Tokowhà
by Anima
“Let’s raise a toast to Miranda!” John’s loud voice reminded Viggo that he wasn’t only the photographer tonight but also one of the invited guests. He hurried to his seat in order to clink glasses and drink with the others. Relieved that he could deposit his heavy equipment he sat down next to Orlando.
Viggo noticed with slight unease that his friend looked strangely glassy-eyed. Orlando, on an empty stomach, surely didn’t do excessive justice to the alcohol already, did he? Although, Viggo wouldn’t be surprised really. Orlando had had a rather bothersome day.
The day had started pretty promisingly. After they had serenaded a birthday song to Miranda, Orlando and Viggo had gone to their shooting location. Everything went like clockwork, and P.J. had been extremely content with them. As a consequence of that, they had been back at their new home early enough to refresh and dress themselves unhurriedly. But then the stress had started. Orlando wasn’t satisfied with the clothes he had wanted to wear tonight. Hectically, he spread several pieces of clothing all over his bedroom. Viggo, who was ready to go, watched his friend in silence. Orlando tried different combinations – each of them even more dreadful than the one before, Viggo thought, but he was wise enough to not mention it. He could tell from the sinking corners of Orlando’s mouth that he didn’t want to be talked to now.
When the young Brit finally picked out a pair of black jeans, a black and white checkered shirt with awfully opulent quillings, and a red neck tie, he wanted to quickly get his present for Miranda. A present he had been very cagey about during the recent days. The problem now was that this fabulous present had mysteriously disappeared. Viggo offered his help and was sent to search for an object of the size of a shoe carton. Both of them eventually found several other things that had gone missing during their move to the big house, but the ominous present was and remained lost.
Orlando was close to tears at this moment. He assured that he clearly remembered the place he’d put the present after he had moved in, but it wasn’t there anymore. Viggo suggested that he could tell Miranda that his present – a collage of drawings of Miranda turning into Éowyn, arranged in a beautiful, self-made frame – was from them both. Orlando accepted only very hesitatingly.
“But I didn’t add anything to it, this isn’t right“, he had moaned.
“How about this: You give me some money for the materials, while I did the work, then it’s fair. And if you eventually find your present for Miranda you can still give it to her, and we could share the money for that one, too.”
This last suggestion had finally convinced Orlando. He’d nodded his consent and they could set off. At least they had managed to make it to the restaurant in time.
Viggo stirred on his chair uneasily. He should have put on a different pair of trousers, this one was extremely tight at a very delicate place.
“You liar”, Viggo thought with a smile, “these trousers aren’t the problem at all.”
The “problem” were rather the polaroids he’d taken of Orlando this morning. His passion to take photos of everything which and everybody who happened to appear in front of his lens was very well known. Luckily Orlando was one of the few people who actually enjoyed having their pictures taken. He’d even given his friend explicit permission to snapshoot him whenever he felt like it, no matter in which situation.
Viggo remembered a laughing Orlando who’d said: “Even when you catch me fishing for those awful contacts in my eyes the picture turns out great. I trust you completely. Do whatever you like, whenever you like. On one condition: I want to see the pictures after you’ve taken them.“ This last sentence the young man had added with a wink.
But Viggo wasn’t so sure if he wanted to show Orlando the pictures he’d taken of him this morning, before he’d woke up.
Since they were living in the huge house, which was for about one week, Orlando slept like a log and only woke up from Viggo’s pretty uncommon methods. Among other things, the Dane had found out that he could wake his friend by humming softly into his ear or blowing very gently on his eyelids. These subtle techniques worked much better than any steamroller tactics. Loud shouting or violent shaking didn’t affect Orlando at all. He would, with a low grumble, just roll over onto his other side and keep on sleeping.
Every time he’d awakened Orlando he had been thinking that he should take pictures of this peacefully sleeping and excitingly innocent looking young man, how he lay sprawled between his twisted and crumpled bedclothes. The tanned, flawless skin and the almost black hair gave a thrilling contrast to the light yellow walls and the white bed linen.
