Afternoon of a Pirate
Having caipirinhas for lunch isn�t such a brilliant idea, Orlando thinks, stretching lazily on the rough planks, head resting on his crumpled pirate vest. Tough, what the hell, does it matter?
He has no more shoots scheduled for today. Nor for tomorrow. He can take it easy. Nothing to do. Take a Friday afternoon nap perhaps. It is hot, but in the shady spot he has secured for himself on board the now abandoned pirate ship set, hidden under one of the low-hanging sails, one can bear the heat for a while.
Orlando closes his eyes, giving himself over to that blurred dizzy feeling. And thinks back to another time when he had had caipirinhas for lunch � although it hadn�t been anyone�s birthday. Viggo had fed him lime slices then, juicy sweet-sour pieces.
�You have to suck them,� Viggo told him, low wicked voice, a mischievous grin curling his lips.
And Orlando began to do so, laughing quietly, while his mind instantly jumped to the conclusion that sucking limes would be fine, but simply not enough.
Viggo�s fingers were sticky, tasting of fruit and rum, and Orlando sucked them, one by one, watching Viggo closely. �Like this, you mean?�
�I meant the fruit. But this isn�t bad. For a start,� Viggo added, pulling Orlando onto his lap so that Orlando was straddling him.
Yes, very nice that, Orlando thought, giving in to Viggo�s luscious lime kisses. So nice, letting Viggo lick the sweet-sourness from his lips and feeling Viggo grow hard against rough denim, against himself growing hard, too.
Orlando sighs and reaches down in his pirate pants. Easy access, how convenient. Also a necessity since underwear would show through the thin garments.
Remembering how Viggo had unbuttoned his shirt makes him mirror those movements. With one hand he begins to furl open his pirate shirt, dreamily undoing the fastenings. Fingers ghosting over warm skin, touching nipples that soon stand out, especially when he thinks about how hard Viggo had pinched them.
Orlando almost squealed then, lifting off Viggo�s lap and twisting around. He tried to move away but Viggo didn�t let him, quick hands firmly catching Orlando�s hipbones, keeping him in place. �Won�t let you go now,� Viggo whispered, hands moving up the shirt so that he could lick a slow long trail down Orlando�s spine.
As if Orlando had actually thought of leaving. Or had been able to think at all, drowning in slow wet kisses that were placed on the small of his back while Viggo�s hands unzipped Orlando�s fly and went down on him.
�Oh, Orlando.� He could only hear the smirk in Viggo�s voice. �Underwear is a foreign word to you, eh?�
Surely, this was meant as some sort of rhetorical question. In any case, Orlando didn�t feel like answering it. The only thing he could do was moan quietly when Viggo pulled down his jeans and began licking the thin white scar on Orlando�s back, very, very softly.
But then there were wicked kisses further down and small sharp bites and Orlando shamelessly rocked and wriggled his ass while Viggo�s tongue performed some sort of very special Viggo-magic on him. And as if this was not enough already, there were Viggo�s hands on his cock, setting a slow steady pace on him, reducing him to complete incoherence and want.
Orlando�s movements grow faster, just thinking of � Viggo�s hands � Viggo�s tongue. Almost enough to make him come. Even now.
Viggo�s voice had rasped against Orlando�s back when the side of Viggo�s face slid over his spine. With one hand Viggo reached for Orlando�s neck, his fingers buried in Orlando�s hair, slightly jerking Orlando backwards. �I�m so gonna fuck you now, boy.�
�You�re talking � talking too much,� Orlando groaned, being so close already. He was not sure whether he wanted to fly over the edge right away when Viggo bent over reaching for something and Viggo�s cock, hard and heavy, pressed against his ass. Or whether he wanted this to go on and on, being stretched so thoroughly with Viggo taking his time, as if he wanted to make Orlando scream before they had even started.
And Orlando did scream, a hoarse, strangled cry, when Viggo finally went in, one long smooth glide, all the way in. And � it was almost too much. But then Viggo shifted his position, only slightly, and it was � just � sublime.
Now why can�t Viggo be here? Orlando thinks, arching his back, bucking up from the wooden planks, pushing into his own hand faster and faster. Like he had pushed into Viggo�s hand. When Viggo had been all over him, one hand around his cock, one hand on Orlando�s hip, keeping him firmly in place. When Viggo had filled him and fucked him and �
Orlando moans as a wave of white hot heat washes over him. And jerks up because -what�s that? Someone there? Watching him? Shakily, he props himself up on his elbows, one hand shading his eyes, fingers even more sticky than before, and looks up.
But there is no one there. Only the sails flapping in the afternoon breeze. And a white cockatoo sitting up there, somewhere near the mast, white against white and blue. Making soft cawing sounds, wings fluttering when it flies up. And away.
