Title: Under the Influence: Spiced Rum
Summary: It begins, as these things often do, in a bar.
Notes: For .
It begins, as these things often do, in a bar.
They have been keeping a running tab on each other, the count kept in the back of Dom’s journal—in pen so there could be no cheating. And currently, much to Dom’s annoyance, Orlando is ahead.
“All right,” Dom says when Elijah and Billy have gone on the dance floor, “I want to impose a new challenge. I bet you can’t get two tonight.”
“Two? No problem.”
“And I get to choose who,” Dom adds.
“No,” Orlando says. “What if you choose two people who are completely uninterested? I’ll lose automatically.”
“All right, I get to choose one and you can choose the other. If you fail with either of them I choose the next one.”
“I choose . . .” Dom lets his eyes wander around the bar. There are beautiful creatures of both sexes here tonight, Maori with skin like cafe au lait, suntanned Kiwis, transplants like themselves just learning to loosen up. He spies one girl that might please Orlando, with a curtain of glossy black hair and a wide, effortless smile. “Her.” He points and Orlando turns to look.
He turns back with a grin. “No problem,” he says as he gets up from the table, and he makes his way through the crowd to the girl. From Dom’s vantage point he can see them easily: Orlando’s disarming smile, the girl’s pleasure in being singled out by someone so handsome, how he has her laughing in a few minutes and getting up to dance a few minutes after that.
Dom turns to a blank page in his journal and writes, Orlando will shag anything that stands still long enough.
He ought to get started if he’s going to catch up to Orlando, but despite the willing flesh all around him no one inspires him enough to really try. If he were in the mood he could convince Elijah that twice didn’t make you gay . . . but he’s not.
He starts to doodle—Heh, doodling Doodle—and is still drawing when Orlando comes back to the table, cheeks appealingly flushed and his shirt untucked from his trousers. He grins at Dom and wipes his hand across his mouth as he falls into his seat.
“Well?” Dom says, pen hovering to take down his points.
Orlando’s still grinning. “Seven,” he says finally.
“Seven.” He licks his lips. “She was lovely. Delicious.”
“You’re a dirty, dirty man, Orlando Bloom,” Dom says, shaking his head as he writes.
“I know.” Orlando stretches like a self-satisfied cat. “I told her she could sit with us if she wanted. I don’t think she’s going to, though—I think she was a bit embarrassed after.”
“Well, yeah, if you got all the way to seven. Did you even get her name?”
“No,” Orlando says.
“Bloody hell—you got all the way to seven without her name? No way I’m ever going to win this.”
“That’s because you go about it all wrong,” Orlando says earnestly. “If you start out with just pushing someone’s head to your crotch of course they’re not going to feel very willing.”
“I don’t just push someone’s head to my crotch. I am as skilled in the art of seduction as anybody.”
“But if you want to convince a complete stranger that you’re sincere you’ve got to be willing to . . . come second.” Orlando’s lips twitch at the double entendre, and Dom suddenly wishes Billy were here help mock him. Orlando gets entirely too much pleasure out of dumb puns. “So do I get to choose yours for tonight?”
“I don’t think I’m going to play,” Dom mumbles and goes back to drawing.
“What? That’s no good—that’s no good at all. What’s the fun of competing if you’re not going to compete?”
“I don’t feel like flirting.”
Orlando looks displeased for a moment, then stands and holds out his hand. “You need to dance and get your energy up.”
“Dance,” Orlando commands, holding out his hand and looking very regal. “I love this song and I want to dance to it, and if you stay sulking in the corner I’ll be very unhappy with you—so unhappy I’ll tell Billy and he’ll kick your ass.”
“Billy couldn’t kick my ass,” Dom says, putting his journal away in his bag and getting to his feet, “and he wouldn’t anyway. He loves me—more than you do, I might add.”
Orlando laughs and slings his arm around Dom’s shoulder as Dom walks beside him to the dance floor. Both Elijah and Billy shout greetings to them, and Billy grinds against Dom’s hip for a few seconds as they get into the pounding rhythm of the song.
Orlando, however, commands most of Dom’s attention, dancing with his hands in the air, and Dom admits to himself that the flush from sex and heat makes Orlando very attractive indeed.
Finally Dom asks, shouting to be heard above the music, “Have you made your second choice?”
“Your second person! Have you chosen who it is yet?”
“Yes!” Orlando shouts and grins at him, seductive and lovely and eerily elvish.
“Who? Show me?”
But Orlando just grins again and puts an arm around Dom’s shoulders. He spins Dom so that he can pull him against his chest, arm loose around Dom’s neck. Dom expects him to point out whom he’s chosen, but instead Orlando just holds him and dances, close enough that Dom can smell sex and cologne and perspiration and essential Orli-ness.
He turns his head towards Orlando, eyes half-shut. Orlando’s hand is hot and slightly damp through Dom’s shirt, and Dom lays his hand on top of it and presses it into his stomach. The music is hard with a relentless beat, and their bodies move as much in response to it as to each other.
