Back to the remixes
Author: Brenda (email@example.com)
Original fic: "Silent Witness" by pippinspeach.
Pairing: Billy Boyd/Dominic Monaghan/Karl Urban/Orlando Bloom
Summary: Orlando wants everything.
Feedback: Yes, please.
Disclaimer: Never happened.
Notes: For the 2004 Remix challenge. Cyndi...um...I'm sorry?
"Round and round and round we go
And there's no stopping it
And I keep trying to figure out a way
To get away from you"
-- Sister Machine Gun
Orlando's never been the shy type. When he sees something he wants, he finds a way of getting it. Some would call it luck, some timing, yeah, whatever. Orlando knows he's never been handed anything, knows exactly how hard he's had to work to get where he is. And he doesn't plan on fucking it up out of the gate.
Orlando always has one eye on the endless horizon.
It doesn't even take a full bottle of gin to have Billy right where Orlando wants him.
"C'mon, Billy, you know you want me." Orlando leans in, traps Billy neatly between the length of his body and the worn cushions of the sofa. "I can make it so good for you."
"I'm...ahfuck...Dom..." But Billy's already tilting his head to the side, allowing Orlando's tongue access.
"Dom's not here." Orlando licks a path down Billy's neck, worms a hand under Billy's shirt, slides over soft hairs, tight muscle. "Just let me..." Pushes the shirt up to Billy's armpits, slithers down to latch onto a tight nipple with lips and tongue.
Orlando hears the hitch and moan, feels the heavy press of Billy's cock against his hip. Smiles even as he slides down a thin chest, concave stomach, licking an insidious path down Billy's treasure trail.
Billy parts his thighs, and it's all the invitation Orlando needs.
"So, what'd y'think of it, so?" Billy stands, with his arms on his elbows, looking, for all the world, like a proud father. Which Orlando supposes he is, in a weird sort of way.
"Looks like a sofa," Orlando offers, trying to be tactful.
"Looks like my four year-old cousin after he's been sick on chocolate," Dom states.
So much for tact.
"Thank you so much for that, Dommie." Billy glares, gives the sofa a protective look.
"It's comfortable and I like it and no one asked for your soddin' opinion."
"Good thing," Dom mumbles, and Orlando returns his quick wink before they both attack Billy again in a pile of limbs and cushions.
Orlando fumbles with the phone, knocks his alarm clock off the nightstand. He doesn't bother to open his eyes. Night shoots all this month and he's taking sleep wherever and however the fuck he can get it. "Yeah?" he croaks. Swallows, and regrets it immediately.
"I wake you?"
"Wha -- Billy?" Orlando struggles to straighten his pillow so he can lie back down, smothers a loud yawn. "The fuck, man, it's late, innit?"
"Couldn't sleep. Sorry. I can call back."
"Nah, it's cool," Orlando murmurs, burrows back under the comforter. "Whassit?"
"Mmmmm..." Orlando's already mostly asleep again, half-slipping back into dreams. "Okay."
"Stay out of trouble?"
"Yeah, okay...nite." Orlando depresses the button and is fully asleep seconds later. He dreams about being a train, with Billy desperately trying to catch him.
It's Dom's job to find the best pubs, and he takes his job very seriously, spends hours with Bean 'scouring the land', as he puts it, for the best chips and the coldest beer on tap. He's always calling Orlando in the middle of the night, drunk and giggling, usually with Bean interrupting every two seconds, and it's always so surreal, like Orlando's having waking dreams. Which, maybe he is.
When the perfect place is found, Dom and Bean order everyone to help break it in, and no one refuses. Dom and Bean in persuasive mode is an awesome sight -- no one is immune or safe. Even John shows up, grumbling the entire time about his lovely glass of claret back at his place.
By the time Orlando shows up, the table is crowded, conversations spilling over and around each other, and Elijah's already knocked over one glass of beer. "What'd I miss?" Orlando asks, squeezing in between Billy and Viggo.
