Original Story: Take Me Down by msilverstar
Rating: NC-17 (D/s)
Summary: Dominic is not the kind of bloke who buggers things up, usually, but when he does, he wants to remember it, not to make the same mistake again. That's why he wears a leather cuff around his wrist: as a reminder.
Post-reveal Notes: Big thank-you to themoononastick for the beta.
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred, or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
Dominic is not the kind of bloke who buggers things up, usually, but when he does, he wants to remember it, not to make the same mistake again. That's why he wears a leather cuff around his wrist: as a reminder.
The first time he is aware of Orlando watching him there's nothing unusual about it. Everybody is watching everybody else, with curiosity laden with a heavy dose of hope for new friendships that will carry them through months of filming, in a strange country on the other side of the known world. Dominic is watching the others too. He notices Billy's enticing smile that inevitably makes him grin back. He notices a shadow of homesickness on Elijah's face, and it makes him want to be the big brother. He notices Orlando's wrists--deceptively slender, as he soon finds out in training--and they make him uneasy in a way that has nothing to do with being brotherly.
He wonders what Orlando notices about him.
Nathan used to watch him with green eyes that were looking for answers to questions he couldn't even form, questions Dominic barely realized back then that he could answer. Orlando's questioning eyes attract Dominic's attention like amber attracts pieces of paper charged with electricity--it can't help it, it's a law of nature. Dominic wonders if Orlando can help it. Or of he's even aware of what he's doing.
But Orlando keeps watching him, and Dominic keeps paying attention.
They are all dancing together in a loose circle on the dance floor, the air and the music thick around them, but when Elijah sneaks off with the girl he's been chasing all night, when Billy abandons them for the company of whiskey at the bar, Dominic and Orlando turn to each other. Orlando's face and the shaved sides of his head glisten with sweat in the flashing lights streaming from the ceiling. The t-shirt he's wearing is tight and threadbare thin; it shows off his hard nipples and rides high up on his belly, showing skin whenever he raises his arms. Dominic doesn't miss any of it. He can't help being aware of Orlando on the most basic, physical level, but he's been keeping himself in check, not letting his mind wander into the dangerous territory of "what if."
Orlando moves towards him, one step, then another. They are dancing close enough for their hands and bodies to brush against each other. The beat changes to heavy pounding and the floor and the walls vibrate with its energy. Orlando reaches out and wraps an arm around Dominic, pulls them together. His eyes are closed; he's moving with the rhythm of the music. Dominic hooks his fingers behind the waistband of Orlando's jeans. They are dancing almost chest to chest now, thigh to thigh. Everything's hot and sweaty and fluid with no boundaries and no limits. An image flashes in his mind, quick and slicing, like a lightning: Orlando on his knees with his hands behind his back. It catches him off guard. His heart is hammering in his chest and his throat feels like a desert. He loses his rhythm and freezes in the middle of the crowd.
"I need a drink," he says, but Orlando can't hear him, shaking his head to the music. He grabs Orlando by his wrist and tugs hard, throwing him off balance to get his attention. "Orlando!"
Orlando's eyes blink open. He stops and his gaze drops to Dominic's fingers wrapped around his wrist, Dominic's cuff. When he lifts his head again, his eyes are open wide and glistening.
Dominic is breathing hard, trying to get some air in, but the scent of Orlando's sweat overpowers everything else. They are standing in the middle of the writhing crowd, just the two of them, and Orlando is looking at him ... he's looking at him like--
He lets go of Orlando's wrist. "I have to go," he says, surprised that the words are getting out of his mouth at all. "I need to ... find Billy." Orlando probably can't even hear him, but he doesn't care--he has to get away, now. He turns around and pushes through he crowd, bumping into people, until he's safely outside, where the chill of the night brings a welcome relief to his overheated skin.
Sitting in the taxi, he rests his head against the window and traces his fingers along a groove in the seat, trying not to think what it felt like to have his fingers around Orlando's wrist. At home he turns both locks on his front door, as if that could help him keep at bay the thoughts that have been taking over his head, and toes off his trainers on the way to the bedroom. He pulls his sweaty clothes off piece by piece and drops them to the floor.
