A thick haze of cigarette smoke hangs in the air assaulting everyone as they walk through the door. The bar is immense, stretching the entire length of one wall. The opposite wall is where the dance floor, or what passes as one, is located. A lone white spotlight moves across it, sometimes even in time with the music. On the outskirts, wooden tables and chairs, counters and stools line the area. Further in the back, barely seen by the entrance, are card tables and televisions that play with the closed captions on, even as the patrons ignore them in favor for gambling.

Slowly they make their way, shouting directions over the blaring nose, until the group finds empty tables. Two heavy, round wooden tables clunk together even as chairs scrape along the floor. They sit quickly glad to have some personal space. Their eyes have about adjusted to the darkness and their ears to the level of noise.

Impatiently, Dom drums his fingers on the table. "Right then. Who gets the first round?"

Billy shakes his head and gives a little scoff before pointing at Dom, almost reprimanding him. "If you're in such a rush, why don't you--"

But Karl cuts him off, standing up quickly from the chair he'd been straddling. "First rounds on me. It's my backyard, wouldn't be social not to."

The look of relief on Dom's face is almost comical. Orlando gives a short laugh before watching Karl's retreating form. His eyes seem to notice every brush the older man makes as he makes his way to the bar and he's not quite sure why. At twenty-six years old, Urban has a maturity but a levity towards life that exists in a near perfect balance. Maybe it's their age, but Orlando's found they can relate rather easily.

"I know that look."

Orlando breaks his stare, turning to look at his friend. Viggo's caught him-- but he criticizes, he isn't doing anything. The older man's eyes follow his line of sight to the bar. Karl's barely visible now, the dark blue shirt he's wearing has faded into the dusky background.

Orlando shrugs. It's only been a few week since the break up. Girlfriend had gone back to England and he's just about over it. Actually, is almost sure he's moved on from the rebound stage, but not quite sure where he's moved on to. "It doesn't hurt to look."

"Yes, but that's the look you get when you want something."

That gives Orlando pause, not knowing if the statement was true or not. He hasn't put that much thought into it. Of the main cast, he's the second youngest. He can't regal anyone with many stories from other sets or bemoan the bond of broken marriages, or for that matter, married life at all. Acting is still very much a sport. It isn't work for him, not yet, and few people around him share that attitude. Karl being one of the few.

Off set, Orlando is always casual. He feels comfortable flirting. Jesting, kidding, touching, are all great and second nature as long is there was no meaning behind it. However, if there was substance and emotion behind it, it throws it into different waters. Maybe there is some attraction, but Orlando has never considered it... at least until now. Hell, he isn't even sure how open minded Karl is, and can't for the life of him think of a subtle way of asking. Nah, he's content to be friends. Friendship just works.

Viggo tilts his head at the bar. "You know, he's not going to be able to carry everything back by himself."

Orlando's out of his chair before he realizes it. It takes little time to make his way to the bar. Coming up behind Karl, he puts a hand on his shoulder, mostly to get his attention. He has to shout over the music. "Need some help?"

Karl turns abruptly and holds out three mugs. "Sure. Take these over. I'll be right after you."

For a moment, Orlando hesitates. He came over for a reason at least he thought so, and to be so quickly dismissed, he feels, well... dismissed. "Course," he says smoothly. He does the only thing he can, which is to take the mugs and make his way back across the room. He sets the drinks on the table and sits but not before he gives Viggo a pointed look to keep quiet.

Instantly, two glasses are gone. Dom has claimed one and John has grabbed another. John raises his glass as if to toast but bows grandly instead. Orlando watches as a brunette titters behind the older man. "Alas," John proclaims, "my public awaits." He turns and lets the woman lead him through the crowd.

"Grandstander," Ian comments in mock seriousness. Maybe more serious than mock.

"Already?" Orlando asks, taking a sip of beer. He hadn't been gone five minutes, it was hardly enough time for John to find worshipers.

"Aye," Billy nods, "but he's got the right idea." He's already searching through the crowd for potential dance partners, as is Dom. By the time Karl returns, they've both left.

The mugs hit the table with a faint clink as Karl sets them down. Deftly, he grabs a chair and turns it around before straddling it. He looks from around the table then out to the dance floor where Dom and Billy are already in the thick of things. He looks back at the remaining group of them, Viggo, Ian, and Orlando and quirks an eyebrow. "Pacing ourselves, gentlemen?"

Viggo takes a long sip from one of the brews. "Simply... being selective."

Letting out a short of laugh of amusement, Karl takes a sip from his own mug. His gaze is already on the crowd and it doesn't take long before his interest is piqued. "If you'll excuse me..." and he bounds up from his seat, not even bothering to finish the sentence.

Quickly, he joins the mass of people on the dance floor. He's always thought the best way to unwind is simply to stop thinking. He darts between people until he smiles and gets a smile back in return. He grabs a slender hand, then a slender waist, and with in very little time, is in the thick of things.