I bet we look gorgeous, Dom thinks, but doesn’t look to see if anyone’s watching. It’s almost like he’s alone with Orlando, despite the heat and crush of bodies—it’s like all he can feel is Orlando’s long-boned body behind him and his warm, big hands in front, and the music pounding in his ears like a heartbeat, the rhythm so demanding he can feel it in his belly.
Orlando presses his face against Dom’s. Dom can feel him breathing and the movement of his jaw when he speaks—but whatever he says is too low for Dom to hear. “What?” he whispers, wanting to shove a hand into Orlando’s shaggy hair and pull him even closer.
Orlando puts his lips to Dom’s ear but doesn’t speak. He breathes through an open mouth, making Dom shiver, and his hips guide Dom in the rocking motion of their dance. His hand slides lower, down Dom’s stomach to blatantly cup the front of his jeans.
Dom’s eyes pop open but he squeezes them shut again. He’s dizzy with heat and lust, knocked over by the thought Oh my God: Orlando wants me. And I want him back.
He puts his hand on top of Orlando’s again. Orlando’s fingers tense as if he expects reproach, then relax as Dom presses against his hand. Dom shimmies, silently asking for more contact, anything, another hand on his body, lips on his skin—
Orlando obliges: Dom nearly shouts when Orlando’s tongue meets his neck. “Hm, Sblomie,” he breathes and Dom gnaws at his lower lip, tilting back his head.
The song mixes into another and Orlando pauses. His arms go loosely around Dom’s body and Dom is hesitant to turn around. But Orlando does not step away: he stays pressed against Dom’s back, breathing heavily, his body hot and damp, hard through his trousers.
Dom wants to turn. Dom wants to rip away Orlando’s ridiculous polka-dotted shirt and lick the sweat from his chest. Dom wants—
He grabs Orlando’s hand and yanks him along off the floor, away from the crush of bodies and up the stairs, past the private rooms, past the fluorescent-lit Employees Only corridor and up a metal staircase to the flat roof of the club.
“Dommie,” Orlando begins but Dom just squeezes his hand. They can hear the beat from the club—feel it in their feet, more like—and there are cars and voices in the street below, but above there is nothing but stars.
“Dommie,” Orlando repeats and Dom finally turns, still grasping his hand. Orlando pulls him firm against his body, Dom’s s
oft knit t-shirt meeting the silk of Orlando’s, Dom’s yearning mouth open just below Orlando’s, just enough so that Dom can taste his spicy breath. He can’t remember seeing Orlando drink spiced rum that night but the man’s an elf, for God’s sake, and it’s entirely possible all of Orlando tastes of things delicious and desirable.
He decides to find out and latches his mouth to Orlando’s neck, grasping his head in his free hand. Orlando’s skin is salty with sweat and tastes faintly of alcohol, and he groans in Dom’s ear and shoves his hand into Dom’s back pocket. He squeezes Dom’s ass and pulls his hips forward, so there’s no mistaking his intention or his desire. Dom grinds into Orlando’s groin, still sucking and licking his neck, trying to hold him with one hand while the other clings to Orlando’s wrist.
They’re turning and turning on the rooftop, not even kissing really but tasting each other with tongues and open lips, feet entangled, searching for a surface to lean against. Orlando finds it first and pushes Dom back against an air vent. He finally yanks his hand from Dom’s grip so he can run both up and down Dom’s chest and kiss his mouth. His thumbs pass over Dom’s nipples and Dom groans, making Orlando giggle. “Sensitive,” he remarks and bites Dom’s lower lip.
“Horny,” Dom answers and swipes his tongue along Orlando’s cheekbone.
“Cheeky beggar.” He pinches Dom’s nipples through his shirt, giggling again at Dom’s gasp, and pushes Dom’s shirt up out of his way. He stoops to tongue Dom’s chest, swirling lazily around and over Dom’s nipples.
Dom arches, groaning, his eyes squeezed shut. He combs his hands through Orlando’s hair, taking care not to push even though Orlando’s mouth around his dick would be just the ticket right now. His hips buck when Orlando undoes his fly.
“And you say I’m a dirty man,” Orlando murmurs when he sees nothing but bare skin beneath Dom’s jeans, and Dom groans again as Orlando’s tongue runs up his pelvis. He writhes, enjoying Orlando’s tongue and lips on his skin, and then stoops to anchor his hands under Orlando’s arms and haul him back up. He kisses Orlando fiercely, hands up beneath his shirt so he can scrape his nails over Orlando’s back. Orlando groans, “Oh, Dom,” as Dom bites into his neck.
His hands are shaking too hard to manage the tiny buttons on Orlando’s shirt: he grabs both sides and yanks. Buttons fly everywhere. “Dammit, Dom, this shirt was eighty-five pounds!”
“You were cheated,” Dom mumbles between licks to Orlando’s chest, and Orlando chuckles as he bends his head over Dom’s, hands kneading Dom’s ass.
“But I liked it,” he whispers and kisses Dom’s hair.
