Intermezzo

by Vivi and Nienor

DAY ONE

There was no way out-- the back roads were dirt, and they were drowned; even four-wheel-drive elevated trucks were sinking bumper deep. And the main road was blocked, not in two places, but in half a dozen. There was no way they were getting out short of flying-- and Sean refused to consider that option.

Orli sighed, poking around the tiny petrol station/grocery store that was all the town boasted; he beat a little old lady to the book rack by a hair's breadth and scarfed the last crossword puzzle book. Beaming to himself, he also snatched some tinned ravioli and a loaf of bread, but missed the last carton of milk; it was the old lady's turn to give him a sharklike look of glee.

Sean was wondering around like an oaf, picking out things at random-- wasn't that a packet of light bulbs? He must have located a house for them. Good; Orli didn't relish the notion of camping out in his car and living out of the boot.

"You almost finished?" Sean drawled, balancing a few items in his arms. "A nice little lady I just met rented us a cottage for a couple days but we still have to get there. Or do you need to do a little more shopping?"

There was a hint of sarcasm in the last bit, but Orli ignored it blithely. Coming along on this little adventure hadn't been his idea to begin with, so Sean would just have to tough things out like the big boy he was.

The old lady who'd beaten him to the milk turned a decidedly warmer look on Sean. "Don't worry too much about groceries, boys. There's some tins of food stored out there; do help yourselves."

Orli barely managed to avoid rolling his eyes as Sean smiled at her charmingly. "We won't be imposing on you any longer than the rain lasts. Thank you again for renting it to us."

The woman tittered and flapped a hand at Sean. "It's no trouble at all. Better hurry though, if you don't want to be sleeping on the floor here."

"Oh, let me carry that for you." Sean dumped his mishmash of items into Orli's arms and left him to scramble trying to hold them while he took the single bag their temporary landlady was holding. He watched sourly as Sean helped her to her car and left him to pay the bill.

"Wanker," he muttered under his breath and spitefully tossed the pack of Sean's cigarettes back on the counter. Would do him good to go without for a few days. Whistling, he paid for everything and gathered up the bags in his arms before making a mad dash out to the car. Useless effort; he was soaked again the moment he stepped out the door. Shivering, he clambered into the car, bags and all, and slammed the door shut.

Sean slid in a few minutes later, soaked to the skin, but not seeming to really mind. "She said it's just up the road."

"Hope it has towels," Orli sighed, scrubbing a hand over his wet face uselessly.

"A little water isn't going to hurt your pretty little face."

"Shut up."

"Now, now," Sean chided. "We're going to be together for a few days. Might be a good time for us to bond, man-to-man, like. Eh, Orlando?" Sean gave him a sideways look, and Orli swallowed hard and glared back. Didn't take a magic ring to see what kind of bonding Sean was thinking about.

Orli sulked for the remainder of the ride, steaming faintly in the air from the car's heater, and hoping their little old lady had something more tucked away in tins than the ravioli from the store. Probably not, though. Oh well-- it wasn't like he was a stuck-up snooty gourmet, like some people. He'd eat tinned ravioli and like it.

He was startled when the car pulled up sharp-- Sean was a piece of shite driver, swinging them around too fast and bumping over a substantial curb. "Home sweet slum," Sean practically trilled, triumphant in spite of the meager appearance of the tiny cottage.

"It's a roof," Orli muttered, and bolted from the car onto the tiny porch, hunching over his bags to protect the crossword book. The gutter was blocked and the overflow from its lip poured right down the back of his neck as Sean strolled lazily over, bouncing the key on his palm. Sean finally fumbled the door open and Orli scuttled inside, dumping his disintegrating brown paper parcels on the first convenient table.

He turned around, and then blinked. Sean's wet shirt went flying; his hands were at the fly of his jeans. As Orli dithered, the jeans peeled down-- Y-fronts too-- and Orli squeaked, turning his back hastily.

"You'd better change or you'll catch your death."

"I didn't bring a change with me!"

"Neither did I!" Sean sounded quite self-satisfied. "I guess I'll have to go starkers till my clothes dry."

Orli gritted his teeth and started hunting for a place to put the tinned ravioli he'd bought. This was going to be a long fucking week.

DAY TWO

Orli tapped his fingers against the glass impatiently, but the rain continued to stream down, so thick he couldn't see past the little picket fence and front gate that enclosed their tiny square of half-drowned lawn. He glanced down at the folded-back book he held, then chuffed at the rain again.

"Let me see."

"No." Orli stomped back to his chair and flopped down. "I'm not stuck."

"Suit yourself." Sean put his feet up on the coffee table, displacing a very neatly tatted doily, and folded his hands behind his head. "What's the clue?"

"A four-letter word for 'bloody smug arsehole.'"

"Starts with?"

"S-E-A-N," Orlando glowered at him.

"If you can't figure that one out, maybe you should have bought the romance novel instead."

"I might've, if our landlady hasn't been giving me the fish-eye. I think she wanted it herself."

"You could've used it to get some pointers on your technique."

"Shut up."

"If you hadn't insisted we stop every four kilometers so you could go shopping, we'd have been past the slides before they started. You're worse than a woman."