The rhythm is pounding, pounding, pounding within the tiny building. The driving beats are every bit as intoxicating as the alcohol, maybe more, but the feeling of a woman's softness is more heady than any grain. The music segues into another song and then another, each with beats just as fast and volume just as loud.

Karl moves closer to the blonde he's dancing with. He has yet to get her name. Her hands are wrapped around his back and his arms around and below her waist. Sometimes during their constant movements, he stops looking at her. There's a brunette in front of him, also dancing with someone else, but her deep green eyes are locked with his. He smiles at her and they both know that when the song shifts next, so will the dance partners.

Orlando is on this third beer when Karl starts to dance with the brown haired girl in the tight jeans and too tight T-shirt. He isn't sure how long he's been watching and he really doesn't want to know. The new girl is pretty, Orlando has to give her credit for that. However, so was the blonde, and the bleached blonde before, and the short little redhead-- he puts his mug down on the table and sighs.

"Fourteen," he says enigmatically. He taps his cigarette letting the ash fall to the floor. He's quite certain ashtrays don't exist in this place. Taking another drag, he looks at his friends. He frowns, annoyed that Viggo and Ian don't stop their conversation for his quiet proclamation, and clears his throat. "I said, that's the fourtee--"

"We heard you the first time," Ian says dryly and none too patiently. The boy has been counting aloud since girl number six.

Orlando blinks innocently pretending he didn't hear the rancor in the older man's voice. He shrugs and exhales, smoke flowing into the air. "Just trying to make a bit of small talk."

Viggo makes a show of ignoring Orlando. He turns to Ian and strokes his chin thoughtfully. "I think he's smitten."

Ian scoffs. "I think he's jealous."

Orlando frowns as they discuss him. He clears his throat, pounds the glass on the table, but his friends are having too much fun now to think about stopping.

Turning to look at the dance floor, Viggo asks, "Do you think Orlando has a chance with him?"

Thoughtfully, Ian pauses. "He does seem a bit skittish. Better to take it slow if Orlando's to do anything at all."

"Okay, you've made your point." Orlando tosses the cigarette onto the floor, grinding it out with his shoe. "You can stop now."

"Of course, talking to him would always help," Ian continues as if he hadn't heard a thing.

"Now that's taking things a bit quickly, isn't it?" Viggo remarks.

"Enough!" Orlando huffs. "I'm sorry I brought it up, forget I said anything."

Finally, Ian turns to regard him. He speaks with a patience that was lost just moments earlier. "The fact of the matter is, he's having fun and you're not. Brooding is not effective and makes us miserable. Even if you don't plan on doing anything, there's still fun to be had. The redhead at the bar for example."

Part of Orlando wants to sigh and sit and pout until someone notices him. He looks around the room. In a corner, John's talking loudly and women around him are giggling at whatever anecdote he's telling. Dom's groping a petite blonde on the dance floor, and by the television Billy's snogging with a brunette he'd been eyeing earlier. Sympathy does not seem forth coming.

Well bollocks to this anyway. He'd come out for a good time and he was going to have one. Standing quickly and starts heading for the girl in the corner, the one Ian had pointed out, but on the way he's distracted by a leggy brunette with long hair. Their eyes meet, they smile, and then they're together, fused as one on the dance floor.

"Think he has a chance?" Viggo remarks now that Orlando's out of ear shot.

Ian looks up. "With the brunette?"

"No, with him." Nods to the other coworker dancing with a blonde.

Ian shrugs. "I haven't a clue. You?"

"Not the foggiest. I just hope he doesn't get upset when he realizes we were leading him on."

In a tangle of bodies it's easy to get lost. To simply drift from one person to the next is simply the way it's done. This is living in the moment. Orlando grabs the girl's waist and pulls her close. Her hand slides up behind his neck. Fingernails dig gently into the soft silk of his shirt. She leans towards him and he breaths in a soft scent of jasmine. The one before had smelled of peach, the one before her of honey.

He's distracted by the sensation of it all and belatedly notices that she's speaking. Her pink coated lips are moving but he can't hear the words. He leans close to her ear. "What?" he shouts over the music.

"I said, what's your name?"

"Orlando."

"What?"

"My name's Orlando. What's yours?"

"Andrea."

She smiles at him again and then moves closer. Her leg is between his and his between hers. Her arms are wrapped around his back. They move with slow driving rhythm in an imitation of something more sexual. The songs change and so do the women. It is easy to be content in the moment. It's relaxing to forget about friends and focus solely on the person in front of you and the next one in line. It is easy to forget who he wants and simply do whatever feels good.

