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Jan. 27th, 2004 12:37 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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rugbytackleTitle: Watcher in the Water.
Series: None.
Chapter: 1/1
Rated: NC-17
Pairing: VM/SB
Disclaimer: RPS: Real Person Slash. Read it/Don’t read it. Make an adult decision.
Warning: There’s a woman in here, but it’s okay, she’s not doing anything . . . much.
Feedback: Nice, but not required.
Archive: No.
Overall Summary: Thinking of sinners; then there was Vi . . .
Chapter Summary: None
Author: Arden Elear
Email: rishalin@lycos.com
Live Journal: http://www.livejournal.com/users/arden_elear/
Oh yes, that was nice. Miranda let her head rest on the side of the pool, hands holding the rail so she didn’t sink, and just floated.
It was womb-like in here; so late that the ghastly overhead lights were off and the entire room was lit only by the safety bulbs around the walls.
Private, too. The pool closed at eleven each night but cast and crew could use it at any hour, thanks to an arrangement the production company had made with the hotel. And after a day like today it was very welcome. She could still hear the rain pounding on the roof above her head. Sounded like it hadn’t let up at all and she was so glad to finally be inside and out of it.
Misery and muck, that’s all today had been about, for all that they had been filming indoors. Still had to endure the cold blast every time the doors were opened and to somehow skip across the freezing carpark, avoiding the puddles, keeping to your feet, keeping your costume dry and trying to manhandle the umbrella that the fierce wind kept trying to abduct. She’d been on worse shoots but, right now, she’d be pushed to name one.
She wiggled her toes and kicked idly, enjoying the sensation of having her hair floating free behind her, waving like seaweed and tickling her skin where it touched.
Maybe the spa would be better? She considered it, but couldn’t be bothered moving, leaving her warm, floaty womb. Across the cold tiles and down the chilly corridor to the spa? Nah. Miranda was fine, right where she was.
Another week, girl, and then you’ll be done, be out of here. Back home; home comforts, home-cooked food, friends, relatives, significant other.
Still, she’d miss this. Miss the brilliant locations, the feeling of being involved in something . . . monumental, the camaraderie between the cast and crew into which she’d been folded the moment she arrived, like the finishing touch to an already perfect recipe.
All the eye candy!
She giggled when the thought struck.
Yes, well, who wouldn’t miss that!
She was a healthy, red-blooded Aussie girl and just because she was taken . . . Well, being on a diet didn’t mean you couldn’t look at food.
Banquet. She thought. Feast. Buffet. Smorgasbord.
Another giggle escaped her lips. Naughty, Miranda, she told herself. You shouldn’t be going around objectifying your castmates.
Her arms were becoming sore, protesting their rigidity, so she floated herself back into an upright position and turned around, folding her arms on the side of the pool and resting her chin on her hands. Her thoughts wandered, indulging in a little random appreciation.
Hobbits. Cute, raucous, irreverent hobbits. Billy’s cheeky face swam into her mind, eyes bright with impending mischief and Dom’s altogether more . . . adult brand of mischief, sneakily conducted with eyes half-closed and a devious smile. And butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-his-mouth Elijah, fiendish childe, perpetrator and unidentified ringleader. What a crew! What a tribe of wild boys! Leaving you torn between amusement, disbelief and pure rage and unable to decide which to pursue.
Lovely, delicious wicked boys!
Slowly, savoring and hoarding up the memories, Miranda ran through the lot of them. Elves. A multitude of beautiful, fey creatures, all cheekbones, angles and attitude. David, gorgeous, quiet David. With that bottom lip you just wanted to . . . chew on. Which she hadn’t done. But she was tempted to, just for fun.
The Riders of Rohan, her people. Bernard, another fiendish childe and Karl, dark and warm, that perfect olive skin that hordes of women would kill for and eyes you could drown in and never mind a bit.
And more complementary hues in Orlando. More olive and bronze and coffee and gold. Vexing and purposeful, childe and sinner, lovely boy and striking man both.
