Art
by Eiluned
eil.at.phoenixfyre (AT) gmail(DOT)com
Archive: Sure! Just let me know where so I can visit and dote.
Disclaimer: I know nothing, you hear me? Nothing! I made it all up!
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Orlando sculpts and Viggo makes art of his own. Viggo/Orlando.
Notes: I find it amusing that "Let's Get It On" by Marvin Gaye came on the radio while I was writing this. Heh. This is for Kratzee. Here's hoping this block is beaten. [crosses fingers]
Feedback is greatly appreciated! eil.at.phoenixfyre (AT) gmail(DOT)com
Watching Orlando sculpt was a treat, Viggo decided. Bent over the pottery wheel, legs spread, bare shoulders tense, hands sliding over the clay with almost obscene grace, his brow furrowed with concentration, the tip of his tongue poking out from between his lips. Viggo leaned back against the wall and just watched.
The clay formed shapes sinuously underneath Orlando's long fingers. Viggo watched him bring it up into a narrow tube, then push it back down from the inside, sparing a hand to add more water, hollowing it out into a bowl. Clever fingertips curled the edge over onto itself, sliding underneath the lip and smoothing it out. The bowl would be beautiful when it was finished, but Viggo was too distracted to really appreciate it.
Orlando straightened up a bit, his tanned, naked chest peeking out from behind the pottery wheel, and Viggo truly didn't care about the bowl anymore. He didn't need clay or paint or graphite or gelatin and silver to make art; he could touch Orlando, twist his body into pleasured shapes, sculpt him into the very picture of desire and lust. Viggo let his knees fall open, felt his cock stiffen against his blue jeans, felt the heady rush of blood warming his body. Orlando's hands moved over the clay and Viggo felt dizzy, hot and aching, the whir of the pottery wheel filling his head, buzzing that made him vibrate with want.
He barely heard the pottery wheel stop spinning, and Orlando's words drifted over him like incense smoke. "Viggo? I said, do you like it?" Orlando repeated, and suddenly a dark knowledge came into his eyes.
Viggo rose from the floor slowly, and Orlando pushed his stool away from the pottery wheel, conscious of protecting his bowl from any harm an overstimulated Viggo might cause. Tugging his t-shirt over his head, Viggo sank to his knees, bringing himself level with Orlando, tangling his hands in messy, dark curls. Their lips met, and Viggo was too aroused to be gentle. He felt his lips bruising Orlando's and felt Orlando whimper against him, hands sticky-slick with clay grasping at his shoulders. Cool, wet and slick, dragging down onto his chest. Orlando slid off of the stool into his lap, a position that would have been vaguely ridiculous had they not been so aroused, a tall, lanky man sprawled in another man's lap, but it pressed their hard cocks together through jeans and track pants. Orlando moaned against Viggo's lips, wrapping his arms around Viggo's shoulders, smearing clay onto Viggo's back and pressing their bodies together. "God, I want you," he breathed, wrenching his lips away from Viggo's.
Viggo pushed Orlando back and to the side, until Orli rolled onto his back on the hardwood floor. The track pants slid over his hips easily, and his boxer shorts followed willingly, leaving Orlando naked and spread out beneath Viggo, decadent and wanting. Viggo wished for a camera so he could capture this beauty, long, messy curls, olive skin tanned to golden, brown eyes heavy with arousal. Orlando touched himself, sliding his hands over his chest and down his stomach, leaving faint smears of clay on his skin. "God, Vig, I need you to touch me," he moaned, arching against his own hands, pinching his nipples, trailing his fingers over his pectorals. "I want to fuck you so badly, I want to feel you..."
Kneeling, Viggo ran his tongue along the top of the pale slash of a tan line running low across Orlando's hips, tasting his skin, dipping down to tease his erection with quick darts of his tongue. Orlando gasped, his head falling back to the floor, baring a long stretch of neck. "Viggo, please," he whimpered, his eyes clenching shut.
Viggo rose to his knees, gazing down at his lover. Dark skin smudged with paler clay, muscles taut and tense, thrumming with sex, nearly writhing on the floor. Leaning down to touch his lips to Orlando's, Viggo whispered, "Don't move," and got to his feet, dashing for the bedroom.
When he came back, bottle of lube clutched in his hand, he found that Orlando had wiped his hands clean on a towel and was stroking his cock slowly, languidly. The rush of heat was back in Viggo's body, the roar in his ears, the feeling that clouded his mind, narrowed his vision until only Orlando existed. Only Orlando, lying on his back, pleasuring himself. Viggo skinned out of his jeans and sank to the floor beside him, fumbling with the cap of the bottle. Batting Orlando's hands out of the way, Viggo slicked his lover's cock, stroking it, letting it slide wetly between his palms, and he imagined that was what it felt like to sculpt clay, slippery-wet, sliding against his fingers. Orlando was breathing hard, and the sound of that was music, the roar in his ears, pushing Viggo into that altered state reserved only for making art and making love.
"Please, Vig, now," Orlando purred, arching against his lover's hands. "Don't make me want any longer."
Straddling Orlando's hips, Viggo reached between his own legs and smeared lube over his opening, gasping at his own touch. The bottle fell from his hand and rolled across the floor, unnoticed. Bracing one hand against Orlando's chest, marveling inwardly at the hard, lean muscle like sculpted marble, Viggo sank down onto his erection.
He didn't stop moving until he had taken as much as he could, until Orlando's heavy balls were pressed against his ass. He stopped then to breathe through the burning ache and watch the transformation in his lover. Orlando was no longer the smiling, cheerful boy he'd met in New Zealand or even the relaxed, comfortable man who'd sat sculpting minutes before. He was lust and sex and heat, a painting slashed with burning red over rich brown and gold, the very image of desire; he was clay in Viggo's hands, willing to be molded and shaped.
Viggo lifted his body and thrust himself down on Orlando's cock just to watch the tight, gripping pleasure sweep across his face. Viggo thrust again and again, until he couldn't concentrate on the art he was making anymore. Orlando's hands gripped his hips tightly, guiding his movements, moving him faster and harder. Viggo could hardly stand the pleasure, the way Orlando's erection rubbed heavily against his prostate, sending electrical shocks through his body, making his own cock jerk and weep.
One of Orlando's hands left his hip and gripped his cock, pulling and stroking, pushing Viggo over the edge. He pushed down hard, pushing until every inch of Orlando's erection was buried deep in his ass, and rocked, feeling the shockwave of an orgasm exploding from deep in his belly. His cock pulsed, spurting semen onto Orlando's tanned chest and belly, painting him with iridescent white, and the sight of his come streaked across the canvas of Orlando's skin sent another shock of pleasure jolting through Viggo's body.
Moaning desperately, Orlando clutched Viggo's hips and pumped in and out of him, fucking him as hard. Viggo's fingers slid through the wetness on Orlando's chest, and when he pinched Orli's nipples hard, his lover tensed underneath him, letting out a gasping cry. Viggo felt the rush of wet heat inside of him, and he wished he could come again just for the joy of coming with Orlando.
A desperate, straining moment, and then it was over, leaving them both gasping and shaking in each other's arms. Viggo stroked Orlando's thick hair with a trembling hand, kissing him gently. "You are so much more beautiful than that bowl," he murmured, and felt Orlando laugh underneath him.
"You say the craziest things after sex, old man."
End