Orlando gave him a glare that would have wilted titanium support girders. "And maybe we would've been right in the middle of one, instead of between them."

"Seriously. What's the clue?"

"Nine letters. A measured tread around St. Paul's."

"That's easy." Sean laughed. "Pedometer."

"The fuck?"

"A pedometer measures your steps. St. Paul's has a dome. It's easy."

"Fuck you."

"Any time you'd like to start is fine with me."

Orli ignored that bit and concentrated on his crossword, chewing mentally through all the things he might have said if he could have thought of it in time. Esprit de l'escalier, that was him. Always found a comeback too late to do any damned good.

He tapped his pen against the arm of the chair and tried to think. All the easy ones were already done and he hated to leave this one unfinished. One of his biggest peeves, that, a book full of half-done puzzles. Orli sighed deeply and cursed every bloody drop of rain out there. The phones were still an uncertain proposition and he'd been trying it just about every hour, trying to call Viggo or Peter to see when the copters were going to be able to come out to get them. He was almost afraid to find out.

If they were there much longer, one of them was probably going to die, and the way things were going, Orli hadn't been able to decide whether he should try to candlestick Sean in the study or just slit his own wrists with one of the dull steak knives. Maybe both. A quick glance up made him notice Sean was looking at him, bloody well staring, and Orli glared. "Don't you have something else you can do?"

"Nothing that is nearly as much fun."

"Why do you have to be such a bloody bastard all the time?" Orli scribbled down analgesic for 'relieves a pain in the arse.'

Sean gave him a wounded look. "I'm being a bastard? It's not my fault the rain and the landslides threw a spanner into the works, is it? And you're the one hoarding that crossword like it's bloody well made of chocolate."

"You should have bought your own."

"I think if we'd tried to take two, neither of us would have gotten out of that petrol station alive."

"Yeah," Orli said dreamily. "They'd have strung out your guts and I could have had the cottage all to myself."

"Don't get pissed at me because you haven't been buggered in two days. I already offered to help with that."

"I already told you to shut the fuck up." Orli pretended to fill in a clue, all arch nonchalance.

"Come over here and shut me up, then." Sean licked his lips. "I'd suck you off."

"Kiss my arse."

"I'd do that, too."

Orli glared at him. "In your dreams."

"And yours too, by the looks of you."

Orli shifted hastily, lifting one knee to conceal his crotch. "Yeah, well, too bad for you I'm no slave to hormones."

"Since when? You'd love topping me, wouldn't you?"

"You're no fucking switch." Orli glared at him, realizing he'd taken part of the bait, and fiercely erased the random letters he'd just scrawled in.

Sean laughed very softly. "Why don't you let me suck your cock, and then tell me that again?"

"You'd suck my cock?" Orli meant to scoff, but he sounded uncertain instead.

"Till your toes curled. Or I'd suck your fingers while you fucked me up my arse." Sean leveled a dark, hot look on him.

"Liar." Orli's mouth tasted dry; a familiar cottony taste of lust.

"Try me." Soft with certainty.

Orli stared at Sean, his pen dangling half-forgotten from his fingertips. Sprawled in the chair, his legs spread suggestively... and what would it be like to top a top? No doubting Sean was a top, what with the way he'd been with Vig.... The thought pattern fractured like a dropped glass and Orli yanked his eyes away from Sean's and back to the crossword.

"I think you've been way too concerned about the state of my arse for me to believe you," Orlando said, coolly, "and I think I wouldn't need to have Viggo beat it into me how fucking stupid I would be to try it. I could do it myself."

"So worried about Viggo," Sean mused. He rolled his head back to look at the ceiling and folded his hands in his lap. "There is a difference in being a sub and acting like a kicked dog, you know."

"I'm sure you'd know all about that."

"Viggo doesn't give you the respect you deserve," Sean insisted, and something in his voice made Orli look up. Sean shrugged. "But that's your worry, not mine. Think I'll go start dinner. Enjoy working out your puzzle."

Orli watched him go and the moment he was out of sight, Orli threw his pen after him. It bounced off the far wall and skittered back towards him, coming to a stop a few centimetres from his toes. "Fucking bastard," he muttered, and he snatched the pen back up, flipping the page to another crossword. They were, by far, the easiest puzzle in this cottage to work on.

He hoped that Peter would find them and send helicopters soon; that candlestick idea was starting to sound better and better.

DAY THREE

Sleep would be good. Oh, yes. Dreamless, heavy sleep where he wasn't tormented by the notion of Sean's head bobbing up and down at his groin, Sean's tongue curling around the head of his cock, Sean's broad back spread out in front of him.

Orli realized he was staring at the window, hazy-eyed, one knee tucked under his chin, and his half-finished crossword book had dropped from his fingers. The house smelled of oregano-- who'd have thought Sean could cook, even if it was just spaghetti?

It was fucking impossible to forget about what Sean said, or even to have a good wank to get it out of his system; there was no lock on the bathroom door, after all, and he couldn't trust Sean not to come in if he stayed too long.

