Game
“What’s that?”
“Shhhhhhh, keep your eyes closed. Just a little surprise ….”
“But …” Still drowsy from a day spent on the beach. Lips tasting salty. And dry. And all of a sudden he realizes how thirsty he is.
”I want …”
“What do you want?” Voice with the hint of a smile, with the hint of … infinite possibilities.
He can feel the mattress going down on one side when Orlando sits down. Turns his head and wants to open his eyes, but a hand keeps them shut: “Don’t look.”
“Water would be nice. Or a cold bitter lemon.”
He swallows thickly, licks his lips. Imagines the taste of … lemon and ice. Stretches languidly under the light covers. Summer-warm air soft on his skin, feeling just right. A balmy breeze coming through wide-opened windows, carrying with it faint smells of the nearby ocean, muffled cries of seagulls and blurred memories of a body, looming over him, dark against the midday sun. Glistening and gleaming, reflecting the light so brightly that he had to shade his eyes.
Must be early evening, he muses. Obviously, he fell asleep right after they had come back to the house, but probably not for a very long time. Behind closed eyelids he can see that the sun has already wandered around the building. Like huge nameless flowers shadows begin to unfold in the room leaving him sprawled in their gentle shades. Boneless remnant of a summer’s day. Dried-up flotsam and jetsam from the beach.
His skin still feels hot.
Creaking of wooden floorboards, sounds of bare feet moving up the stairs quickly.
“Open your mouth”.
Viggo blinks. But a hand closes over his eyes again. Cool moist fingers, smelling of lemon.
“No, no. That’s not how we play the game.”
“Which game?” drawls Viggo sleepily and can’t help but smile. The boy is always up to something.
“It’s called “Captured by the Elves”, Orlando chuckles.
“You crazy Elf. Come here.”
There is a low little laughter and before Viggo can start protesting some sort of scarf is fixed over his eyes, probably one of Orlando’s impossible bandanas. Yeah, it’s the one he has worn on the beach, he feels sand grains trickling onto his eyelids.
“Now what’s that supposed to be?” Viggo grins.
“The Elves always blindfold their captives. So that they do not find the way back.”
“Who says I ever want to find the way back?”
“Drink.”
Viggo rises from the pillows, propped up on his elbows. Eyes still closed, drawing a face as the bandana’s tickling his nose. He feels Orlando lift his chin and set a glass to his lips. Swallows the cool drink greedily. Trail of syrupy liquid running down his chin, dripping down on his chest.
“Attention, you spill everything. Filthy human. Would have expected better manners from a King in waiting.. “
The now empty glass is put down on the floor and then the mattress goes up and down again when Orlando climbs the bed, crawling up to him.
“Good thing that I’m here to lick you clean”.
“Very good thing …,” he reaches out for Orlando, touching a smooth shoulder blade and the soft inside of an elbow. He would love to place a kiss on the skin there, but finds he cannot. Is defeated, rendered motionless by the mouth upon his body licking and sucking the lemon trail down his chin and neck and collarbones. And by the delightful discovery that Orlando who has straddled him is naked already. Naked and hard against the light sheets that still are covering Viggo.
His hands come down on Orlando’s thighs, thumbs tracing the insides, when his wrists are caught again. “Keep still”.
Words of protest are swallowed before he can utter them. How is he supposed to keep his hands still when Orlando kisses him like that? Stupid game.
“I said don’t move. Or the game’s over before it has begun.”
So he tries to lie still and … winces when he suddenly feels a light … feathery touch against his side.
“What’s that?”
“Can’t you feel it?”
Of course, he feels it. A gentle caress, a soft tickle over his abs, around his nipples, against his neck. He chuckles.
“Ticklish?”
“Yeah, but not in a bad way.”
“Not in a bad way …” purrs Orlando. “That’s good.”
Viggo’s breath hitches, however, when the covers are removed together with his pajama bottoms. Shivers as he feels the breeze now all over his body together with Orlando. Orlando who’s naked. And who rubs up to him, hot and heavy, while writing invisible poetry onto his skin with that obscure feather. Very lightly. Way too lightly. Making him more and more restless with each second, each touch …
“But it’s not good, if I’m not allowed to touch you,” groans Viggo while the feather slowly travels downwards from his navel.
