Sand and Tile

by Vivi

"Pretty baby wants to be fucked harder?" I breathed softly into his ear and he shivered beneath me, shaking his head helplessly.

"Fuck, don't -call- me that!"

"You don't like it? Want me to stop?"

"Ah...ah, fuck!"

"Thought I was."

"God, you little fucking tease!"

"Ah, but you knew that before we started."

~~*~~

I didn't love him when it first started.

Not the first time I flirted with him, not the first time we had sex, excited and nervous and quick, and we'd gone out right afterwards because he didn't have any food in his trailer but a stale box of biscuits and it was fun, all of it. But I didn't love him. Sounds bad, that, but it wouldn't be the first time I had sex with someone I didn't love.

I doubt that anyone else gives a damn about it, even him, but it matters to me. Because it started before it began, really. Started with flirting, with sex. But it began with sand.

Too windy that day to really surf but we gave it a go anyway, me and the others, the young guys and the ones of us who have more energy than sense. Even I'll admit that. Water so cold that it bit through our wetsuits and into our skin, sharp teeth of wet until we warmed up through it, laughing and playing with the taste of saltwater in our mouths, stinging in our eyes.

Viggo came with us but he'd rather lost his taste for it early on. He stayed on the shore and watched us, no camera for once; he'd only come with us because he could.

I stayed in the water as long as I could stand it, until the damage inflicted to my body by toppling off my board was sufficient enough to send me fleeing for the shore. Dragged my board out of the water, ready to flop down and just be exhausted for a bit when I saw him.

Viggo. Standing on one of the boulders that fringed the shoreline with his arms hanging loose by his sides but with the palms up, his head thrown back and the wind was shaping his hair into a tangled mess. I could see the seat of his pants was damp where he'd been sitting down, and sand coated his jeans with dusky shine.

He looked like he was worshipping the wind. It didn't take me half a minute of looking to realize the truth of the matter. Viggo was a good mate and a great shag, and standing in the wind he was absolutely fucking beautiful and I could hardly stand to know that other people were seeing him like that. And I just knew.

Whatever it was before, a bit of fun or good sex, or just whatever, it wasn't anymore. I couldn't breathe and I felt nausea twist in my stomach, like I might puke right there on my bare feet.

I'd had a plan, see, my whole life arranged in a line. Not a neat line, maybe, but at least a linear one. After university I'd flit into movies, get a certain amount of status, not winning an Oscar exactly but enough that I didn't end up playing Dead Soldier #2. Find someone pretty, a few of those and just. Enjoy it. But it sure as fuck hadn't included falling for a guy with a soft voice and shy eyes, who was supposed to be just another bit of something different to try, like bungee jumping. Like surfing.

I couldn't deal with that, just could not fucking deal.

So I walked away.

Down the strip, away from the beach and sat down at this little sidewalk restaurant that was totally empty, what with the wind and all, and I didn't have my wallet, was still wearing my wetsuit for fuck's sake, and I just sort of sat there, with waiters staring at me with curious indifference.

One of them finally worked up enough nerve to come over, and I suppose I ordered a beer, figuring someone would come find me eventually and I could bum a few quid off of them. Should have expected that someone would be Viggo.

I saw him coming when he was still far enough away that I could escape without talking to him, nearly overturned the chair I got to my feet so quickly.

So now walk away was becoming run away, and I never knew that I was such a fucking coward, ducking into the loo. Don't really know why. I knew he'd follow me. It's not like you can hide in there from a bloke, not like when you're off with a girl on some date that's gone hideously wrong and you have to get a few moments of peace.

It wasn't exactly a heaven for porcelain gods, anyway. Just a small box with a toilet in one corner, bloody disgustingly filthy, and I turned on the tap with the tips of my fingers and splashed cold water on my face, rinsing away the stiffness that saltwater leaves on your skin.

I didn't look at him when the door opened.

"Orlando?"

He always called me by my full name, like it was something mysterious or exotic that he just liked to say. No one ever did that; usually it was only said once or twice until they all slipped in to calling me Orli. Only my mum, my professors and Viggo ever called me Orlando.

His hand was suddenly warm at the base of my spine, fingertips just barely touching the curve of my arse, and for anyone else that would probably be an accident but to Viggo that was practically an all out grope. I wanted it to be a grope.

Whatever insanity or terror I'd been stricken with decided to melt together and congeal into something a little more like lust. A lot like lust and I'd slammed Viggo back against the door before I even thought about it, swallowed any protest he might have made and just kissed him, wet and messy and his lips were cold and startled beneath mine and, fuck, I just wanted this, wanted anything he'd ever give me.

I jerked the neck of his shirt down and tasted the skin there, salty and cool, his thin shirt hadn't been much protection against the wind, and just thinking about that made me bite down on his shoulder, a lot harder than I'd meant to.