Orli bit his lip and stared out into the gray, dull morning, wondering if they would all be washed away and float out into the ocean before the helicopters could make it in. The yard was full of standing water now, just a few blades of grass poking out near the cement sidewalk.

Sudden fingers on his shoulder made him jump, and the pen flew, and so did his book, as he half-leaped out of the chair.

"Touchy, are we?"

Orli's cock twitched and he bared his teeth, hoisting himself off the couch and taking refuge in the narrow chair by the window. "Fucker."

Sean adjusted his jeans un-selfconsciously. "Why don't you tell me what you'd like to do to me, if you could?"

"Why don't you go take out one of the doorknobs and fuck the hole? That's all the action you're getting."

"You're pretty uptight. You could take a few minutes out and visit the head."

Orli ignored him, fingers white on the arms of the chair, wondering how much dignity he'd lose if he retrieved his book.

"You want to take me dry?"

Orli gulped, startled, his heart pounding oddly in his ears.

"You could bend me over the dresser and shove it in. Right here. Right now."

"Shut the fucking hell up."

Sean's hand moved deliberately over his jeans, emphasizing the ridge in the crotch. "You look like you could give a man a good rogering." He licked his lips. "All the way in on the first shove, what?"

Orli stared at him blankly, trying to make his brain work in the wake of a one-hundred-percent southward diversion of all blood flow.

"Or I'd grab my ankles for you, if you liked it that way." Sean's lips were wet and red. "Or you could put me on my back and bend my knees onto my chest."

Orli made a sound halfway between a squeak and a hiccup; the chair creaked as he shifted.

"You need to come? OK. You can come without ever letting me touch you. Without ever betraying your precious top. Why don't you come in a glass and watch me lick it up?" Sean opened his left hand; there was a fucking glass folded inside it.

Sean rolled it around his palm, barely more than a shot glass, and Orli wondered where the hell the bastard had found it; the little lady they'd rented his place from didn't look like she took a shot of gin before the knitting hour.

So fucking tempting, just an innocent little glass, and the thought of Sean holding it against his lip, the glass warming, and tipping it just a little, licking slowly and savoring every drop. Orli knew without question that he would. His eyes would be on Orli the whole time, his lips would be shining wetly, spit and come, and Orli knew just how that particular cocktail tasted.

Tempting, yeah, but he wasn't thinking with his dick so much that he didn't see what it was. Looked like an innocent little glass but it was actually an apple, a fucking apple in disguise, and if he bit it, fucking Sean was just the kind of guy to dangle it over his head for the next year.

Orli wasn't so sure that letting someone else drink his come without ever touching the guy could be called cheating, but he didn't want to look Lijah in the eyes a few months from now and find out it was.

"You should have paid more attention in the hand to hand fighting classes," he bit out, struggling to his feet and ignoring the immediate protests of his cock. "Then maybe you'd be able to fuck yourself."

Sean's laughter followed him out of the room as he walked, well, staggered, to the bathroom. He'd lean against the bloody door if that were the only way to keep Sean out. The tile floor was cold but the loo was small enough that he could brace his feet against the tub. Wouldn't keep Sean out if he was determined to get in, but if he were that up in arms about it, Orli figured Sean'd have already have groped him in his sleep.

Orli unbuttoned his jeans and heaved a sigh as he pulled his cock out; just the easing of the pressure was like a miniature orgasm. Just a quick wank and he'd be able to deal with whatever Sean said with a little dignity.

"It's amazing how much your pissing sounds like masturbation." The thin door barely muffled Sean's voice and Orli could have screamed. Should have fucking well killed him the day before, and to hell with the candlestick. His bare hands would be much, much better.

"Would you just bugger OFF!!" he snarled, not hoping for much. His cock was throbbing hopefully in his hand, reminding him unhappily that it had been days since they'd been acquainted for more than a piss and a shake.

"I was hoping I could listen to you piss. I'd let you do that too, you know, if you wanted."

"What, listen to you piss? Your generosity is amazing, really it is."

"No." Sean's voice lowered, his voice a rough scrape over Orli's eardrums. "I'd let you play piss games with me. You'd like that, wouldn't you? You seem the sort."

"No," Orli whispered, too low for Sean to hear him, probably, and it didn't even matter if he had; he continued relentlessly, in a voice like dark corduroy.

"I would," he crooned. Something slid against the door, maybe Sean, maybe he was sitting in the same position Orli was, doing the exact same thing. "I'd lie there and let you piss all over me, and I'd rub it in after you were done. I'd let you stretch me out and fuck me, still wet with your piss, and you could taste it yourself if you kissed me."

Orli didn't make a sound as he came, spurting into the cup of his own hand hard enough that it splashed back and dripped warm, sticky trails down his cock to pool in his pubic hair. He reached for the hand towel shakily, tried not to think of Sean pulling him down with wet hands and rubbing his piss-soaked body all along Orli's clean one.

Sean wasn't half as discreet as he was, and Orli waited silently for him to finish before he opened the door.

Sean had been leaning against the door and he flopped backwards when it opened, lowering himself to the floor with a contented sigh. Orli dropped the towel on Sean's stomach without a word or even a peek and stepped over him.