Even as he dances with a short blonde girl, he's already looking for the next person. He catches sight of a tall man with dark blond hair. Orlando lets his gaze roam over the man's body and then he makes the decision to make eye contact. Not for the first time in life, Orlando is picking up a guy.

Breathless, Karl grabs a chair next to Viggo. With a deft movement of his wrist, he turns it around and sits backwards so he can watch the dance floor. He grabs a mug, uncertain which is his, but not caring in the least. Euphoric from contact, alcohol, and music, it takes him a few moments to catch his breath.

He smiles at his friends. The two of them at the table anyway. "You blokes having a good time? Get up and dance a bit?"

Ian taps the table. "I've been watching the draughts, and the people. Quite an interesting bunch."

"I've been up a bit," Viggo admits.

"So long's you're having fun. Where's the rest of the boys?"

Ian points around the room. "Dom's hitting at women at the bar, unsuccessfully I might add. John's getting numbers for his black book. Bill's shagging it up in the corner, and Orlando is dancing with one of the most handsome creatures I have ever seen. Present company excluded, of course."

"Of course," Viggo laughs back.

Karl's gaze goes from his brew back up to the dance floor. He can see flashes of Orlando dancing with a tall attractive man (as Ian's comment had suggested.) There's only glimpses to be seen as their bodies rock back and forth in time with the music. Flashes of hands stuffed into back pockets and not the tiniest hint of personal space. Watching wide eyed, Karl downs half his drink. "What do you know? Learn something new every day."

The Kiwi native slouches over the chair. His muscles taking the moments reprieve from the non stop motion. In a bit, he'll get back out there. There isn't any reason to rush though. Sipping his beer, he finds he can't keep his gaze off the dance floor. He tilts his drink and cocks his head in the direction of his friend. "Does that feel odd? Dancing with a guy, I mean?"

Ian gives a little cryptic smile. "I'm rather fond of it."

After a short laugh, Karl recovers. "That's not what I meant."

"So you're talking about the height differences? The weight differences? The grip? Who leads?" Ian questions.

Viggo interjects before Karl could respond. He gestures to the bodies on the dance floor. "That's not leading," he clarifies, "it's just motion."

"Poetry in motion. Although not what Shakespeare had in mind." Holding two glasses, John stops at their table. He gives a short wave to his group of women waiting patiently before following everyone's gaze to the dance floor.

Ian looks at the mugs disdainfully. "I thought you were driving tonight."

John shrugs. "I thought you were, after all, who better to drive than the person who doesn't drink?"

The music fades and goes to intermission and the couples move off, either alone or together. No one feels the need to look away as Orlando makes his way back to the group.

"It's just like dancing with a woman," Ian explains. "All you ultimately want to do is find someone that feels right to you."

John smirks. "Or very right to you as the case may be. Take for example, a group of alluring Sirens bewitching me with their song."

"Or the other way around," Ian remarks dryly.

John pauses, a bit of wind taken out from his balloon, and gives Ian a calculated look. His words stumble a bit before he recovers. "Er. Yes. 'Tis the folly of fame and on that note, I must make my leave of you."

"And ever so modest as well," Ian comments to John's retreating form. As if to take John's place in the group, Orlando sits down and takes a long drink. Ian nods in acknowledgement to the young man but continues on with the conversation that had been interrupted. "The only way you can find out what it feels like is to try it."

"Try what?" Orlando asks. He sets the glass down and now has the distinct feeling he's missed something.

"Dancing with a bloke," Viggo supplies.

Everyone turns expecting eyes to Karl and he feels more than a bit uncomfortable. The type of uncomfortable where he wishes had hadn't brought it up. He takes a drink and tries to lean back casually. "Maybe in a bit," he side steps, trying to close the conversation. At his hollow words, silent but loaded looks are exchanged across the table.

Orlando breaks the silence. He looks at Karl but speaks casually as if not to taunt him. But the intent is plainly written in his words. "Oh yeah. He's just nervous."

Karl finishes his glass and gives Orlando a pointed look. "I never said that."

Orlando's eyes seem to twinkle as they meet Karl's firm gaze. "I'll make you a bet--"

"Famous last words," Ian mutters none too softly.

Orlando ignores him speaks firmly despite his animated hand gestures. "If I can drink you under the table, you dance with me."

Karl quirks an eyebrow. "And why would I do that?"

"Because you never have."

Point to Orlando, as Karl considers it. "If I win..." he starts.

"Not ruddy likely," Viggo puts in.

"We'll get to that when it comes."

"It's a bet mate."

And they shake hands on it.

Eight shot glasses are overturned on the table. Orlando and Karl have switched to beer on the advice of their older friends. Dom and Billy have finally made it back to the table, the latter introducing a girl named Kelly. All were watching the drinking contest with amusement and encouraging it as well.

Dom and Billy have been amusing themselves by chanting, "Chug, chug, chug..." which is what they're doing now, watching their friends quaff beer.