I felt him wince a little, his hands catching at my shoulders before he laughed breathlessly, "Don't do anything I'll have to explain in makeup tomorrow." But he didn't stop me, never even tried, and if I'd wanted to leave a trail of marks leading straight to his dick he would have let me. I know he would, and it wouldn't be the first time.

Viggo always let me do what I wanted, like those times I'd kept it up, kept it going until he was shaking and sweating and swearing and fucking begging me to just do -something-, to stop teasing him, and fuck, here we were in a public loo and anyone could come in and see us like this, pretty fucking obvious what we both wanted.

I slid my hand down over his crotch, squeezed the bulge waiting there for me and swallowed his gasp, fondling his cock roughly and it wasn't enough to touch him like this. I wanted to taste him, take whatever he'd let me, swallow him down and keep him inside me, and just the thought scared the piss out of me. I was shaking as I jerked his fly open, dropping to my knees hard enough that I bit my tongue and I couldn't even care about the bright flare of pain, the sudden taste of blood.

The thud of Viggo's head against the door as I swallowed him down was loud in the tiny room, a hollow echo within walls of porcelain and tile. He tasted salty, sweat and come and seawater mixing with the metal tang of my bitten tongue, familiar and still strange and I sucked hard, circling the head of his cock with my tongue, wanting him to come then, digging my fingernails into the denim covering his thighs.

I could hear Viggo above me, dimly, choking on words, nothing that made sense and his hands were clenched on my shoulders and there was nothing but Viggo, cold hands moving on the back of my neck, hot dick in my mouth and I was drooling a little, wetting him and I wrapped my hand around the base of his cock in the slick mess of it, stroking and listened to his stuttered moans. I felt his thighs tense beneath my hands just before he came, hot as blood on my tongue and tasting just as bitterly salt, heat in my mouth and cool tile beneath my bare knees in a public bathroom for fuck's sake.

My lips felt hot and throbby, and I wiped at my mouth with the back of my hand, which was pretty useless as a cleanup job, and like anyone wouldn't look at my mouth and realize exactly what I'd been doing? What was worse was how little I gave a fuck.

Viggo's hands were stroking my head shakily, fingers tracing the line on my scalp that divided the stubble from longer hair and I leaned forward a little, kissed the soft skin just below his belly button before I whispered into his skin, words I wasn't sure either of us wanted to hear.

"I love you."

His hand stopped, cool fingertips resting lightly on my temples. "That's nice."

Nice? Nice. It was nice. My face was suddenly as hot as my lips, burning hot, fucking stinging and I shoved away from him, climbed off that bloody disgusting floor where I had actually sucked him off and stood there like a fucking moron because he was still in front of the door.

He frowned a little, like maybe he'd actually realized he might have said the wrong thing. Just brilliant, Viggo is. "Orlando?"

"Fuck off," I bit out, and fuck. This. I would have pushed past him, out the door and into the nice, clean world, out of this dirty tile room and I could've gone back to the original plan, found something young and cute and female to shag silly. Would have, only Viggo didn't seem inclined to let me go, and in the struggle with both ended up on the floor in a pile of knees and elbows, and I wasn't even really fighting until I was pinned, with Viggo on top, his feet braced against the door and by then it was a little too late.

"You meant it, didn't you?" Viggo asked softly, a wondering tone and my face, my eyes were fucking burning, and I strained against him, almost wishing someone would try to open the door and end this damn torture session.

"Bastard," I said, but it sounded more like a whine, fucking pathetic is what I am, stinging hot pain behind my eyes. "You think I'd say it and not mean it?"

"I don't know." And that one hurt, fucking hurt, kicked in the bollocks with a pair of steel-toed boots and I might even have cried at that one if Viggo hadn't chosen that moment to kiss me, lips so wonderfully cool against my overheated skin. "Orlando," he said softly, breathed words into my mouth, "I'm not in the habit of making love to people I don't care about."

"But you thought I didn't love you."

"Yes."

Wasn't that just like Viggo, making a point that didn't even make sense and leaving me to lay on a dirty tile floor that was getting colder by the second while I tried to put the puzzle pieces together in a way that might make a picture.

"So...you like me?" I tried, and he nodded silently, smiling just a little in that bloody annoying way he has. "And I like you." Another nod. "So...everything is good, yeah?"

He laughed then and kissed the tip of my nose like I was a little kid, and I had to resist the urge to bite him. Fucking annoying tosser, that's what he was, and why I even liked him, much less loved him, was a complete mystery. Warmed up a little though, in spite of the cold floor when Viggo kissed me again, slippery kisses, wet and warm, and maybe this little detour in my plans didn't suck so much after all.

"Yeah," Viggo murmured. "Everything is good, Orlando." Quiet words against my neck as he kissed his way lower and I shivered a little to hear them, and fuck me if we weren't still on the damned floor and I was caring less and less as he slowly unzipped my wetsuit.

Yeah. Everything was absolutely good, even on a bathroom floor.

Good.

-finis-

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