"Ian's figured out a cure for the common cold and Bean thinks he can beat me at darts," Viggo says, already pouring Orlando a beer from the pitcher. "And you need to scoot your skinny ass over a bit."
"My ass is not skinny," Orlando says, sniffing disdainfully. "I have a great ass."
"Ladies, no fighting," Elijah giggles, and Astin just shakes his head, mutters something about children being allowed at the adult table.
"I'd kick him for that, Doodle," Dom smirks.
"You think I have a skinny ass?" Orlando asks Billy, twisting a bit to get a look at the offending bit of his anatomy.
"It'll do," Billy winks, and Orlando smiles back, warm, slow.
"Holy fuck, who is that?"
"That's Karl," Viggo answers. "Just got here two days ago." He claps Orlando on the shoulder. "And he's out of your league, Elfboy."
"No such thing," Orlando scoffs, shrugging out of Viggo's hold.
"Aren't you supposed to be with Billy?"
Orlando rakes his gaze over Karl again, along strong muscles, a solid form, cheekbones chiseled by the gods themselves. He itches to run his hands through the fall of dark hair, run his tongue along a well-defined tricep. "It's nothing serious," he says, already stepping in Karl's direction.
Viggo's next words stop him -- but only for a moment.
"Does Billy know that?"
"Fuck, Orli, I can't believe you fucking kissed him!"
Orlando can hear the frustration and disbelief, and part of him cringes in shame. He ruthlessly suppresses it. "Yeah, I did. Fuck, Bills, it's not like we're married or dating or anything. Hell, we're not even fucking."
Orlando hears the sharp intake of breath, winces even as the words leave his mouth. "Hey, Billy, I'm..."
"No, you're right. We're not. I'm not. Fuck. I...y'know." Orlando hears Billy struggling for control and squirms uncomfortably in his chair. The room service menu on the desk looks very interesting. "Do what you want," Billy finally sighs. "You will, anyway."
"I'm sorry." Even though he doesn't mean it. Not really. He should feel worse.
Instead he feels free.
"You're going to hurt him, y'know."
Orlando cups the back of Dom's neck, headbutts him affectionately. "He's the older man here, Sblom. How d'you know he's not taking advantage of my wee sensibilities?"
Dom rolls his eyes, and twists out of Orlando's grasp. He snags a roll and three pats of butter, tosses Orlando a banana. "Tosser. You haven't got any wee sensibilities."
"Haven't got a wee anything," Orlando grins, waggling his eyebrows.
"Man, I do not need that mental image," Dom groans.
"What mental image?" Bean asks, reaching between them for a carton of milk.
"Orlando's bragging about the size of his willy again."
"Ah, well, if he whips it out for measurement, let me know so I can smack him back into place," Bean grins, and is gone as quickly as he'd come.
"We could have a contest," Orlando muses.
"Christ, you're hopeless."
"Christ, you're good at this," Billy pants, liquid, pliant under Orlando's hands. The sofa creaks under their combined weight. The raspy, harsh sounds of The Pogues come from the speakers, but neither bothers to get up.
Orlando shoves Billy's t-shirt up, races light fingers over a furred chest, licks a slow path along Billy's neck. "I know," he smiles. Closes his teeth on the juncture of Billy's neck and shoulder.
Billy makes it so easy sometimes.
"Heya." Karl nods once, goes back to watching the crew as they set up the next shot.
"So..." Orlando balances on the balls of his feet, tries to channel some Elvish calm. Karl looks so fucking regal in costume it's unreal. But, then, Karl's a bit unreal himself. Two weeks into filming at Minas Tirith, and Orlando's just now getting the balls to speak up. "Enjoying the shoot so far?"
"Know the area?" Orlando asks, glancing at Karl through partially lowered lashes.
Well, this was a stellar start. "Feel like showing me around?"
Karl smiles at Orlando, and shakes his head. "Won't work."
Karl glances over, brushes a few strands of his wig from his forehead. "I know you, and it won't work."
"What do you know about me? We just met two weeks ago."