Naked, he walks to the kitchen, grabs an open carton of orange juice from the fridge and tips it to his mouth. The cold juice helps with his thirst but it doesn't settle his mind. He finishes it off in a few greedy gulps on the way to the bathroom, letting the sweet tang wash down his throat, and sets the empty carton on the bathroom sink.
It takes long minutes under a hot spray to stop him from feeling like he wants to run, run as fast as he can. He wraps his fingers around his left wrist, but the bracelet is not there--it's back in the bedroom, where he dropped it with the rest of his clothes. He squeezes his eyes shut and leans his forehead against the cool tiles of the shower wall.
It was his scene. Maybe "scene" is too big of a word to describe what happened, but that's how he thinks about it: it was his scene and he buggered it up.
It doesn't matter that they were both young, that neither of them had any experience. All that matters is that Dominic didn't recognize that when Nathan said "yes," he didn't know how that would change things between them. That he didn't recognize that Nathan wasn't ready. He should have known. The look in Nathan's eyes when Dominic uncuffed him haunted him for a long time--still does sometimes when he lies awake at four in the morning, waiting for the alarm clock to go off--the look of distrust from a friend. And Nathan was right. Back then, Dominic didn't fully trust himself, so how could he ask another to trust him?
He arches his back. The stream of water hits all the right places, washing tiredness out of his body--a simple pleasure that distracts him for a moment from thinking about Orlando. His fingers find the bruise on his lower back still sore after a collision with a piece of the Moria set and press on it, gently probing at first, then harder, until it hurts. He doesn't like the pain, but he appreciates it as a way of focusing his thoughts. The sharp streak of pain reminds him that he's already lost one friend. He doesn't want to lose another.
Orlando shows up at his flat unannounced on Sunday night. When Dominic opens the door Orlando is standing there, hands in the pockets of his jean jacket, studying his boots.
"Orlando," Dominic says in a greeting, since it doesn't look like Orlando is going to speak first.
Orlando lifts his gaze and takes his hands out of his pockets, letting them hang loosely down his sides, with the insides of his wrists turned towards Dominic. Like and invitation, Dominic's mind translates for him, and he can't help the jolt of heat inside him. Orlando is not saying anything, just looking at Dominic, and with each second of silence that passes between them, Dominic finds it harder to breathe. His fingers press harder into the edge of the doorframe. You can run from something, but there comes a moment when you can't run anymore.
He dismisses any thought of small talk, because it won't do tonight, no matter how things are going to play out. He nudges his chin towards the living room. "Come on in. I'll be there in a tick."
Orlando blinks. There's a second of hesitation in the way his body sways back, and Dominic thinks he's going to turn on his heel and fly down the stairs, but no--obediently, Orlando walks past him and into the living room.
Dominic closes the front door and takes refuge in the bathroom. He splashes cold water on his face, again and again, not caring that the front of his t-shirt is getting wet. Orlando is in his living room, sending off confusing vibes like a broken radio broadcasting ether noise with an occasional glimpse of clear signal every now and then, and Dominic is not going to face him until he's sure of what he wants, what they both want, and not until he's sure that his decision is right. Reaching for the towel he catches his reflection in the mirror--droplets of water run down his face, smearing uncertainty across it. That won't do tonight either. He rubs the towel against his skin, as if with that he could scrub all traces of doubt out of his mind. He takes a few deep breaths to clear his head and focus.
The realization that deep down inside he is sure--that he's been sure for days, weeks even, but he didn't allow himself to admit it--wraps around him like a blanket, something familiar and solid he can grab and hold on to. He doesn't make decisions based on the "pro" and "con" columns; he makes decisions based on what feels right. He trusts his instinct more than he trusts his rationally thinking mind, and right now his instinct is telling him that he is sure what Orlando wants and that they are both ready.
When he looks in the mirror again, the eyes that look back at him are blue steel.
