"Here." Orlando flicked something into Dom's lap, something small and lacy. Uh-huh. "Got'cha something."
"Knickers," Dom said slowly. Good to see him back; he'd wondered where he'd got to. Wondered if he was gonna have to cook his post-binge snack all by himself - and he didn't know his way round Orlando's uber-chrome kitchen yet, for all he'd been crashing here since Wednesday. "Um."
"Well, a thong," Orlando corrected, "but yes."
"Thanks," Dom said, dangling it gingerly from one finger. "Please don't say you saw it and thought of me."
Orlando brightened. "I did!"
"Orli," Dom said, realising the glaze was wrong in Orlando's eyes, realising that this was probably where the absinthe had gone, "you realise that's kind of insulting, right?"
Orlando scowled. "Is not."
"Is," Dom said, laying the thong on the table. It was blue with pink bits. The thought that somewhere in Orlando's drunken head this all made sense, that was kind of terrifying. And depressing. And Orlando was no way up for cooking.
Orlando strode closer, put one hand on Dom's head. "Is not," he insisted, forcibly turning Dom's head, making him focus on the underwear.
"Oh," Dom said.
Cunning Stunt, the thong said, stitched in big glossy pink letters across the front.
"It's wordplay, see," Orlando said, nodding. "A pun." He giggled. "I don't want you to wear em, or anything--"
"I should think not," Dom interrupted quickly, then lowered his voice. He hadn't meant to shout, but really. The image of himself in that thing-- don't even start. "But it's, it's not quite a pun," he said, and Orlando-- um. growled. "er, Orli?"
"Grr," Orlando said clearly, apparently giving up on the actual growl-making. Maybe he'd been smoking, too. His voice was that sort of husky. "Grr. It is."
Dom bared his teeth in something as close to a smile as he could manage right now. "Er, yes, fine. You're right."
"I know," Orlando said. His hand was still on Dom's head, but it had softened, was stirring circles in his hair. Dom would, under normal circumstances, knock it off and tell Orlando where to go.
This wasn't normal. "Where'd you get it?"
Orlando frowned. "What?"
"The. thing," Dom said, nodding at it.
"Oh, a girl."
Dom blinked. "You just asked a girl for her underwear?"
"I stole it," Orlando confessed, prettily. "But she flashed me, so it wasn't my fault."
"You. right." It was rather tangled. Dom was big enough of a man to admit when one of his mates looked pretty, though, he added, the thought belated and furtive and a reminder that relative sobriety compared with Orlando could still be pretty damn drunk. "You went home with her?"
Orlando shook his head, and Dom felt an odd twist in his chest. Then Orlando said, "To her friend's house," and Dom's heart sunk. Bad idea, he thought loudly. Orlando always was a reckless drunk.
Orlando glanced at the ceiling, then sat in Dom's lap. Dom blinked, curving his arms round him automatically, like he would if someone dropped a sack of potatoes on him.
Not that people were in the habit of doing that, obviously. But like. uh.
Ha. He steeled himself against his own potential recklessness; he was clearly intoxicated enough. He wound up wondering if Orlando had put on weight or if he was just heavy with alcohol. Orlando clung to him, rested his head on Dom's shoulders. "We didn't have sex, or anything."
"I said, your pants remind me of a friend of mine, and she said, um," he scrunched his nose against Dom's neck, "she said, what friend's that, then? and I said, Dom."
"So if there're stories about us in The Sun tomorrow, I'll know who to thank?" Dom said.
"Her! Thank her, the bitch."
"She was a bitch?"
"She would be if she shopped us," Orlando said, and his arms felt briefly like a brace around Dom's neck.
"Orli, there's nothing to shop," he said quietly, and Orlando nuzzled his neck with his forehead.
"She won't say anything," he mumbled. "I fingered her really well."
Dom almost dropped him onto the floor. "...uh," he said. His mouth felt dry.
"I'm really great at that," Orlando said blithely, smoothing little circles in the hair at the nape of Dom's neck. Two fingertips. Adult fingertips, fingertips that went adult places. Huh. "I'm a master."
"And that's... why she gave you the thong?" Dom said faintly, picturing it helplessly, because what else could he do. Orlando probably was really good at it. Big hands, strong wrists.
"She said," Orlando said fuzzily, "that, that," he went falsetto, "was wow, I am so glad you're not shagging Nick Carter."
Dom wondered if he'd missed a bit. He also wondered how long it'd be before he could look at Orli's fingers and not imagine panting girls twisting down on them. Girls in rude underwear, cotton damp and hot, lace scratching Orlando's skin. Orlando's mouth, even--back off, he thought, hastily. He really wasn't into imagining his mates going down on people. "You're shagging who?"