Karl meets Orlando's wide grin with one of his own. He leans in, lips resting on Orlando's earlobe, and Orlando shudders from the heat and press and need. "I know that you're used to getting what you want."
Orlando has to catch the moan threatening to spill forth. "Y-yeah?"
"And I know I won't be that easy to catch." Karl leans back, flicks the tip of his tongue across his lower lip. "But I'll be worth it."
Sweet Mother of Christ.
"You think I'm an ass, don't you?" Orlando asks, lets another arrow fly. It hits the center of the target with a dull thump.
"I think you could've used a bit more tact, yeah," Viggo replies, squinting as he eyes his shot. "But, it's your life. You'll do what you want with it and so will Billy."
"He wasn't taking the hint," Orlando grumbles. His boots glisten with dew, and he stares down at them in fascination for a minute. Easier than looking at Viggo. "Now it's done."
"And Karl's what you really want?"
Orlando thinks about the hard slide of Karl's mouth, the heat of his tongue, the seduction in heated whispers across needy skin. "Yeah."
"Then let it go." Viggo looses his arrow, nods in quiet satisfaction when it embeds itself in the target next to Orlando's. "Billy'll find his own happiness."
"Go running to Dom, you mean."
"That's between them." Viggo nocks another arrow into place. "Your part's done."
"Yeah," Orlando drawls. "Yeah."
Billy's place isn't that big, but it still takes Orlando a moment to find the bathroom and take care of business. Bad thing about trying to out drink Bean is that he needs to piss like a racehorse every fourth beer or so.
He can hear the excited yaps of the puppy -- some little fluffball Viggo'd bought as Christmas gift for Miranda -- as he washes his face, clears his head. He loves parties, loves the noise and the crowds and the press of bodies all warm and cozy next to his own. Loves that it's Christmas, his first Christmas with everyone and, already, they're a family, this is his family, and it's flawed and fucked up and so perfect he could hug the lot of 'em. He can't imagine that the late arrival of the other principal cast members will ever change that.
He stumbles back down the hall, pulls up short when he hears furious murmurs behind Billy's bedroom door. Well, well, drama. Orlando loves good gossip. And he's just drunk enough to not care about privacy as he presses his ear to the door and listens in.
"Fuck all, Dommie, I didn't mean --" Billy takes a breath, and Orlando presses his ear harder, tries to make out the softly spoken words. "It's not you. It's me."
"Fuck you, it's you. It's him and you fucking know it."
"You just want him."
Curiouser and curiouser. "Yeah, well, do you blame me?" Billy asks.
"No. Maybe. Yes." Orlando can practically taste Dom's anger, even through the door. "Why the hell can't I be enough?"
"I don't know." Billy sighs again, the sound full of sadness. "I won't ask you to wait."
"You don't have to."
Orlando barely has time to scramble back into the bathroom before Dom wrenches open the bedroom door and stomps out. Billy follows a few minutes later, dragging his feet.
Orlando stays where he is for a few minutes. Wonders.
Orlando knows Billy wants more, knows Billy's frustrated with the stolen kisses, casual make-out sessions that never go below the waist. Knows that Billy's just waiting for Orlando to say the word, crook his finger. Knows Billy would bend over and take it, take everything Orlando tosses at him. Knows Billy would come running to him, panting like a bitch in heat, with no more than a promise and a smile.
It's a nice kind of power.
But power isn't everything.
The first time Karl kisses him, Orlando's knees buckle, his head swims, and tiny pricks of light explode behind his eyes with every slow swipe of Karl's tongue along the roof of his mouth. He's flailing, falling, anchored only by Karl's arms around him and the solid weight of the chair under him, pinning him in place for Karl's possession. He mewls, tilts his head back, tugs on the back of Karl's neck to bring him closer.
He wants. Ohfuck, how he wants. Wants and wants and wants, and Karl gives it to him, taking every sigh, slithering his tongue along Orlando's with sweet, sharp movements that has Orlando arching, moaning, gasping.
For once, Orlando's not in control of anything.