He enters the living room, and Orlando jerks, as if thrown out of deep thoughts, and moves away from the sofa. He stands in front of Dominic, blocking his way. Behind the soft brown eyes, there's a layer of determination Dominic hasn't seen before, and he's ready to find out where this determination will lead them tonight.
They are close enough that Dominic has to raise his head to look into Orlando's face, but that doesn't intimidate him at all. It's too easy to imagine Orlando on his knees, looking up at him from under his eyelashes--a glimpse of what could be, and Dominic wants it. He wraps his fingers around Orlando's wrist watching Orlando's eyes go wide and touches Orlando's face with his other hand.
"What do you want, Orlando?" He knows the answer, but he asks the question anyway--he needs Orlando to acknowledge the answer to it.
Orlando shakes his head slowly, and his eyes shift away, then down, avoiding Dominic, but at the same time his whole body sways towards Dominic, leaning into the touch.
Dominic tightens the grip on Orlando's wrist and twists his fingers, until he's sure it hurts, until Orlando winces. "Yes, you do. You know."
Orlando is shaking his head again, trying to free himself from Dominic's grip, pushing away from him, and a needle of panic jabs Dominic's belly--what is he's wrong? What if he's wrong about everything? His fingers loosen around Orlando's wrist, and he's fighting the urge to look away from Orlando's face.
As if sensing his hesitation, Orlando stops twisting and his arms go slack. He's not trying to fight Dominic off anymore. His gaze drops to the floor again, his head bowed, his palms open towards Dominic.
Dominic takes a deep breath. It took him a long time to learn the difference between "want" and "need," and he's not sure Orlando has figured it out yet himself. Focus. He should focus on what Orlando needs. Orlando might not put into words what he wants from Dominic, he might not even realize what is going on in his own head, but his body betrays him more than Orlando can probably know. Orlando needs Dominic to push him over the edge. He needs Dominic to force him to face his own need, and that--Dominic can do that. He's more than capable of doing just that.
He sets his body against Orlando's and not letting go of him, pushes him back to the sofa, then down onto it. Orlando's body is folding under him, acquiescent, as if it was wired to a different brain--one that wants Dominic to take over and do whatever he pleases.
He pins Orlando's shoulders down and feels a shiver rushing through Orlando, like an electric current. Orlando's body responds to him, molds itself under him, opens to him in ways that go far beyond willingness to have sex, and the physical manifestation of Orlando's want, of his need, takes Dominic's breath away and sets his nerve endings on fire. He's not surprised at his own reaction, but he is surprised at how intense it is, how deeply it carves into him. For this, he wants to give Orlando something back, so he leans in and kisses him, open-mouth, tongue pushing inside, teeth scraping against teeth. Orlando's mouth is hot and sweet and eager--eager to take whatever Dominic offers and eager to give him back everything in return.
It's a long while before he pulls away and leans his forehead against Orlando's. "Is this what you want?" he asks, his voice coming out of his throat like sandpaper.
Orlando shivers under him, but doesn't answer.
Dominic lifts his head. Orlando's face is flushed and turned away, his eyes barely open, as if he were afraid to look at Dominic. Dominic almost smiles. But Orlando doesn't need his smile; Orlando needs for Dominic to get him through this, to get them both through this.
He grips Orlando's chin and forces his head up. "This is what you need, isn't it."
This time, Orlando nods, and the silent admission carries the weight of a thousand words and promises.
"Take you down," Dominic says. "Hold you down. Take what I want."
Orlando's eyes are locked with Dominic's, his body shivering as if his muscles were in overdrive, his mouth open around a moan. Orlando is hard and sinewy under him, flexible and obliging. The need that Dominic has banned beyond the borders of what's allowed, that need is now clawing its way to the surface, and letting it free feels not just right--it feels fucking fantastic. It feels like free-falling and he's ready to fall and take Orlando with him.
His fingers reach for the cuff on his wrist to unbuckle it. He pulls Orlando's hands up, above his head, and wraps the cuff around both his wrists. The strap of leather is long enough to go twice around Dominic's wrist and Orlando's wrists fit into it perfectly, as if they were meant for it.