The heavy glass mugs hit the table at almost the same time. Orlando throws his hands up in spectacle. He exhales loudly and blinks once. "Hold up. I've got to hit the loo."

"Lightweight," Karl taunts.

"Don't worry, Urban. I won't forget about you when I'm gone."

"Right. I'll get more drinks."

They both stand, neither one too coordinated, and head off in different directions. Orlando takes slow deliberate steps towards the far wall. He walks as if in a fog and stops frequently for apparently no reason. Karl's a bit better, his path to the bar is straight but along the way, he stops to hug any of the servers he happens to see.

Billy looks from one to the other then laughs at the sight. He looks at his mates gathered around the table. "They're both pissed. You're not gonna let them continue."

Kelly, sitting on his lap, points out, "If they keep this up neither of them will be able to stand, let alone dance."

When Karl returns with a pitcher of beer in hand, Ian moves it away from him. "I think you boys need a moment. None of us want to carry you two out tonight."

Sitting back down, Orlando frowns. He motions in the general direction of across the table. "He'd be the only one you'd have to carry out."

"Not in this life time, Elf Boy."

Orlando scoffs. "That's the best you can come up with?"

Karl pauses a moment in deep thought. Then with sincerity, he responds with, "Yes. Yes it is." The table explodes with laughter, and Karl frowns. He tries to protest, "I'm okay. Really."

"Sure you are," Orlando laughs. He pauses then adds another string of words.

Karl squints in hopes to hear better but that doesn't help. The words don't make any sense, but they sound familiar. "Okay, now I know you've had too much. Insult me in English, would you mate?"

It takes him a few moments, but finally it dawns on him. Elf Boy was speaking in Elvish. How fitting. Frustrated, Karl turns to Viggo. "Could you please translate whatever he said so I could insult him back?"

"He said he was going to kiss your ars--"

Viggo doesn't get the chance to finish before Orlando breaks in. "Kick! I said kick his arse!"

"No you didn't." Viggo gives him a strange look. "The two words are nothing alike."

"They are in English," Orlando says in his defense.

"You were speaking Elvish, Bloom," Billy puts in. He's really only trying to be helpful.

"Definitely Elvish," Dom adds.

Orlando scowls at the amused faces around the table. "Oh you guys all suck." When the laughter dies down he asks, "So if I can speak another language are we coherent enough to get back to this?"

"I think so," Ian says, sliding the pitcher forward.

They each get down another glass, albeit more slowly than before. Orlando blinks a few times at the harsh light as his eyes refocus. With a tired expression, Karl looks up at Orlando. "How you feeling?"

"A bit gone. But I'm good," and Orlando reaches for the pitcher again. However, he doesn't get to pour another round. His grip isn't as firms as he thinks and the pitcher a bit heavier than expected. The wet plastic slips from his hand and spills across the table.

"Shite!" Billy backs away as the beer spills off the table. Viggo grabs the pitcher but it's nearly empty by the time he sets up back up. Slightly wet, Ian stands up more than slightly annoyed. "That's it. The bet's off."

Dom starts to sop up the liquid. "So who won?"

Viggo casts a critical look at both of the young men. "I think it's a draw."

Karl bangs a fist atop the table. "Oh hell no!"

Orlando stands, pointing across the table. "I had more to drink before than you did. So I should win."

"Draw," Karl relents.

"Dance." Orlando folds his arms across his chest.

Karl looks up at him with a patronizing smile. "Nice try kid."

"It won't kill you. If you even have enough coordination to dance," Orlando baits him again. That starts the chanting again. Dom and Bill both encouraging them to "Dance!" Karl shrugs. He downs half a glass for courage and for kicks, before standing.

"Aw, what the hell?" he says and moves out to the dance floor.

It is a song neither man knows, not that it matters to them. They start out slowly, Karl's uncomfortable and Orlando's more than nervous. Eventually, they relax into the music. Motivated by want, Orlando's hand finds its way into Karl's personal space to rest on the older man's waist. For a moment, he's sure Karl will pull away and make his way back to the table, but slowly after an unaccountable number of beats the tension fades away.

Orlando is so relaxed, so content, that he has to resist the temptation to close his eyes. He is moving to a driving beat and dancing with the person he's wanted to all night. With blurry, intoxicated eyes, he keep his eyes on the older man. This could be his only moment.

Already thinking of when the moment will be over, he details everything he wants to remember. He wants to remember the song. The feel of the dark blue nylon shirt underneath his hand. The black leather belt that his fingers brush occasionally as they move. The lazy smile in front of him that tells Orlando that this is nothing more than innocent. Except innocent smells of musk and alcohol. Innocent has dark brown hair and deep brown eyes. And nothing surprises Orlando more when he feels hand grab his waist.

Innocent is overrated.