It should scare him how much he likes it. But it doesn't.
"You know what your problem is?" Orlando asks, calmly fixing the glue on one of his ears. He stares at Dom's reflection, notes the clenched hands, tightly controlled breaths. Wonders why he feels so detached.
"I wasn't aware I had one."
Orlando swivels in his chair. "You wanted Billy first and you were too pussy to go after him."
"You know what yours is?"
This Orlando has to hear. "Dazzle me."
"You're think you're like some fucking Helen of Troy that no one can resist," Dom says, spitting out every word with cold venom. "You think we're all going to go to war for you, but you know what?"
"You're not fucking worth it. And neither was she." Dom shakes his head. "No one is irresistible, and that includes you." He turns to leave and the door slams behind him in a loud echo.
Not irresistible, huh? Well, they'd just see about that.
Elijah likes too much butter on his popcorn, so Orlando and Billy always share a bowl on movie nights -- non-buttered, lots of salt. Which means that Billy and Orlando most times wind up sharing the World's Ugliest Sofa (patent pending), arms and knees brushing in absent-minded motions, shoulders touching, fingers tangling when they reach for the same piece. When Dom joins them -- and Dom always manages to find the time to join them -- he always manages to squeeze his way in between Billy and Orlando, wiggling about until he's comfortable and has stolen half the popcorn.
Orlando thinks it's funny until the day he realizes Dom's doing it on purpose.
Orlando opens the door to his apartment, somehow not surprised to see Dom standing there, glaring, eyes red-rimmed, slender body trembling in a sweater that's two sizes too big and a pair of baggy jeans. "Wanna come in?" Orlando asks. Figures he may as well be polite about it.
"You really did fuck him, didn't you?"
Orlando can tell that Dom wants him to deny it, needs him to deny it. "Yeah, I did."
He accepts the shove as Dom plows him into the foyer, but clamps a fist over Dom's open-palmed hand, stilling further movement. He can feel Dom's heartbeat -- hummingbird fast -- through their clothing as Dom presses into him, breath hot on his face. "Why?" Dom asks, the one word full of anguish.
It takes Orlando a moment to answer -- and when he does, he can't quite meet Dom's accusing stare. "Because I could."
"Because he preferred me, you mean?"
"Because --" Orlando stops, stares back. Gives Dom the truth. "Because I could."
"Yeah," Dom says, voice thick, rough. "I guess you could."
"So, tell me about Billy," Karl says. Stretches and patiently waits for Peter to tell them to take their places.
"Nothing to tell," Orlando shrugs.
"Not what I heard."
"Is that what's holding you back?" He means for the question to sound coy, but he's afraid it comes out as begging.
"Nothing's holding me back, Orli," Karl tells him. "I'm moving exactly as fast as I want to."
"You think I don't know what you're doing." Orlando brushes his hand against Karl's, glances down, riveted, when Karl brushes back.
"No," Karl murmurs. He brings Orlando's hand to his and places a gentle kiss on the palm. Orlando takes a shuddering breath, waits. "I know you know what I'm doing," Karl says. "But you know this won't work any other way."
"I won't be your possession." But Orlando can't make himself believe the words.
Karl just smiles and takes his cue.
"Hey, didn't realize you were there. All yours, mate."
Billy motions for Orlando to pass him in the narrow hallway, and Orlando takes the opportunity to press forward. He smiles at Billy's sharp intake of breath, leans in dangerously close. "Fancy a bit of a snog?" he asks.
Impossibly green eyes widen, and Billy's glance flickers down the hallway, back to Orlando. "But, Lij and Dom are out..."
"Fuck Dom." Orlando dives in, lips brutally thorough, steals the gasp from Billy's mouth and swallows it whole. Rubs his chest over Billy's, feels the fast flutter of Billy's heartbeat, wedges a knee between Billy's thighs. Dives in with his tongue, tastes the desire and need pulsing from him to Billy and back again, mixed with the taste of salt and gin.