"Orlando?"

Don't turn around, don't turn around, don't turn, don't...

"Yeah?" Shortly, just barely looking over his shoulder. Sean was holding the towel by one fingertip.

"Thanks."

The sight of Sean pressing the towel to his face and inhaling was more than his dick could take, even now, and Orli fled without a thought of dignity.

Fucking, cocksucking, goat-arsed BASTARD. That was it then. He was going to have to kill himself. At this point if he got too close to Sean with a candlestick, he wasn't going to use it to bash his brains in.

~~*~~

Orli curled himself on his narrow bed in the tiny easternmost bedroom of the cottage, glad that there were two beds-- if not, he'd have slept in the bathtub. Hell, he'd have slept out in the yard on a raft. A flicker of motion caught his eye, and he looked up cautiously: a white handkerchief, dangled between finger and thumb inserted between doorjamb and door, jerking hopefully in a signal of truce.

"What do you want, you wanker?"

"Tea's ready."

"Teatime?" Orli sniffed.

"Stop being so goddamn posh and come get your spaghetti."

Orli uncurled cautiously and left his crossword book, sniffing the air. "Did you find tinned spaghetti in the cupboard?"

Sean looked at him with sad reproach. "Homemade."

"By Chef Boyardee."

There was an awkward moment at the door, as Orli hesitated until Sean went first-- strutting, showing off his arse. Orli refused to watch-- well, much; he did have to walk, didn't he? And they made it to the kitchen without further incident.

The table was nicely laid with a dark cotton cloth, two candlesticks, and subdued white china-- silverware tossed in the center of the plates. Orli smirked as Sean took the candles and started trying to light them at the gas stove. "Romantic." Orli's tone dripped sarcasm.

"I like ambience when I eat."

"Is that what you call it?" Sean gave him a haughty look as he put the candles into the holders. Orli hated to admit that the spaghetti smelled incredibly good, with little rounds of garlic toast sitting all warm and golden on one of the plates. His stomach didn't care if he and Sean hated each other or fucked right there on the table, so long as the food came first; Orli gave in, plopping down into a chair.

To his credit, Sean served up the food without a single innuendo, apparently understanding that there was nothing amusing about withholding food from the starving. Orli started in the moment his plate was full, not bothering to wait for Sean to sit down. He'd save his manners for someone who could appreciate them.

"Here." Orli looked up from his plate to see Sean setting a tumbler full of red wine next to it. At his look, Sean shrugged. "Sorry. Apparently our good host doesn't keep any wine glasses out here."

"But she keeps wine? Thanks, but no, thanks."

Sean raised his eyebrows as he sat and he sipped his own glass pointedly. "She doesn't; I bought it at the petrol station. I know you drink wine. What's wrong with this? It's not that cheap."

"Neither am I," Orli replied dryly. "I don't trust you." Sean snorted loudly.

"I don't keep date rape drugs in my carryall, Orlando," Sean informed him, somewhat tartly. "And if you're worried about getting drunk on a little wine, then you have more troubles than I know how to deal with."

Orlando was unmoved, and he knew Sean could see it, because he sighed irritably, setting down his fork.

"Tell you what. How about if I promise I won't do anything to you unless you say 'fuck me, Sean'. Or maybe, 'Let me fuck you, Sean.' Some combination of that, eh?"

"Will you shut your gob, too?" Orli asked hopefully.

"Can't let you take all my pleasures, love." Sean laughed and gave him a decidedly evil leer. He was entirely too good at it, Orli decided.

"Don't call me that!"

"Oh, is that Viggo's special pet name for you?" Sean cooed, batting his eyes.

"No," Orli said shortly. "And it's not yours either." He stabbed at his spaghetti a little viciously. "Can't we talk about something else?"

"Sure," Sean agreed, a little too easily. "How about football?"

"I haven't been keeping up with it this year."

"The Blades have everyone running."

"From their smell, or from their good looks?"

"Not a fan of Sheffield?"

"Hardly." Orli snorted. "Couldn't you pick a decent team?"

Sean drew up, offended. "I picked the best team."

Orli cackled and inhaled a forkful of spaghetti-- it was really pretty damn good. Or maybe he was just starved. "Right. Sure you did."

Sean was starting to look pretty fucking pissed, and that made Orli's day. "Of course I'm sure they'd be a fine team, if they'd field someone who knew which side of the field to find the goal." He moved his hands, pantomiming confusion. "Was it the long edge or the short edge? Uhhhh...."

A piece of garlic bread bonked off his forehead. "Shut up, or wear that spaghetti-- and I'm not going to make you any more."

Orli snickered and forked up a giant mouthful, then followed it with a bite of the bread.

"Wouldn't expect a little slut to know much about football, anyway." Sean said, nonchalantly, and Orlando choked. His own temper turned to simmer, and he met Sean's eyes with a cold glare. Sean gave him a fleeting smile and returned his attention to his plate, eating calmly. Orli inhaled deeply and let it out; he had started it this time, better to just let it go.

"Maybe football isn't a good topic," Orli said, slowly, stirring his spaghetti into pale coils on his plate.