This morning he had put his wish of taking this picture into action. He should have known that it wasn’t such a good idea to look at those pictures before going to the party. Because now, images of Orlando haunted him. Orlando, who lolled in a bed which the sun shone upon, half exposed from his nightly rolling around in the mild New Zealand climate. A naked, hairless upper body; slim, long arms hugged the pillow; the beautiful, relaxed face seemed to beg for a kiss. From his hips downwards a white blanket covered other desirable parts of Orlando. Viggo had draped and adjusted the fabric until everything he wanted to capture with his camera was exposed. Without waking up Orlando he’d carefully pulled the blanket down far enough to uncover the small sun-tattoo on Orlando’s belly.
His gaze roamed over the light sheet to where it bulged alluringly over the unavoidable morning erection which probably every boy in Orlando’s age experienced. Viggo found this combination of innocent sleep and aroused readiness very tempting.
“Excuse me for a moment, I’ll be right back.” Viggo lightly put a hand on Orlando’s shoulder, trying to convey a little bit of confidence to the young man who obviously wasn’t in the best of moods. Then he headed for the isolation of the restrooms which were, fitting to the noble location, light-flooded and posh.
Viggo stepped into one of the stalls and locked the door. Hastily he freed his throbbing cock from the prison of his tight jeans. He looked down to the proof of his passionate sentiments. This was unbelievable, really. Shouldn’t a man of his age be more level-headed and composed? And not to be excited so quickly? Obviously that didn’t apply to him. He lately was as receptive to sensual impressions as he’d been in his most turbulent times. Well, in addition he hadn’t found the peace to take proper care of himself since Orlando had moved in with him...
Viggo loved his body and he liked to experiment with his most sensitive spots. He knew exactly how to give highly exquisite pleasure to himself, which resulted in the fact that he could also treat a beloved person with much mindfulness, sensibility and dexterity.
That there hadn’t been a “beloved person” for quite some time didn’t matter to him most of the times. He had himself, after all. He was the one who knew everything about his likings and preferences, better than anyone else. His momentary arousal wasn’t necessarily connected to Orlando only. The young man was his friend, and yes he found him attractive. So attractive that he now stood in these restrooms with a more than hard erection. But the main reason for this circumstance was that he simply didn’t have the opportunity to see to his needs during the recent days. No, Orlando wasn’t just a random hot guy he longed for. He appreciated the young man very much and was happy about his platonic affection. He didn’t want more. No matter how freethinking he was, Orlando was definitely too young for him. But he just couldn’t get the images of a half-naked Orlando lying on the bed out of his mind.
The location he enforcedly chose for his pleasure made him smile. He had never before wanked in public restrooms. But this was a case of emergency, wasn’t it? He’d had a very chaste week which didn’t seem to agree with him, and to hold out the whole party with a painfully hard and throbbing member was unnecessary torture.
His right hand firmly clasped around his twitching penis. With each up and down of his fist he stroked his thumb over the dripping eye of his erection. Viggo closed his eyes and concentrated only on the rubbing movements of his hand. It had to happen quickly, he didn’t want Orlando to sit there without him for too long and maybe drink even more.
Orlando! The images of his young friend appeared in front of his eyes. The hand moved dryly over his cock which was now extremely hard. Under his palm he could feel single veins swell. His hand really was too dry, but he didn’t want to let go of himself. He’d fallen into such a perfect rhythm of squeezing, rubbing and pulling that he couldn’t force himself to let go.
He raised his left hand which had rested lightly on his flat belly. His abdominal wall rose and fell faster and faster, simultaneously with his deeper breathing. To feel his growing lust like this was another kick he enjoyed.