When he comes up for air, Billy's cheeks are suffused with heat, his hair's sticking in all kinds of crazy directions, and those remarkable eyes have an unmistakable aura of heavy satisfaction. "Whoa," Billy murmurs, licking his lips experimentally.
Orlando winks, and leans in for another taste. A flash of movement catches his eye and he meets Dom's gaze, holds it for a long heartbeat. Orlando blinks and Dom's gone -- he can hear Dom tell Lij to wait a bit on going to the loo, as the hallway is a bit crowded at the moment.
Viggo flops down beside Orlando, stretches and yawns with a lusty vigor. "Fuck of a day, man," he drawls, squinting as he watches Dom and Billy do their close-up shot.
"Yeah," Orlando murmurs, not really paying attention. Billy's laughing at something Dom's just said, and the light, easy sound is beautiful, out of place, in this miasma of death and blade-flattened earth.
"Yeah, I know," Orlando replies. He waits until Billy turns -- smiles his brightest, blinding smile. Waits, patient, as Billy blinks, returns it with his own. Only then does he turn to Viggo. "And?"
"And I don't think you really have any idea what you're doing, but whatever," Viggo shrugs. The leather of his trench coat creaks when he shifts, and he brushes lanky hair from his forehead with dirt and blood-crusted fingers. "Do you even know what you want?"
Orlando grins lightning-quick, ignores Dom's frown as Billy smiles in his direction again. "Everything, of course," Orlando replies, clapping Viggo on the back. "What else is there?"
Orlando doesn't like to do much on his mornings off. He loves surfing with the hobbits, loves the barbeques and late night poker games and pub crawls and exploring and everything else he can possibly do when he's not filming. But Sunday mornings are his time. Time to just be him, not be on, not be whatever he needs to be, not fit into the mold.
One day to just be him.
He rolls over, curls into a creased pillow, and inhales. The faint hint of springtime detergent lingers under the more immediate scent of Lagerfeld, and Orlando loves the mixture. His pillow, his sheets.
The bed dips under another's weight, and Orlando smiles without opening his eyes, stretches into the warm hand running up his back.
"Breakfast is ready," Karl murmurs, and Orlando twists around to meet the expected kiss.
"So, what, I'm not telling you dick." Dom brushes past Orlando, settles into his makeup chair with a loud yawn.
"C'mon, you two are together all weekend, don't answer phone calls, don't go out, order delivery...was it good?"
Dom cracks an eye open. "How the fuck d'you know about the delivery?"
"I didn't." Orlando sits on the arm of the chair, grins. "Not until just now."
"So, give over."
"Who's fucking whom?" Elijah asks, bounding in with all the enthusiasm of an untrained puppy.
"Dom's fucking Billy and is refusing details," Orlando says, and smirks at Dom's groan.
"Oh, man, I just ate." Elijah shudders in perfect drama queen fashion, then ruins the effect by bouncing on the balls of his feet. "So, does that mean it was really good or really bad?"
"It means it's none of your business," Dom glares, then turns his attention to Orlando. "And I dunno why the fuck you care. If you'd wanted to know how he was in bed, you'd have had him."
"Try and be friendly to a guy, see what happens." Orlando gets up, tugs on his t-shirt. Fuck Dom. And Billy, while he was at it. Self-righteous assholes. Just because he wouldn't fuck Billy, and wasn't that just ironic? "Thought you'd've been happy that I didn't go there with him."
"You broke his heart, Orli. I'm trying to repair that."
"Oh, fucking cut it, will ya?" Orlando ignores Elijah's wide-eyed stare, jabs Dom full in the chest. "I didn't break a fucking thing except maybe his pride. And you two'll be bored of each other inside the month, so don't go acting like this is the affair of a lifetime."
"Fuck you." Dom closes his eyes, settles back in the chair. "Go play your games with Karl. We're not interested."
"So, what's going on with you and Billy?" Elijah asks. He lines up his shot with exaggerated care, tongue tucked between even, white teeth.
"What d'you mean?" Orlando winched when Elijah banks the cue and it goes spinning off. He'll never teach the kid billiards at this rate. "He's cool, we're cool."