"Was thinking that myself." Sean chewed thoughtfully. "I wonder how far behind filming is going to be because of this. Can't imagine they're getting much done, even on scenes without us in them."

Orli shrugged. "Who knows? I tried the phone again earlier but it's still more static than anything."

"Yeah." Sean filled his own glass again and topped up Orli's before he could protest. "We should still be all right, though. So long as nothing else muddles things up."

Something in his tone made Orli frown. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Why should it mean anything?"

"You play the bad boys too much; you don't do innocent well. What the hell was that supposed to mean?"

Sean's smile twisted and he drank half his glass in one swallow. "I mean if the two of you don't end up killing Viggo. Doubt we'd be able to recast Aragorn again. Once was bad enough."

Orlando blinked; he couldn't have been more astonished if Sean had reached across the table and punched him. "Kill him? I've never laid a hand on him and I know Lijah hasn't! How the hell would we kill him?"

"Don't be so literal," Sean scoffed. "And I'm not playing agony aunt for the lot of you. Just keep in mind we're doing a movie, eh? Try not to fuck it up too much."

"Are you sure you didn't spike this?"

Sean laughed suddenly and shook his head. "No wonder Viggo is half loony dealing with you two. Neither of you have half a brain to share. Still..." His smile softened. "I'd not mind taking you off his hands. Could be for the good of the movie, Orlando. And you wouldn't have to share me with Elijah. Unless you wanted to."

"Fuck off," Orli sighed wearily. Back to this again. Weren't hormone levels supposed to lower when you got older? How was it that there were two forty-year old perverts on one movie set? And one seventy-year-old one. It gave Orli hope for the future, anyway.

"Viggo won't even trade off with you," Sean coaxed. "He's not treating you properly."

"He treats me just fine!"

"Does he?" Sean rested his chin on his hand. "Spends time with you and Lij outside of the bedroom then, does he?"

"I...." Orli faltered. "He spends plenty of time with us."

"I didn't ask how much time he spends with you, I asked where he spends it." Sean's voice softened, and he looked at Orli with something like sympathy. "I heard you at the club, Orlando. Are you sure he's worth it?"

Sean didn't wait for an answer. He pushed back his chair and started clearing the table and when Orli drank his entire glass in two large swallows, he refilled it without a word.

Orli's thoughts scattered, like doves on the wing, and refused to coalesce again, wheeling in ragged arcs. Viggo, holding out his cock so that it touched Orli's lip. Viggo's hard hands. Lijah and the way Viggo looked at him. He was suddenly glad he wasn't holding a delicate wine glass, and he made himself put down the tumbler.

Not having to share with Elijah. The thought stabbed him with pain, even as it sent a treacherous curl of pleasure through him. Sharing with Lijah meant getting a share of Lijah, and if Sean didn't realize that, then more fool he.

He slowly realized he was looking down into the plate of spaghetti, twirling it around his fork. His stomach rolled at the thought of eating any more, and he laid the fork down.

"Orli?" Sean's voice was very soft, and his fingertips touched ever-so-lightly at Orli's nape.

Orli felt his eyes sting, and blinked fiercely. "I'm not ready to pack it in yet." He picked up his plate, lifting his chin bravely. "I meant what I said, and I don't go back on that kind of thing without giving it a chance."

Sean leaned against the fridge, watching him as he carried his plate to the sink and washed the leftovers down the disposal. "Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me."

Orli nodded, taking a deep breath and getting on top of himself again. "How could I avoid knowing?" He put some edge in his voice.

It seemed to work as a signal; Sean's expression hardened and spread into a smirk. "You know, you've got a fucking gorgeous arse."

"Are we going to go through this shit again?" The squeak was back, and he hated himself for it even as some treacherous part of him longed to hear Sean say it one more time.

"A fucking gorgeous arse, a lean, muscled, sexy body, and a dick to match. Viggo's got good taste; I like what he put you in at the club. I'd like to suck your dick with that on it. I'd like to put something like that on my cock-- a bigger one, with thick rings to give some good friction, and then I'd like to fuck your arse nice and hard and deep while I wore it."

Orli flushed crimson; the bathroom was going to be getting a hell of a workout, at this rate.

"I have something like that in my bag," Sean whispered, and his breath was hot in Orli's ear, and when the fuck did he get so close? "I don't care whether you love me or not. Viggo doesn't give you what you need. Why don't you see if I can, Orli?"

"He gives me what I need," Orli rasped.

"I'll give you better."

"You can have the crossword book," Orli snapped, desperate to shut him up.

"Fuck the crossword book." Sean's voice was intense. "I want you."

Orli suddenly thought of something-- why the FUCK hadn't he thought of it before?! He raised his chin and looked straight up and over his shoulder at Sean. "No," he said clearly.

Sean nodded curtly and walked out into the living room to his chair; he sat down. "Fair enough." He clicked on the television and found a documentary on the Maori.

Orli whimpered a curse and took off for the bathroom.