Smorgasbord, indeed. Lucky me! She was certainly treating herself tonight. Satisfying this, just to be a fan, to be a woman for a change instead of a colleague and to just . . . let rip!
Then there was Sean. The other Sean. One of the great presences on set. Impossible to ignore that sensually husky, accented voice, those broad shoulders and the barely hinted at power behind those impossibly colored eyes. Rough and smooth was the entirely delectable Sean. And what girl didn’t like a bit of rough? All that passion and power and culture and that dirty, dirty smile. Another sinner.
Thinking of sinners; then there was Vi . . .
Miranda’s reflections were interrupted by muted, thumping sounds coming down the corridor from the spa. She turned just as the door at the other end of the pool opened, light from the corridor momentarily spilling across the water before it closed again, returning the room to darkness.
Two bodies tumbled out through the opening, locked together in some kind of arms-around-the-shoulders male bonding thing. Sean and Viggo.
Miranda opened her mouth to greet them, closing it again with a snap when she belatedly realized that this was no idle wrestling match.
One of Sean’s arms was locked around Viggo’s shoulders, his mouth on his throat, the other hand pressed into the small of his back. Viggo was similarly arranged and occupied, the two of them tearing at each other, feeding, low growls coming from their throats. Ferocious. Feral. Tearing at their towels, throwing them down and then dropping to their knees on top of them in an organized dance of frenzied lust.
Miranda’s breath caught in her throat and she was frozen in place, her brain whirling frantically. What to do? Did she speak? Break this up and probably embarrass them all? She couldn’t.
The light coming through the slatted door cast horizontal shadows across the twined bodies, leeching out the flesh tones and segmenting their naked bodies with broad slashes of black and gold.
Sean bent his head and his mouth traveled across Viggo’s chest, vanishing into shadow, only to reappear fastened hard onto a taut nipple, biting.
His hands tore strips of shade off Viggo’s ribs as he roughly hauled him closer, Viggo’s thighs spreading as he slid onto Sean’s lap, head thrown back, his eyes closed, mouth open, fighting for breath.
His hands were locked around Sean’s neck and his hair was plastered to his nape, damp and clinging.
Miranda was transfixed; her eyes wide and her heart beating so frantically she expected to see the water rippling around her. Three parts terror, one part fascination and she was spellbound, unable, unwilling to move.
Sean’s hand was encased in the shadow that lay between their bodies, she could see his wrist moving, stroking, and hear their harsh breathing combining into a sensual wind. Moans and groans and guttural commands, the shifting of skin against skin and the soft rasp of the towels beneath them, sliding across the tiles. An arm wrapped about Viggo’s waist and Sean pushed him back, following him down, their mouths locked together.
Viggo twisted, rolled and groaned once as he was pierced. Thrusts and grunts and coarse endearments bounced off the stucco walls, echoing across the placid water.
Backlit and shadowed and Miranda’s sight had never been clearer, outlines never so sharp. The contour of Viggo’s ass, the silhouette of each finger as it clawed at the cloth, the shape of Sean’s cock as it rose and descended, a fall of sweaty fringe, open-mouthed, frantic for air.
Propelled by lust, he drove forward and Viggo arched back and met him thrust for thrust, tiny beads of perspiration flung outward by their exertions, spinning through the golden light like miniature rainbows.
He arched again, spine curved and straining and Sean slipped a hand beneath him.
Viggo growled, low and dangerous and then he cried out, muscles trembling at the effort, head flung back, his expression rapturous.
Unstoppable, driven, Sean lifted him, rose behind him on his knees and plunged harder and deeper, blindly seeking release. Conquering and predatory and Viggo matching him push for shove until Sean’s spine curved too and he collapsed along the line of Viggo’s spine, stroking his shaking hands across Viggo’s damp stomach.
Presence of mind enough to lower her head below the level of the poolside, despite the pounding of blood through her veins and the cotton-woolliness of a dry mouth. Listening to them murmur and rise, the drag of terry toweling across the floor and the final silence that came with the soft thud as the door closed.