Maybe they were.
He almost loses his concentration, but recovers and threads the end of the strap through the metal buckle.
Orlando doesn't need to be told to keep his hands up. He's not fighting, not trying to get away anymore--he's gone perfectly still, as if Dominic has immobilized his whole body, not only his hands, and Dominic loves that. Orlando's lips are parted and inviting with a silent plea, and he wants to be inside that mouth again.
He kneels up above Orlando and slowly opens his jeans, first the button, then the zip. He's already hard when he takes himself in his hand.
Orlando's eyes are glued to his face, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, a droplet of sweat gathering above his upper lip.
"This is what I want," Dominic says. "Show me you can take it." He moves closer to Orlando's face, presses his thumb against Orlando's lower lip, opening his mouth wider, then presses his cock against it.
Orlando accepts him, but it's a struggle. Orlando is trying, holding his head up and drawing in air through his nose, trying to do it for Dominic, but he gags choking on his own breath and pulls off. His head falls back onto the cushions of the sofa, his eyes closed, tears streaming down his face.
This, the sight of Orlando crying because he can't please Dominic, touches something inside him in a way no one ever has before. He will get Orlando through this.
"It's all right," he says and runs his hands up and down Orlando's sides to calm him down. He leans in, brings his mouth to Orlando's ear and says, "You look so fucking hot when you cry." Orlando's breath swishes against his cheek, hot gasps of air. "I want to do things to you no one has ever done to you before, no one has done for you. And I will, Orlando, I will." There might not be an end to what he wants to do to Orlando, given the time.
He's lying half on top of Orlando, their chests pressed together, and Orlando's cocks is pushing through his jeans against his belly.
"There will be more," Dominic says, "but for now, let go for me." He opens Orlando's jeans and slips his fingers inside the heat there, shifts so that he can wrap his hand around both their cocks. It's the same familiar touch of his own hand, yet so very different, because this time it includes Orlando and that changes everything. Orlando is hard and hot, and Dominic closes his fingers tighter around them, letting Orlando feel the calluses he's earned in sword practice, and keeps moving his hand. It doesn't take long before Orlando's lips twist in a moan. He throws his head back, the tendons in his neck standing out. Dominic pushes down against him, "Do it," and Orlando groans and shudders under him, and loses it, spurting come all over his belly. The sounds he's making--choked off sobs intertwined with Dominic's name repeated over and over again, as if Dominic's the only thing Orlando needs to breathe--almost make Dominic lose it too.
"So fucking good," falls from Dominic's lips. His own fingers go more vicious on his cock. He's working himself up until he can't keep his eyes open, can't keep himself together, doesn't want to. They've gone too far now, there's no going back. Arching his back, he comes, too.
For a long moment he's lying next to Orlando splintered into a thousand pieces, overwhelmed by this kind of stillness that has every muscle in his body satiated and too tired too move. But he moves finally, groaning, because Orlando's hip bone is digging into his belly, and opens his eyes.
Orlando's gaze is fixed on the ceiling. He's too quiet and motionless, with his hands still above his head. Dominic knows he should speak up now, tell Orlando how well he did, but there's a tightness creeping up his throat that feels only too familiar. He wants to force Orlando to look at him, or shake him, or something, but he can't bring himself to do any of these things. Instead, he reaches up to unbuckle the cuff.
As soon as Orlando's hands are free, Orlando buries his face in Dominic's shoulder, breathing hotly into his skin and his arms wrap around Dominic, holding him tight, as if they were meant for this. And maybe they were.
Dominic strokes Orlando's hair and lets Orlando hold him. "Are you all right?"
It's few long seconds before the words come out of Orlando, but when they do, there's no hesitation in them: "Fuck, yeah."
Dominic still wears the leather cuff around his wrist, but he takes it off for Orlando, and when he slips his fingers underneath the leather, on the inside, there's Orlando's name written there in their sweat.