DAY FOUR

Orlando hadn't known there was so much information about goats in the world. Lucky for them, there seemed to be a some documentary about every variety of goat in the world on the one channel they could get on the decrepit old telly, and even that picture was liberally salted down with static. The episode of Sesame Street that had been on earlier was worse; he still had that fucking song stuck in his head and he caught himself humming it under his breath from time to time.

Sean seemed to be utterly absorbed in the process of cheese making with goat's milk and didn't look up as Orli started tearing the next ink-covered crossword page into neat little strips. He'd filled up the book the night before, occasionally asking Sean about a clue and getting a terse reply. Indigenous, ascot, Cumberland sauce, all said in the same tone. It was almost worse than listening to him talk about fucking, and the phones were still channeling nothing but static so he hadn't even been able to talk to Viggo or Lijah.

His throat tightened sharply when he thought about them. Viggo's broken voice through the phone lines three days ago had been too short, and he hadn't even gotten to talk to Lij.

"You miss them." Sean's voice, quiet and uninflected.

Orli looked up, startled, from the scrap of paper he was pleating between his fingers. "Yeah, so?"

Sean shrugged and returned his attention to the goats. Orli looked back down at what he was doing and decided to get more ambitious; he picked up a second strip and plaited a little folded accordion. "I hope they miss you." Again, a neutral tone, but Sean's eyes rested on him longer this time, and Orli couldn't tear away, swallowing hard. Sean's doubt sent a surge of terror up his spine.

"They do." His voice sounded bluff; too full of false bravado.

Sean shrugged and his broad thumb swept over the upholstery of the couch. "How did you get hooked up with them? How did any of you get hooked up?"

Orli lifted his shoulders with pride. "Viggo pounced all over me."

Sean lifted his brows, not disagreeing, but radiating disbelief nonetheless. "Did he pounce on Elijah first?"

That stole the wind out of Orli's sails, and his shoulders sank a little before he could regain his confidence. "Elijah had to ask for it. I didn't."

"Viggo calls you a slut." Sean held Orli fixed, his eyes intense. "You're not, you know."

"I'm his slut."

"You're his lover. There's a difference."

"I'm a slut for him."

"If you were a slut, you'd have been on your belly begging for me the first day we came here." Orli lifted his chin, looking down his nose at Sean. "See? No slut would look at me that way. You'd be trying to get into my trousers instead."

"Then maybe YOU'RE a slut." Orli expected his words to sting; instead Sean tipped his head back and laughed, loud and long and with genuine pleasure.

"Maybe I am, at that." He stretched, strangely feline-- like a lion, or another ponderous big cat, slow and lazy and slit-eyed with comfort.

Orli paused, but couldn't keep a lid on his curiosity. "If you're such a slut, then who've you fucked? In the cast, I mean."

Sean rumbled a low, dangerous laugh. "More than two." His eyes sparkled at Orli with nearly irresistible mischief.

"I bet you haven't fucked Sean Astin."

"Some things even a slut won't do."

They laughed together, unexpectedly, and Orli felt some of the tension in his shoulders and belly ease.

"I've fucked Elijah," Orli says softly. He licked his lips, feeling them turn cool as the wet slide of his tongue dried. That's what he'd like to do now: curl Elijah into a little ball and give it to him nice and hard. Listen to him whimper and squeal.

"I know." Sean's eyes turned hot. "Is he sweet?"

"He's not as tight as he might be, but yeah."

"How does he like it?"

"Hard. He likes it hard and fast-- and dry. So dry it hurts me as much as it hurts him. He likes when it hurts. He likes you to bite him till he bleeds."

Sean shifted, and Orli looked away, choosing not to acknowledge that his discomfort stemmed from a growing erection. "Do you like to give it to him hard and fast and dry?"

"Yeah." Orli's mouth tasted like electricity; lust flooded through him. "I don't get to do it very often, but when I do... he's so smooth he's almost like a girl, but he can take things a girl never could."

"If I were Viggo, I'd try just a little electric shock on him." Sean sounded dreamy. "Very mild, of course-- at least at first. Right to his prostate. I can see him now, jerking in the straps, or on a sling, screaming his fool head off and loving every goddamned minute of it."

Orli blinked a little, nervous, glad Viggo hadn't thought of that-- because most of what Elijah got, Orli did too.

Sean continued, still with a soft look of wistful lust. "And you could fuck his mouth while I did it, and you'd feel the tingle."

It was Orli's turn to shift, and he glared at Sean. "Viggo won't ever let you."

"The clothes pins were good," Sean rumbled, ignoring the challenge. "Just the thing for a sub like him-- to push him as far as he can go, and leave him hanging there, and then to hurt him even worse when they come off, but when they come off, the pain feels so fucking, fucking good." He looked at Orli suddenly, eyes keen. "You let Viggo do that to you?"

Orli squirmed. "I don't like pain the way Lijah does."

"But he gives it to you anyway."

"Sometimes it feels good."

"Attention feels good, doesn't it."

Orli sat mute, not sure how to answer.

"You don't care if it's his belt or a plug or a nipple clip. You just like it when he's focused on you."

"I guess." Orli mumbled, ashamed. "I just like him."

"I know." Gentle now. "Why don't you tell me what you'd like him to do with you?"