But now he licked his palm, which was callous from wielding and excercising with swords, until he felt that it was slick enough. Viggo enveloped his throbbing member and stroked the appreciated moisture into the hot, velvety tender skin. His balls already tightened, an unmistakable sign that he was close to orgasm. Viggo opened his eyes just a crack. A quick glance and he found what he was looking for. He reached for the high-quality toilet paper and ripped a few layers off. And not one moment too early, for he finally reached his climax with the help of his hand’s forceful strokes. Pleasure washed over him in great waves. His semen, which welled out of the slit of his cock in strong surges, was carefully caught in the soft paper.
Viggo breathed out. That had been good. At least for the short moment he’d granted himself for his pleasure, and considering the ambience… Suddenly he thought with a smile how noisy Sean and Karl had done it in the restrooms of their local, and how quietly he’d come right now compared to them.
The soaked paper he threw in the toilet and flushed away. Then, wriggling his slim hips, he pulled up his trousers, and closed the zipper and the button over his slack member. Relieved, literally, he unlocked the door of the stall and stepped into the large, classy room to wash his hands at one of the basins. He knew Orlando’s sense of smell and how acute it was. And his young friend really didn’t need to know what exactly he’d done in the restrooms. While he dried his fingers his gaze fell on the mirror which was above the washstand. He winked at himself and then left the room.
When Viggo returned to his seat he immediately noticed the recent arrivals. Right next to a very tense Orlando now sat Karl Urban. Opposite to him, that means cater-cornered to Orlando, Sean had settled down. Great. Which idiot had thought up this seating arrangement?
Viggo sat down by Orlando’s other side. “Did you pick out something nice?” Viggo tried to distract his young friend from the other guests. Orlando shook his head in grim silence.
Without being asked, Karl barged in: “I don’t have much experience with seafood, can anyone recommend something?” The young New Zealander didn’t seem to sense the tension between himself and Orlando. On the contrary, he looked downright even-tempered and happy. Every now and then he threw a glance at Sean which, at least for Viggo, spoke volumes.
Before Viggo could get a word in, Orlando spoke out, stabbing his seating neighbour with his dark eyes: “If I was you I’d take the globefish. That’s something for the brave among us, you know. A globefish is highly poisonous if the cook makes a mistake with the preparation.” Orlando gave Karl a smile which demonstrated that he couldn’t care less if Karl would drop dead on the spot.
“I see. And what are you going to order, Bloom?” On Karl’s lips appeared a grin that reminded of a snarling wolf. His eyes seemed to turn from hazel to a rich and dark green.
“If you order the globefish I’ll take one, too.“ Orlando looked absolutely determined. No, he wouldn’t let this vain bloke intimidate him. This stupid sod who had the nerve to arrive late, with Sean in his coat-tails as if he’d picked him up at some street corner, and Sean didn’t even seem to care.
The two young men glared at one another. None of them wanted to lose the staring duel.
Sean and Viggo swapped worried gazes across the table. But Viggo knew Orlando’s bullhead too well. It would be useless to interfere and object here. He softly shook his head. Sean grinned wryly, seemingly thinking the same about Karl. He didn’t say anything, either.
“What may I serve you, gentlemen?” The waitress broke the tense silence, and both Orlando and Karl ordered the dangerous fish.
Viggo and Sean tried very hard to get a conversation going, and soon they were involved in a good-humoured talk with David, who sat right next to Sean and across from Orlando, and Liv, who was seated next to Viggo. After a while Karl told a very smart joke and Sean laughed so hard that his head was thrown back for a short moment. This was when Viggo noticed the little love bite just below Sean’s ear. Orlando sucked in a sharp breath almost at the same time. So he’d seen it, too, Viggo thought with growing unease.
However, the joke was just too funny and Viggo couldn’t suppress a chuckle. Which earned him a deeply hurt glance from Orlando.
Hopefully the dinner was over soon and they could switch over to the more informal part of the party. Viggo hadn’t felt this uncomfortable for a long time. And Miranda’s party was supposed to be a particularly beautiful event for the whole crew. There weren’t many opportunities for them to be together and have a good time. Viggo was determined to not let the tensions which were between Orlando and Karl ruin the whole evening.