"I'm not," Orlando said, and Dom thought, Nick - that's a guy's name. Uh-oh.. "Else," Orlando added, vaguely swiping one hand about, "I couldn't've got it off her, could I?"
"Um, no, of course not," Dom said. The thought that the general public paired Orli off with men wasn't reassuring.
Orlando wriggled in his lap, hauling himself upright to stare at Dom nose-to-nose. "I don't cheat on people ever," he assured him, then kissed Dom on the mouth.
Dom held very still. Orlando's lips were warm, and damp, and slightly parted. He wondered if he'd kissed her. Orlando's hands were poised against the back of his head, practically thrumming with eagerness.
"I got you a present and everything," Orlando grumbled, a moment later, wriggling down and laying his head back on Dom's shoulder. He was still heavy; heavier, now, even. Heavy like-- disappointment, or something, if he wanted to get all dramatic about it.
Dom's lips felt like there was still a light pressure on them.
"Yeh - why did you get me this particular present, anyway?" he said quickly, hoping Orlando was drunk enough that he wouldn't remember... this. The trying of the kissing. Hoping that maybe Orlando would catch amnesia from someone and then pass it on to Dom. In a platonic, no-more-kissings fashion. Amnesia, yes. That would be good.
"You're... you were playing a game," Orlando mumbled. Dom's knees were beginning to go numb, with painful whitenoise suddenly round the edges.
"I'm gonna have to move you," he warned, and Orlando groaned softly.
"Put me to bed."
"O-kay," Dom said, as his mind shrieked, careful careful for god's sake be careful, and he wrestled Orlando to his feet and forced a bright smile. "What's this game?" He didn't remember playing a game involving girls' underwear. Especially not thongs. He was pretty sure he'd remember a game like that.
"Lij was cross you brought everyone beer except him," Orlando said, weaving around as Dom steered him into his bedroom.
"Right," Dom said.
"You bought me one," Orlando said, and swayed against him, all baby-monkey arms and mouth brushing twice against his cheek, "thankyou, thankyou," before pressing hard and askew.
"I did," Dom said, voice a little smushed.
"You're lovely," Orlando said.
"Game," Dom said desperately. "Elijah?"
"He was drunk, an' you said you were wise cunt and he said other cunts," Orlando slurred, slinging himself onto the bed, and Dom said,
You cunt, Elijah had yelled.
Wise cunt, Dom had corrected.
Bastard cunt, Elijah had said.
Witty cunt, Dom had said.
Ugly cunt, Elijah had said.
Stunning-- oh, Dom thought, and laughed slightly. "Okay, I get it."
Orlando blustered his way under the covers, then slanted a look up at Dom that said bed me, even in the twilight. "You remember the game?" he said, and Dom wanted to ask why the hell Orlando had remembered that one bit of him and Lij arguing, and none of the rest.
"It wasn't really a game," Dom said, "but. yeah?"
"Good," Orlando said, catching Dom's hand, stroking it clumsily with one thumb. "'Cause you are."
Dom raised his eyebrows. "Er. I am..?"
"You are," Orlando said emphatically, and Dom thought about the underwear on the table and hoped Orlando didn't mean what he appeared to be meaning, and then Orlando was leaning forwards and sucking the tip of Dom's thumb, and Dom snatched his hand back fast.
"I've-- got broccoli on the stove," he lied quickly, "it's gonna burn."
The hurt dulled beatifically in Orlando's eyes, melded into something disturbingly blissful. "Okay," Orlando said. "I'll wait up."
"Right," Dom said, shoving his hands in his pockets, backing casually out of the room. "Right."
When he poked his head back in, almost an hour later, after having actually made some broccoli - because he felt a fierce guilt about lying, which he wasn't so incredibly in denial as to not notice was pretty neatly misplaced guilt - Orlando was asleep, sitting up, the bedclothes clamped high under his armpits. His mouth was open. Dom refused to think about that.
He went and got a bottle of mineral water, a pack of Halls Original Menthol-Eucalyptus, two apples and a pack of Ibuprofen, and put them all on Orlando's bedside table. His thoughts tripped wildly into the realm where it seemed like a good idea to drink some more and wake Orlando up and see what happened, what could happen-- but he drank some of the water himself, watching Orlando in the mostly-dark, and the whimsy started to fade.
Amnesia, he should get some amnesia tablets and leave them by the bed.
Pity they didn't exist. Definitely might be a good idea for both of them, right now.
for Dale, 'cause she wanted Dom/Orli and this sort of delivers. Thanks to buffett for ineffable helpfulness