"I..." Orli hesitated. "I just like it when he does things to me."

"Tell me?" Sean spoke coaxingly, and Orli bit his lip, wavering.

"I like it when he makes me beg," Orli blurted out, his face burning, but Sean just nodded. "He'll just keep pushing and pushing, you know? Fucking you, fucking -with- till you think you're going to die if he doesn't let you come. God," Orli swallowed and let his knees fall apart, trying to ease the growing pressure in his pants. "And he still won't. It's like... like he can see into your head and he just knows. He knows what you can take and he won't let you stop until you get there."

"He does that, yeah," Sean's voice was low and maybe a little hoarse. Orli couldn't stand to look at him, but he could hear a hand rasping over denim. Wondered briefly if Sean was as fucking hard as he was before he cut the thought off. "But what do you want him to do to you?" Sean continued. "What do -you- want?"

"Everything," Orli breathed. "Anything. I'd let him... no," he shook his head, trying to do what Sean asked, to say what HE wanted. "If... if I could get him to do anything, anything at all?"

"Yeah?" Sean was breathing quickly, and Orli dared to look at him from the corner of his eye. His pants were unfastened and Sean had one hand down the front, his hand moving in a distinctly familiar fashion, and if he squinted Orli could see the blood-flushed head of his cock, peeking up through his fist. Orli closed his eyes and licked his upper lip, tasted the sweat beading there, and tried not to think of Sean fucking Viggo. The look on his face right now was so similar, so intense.

"What you said yesterday. I'd ask him to piss on me, all over me, " he rasped, and Orli squeezed his own cock through his pants, hard enough to make himself wince. "When you told me you'd let me... I don't want to tell you this," he confessed and he shuddered a little, working the zip of his pants down with his thumb. "But just the fucking thought of it makes me want it."

Sean made a sound that might have been agreement, or maybe he was just getting off on it and Orli could hear him wanking off in earnest now, wet, slick sounds only a meter away. He wondered if Sean was watching him and he pulled his own dick out, shifting his pants down to his hips.

"I'd rub it in," Orli whimpered, jerking himself, "I'd lick it off my fingers, fuck, I'd beg him piss in my mouth if I thought he would do it. I'd... fuck...." Orli quivered, trying not to come yet but just the fucking THOUGHT, and Viggo's face about him, hard and sexy as all hell, and he'd do anything Viggo wanted, if he asked right. Sean was muttering obscenities, blurred words, mostly fuck, and Orli thought he might be coming, slitted his eyes open to watch.

Sean was half-arched off the chair, fucking his own hand as intently as he'd screwed Viggo into the bed, and it was almost as hot to see, wet strands of come spattering his shirt and hand, and Orli gritted his teeth and came with him, and tried not to think about how much he wanted to lick every drop off Sean's hand. Habit, he told himself. We don't let things like that go to waste...

Orli realized his lashes had sunk shut and he opened them, flinching a little when he saw Sean watching him. A little self-consciously, he wiped his own hand on the leg of his jeans and looked away. "You must think I'm sick."

Sean laughed softly. "Aren't we all?"

The shrill ring of the phone cut off whatever Orli might have wanted to say and he nearly choked on his tongue, guilt rising up in his throat like bile. He swallowed it back down ruthlessly. This was NOT cheating; they hadn't even fucking well touched each other. It would all be fine, Orli told himself, yanking up his jeans and holding them with one hand while he dashed for the phone.

Sean beat him to it, batting his hand away. "'Lo? Yeah?" Orli fastened his pants quickly and shifted from foot to foot impatiently. "What??" The horror on Sean's face made Orli queasy and he gestured frantically, only to be ignored. "Pete, come on, no, I...fine! Fine, we'll be ready."

After a few moments of intense discussion, he slammed the phone down into the cradle. "Pete's tired of waiting for the rain to stop. They're going to send the helicopters for us." Sean looked down at the mess on his hand, not half as enthusiastic as he'd been a minute ago, and wiped vaguely at his shirt, trying to get it off.

Orli rolled his eyes. Not smart, ruining your only shirt-- it only went to show you that Sean was pretty upset; he genuinely hated helicopters.

"Who else have you fucked?" Orli abruptly decided it was time to take his own turn asking the questions and get them back where they started, before his only chance to get blackmail information was lost; besides, Sean would be grateful for being distracted from the inevitable helicopter ride. "I know you fucked Viggo."

Sean smiled secretively, getting back into the spirit of the game. "I don't kiss and tell."

"I bet you fucked Ian that night after the club," Orli guessed wildly.

Sean laid his finger aside his nose, but he looked smug.

"Fuck, you did, you wanker!" Orli laughed. "Is he any good in the sack?"

"Let me tell you something about Ian," Sean looked at him levelly. "Laugh all you want, but he kept it hard half the night, and he fucked me for over an hour before he came. The first time."

Orli boggled at him, and Sean nodded, his smug grin getting wider.

"Who else?" He kept his voice hushed without realizing it.