Orlando takes that as a sign (if that's what it was) of reciprocation. His reaction is immediate. He moves closer to the other man. Slightly spread legs allow him to move closer and Orlando grasps him with his other hand and holds him tightly. Feet stop shuffling and the only movement is a deep rocking the speed set by the tempo of the music.

Orlando feels Karl's hand slide under his shirt, skin pressing against skin, and nearly gasps. He moves his own hands down stuffing them in Karl's back jean pockets and simply holding there. They speak no words, simply melting and moving with the pounding beat. They relax into each other, secure that the other will support his partner's weight. The smell of the club, the thrumming of the music, and the touch of another is almost overwhelming.

This just feels right.

Billy was entertaining the girl, Kelly, when Dom taps him on the shoulder. Looking at the dance floor, he immediately sees what his friend's getting on about. His eyes go wide and he loses his train of thought and nearly forgets Kelly is on his lap.

Orlando and Karl are as close as they could possibly get and still trying for more. To a trained eye, one can clearly see this is a quest for domination. Orlando's hands snake around or try grab somewhere and in the next beat Karl's own are trying to posses the younger man further. The only problem that Billy can see, is the two are running out of decent places to go.

Dom sneaks a subtle look at his friends. Ian's eyes are fixed and Viggo seems as shocked as him. He taps Billy on the shoulder and whispers, "Think we should break them up before they give Ian a heart attack?"

Billy nods absently, he isn't listening a bit. By the time he's able to blink, the tempo of the music is winding down.

The music slows and so do they, but the dance is no less sensual. Instead of gripping, claiming hands, fingers start stroking lightly and now Orlando does close his eyes. No longer can he distinguish the sensations-- sound, touch, smell-- they all hold the same content quality for him. It comes as a surprise when he feels heavy breathing on his neck and his own breathing quickens slightly.

But the words are not anything grandiose, or anything that he expects. "Do you want to get something to drink?"

Orlando opens his eyes, more out of surprise, but he's already nodding because it seems the only answer. He isn't greedy enough to try to steal every blissful, teasing moment... or maybe he is. But stolen moments aren't what he wants. Usually the aggressor in the relationship, he would set out to get what he wants, but now, he only wants what his friend will give. Even if it seems to be only one dance.

Not quiet separate but not quite together, they make their way back to the group. This time, their friends avert their eyes as if they have glimpsed something private and personal that they should never have seen. Just before he can sit, Orlando shuffles wrong and stumbles. He falls into Karl who stops his descent.

Compared to what they had just done, this contact feels cold. Hands give support only as long as they needed to. They don't seem eager to retreat, nor do they seem anxious to stay. Orlando is quite sure that the title of 'friends' is still carefully in place.

"I think you've had a bit too much," Karl says as he turns a chair around to sit.

Orlando gives a snort of amusement. "It's hardly my fault."

Karl shakes his head. "It's not mine. I'm not your keeper kid."

"Like you can talk."

"Don't mock me, elf boy. At least I can still stand." And that's when someone, as if on cue, slams into him from behind and knocks him into the table.

Orlando helps him not to fall even as he stumbles slightly under the other man's weight. Once they're standing, Orlando smirks with triumph. Despite himself, Karl has to smile. "Don't you say a word," he warns, the teasing evident in his voice.

Finally, after much commotion and a few more insults, the group starts to quiet down. Around them everything continues as loud as ever but slowly they notice people starting to trickle away. Kelly had to leave with her friends and Billy disappeared for a good half hour as he walked her out. John's harem had to depart and he had made his way back to table. Ian gives him a disapproving look as he sat down.

Letting out a yawn, Dom looks at his watch. "Okay, I've got to leave. I've got to sleep or I'll never wake up in the morning." To emphasize his point, he lays his head on the table, arms fashioned into a makeshift pillow.

"Second that," says Billy. He grabs Dom's hand from under his head, and turns his wrist to see his watch. Dom jerks his hand away in protest. Billy digs into his pocket, pulling out car keys. He looks from the keys to John and frowns. "I thought he was DD."

"He was," Ian remarks dryly and none to kindly.

"My good man," John criticizes, "what is the point of me staying sober when you're going to do it anyways? Should I not take the opportunity to indulge myself?"

"No," Ian retorts.

"And why not?"

"Because Ian can't drive a standard," Viggo explains.

John huffs. Running a hand over his face he speaks with measured patience but his voice rises towards the end giving the façade away. "Would someone please tell whose bright idea it was to let Orlando drive?"

Orlando shrugs, playing absently with his shirt collar. The full predicament hasn't clicked with him yet. "Mine. Why?"

"Shite," Billy swears. "Lij isn't here either. It's always the same, every time. We go out and then after it's always this. Can't anyone drive a standard?"

Karl raises his hand, smile on his lips. Billy looks at him and shakes his head sadly and amends his statement. "Can anyone sober drive a standard? Thank you."