Miranda floated, torn between embarrassment and . . . what? Not arousal. Too immediate a happening for that. Too close.
With distance, time, it would be replayed and enjoyed in her private little theatre of carnality, but not yet. For the moment, however, she still felt quite . . . objective.
An unseen party to the clandestine. And . . .
God! How hot was that! She giggled.
The favourite fantasy of a good portion of the women on this planet had just come true right under her nose! Two hot guys going at it. Two hunky, famous guys! Her own private performance. Not smutty, not pornographic, just . . . wow.
The giggles bubbled up in her throat and she was smiling as she climbed the ladder and retrieved her towel and bag. Smiling still as she shrugged on her robe, squeezed the moisture out of her hair and slipped out into the hall to the lifts.
Someone walked past, so she ducked her head and covered her mouth with a hand as she got on the lift and punched the button, her head still full of visions. She didn’t want anyone asking about the silly grin on her face.
Managing to get it under control as the lift shuddered to a halt on the sixth floor, she waited for the doors to open and stepped out.
As the lift door closed behind her, she heard a soft, familiar voice.
“Nice swim?”
Miranda swung around just in time to see Sean and Viggo grinning at her as the doors closed.
Fin.
Series: None.
Chapter: 1/1
Rated: NC-17
Pairing: VM/SB
Disclaimer: RPS: Real Person Slash. Read it/Don’t read it. Make an adult decision.
Warning: There’s a woman in here, but it’s okay, she’s not doing anything . . . much.
Feedback: Nice, but not required.
Archive: No.
Overall Summary: Thinking of sinners; then there was Vi . . .
Chapter Summary: None
Author: Arden Elear
Email: rishalin@lycos.com
Live Journal: http://www.livejournal.com/users/arden_elear/
Oh yes, that was nice. Miranda let her head rest on the side of the pool, hands holding the rail so she didn’t sink, and just floated.
It was womb-like in here; so late that the ghastly overhead lights were off and the entire room was lit only by the safety bulbs around the walls.
Private, too. The pool closed at eleven each night but cast and crew could use it at any hour, thanks to an arrangement the production company had made with the hotel. And after a day like today it was very welcome. She could still hear the rain pounding on the roof above her head. Sounded like it hadn’t let up at all and she was so glad to finally be inside and out of it.
Misery and muck, that’s all today had been about, for all that they had been filming indoors. Still had to endure the cold blast every time the doors were opened and to somehow skip across the freezing carpark, avoiding the puddles, keeping to your feet, keeping your costume dry and trying to manhandle the umbrella that the fierce wind kept trying to abduct. She’d been on worse shoots but, right now, she’d be pushed to name one.
She wiggled her toes and kicked idly, enjoying the sensation of having her hair floating free behind her, waving like seaweed and tickling her skin where it touched.
Maybe the spa would be better? She considered it, but couldn’t be bothered moving, leaving her warm, floaty womb. Across the cold tiles and down the chilly corridor to the spa? Nah. Miranda was fine, right where she was.
Another week, girl, and then you’ll be done, be out of here. Back home; home comforts, home-cooked food, friends, relatives, significant other.
Still, she’d miss this. Miss the brilliant locations, the feeling of being involved in something . . . monumental, the camaraderie between the cast and crew into which she’d been folded the moment she arrived, like the finishing touch to an already perfect recipe.
All the eye candy!
She giggled when the thought struck.
Yes, well, who wouldn’t miss that!
She was a healthy, red-blooded Aussie girl and just because she was taken . . . Well, being on a diet didn’t mean you couldn’t look at food.
Banquet. She thought. Feast. Buffet. Smorgasbord.
Another giggle escaped her lips. Naughty, Miranda, she told herself. You shouldn’t be going around objectifying your castmates.
Her arms were becoming sore, protesting their rigidity, so she floated herself back into an upright position and turned around, folding her arms on the side of the pool and resting her chin on her hands. Her thoughts wandered, indulging in a little random appreciation.