“Orli, Orli, Orli,” Dom murmurs, taking little nibbles to Orlando’s chest, and he doesn’t know if he’s starting a lecture or just taking pleasure in Orlando’s name.
Orlando braces his hand against the air vent and pushes his hips into Dom’s, rocking against him and moaning as Dom licks and bites his chest. Dom rocks back, bare skin meeting the cotton of Orlando’s trousers and making him moan in return.
“Tell me,” he exhales. “Tell me what you did to the girl.”
“I talked to her.” He sucks Dom’s ear.
“Yes. Oh, yes.”
“She smelled good—like—like—cookies—” Dom stops kissing him to laugh and Orlando faintly smiles. “So I ate her.”
“You and your fucking puns.” He tugs the lacing of Orlando’s pants open and works them down his narrow hips. Orlando chuckles and then sighs as Dom’s hand wraps around his dick.
“Mm, Dommie. She was delicious. She tasted like honey.” His hips thrust rapidly into Dom’s hand and he sucks Dom’s ear again. “But she didn’t taste better than you.”
Dom laughs again. “You don’t have to seduce me, you know.” He thrusts his hips against Orlando’s to emphasize his point.
“I’m just saying, Dommie,” Orlando mumbles and sinks his teeth into Dom’s collar bone.
Dom’s hand flails back to clutch at the air vent. “Oh, God, Orli,” he moans as Orlando gets down onto his knees and wraps his lips around Dom’s cock.
This is why he’s ahead, Dom thinks, he actually is really good at this seduction thing—and then he loses coherent thought as Orlando swallows him deeper. His hips buck and his head bangs back against the air vent, which echoes with a hollow thud—then a series of hollow thuds as his hips continue to jerk. One hand clutches back at the vent and the other is buried in Orlando’s hair. “Orli Orli Orli,” he chants again, this time entirely out of the pleasure of Orlando’s name. “Orli—gonna come, Orli—”
Orlando pulls back enough to look up at Dom, his celebrated cheekbones sharp as he sucks even harder, mischief in his eyes. Dom feels Orlando’s fingers stroking his balls and pressing between his legs, even a light scrape of Orlando’s teeth, and Dom groans and shudders, his knees shaking. He gasps, “Orli,” again as his orgasm spasms through him and Orlando swallows, humming with pleasure.
Dom slides down the air vent to his ass and blinks stupidly at Orlando, who’s still got a twinkle in his eye as he licks his lips. “You do taste good,” Orlando murmurs and crawls into Dom’s lap, to sweep his tongue into Dom’s mouth and run his hands over Dom’s chest. “I knew you would.” His cock is burning hot to Dom’s stomach and Dom digs his fingers into Orlando’s shoulders as they kiss.
“I have lube and condoms in my bag but it’s downstairs,” he gasps, licking Orlando’s cheek.
“Don’t need it. Just touch me.” Orlando’s dark eyes meet his. “I want to watch you touch me.”
“You sure? ‘Cause I will—I’d love to, I want to—”
Orlando shakes his head. “Give me your hand.” He gets onto his knees and wraps Dom’s fingers around his cock. Dom expects Orlando to look down between them and watch, but instead his sleepy eyes stay focused on Dom’s, his hands grasping the air vent and his hips rocking as Dom strokes him. It’s strangely more intimate than flat-out fucking, to be locked into Orlando’s gaze like that. Dom gets onto his knees, still gripping Orlando’s dick. He pulls Orlando closer, a breath away, so that their hips are separated only by his hand. His own cock is shuddering back to life and Dom groans again as Orlando’s tongue darts out to lick at his lips. He opens his mouth wider for more, but Orlando stays outside his mouth, licking and nibbling around his lips. He thrusts his cock frantically against Dom’s belly, all heat and hardness. Dom grabs Orlando’s ass with both hands and bucks against him in return, until Orlando throws back his head and groans, his come hot on Dom’s stomach.
They fall against each other, panting, and Orlando startles Dom by grabbing his head and kissing him fiercely. “Ten,” he whispers, dark eyes fixed on Dom’s. “A definite ten.”
“I’d say you won, mate.”
“I’d say we both won, mate.” He leans his forehead against Dom’s. “And Dommie, I don’t want to play that anymore.”
“Done. I’d rather perfect my technique,” he says softly, “than keep throwing it around.”
“You’ll want help,” Dom says wisely.
“Right. Someone I can trust to give me honest feedback.”
“Oh, I’ll be honest, all right.” He uses his t-shirt to mop up his stomach. “For starters, don’t ever wear that shirt again.”
“Dommie,” Orlando says, laughing.
“And just you wait until you’ve experienced my blow job technique. Your head will fall off, at the very least.”
“Dommie,” Orlando repeats, more gently.
“And I get to be on top.”
“We’ll talk about that,” Orlando says, grinning, and pulls him in for another kiss.
“I see how it is now,” Dom whispers into his mouth, “you’ll win all the arguments with sex—”
“Dommie. Shut up.”
Good plan, thinks Dom, and kisses him back.
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