Orlando raises his hand, grin in full force, but Viggo quickly bats his hand down. Orlando shrugs again as Viggo observes, "You're not in any condition to drive."

"Beautiful, just beautiful. All I want is sleep!" Dom bangs a hand on the table.

"Will you shut up Dom?" Billy pauses a moment to think. "I can make two trips."

"Look," Karl interrupts. His eyes a bit clearer, he speaks seriously. "What's the problem? My place is about fifteen minutes away, we can just crash there. That way we can pick up Orlando's car in the morning."

"Want my bed. Want my sleep," Dom mutters.

Billy takes a deep breath and ignores him. "Aye, fine, we just have to decide who wants to stay and go."

"My place," Karl says.

"My car," Orlando explains.

"My bed," Dom says, forlorn.

"We know," Ian snaps.

Viggo looks at the group, he's not feeling tipsy a bit. He looks at Orlando fingers drumming absently on the table top. "I don't think we should leave you alone. You can barely walk."

"You said you didn't want to stay," Ian points out.

"But it doesn't mean it's responsible," Viggo returns.

"I'm fine," Orlando asserts, interrupting their conversation.

"Exactly," Karl puts in. "Your motor skills are coming back right, Orlando?"

Orlando nods, but Viggo's still not sure. He really wants to get back to his own bed, his own bathroom, and his own shower but there's a sense of responsibility weighing on him. It's obvious to everyone, Orlando included. For a good minute, they stare at each other. Orlando's almost got challenge in his eyes, but Viggo can see the weariness trickle through. At long last, Viggo gives a slight shrug.

"Can't keep a good bloke down." Orlando nods to Viggo, before turning to the rest of the table. "So what's the verdict? Do the kids need chaperones? You know us unruly twenty somethings. Can't even pass out without getting into trouble."

"Yes," Ian adds, "we can't take you anywhere."

"Whose crashing where?" Dom whines impatiently.

"We'll be fine," Karl asserts.

Billy sighs. "We'll get you to your bed Dom, I promise."

Orlando slams the car door shut and Billy winces. Boyd watches him walks up the stone pathway to the small condo. Karl's at the driver's window tap-tap-tapping away, so Billy rolls it down.

"You sure you're going to be all right?" Billy asks, still watching Orlando as he weaves a slow, unsteady path.

"Yeah, fine. Keys?"

"Aye, right." Billy shifts in his seat so he can dig around in his pocket. Finally, after a bit of contortionism, he drops them in the younger man's hand. "Get some water in to him or something."

Karl nods and gives a short wave and makes his way up the pathway as well. The house keys are probably indistinguishable at this point, but eventually the door opens then closes. Billy waits until they get inside (it takes a good amount of time) before he pulls away. He tells himself it's not anything to be concerned about. They're going to be fine.

Orlando stands just inside the hallway. He moves off slowly looking into the rooms but not entering. "Nice place," he observes as Karl locks the door. "Where you keeping the loo?"

"Down the hall, take a left, and it's on your right." He watches as Orlando trails a hand on the hallway wall walking slowly. He stops and looks at the clock.

"Woah, it's three-thirty, Damn..."

"Time flies," Karl nods. "Lemme get some blankets, you can crash on the couch."

"You don't mind if I shower first mate? I smell like the bloody bar."

"No prob, towels in the closet."

Through bleary eyes, Orlando navigates his way. He runs the water in the tap, pushing some through his hair. His eyes are definitely a bit bloodshot. Looking at the mirror, he suddenly realizes that he's at Karl's place. Sure, he's been over here before, but considering everything that happened... A smile ghosts upon his face but he shakes his head and a frown replaces it. That's wishful thinking.

He sighs and climbs into the shower. Runs the shower water and just feel clean. No longer feeling tipsy, nor hyper, the fatigue starts to set in. The warm water rushes over him and he just stands there enjoying the sensation. Grabs a shampoo bottle not caring what brand not even knowing what his hair is going to smell like. Anything's better than cigarettes.

Doesn't even realize that he's going to smell like Karl.

Reluctantly, he finishes, grabs a towel from a closet and suddenly realizes a dilemma. Warps the soft cotton around his hips and opens the door. Nearly shivers when he steps out of the bathroom. Looks around for Karl, not in the living room but pillows and blankets are now on the couch. Hears shuffling down the hall. Knocks on the open bedroom door before he walks right in.

"Can I get some clothes here mate?"

Karl knows he's staring but can't stop. He considers himself lucky he has enough sense not to gape. He doesn't even really know why he's staring. Maybe it's the alcohol or maybe it's something else entirely. His gaze flows over Orlando's torso before settling on his face. He heard the question but on some level he didn't. He has to blink to bring himself out of it.

