Summary: Orlando has something to prove to himself. Marton doesn't mind at all.
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone you recognize. I know nothing about their social lives or sexual activities, more's the pity. This is fiction, period. It is done as a labor of love and I make no money from it.
Note: Set during the filming of KOH. This is another one from the memething from a couple of posts ago. I did some polishing and added smut. :)
Orlando's cell phone played a muffled version of the Darth Vader March from Star Wars and Marton broke off the line he'd been repeating. Just as well; he'd been working on it for a while but hadn't been able to come up with a delivery that sounded right. This'd give him a few minutes to try a couple of things.
He heard Orlando mutter a curse and dig his phone out from under a cushion. He flipped it open and said, "Hello, Robin," in a painfully neutral tone.
Marton turned away slightly to give him a polite illusion of privacy. In reality he could overhear every word Orlando said, and even make out the rising and falling tones of his publicist's voice, but it was mannerly to pretend not.
He said his troublesome line a few times, trying different pacing and rhythm and intonation, but his full attention wasn't on it. Most of his focus was on Orlando -- Orlando getting up to pace the room with long, fast steps, his tone getting lower, his pronunciation getting sharper, his breathing getting faster. Marton had been with the young man before when this woman called, usually around this time on their days off; it seemed that no matter what else she had to tell him, whether it was an appointment for a photo shoot or a report on some positive press, she always ended up ragging on him about his image. Marton could tell exactly when the ragging started; the air in the room suddenly thickened and became brittle.
"Yes, Robin, there's a man in my room." Pause. "It's Marton. We're running fucking lines if that's all right with you." Another pause. "What I think is that for what I pay you, you can take whatever 'attitude' I choose to hand you. What I don't pay you for is to nag me about what I do in private because that's private and has nothing to do with my job." A shorter pause. "You know, I don't want to hear it this time. Goodbye."
Marton heard the sharp clack of a phone snapping shut and turned his head back around in time to see Orlando hurl the thing as hard as he could into the sofa. It bounced once and then just lay there on the rug.
"That fucking cunt!" Orlando spat, up and pacing again. "She can't get it through her head that what I do in private is none of her fucking business, nor anyone else's! She just won't leave off!" His arms flashed in short, sharp, angry gestures while he ranted.
Marton just sat and waited him out. He'd been witness to this before and knew what was coming. He felt a tingle run through his body and his heart pumping a bit harder. Orlando did his best to maintain while he was on the phone with Robin but once he rang off it all surged up like a caustic foam and he had to let it out.
"--and one of these days that bitch'll figure out that I do whatever I bloody well please!" Orlando turned a blazing snarl on Marton. His brown eyes were so dilated the irises were invisible and his breath was coming in quick, sharp pants. Marton braced himself a bare moment before Orlando flung himself on top of him.
Strong hands gripped two handfuls of hair and a denim-covered knee jammed itself between Marton's thighs. Marton winced at the pain in his scalp before it turned into a burning pleasure in his cock. He opened his mouth to the furious young man's ravaging kiss and surrendered, more than happy to let Orlando prove his independence to himself on his more than willing body.
"Nazi cunt," Orlando hissed, before yanking aside the neck of Marton's shirt and sinking his teeth into the muscle arching just above one collarbone. Rough hands yanked buttons through buttonholes and jerked the shirt away from his chest, leaving it twisted halfway down his arms.
Marton squirmed but couldn't reach any farther than Orlando's sides. Not that he was trying very hard; he was perfectly happy letting the other man do all the work. Because of the kinds of parts he usually played, most people who ended up in his bed, whether male or female, tended to expect him to take the active role, to dominate, to lead. He was tired of it -- it was his turn to lay back and be ravished, thanks anyway, and Orlando in a frenzy of frustration and anger was just the man to do it.
He felt his slacks being yanked down past already-bare feet, and his boxers followed. A warm breeze blew across his sweating skin before Orlando fell back down onto him full-length. He left a trail of bites and suck marks down Marton's chest before devouring his erection.
"That's right, bitch," Orlando muttered between breaths, "I like cock. Deal with it!" He sucked Marton back down with a growl and the vibration soaked in, like fire running through his nerves. Marton felt one hand push past his tightening balls and then a finger probed his entrance.
He shifted his hips and relaxed as best he could. "Hey," he gasped, trying to tear his attention away from the truly fantastic suction being applied between his legs just then. "Got lube, pocket."
Orlando snarled at him but pulled away once more to root through the pocket of his discarded trousers. He pulled out a handful of packets and dropped everything but a lube and a condom. Ten seconds later he was sheathed and two slippery fingers had worked their way inside Marton's arse.
"Fuck, yeah!" Marton breathed, his eyes drifting closed. Orlando in a frenzy was fast and rough but he always hit exactly the right spots, dead on.
Orlando pulled his hand out and then shoved three fingers in, stretching and rubbing and twisting. He raked his teeth over Marton's hipbone while his other hand pumped the hard cock brushing his jaw.
Marton gasped and tensed. His hips thrust up in a jerk of instinct, seeking more, deeper. He felt his toes curling and clenching and then Orlando pulled his hand out again and yanked Marton's knees up over his shoulders. He loomed over him, pushing his legs up out of the way, pressing down, and Marton bent in half as a hard cock shoved into him and started pumping. Another ravishing kiss stopped his breathing and a still-lubed hand wrapped around his prick and jerked, hard and fast.
"Come on," Orlando spat. "Come on!" He thrust in again and again, smoothly violent, and the top of Marton's head slammed against the arm of the sofa. He gasped in a breath just before Orlando ground out, "Come on, fuck, now, now, now!" with a thrust and a hard squeeze on each word and Marton yelled out a wordless, ecstatic eruption of sound and felt himself spurting in an overloaded spasm of pleasure. He clamped down on the cock still moving inside him and his lover cussed out an orgasm along with him, spraying bitter, frustrated profanity along with the come he was shooting into Marton's body.
Marton fell back into the cushions, unable to move except for the heaving of his lungs and pounding of his heart. He felt Orlando wipe his come-smeared hand off on his chest, adding to the cooling mess already there, and was about to see if he had enough energy for a mild protest when the other man lowered his own chest square on top of him and slowly squirmed into it.
Orlando's eyes were closed and his face had relaxed back into the smooth planes and angles the whole world knew. His smile was back, too, and Marton closed his mouth.
"Fuck, that feels good," Orlando murmured. "Just you and me and sex."
Before Marton could agree out loud, Orlando had lain his head down on Marton's shoulder. Marton felt his lover relaxing and the soft puffs of his breath on sweat-cooled skin.
Just you and me, he thought. Whenever you need to get rid of her, I'm here.