither of them cares, falling to the couch in a tangle of legs and arms. Clothing shucked off and dropped in a heap and then it's just skin. Skin against skin. Small whimpers as hands caress and follow the lines and angles of hip and ribs. Gentle worrying of teeth on skin and things that cause hands to tighten enough to leave marks. Friction. Warmth. Wetness. Gentle kisses and finally sleep.
Morning. Sunlight and the weight of a body lying sprawled against his back. Orlando stretches, delighting in the feel of skin against skin. The body behind him stirs, he can feel eyelashes fluttering against his skin. Elijah places a kiss on the base of his neck and clambers over to find his boxers.
Orlando nods in reply. "Coffee."
Orlando watches Elijah walk into the kitchen, hair standing on end and clad only in a pair of Daffy Duck boxers before pawing around on the floor for his. Slips them on and goes in search of coffee. No sign of Dom and Billy yet and as he sips his coffee, Orlando thinks. He could get used to mornings like this.