He manages a soft "Yeah," that sounds more like a squeak. Takes a breath, licks his lips absently then clears his throat to try it again. "Yeah, I've got some sweats that should fit you."

He turns to the dresser and starts rummaging through clothes. He can feel Orlando behind him even though they aren't touching. He can smell the younger man. The soft scents of soap and shampoo fill the small space. Orlando leans close to watch over his shoulder, or maybe, just to peek at his wardrobe.

"This'll probably be loose on you," and Karl holds up a blue shirt.

Orlando leans over him to grab the matching pants before taking the shirt from Karl's hand. "It'll be fine."

"Right, right," Karl says and he's gone to back to simply staring. Orlando's so close, he doesn't think he can look away. Finally manages to walk out of the room muttering something about hangovers and aspirins and alarm clocks.

As Orlando watches him leave the room he can't help but feel satisfied at the other man's discomfort. Yet the trepidation gives him something to think about it. For a man who didn't seem at all interested at the club there was no mistaking the intrigue in his eyes. Now Orlando feels very confused and hopeful. He dresses slowly concentrating on the feel of cloth in order to get his mind not to think.

He comes out of the room a bit tipsy. Goes to lean against the doorframe but misses and lands against the wall instead. Yep, there is no mistaking he's drunk off his arse. Karl's moving to him and Orlando feels strong steady hands supporting him.

"Oh yeah, you're going to feel this in the morning."

Strong hands are helping, guiding, touching him as Karl helps Orlando into the living room. Shameless, Orlando lets himself go a bit limp, playing up the disorientation. His hands wander in search of support. Turning his head he sees concern in Karl's eyes before feeling the soft support of the couch underneath him.

Perhaps he was wrong after all, Orlando muses and lets his head loll back into the cushions. He gives a weak smile at nothing. "I'm gone man," he ascertains and lets his eyes drift shut.

He's fast asleep not even aware when Karl puts a blanket over him.

Karl wakes with a groan. God, he feels awful. Definitely never drinking again, he swears, knowing the resolution won't keep. The events of the night come in bits and flashes, but he's not concerned, it'll flesh itself out by the time he downs his first cup of coffee.

Wearing his just boxers, he yawns. Shuffling his way into the bathroom, he tries to look awake and alert, but settles for making his hair behave. The blankets in the living room take him momentarily aback, but he remembers the situation. Orlando, the car, Orlando coming into his room...

Where the hell is Orli anyways?

He finds him in the kitchen, coffee already brewing, at the counter messing around with the cream and sugar bowls. Karl moves to fix himself a cup. They nod in greeting but stay in silence. Neither is sure how the other is feeling. If there's headaches to be found, talking is the last thing to be done.

Silently, they move into the living room. Karl throws the blankets over on a chair, while Orlando sets the cups of coffee down. The sun is coming in strongly through the window. They haven't looked at the clock yet and are dreading that moment. That can wait, everything can for just a moment.

"How do you feel?" Karl asks, sipping his coffee black.

Orlando groans in response.

Karl quirks a smile. "That good, huh?"

"You?" and Orlando manages the most utterly pathetic expression he can. The facade doesn't really work. Karl saw him in the kitchen look quite bright and somewhat refreshed. If Orlando's head is really hurting, he'd believe it (he saw how much Bloom drank) but at the same time highly doubt it as well.

"Been better."

"So what did you think about last night," Orlando asks. He doesn't feel like being discreet. Even so he doesn't make eye contact but fixes his gaze on the coffee mug.

"Well, it was... um... interesting."

"You know there's something I wanted to do last night. I should have done it too."

"Oh really?" he says, but he hasn't a clue. It's going to be some random bit of nonsense, the likes of which only Orlando could have conceived. So he's quite shocked when Orlando takes his mug out of his hand. Okay, he reasons without logic, something to do with coffee.

"Yeah," Orlando breathes moving closer. He slides one hand behind Karl's shoulder, the opposite hand pressing against his chest. Karl's brown eyes look at him confused, as Orlando makes pretty sure he won't get pushed or pulled too much.

And it isn't until their lips meet that Karl realizes he wasn't awake, because at that moment his eyes fly wide. He gets the distinct impression he's missed something, or hasn't remembered about last night. If so he doesn't want to seem like a complete ass, but he's almost certain he'd remembered this.

After dancing with Orlando last night, he'd wondered what it'd be like. Kissing a guy, not necessarily Orlando, but wasn't planning to find out any time this century, let alone this morning. He's near positive that he's never done this before.

Instinctively, he relaxes letting himself enjoy the sensation. He's blaming the alcohol even though he's known it's worn off for the most part. Breaks away from the kiss holding Orlando at arms length. Looks at the still closed eyes and the perfect (did he just think perfect?) face that gets a mischievous smile as Orlando opens his eyes. Remembers how lucid Orlando sounded after the shower and comes to the realization that, "You weren't as gone as you made out to be."