"Not what Dom said."
Orlando glances over to their table. Dom and Billy have their heads bent together, murmuring softly. Not an inch of space between them. "Why, what's he saying?"
"That's just it." Elijah waits for Orlando to sink the nine ball and move across the table. "He's not saying much of anything. He and Billy've been spending a lot of time together."
"Well, I guess it's going well for 'em." Orlando didn't begrudge them their shot. He had what he really wanted, anyway. Smiled at the thought of Karl's rough hands, booming laughter. Let Billy and Dom console each other to their hearts' content. "Look, what's this got to do with me?" he asks.
"Just wondered," Elijah asks. "Billy still looks at you sometimes is all."
"Yeah?" Orlando glances back at the table, catches Billy's shy smile. Tightens his hold on the cue stick when Dom forces Billy's attention away with a soft kiss.
"I fucked Billy."
"I see." Karl puts down his pen and pushes his glasses up his nose. His eyes look unnaturally large behind them, but Orlando can't register any emotion. "Was it good?"
"It was alright," Orlando shrugs. He times the movement deliberately so it hikes his t-shirt up over his belt-buckle, displaying a strip of tanned skin. His mom always taught him to use all of the weapons at his disposal. "Kinda anti-climactic."
"Yeah, well." Orlando wanders the living room, picking up various knick-knacks -- a shot glass from the Hard Rock Café in Sydney, an empty Dresden vase, a trio of miniature Harleys -- from the shelves on the wall. Forces himself not to meet Karl's gaze. "I didn't really want him. Just did it."
"Did you come here for retroactive permission or to brag?" Karl asks, leather creaking as he leans back in his recliner. "I don't own you."
The words are out before Orlando can censor them. "Don't you want to, though?"
"What, own you?"
"Yeah. No. Maybe."
Karl holds out a hand and Orlando crawls into his lap gratefully, letting out the breath he hadn't been aware he was holding. "Is that what you want?" Karl asks, tucking Orlando's head under his chin. He feels warm, real, secure under Orlando's weight and Orlando twists until he's comfortable, seeking more. Always seeking.
"Maybe," he says, then breathes, "yeah."
"You don't have to say anything else."
"It won't happen again," Orlando says, fingering the buttons of Karl's shirt.
"Fucking right it won't." Karl's smiling, but Orlando can tell he means it. "We all get one free ride and you've taken yours."
Orlando frowns a bit and leans back. "Who was yours?"
Karl caresses Orlando's back, the touch gentle. "Guess."
Orlando's always been quick. "Oh, you're fucking me," he breathes, cock jumping into full attention at just the image. His admiration for Karl leaps into god-like status -- right up there with Johnny Depp, Martin Scorsese and Bean.
"He came over, muttering something about being a Trojan horse and getting even," Karl says, peering seriously at Orlando over his glasses. "I let him think he had." Karl's hand grips the back of Orlando's head, rubbing tight over dark bristles. His next words are soft, full of deadly intent. "So, we're square. But, the next ride'll cost you."
Orlando shivers, but not from fear. "I hear you," he murmurs. He can already taste Karl's kiss, knows the sex to follow will be brutal and thorough. Has to fight the urge to beg -- knows he'll be doing enough of that later.
The thought is strangely thrilling.
"Stop...just...stop," Dom says, struggling out of Orlando's loose embrace.
Orlando scoots to the other end of the sofa. An opened bag of chips tumbles into the carpet, spilling crumbs everywhere. The match -- still 2-2, Devils with the ball -- plays on the telly. "Alright," he says, softly, licking at the cut on his lip from Dom's sharp teeth.
"This isn't..." Dom stops, clutches his head as he leans back. "I don't want this."
Liar, Orlando thinks. He can still feel the ghost-imprint of Dom's erection against his thigh. "Alright," he says again.
Dom flops his head on the back of the sofa, stares at Orlando with weary, drunk eyes. "You're not him," he confesses softly.
And everything clicks into place.
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