Layover

Complete and utter bullocks. Not true. And I don’t own the fictional or real characters. I ain’t got warring pence to my name, so don’t sue. Shall we continue?

-Title: Layover
-Author: Sonja (limey_sugar@yahoo.co.uk)
-Pairing(s): Connor MacManus/Orlando Bloom (FPS/RPS x-over), and implied Connor/Murphy.
-Rating: NC-17.
-Warnings: Implied incest. Gay manseks. Foul language. You know, the good shite.
-Notes: The pub I am in reference to is not the pub from the film. So, um yeah. I didn’t have the patienc wri write a stuttering, nonsensical barman with Tourette’s. Fuck! Ass! Sorry.
_________
F
Fucking Boston.

Orlando had never been to Boston. He was only here now because he had no choice. Fucking aeroplanes and their fucking mechanical whatevers. He’d been on a flight to London- going home to spend the precious few days of his holiday with his mum- and the ‘plane had to land in Boston. The pilot wouldn’t get specific, but it had been a mechanical malfunction of some sort that was fucking up Orlando’s time off.

So here he was, in some run-down pub, drinking Guinness and trying not to think about the fact that he was here, in some rundown pub, drinking Guinness. The next available flight to London didn’t leave until the next day, which pissed Orlando off even more.

Orlando’d considered booking himself in at a posh hotel and living in the lap of luxury for the night, but decided he really did not want to be recognised and cornered by his fans. His fans. He was becoming quite the international star. Which was becoming quite the pain in the arse. So he found a cheap-looking hotel- well, motel really, he reckoned- and settled in. Then he headed for the pub on the corner across the street to piss the night away.
_____

He was on his third pint when he heard a voice to his left. An Irish voice. Suddenly, he didn’t feel so far away from home. It was close enough, anyway. The man belonging to the vowas was wearing a newly-bought black tee, worn jeans, and battered Doc Martens. Then there was the rosary around his neck. It made him look angelically sinful standing there, and Orlando couldn’t help but get a hard-on looking at him.

“’Ey, Colin,” the man said to the barman. “What’s a guy gotta do t’get a pint ‘round ‘ere?”

“Money, Connor. Y’give the barman s’money.”

“Fuckin’ comedian.” Connor handed a fiver over to the barman, and settled onto a barstool. Then he turned and looked at Orlando. “Never seen you here b’fore.”

“Flight got delayed, mate. Just on my way home.” Orlando said between draughts.

“To home, then.” Connor raised his pint. “Sláinte!”

“Sláinte,” Orlando repeated, then downed what was left in his glass. “Connor, was it?”

“Yeah. An’ you are . . . ?”

“Orlando.” Orlando had thought for a moment about giving Connor a false name, but it didn’t feel right to lie to him, even though he was a complete stranger. “Fancy another?”

“You buyin’?”

“Yeah, mate. Drink up.”
_____

Several rounds later, the two men were getting on like they’d known each other for years. They laughed and talked and carried on until last orders.

“Well,” Orlando said drunkenly, standing and stretching his legs. “I should be getting back to my hotel.” He laughed too loudly, and then added, “If you can call it that.”

“Oh, then you must be staying just over the road! What a coincidence,” Connor grinned. “That’s where I’m currently residin’. Me an’ m’twin.”

Twin. Despite his inebriated condition, Orlando’s hard-on was back. “Oi! Then let’s go!” And he threw his arm over Connor’s shoulder.
_____

When Orlando and Connor arrived at Connor’s room, they found it to be empty. And there was only one bed. Orlando’s mind was immediately filled with perverted thoughts, which were interrupted when Connor spoke.

“Murph must a’gone out. Looks like ‘s just us.” He walked over to the small table in one corner of the room threthrew down the door key. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“No, not at all. You got anything to drink?”

Connor laughed and pulled a half-empty bottle of whisky from behind the bed. “Aye, I do. Did y’expect any different?”

“From an Irish fucker like you? No, not really.”

“Just for that, ya don’ get ‘ny.” Connor opened the bottle, and drank most of its contents in one shot. A bit of it dribbled down his chin onto his throaOrlaOrlando was rapt.

“Any what?”

Connor stopped drinking and held the bottle to his lips. He looked at Orlando for a minute before responding. It was just long enough of a pause to make Orlando think he was in for a good beating. “Whisky,” Connor finally answered. “If y’think I’m depriving m’self of that arse a’yours, you’re mistaken.”

“Fuck,” Orlando breathed, and watched as Connor licked the whisky from his lips.

“I intend to.”
_____

Orlando was on his elbows and knees on the bed, his face pressed into the bedding. Connor was fucking him hard and fast, gripping Orlando’s hips hard enough to leave bruises. There hadn’t been lube, only a condom, so Orlando felt every bit of sweet friction as Connor thrust in and out- pulling nearly all the way out before driving back in again, deep.

When he could feel himself about to come, Connor reached around in front of Orlando to stroke his cock nearly as har he he was pounding him. Orlando came, his moans muffled by the bedclothes, nearly the exact moment Connor did.

Connor got up from the bed, disposed of the condom, and tossed a flimsy motel towel at Orlando. Orlando cleaned himself up, and made to get dressed and leave.

“No, man. Stay. Murph prob’ly won’t be back ‘til t’morrow, and I could use the comp’ny.”

Orlando nodded, and lay back down. He drifted off to the sound of Connor's whispered prayers.

~End.