Gives a short laugh, "I'm a pretty good actor on occasion." He leans close for another kiss but Karl pulls away. He's too slow, lips brush and the words die. If he had the breath Karl would probably say why the hell not. He can't deny it felt good. Almost wishes he was drunk because if he were he could blame it on the alcohol. That way he wouldn't be snogging his friend and coworker for no apparent reason.

Orlando pulls away looking at him with a guarded expression. "Good?"

Not trusting his voice Karl nods. "So what is this?"

Orlando shrugs, pretty sure he doesn't get the question. "A kiss?" he offers, still very confused.

Karl has no clue what that means but decides he doesn't want to push it because he's not sure he wants to know. "You're not drunk," he states making it sound like an accusation."

"No, that was the point of waiting until morning." Orlando sees the annoyed expression. He sighs, not wanting to clarify because there are something that shouldn't require explanation and analysis. Besides he's not quite sure how to say what he feels.

That somewhere along the line he started wanting something more than friendship. That maybe he's feeling down and on the rebounded but damn it he's sure there's something to be found here. Something not reboundish. That the night clubbing was a very clear sign that he was jealous. Maybe it's the time when they realized that they can relate extremely well. Their sense of music and hobbies and taste in food match even if their fashion sense does not. Even so, he can't be sure that it wasn't the alcohol, the driving rhythm of the dance floor. Maybe hormones took over when the intoxication wore off and realized that hey this wasn't a bad idea after all. He's pretty sure it's a combination of everything but he can't even begin to articulate it. "It's whatever you want it to be."

Commitment and confession all under a casual guise. Orlando's pretty sure he won't be heartbroken (not even in the slightest) if Karl says no. Possibly he'd be regretful, but even so, he's far too young for any regrets.

Suddenly, he's very aware he's in Karl's apartment. That he's wearing his clothes that hang a bit loose on him. He slept over and was just snogging on his couch and with those realizations, he suddenly feels very awkward. Even more so when Karl frowns.

"That wasn't an answer," he points out. "Let's try this again, what did you want that to mean?"

Orlando shrugs good naturally. He's not an actor for nothing. "Here's a question, how did it feel?"

"Different," Karl admits after a measured pause.

"Disgusting?"

"Deviant," and there's a hint of lust and almost a twinkle in the deep brown eyes.

Orlando leans in again and this time Karl moves to meet him. Orlando's touching is teasing but demanding and without any effort he breaks away.

"Intrigued?"

"Oh hell yes," and it's more panted out than said. "A fling then?"

"I honestly hadn't planned that far, but I'm... I'm willing to give it a go if you want. I mean, we're already friends and I like... spending time with you."

"I do too, spending time with you that is. It's just so--"

"Exciting?" Orlando asks hopefully.

"Fast," Karl says firmly.

"We'll go slow," Orlando assures, moving closer to Karl. In a moment, they're kissing again. Orlando runs a hand through the other man's hair, pausing when he reaches Karl's neck. He breaks the kiss and teases his neck with his tongue. Until deciding to screw it and begins to suckle.

And Karl's responding, moaning. Feeling very much into the sensations but still wondering when the world exactly tilted. He moves slightly away and Orlando sits back catching his gaze. Karl smiles. "I would hardly call that slow," he teases.

"Prude," Orlando hits him lightly but moves slightly down the couch, giving him his personal space back. "We're not even off first yet."

"True." He asserts. It'll only be a matter of time-- and that thought brings a bunch of new realities. New scenarios. This seems to have gotten complicated all of the sudden. Or maybe it was always complicated and his hormones were hiding it from him. Still the questions spiral out and his eyes widen. "What about our friends?"

"They can get their own date. This ain't no orgy."

"That's not what I meant." Karl frowns, throwing everything Orlando's feeling into a serious tone.

"It doesn't matter. It's not about them," Orlando maintains. He frowns when Karl's expression doesn't change. "We can still stop, you know." It's best to give him an out now. Better sooner than later. If Karl wants to call it off, now's the time to do it. "Do you want to?" he prods.

Karl is still frowning, he's still thinking. Finally, he shakes his head.

"Good," and Orlando smiles.

Karl does as well, but this time it's a bit more reserved. He's feeling less impulsive, feeling less spontaneous. He's trepidatious.

Orlando moves for another a kiss and for a moment, Karl's concerns are blown asunder. If he was to think in moments, of right and wrong, he'd want to remember this one. There's something almost intoxicating about the other man. He doesn't want to let it go but doesn't want to get burned.

It's worth the risk, he decides. After a few moments, he breaks the embrace. "So," he licks his lips nervously, but nearly blushes he realizes he can taste Orlando, "how do we start?"

Orlando gives a small smile. "Well, I was thinking with breakfast."