“But you aren’t allowed. Perhaps better make sure you don’t forget that? The Elves often bound their captives, you must know.”
Viggo smirks. “But you wouldn’t do that, eh?”
“Wouldn’t I?” Another low chuckle against his throat. “Come on Vig, I’m sure you’ll like it. You want it.”
Viggo sighs, half-amused, half-exasperated. How could he deny anything to his private Elf?
So he doesn’t object when Orlando leans over and ties Viggo’s hands to the bead head. Some other scarf, some more sand grains on his face. But Orlando’s close now, so very close. Feeling Orlando’s weight on top of him while he fidgets with the make-shift bounds, is just …. perfect. Perfect hardness, sharp hipbones pressed up against Viggo’s stomach. Enough to make Viggo moan and involuntarily spread his legs. But then Orlando shifts again, gets up …
“Ah, what’s next, Elf?” Viggo groans, growing more and more impatient. Wanting. Wanting so much.
“Well, you may not touch me. But you may taste me.”
That’s even … better, Viggo thinks as thick soft flesh follows the curves of his parted lips and his tongue, in turn, begins to trace the sensitive head and the underside. And Viggo licks and sucks and swallows until the artificial taste of shower lotion is gone and he tastes just Orlando instead. Velvet-warm and salty and simply delicious.
Very soon he realizes that Orlando’s short of loosing control, won’t be able to stay quiet much longer, would rather push into Viggo’s mouth like crazy and fill him …
Merely thinking of it makes Viggo quiver. And ache with need himself, desperate for some friction now, some sort of contact while bucking up into thin, thin air.
“Stop. Stop it”, gasps Orlando and slides out, heavily touching Viggo’s tingling lips one last time. Bends down on him again, bodies touching from head to toe, and kisseskisseskisses Viggo until Viggo can no longer feel his own lips, his body jerking at each tiny touch. Over-sensitized and just ready to fuck or be fucked.
Whatever.
Only do it. Right now.
“What do you want?” Orlando’s voice sounds strained, far away. The blood in Viggo’s ears is simply pounding too loudly, just like his heart.
“You.”
Slick fingers close around his cock - don’t stop touching and moulding and teasing, just don’t stop! - enveloping him in slippery fluid. And Orlando comes down on him, not all the way at first. Just so much that Viggo’s cock can push at the entrance.
And then everything happens very quickly.
With swift fingers Orlando releases his bounds, puts lube on Viggo’s fingers and guides Viggo’s hand. And Viggo, still blind, only feels Orlando, feels him give in and open up. Feels small shivers run through Orlando’s body when he has hit the sensitive spot and shivers himself when he hears the boy’s broken sighs. Sweet revenge.
Suddenly, Orlando takes down the blindfold.
“I want you to look at me now …”
Viggo opens his eyes the moment Orlando impales himself on him. One, two, three times. Splitting himself open so brutally fast that Viggo’s almost sure it must have hurt. But when Orlando looks down on him there’s a lopsided smile on the younger man’s lips that seems to come from far, far away.
It’s almost dark in the room now, but still light enough to see … everything. The fine sheen of sweat building on Orlando’s chest and above all, Orlando’s face, the face of a faun against the clear blue evening skies outside the windows.
Viggo tries to still him for a moment, fingers spread wide over the small of Orlando’s back, barely touching, for this moment’s perfect. But it’s this hint of a touch that gets Orlando going again. And Viggo’s hands are on Orlando’s hips now, hard as vices, pulling Orlando down on him. Again and Again.
Orlando twists and turns, varying between deep and shallow, searching for the perfect angle so that Viggo can hit him just right there. And Viggo loves this wanton dance, loves Orlando’s little screams and moans, loves to watch Orlando watch him. Both spiralling down into empty space at a steadily accelerating pace. Drinking up each other. Sinking into each other. Closer. Closer.
Orlando’s eyes are black like the deep, dark blackness of the void. Infinite.
And Viggo plunges into it.
Fast free fall.
Now.