"I had Billy, back before he crawled into Dom's bed. We'd had a press event that day, and he was dressed up, and I guess he saw me eyeing his legs, because he turned up on my doorstep at midnight, half drunk, with his sporran off to one side and his kilt sticking out where his cock was hard against it. God, he's a noisy bugger. I snatched his wrists in one hand and shoved him up against a wall, and I pushed up that fucking stupid kilt of his and rammed it in." Sean licked his lips. "He wanted it, all right-- he was already lubed, but he shrieked like a bloody girl. I had to shove the heel of my hand half in his mouth, and the bastard bit me."

Orli stared, wide-eyed, half-laughing, half-respectful. "I remember that bandage."

Sean winked. "It was worth it. He was the tightest little fuck I ever had."

Orli swallowed, his mouth dry. "Anybody else?"

"I buggered Liv. Till I got tired of having her. I told her she had to get in shape for riding that bloody great horse. She just shrugged and rolled over."

That did it; Orli laughed till the tears rolled down his cheeks. "You liar."

"She was a pretty good piece of pussy." Sean grinned, expansive. "Nothing on a man, but all right for a slow night. If you want her, she's a cheap fuck. Just buy her a couple of beers and make a little sweet talk, and you're in. She's OK at sucking cock, but she won't swallow."

"Just OK? She'd scratch your eyes out."

"Cate's better." Sean definitely looked like the cat who ate the canary.

"You didn't!" Orli stared as Sean nodded.

"I never got it in her, but she sucked me off. She's hard to get."

"You snake in the grass." Orli couldn't help but admire the brass it took to fuck half the cast. "No wonder you're after me."

"Yeah, well, you're spec--" Sean's face suddenly froze, and his eyes traveled up towards the ceiling; he looked pale. "D'you hear that?"

Orli tilted his head and listened; after a minute the chopping of rotors could be heard easily. "Yeah. Hey, look, don't take on that way." Sean was pale, his whole body drawn in on itself. "C'mon. The sooner we get out there, the sooner it'll be over with."

Sean stood mutely while Orli loaded his arms with their meager possessions. He left the mess for their little old landlady to clean up; there wasn't any time left and they'd given her a couple hundred quid for a few nights' stay; cleaning the place after them wouldn't be too bitter a pill to swallow.

He practically had to shove Sean out the door, forcing him to stumble out into the downpour, and they were both drenched instantly, chill rain soaking them to the bone. For once Orli was grateful for it. Any evidence that was left from their little group wank was washed away in a flood of cold New Zealand rain.

The rotors were still roaring over their heads when they got to the helicopter and Orli gave Sean a ruthless shove when he slowed and tried to linger back away from it.

"Get on!" Orli shouted, trying to be heard over deafening rain and machinery. For a minute, he didn't think Sean was going to do it, that he'd just stand there frozen and let himself drown like a fucking turkey in the rain. Orli slapped him on the arse, hard, and that shocked him into motion. Sean scrambled clumsily through the door and Orli followed him, pulling it shut behind him.

"You're just a big girl's blouse, you know that?" Orli said breathlessly and he flopped back against the seat.

"Shut up!" Sean said between gritted teeth.

He was so pale, the color of porridge, that Orli relented a little in the face of his obvious fear. It was actually a little charming to see him so terrified; Sean had the bollocks to try and screw anything on two legs, but he was about to piss himself from riding in a helicopter. Unbelievable. Reluctantly, Orli laid a hand over one of Sean's and he frowned at the feel; it was like ice.

"Hey, we're going to be fine," Orli soothed, chafing Sean's cold hand between his own. "C'mon, mate. Just close your eyes and take it easy, all right?"

Sean nodded jerkily and obeyed. Everything went smoother like that-- for about a second and a half, after which the helicopter dipped suddenly, riding the wind currents. A strangled sound escaped Sean and he snatched his hand from Orli's grasp, instead grabbing one of Orli's his knees and squeezing hard enough Orli had to bite back a yelp.

"Easy," he crooned, stroking the back of Sean's hand lightly in hopes of making him lighten his grip. No such luck, and Orlando resigned himself to being a human security blanket for the whole flight. Hesitantly he slid an arm over Sean's shoulders and felt him take a shaky breath. It took a little maneuvering with the seatbelts, but he managed to get Sean tucked up against him, his head buried in Orli's neck.

"I've got you," Orli murmured, not caring if the pilot was watching. He patted Sean's head gently, stroking his short hair, and he smiled a little against the back of Sean's head. Sort of nice to be needed, even if it was only because Sean was about to wet his trousers. He was trembling violently and Orli tightened his arms, sliding a hand down to rub Sean's back.

The ride in the helicopter was way too fucking long, and Orli thought his leg might fall off from the pressure of Sean's fingers clutching it like a vise even before they started to descend again, back through the layers of turbulence they'd escaped at such a cost to Sean when they first took off.

He squinted through the rain-drenched plastic window, just able to see a few figures scattered around the roof of a building-- one he suddenly recognized as their hotel. His heart raced, and he swallowed, licking his lips. It was going to be damned good to see Viggo and Elijah again.

"Almost there," he whispered to Sean, patting his shoulder. "Almost there."

"Please," Sean gritted out. "Just shut up."

-finis-

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