Hobbits. Cute, raucous, irreverent hobbits. Billy’s cheeky face swam into her mind, eyes bright with impending mischief and Dom’s altogether more . . . adult brand of mischief, sneakily conducted with eyes half-closed and a devious smile. And butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-his-mouth Elijah, fiendish childe, perpetrator and unidentified ringleader. What a crew! What a tribe of wild boys! Leaving you torn between amusement, disbelief and pure rage and unable to decide which to pursue.
Lovely, delicious wicked boys!
Slowly, savoring and hoarding up the memories, Miranda ran through the lot of them. Elves. A multitude of beautiful, fey creatures, all cheekbones, angles and attitude. David, gorgeous, quiet David. With that bottom lip you just wanted to . . . chew on. Which she hadn’t done. But she was tempted to, just for fun.
The Riders of Rohan, her people. Bernard, another fiendish childe and Karl, dark and warm, that perfect olive skin that hordes of women would kill for and eyes you could drown in and never mind a bit.
And more complementary hues in Orlando. More olive and bronze and coffee and gold. Vexing and purposeful, childe and sinner, lovely boy and striking man both.
Smorgasbord, indeed. Lucky me! She was certainly treating herself tonight. Satisfying this, just to be a fan, to be a woman for a change instead of a colleague and to just . . . let rip!
Then there was Sean. The other Sean. One of the great presences on set. Impossible to ignore that sensually husky, accented voice, those broad shoulders and the barely hinted at power behind those impossibly colored eyes. Rough and smooth was the entirely delectable Sean. And what girl didn’t like a bit of rough? All that passion and power and culture and that dirty, dirty smile. Another sinner.
Thinking of sinners; then there was Vi . . .
Miranda’s reflections were interrupted by muted, thumping sounds coming down the corridor from the spa. She turned just as the door at the other end of the pool opened, light from the corridor momentarily spilling across the water before it closed again, returning the room to darkness.
Two bodies tumbled out through the opening, locked together in some kind of arms-around-the-shoulders male bonding thing. Sean and Viggo.
Miranda opened her mouth to greet them, closing it again with a snap when she belatedly realized that this was no idle wrestling match.
One of Sean’s arms was locked around Viggo’s shoulders, his mouth on his throat, the other hand pressed into the small of his back. Viggo was similarly arranged and occupied, the two of them tearing at each other, feeding, low growls coming from their throats. Ferocious. Feral. Tearing at their towels, throwing them down and then dropping to their knees on top of them in an organized dance of frenzied lust.
Miranda’s breath caught in her throat and she was frozen in place, her brain whirling frantically. What to do? Did she speak? Break this up and probably embarrass them all? She couldn’t.
The light coming through the slatted door cast horizontal shadows across the twined bodies, leeching out the flesh tones and segmenting their naked bodies with broad slashes of black and gold.
Sean bent his head and his mouth traveled across Viggo’s chest, vanishing into shadow, only to reappear fastened hard onto a taut nipple, biting.
His hands tore strips of shade off Viggo’s ribs as he roughly hauled him closer, Viggo’s thighs spreading as he slid onto Sean’s lap, head thrown back, his eyes closed, mouth open, fighting for breath.
His hands were locked around Sean’s neck and his hair was plastered to his nape, damp and clinging.
Miranda was transfixed; her eyes wide and her heart beating so frantically she expected to see the water rippling around her. Three parts terror, one part fascination and she was spellbound, unable, unwilling to move.
Sean’s hand was encased in the shadow that lay between their bodies, she could see his wrist moving, stroking, and hear their harsh breathing combining into a sensual wind. Moans and groans and guttural commands, the shifting of skin against skin and the soft rasp of the towels beneath them, sliding across the tiles. An arm wrapped about Viggo’s waist and Sean pushed him back, following him down, their mouths locked together.
Viggo twisted, rolled and groaned once as he was pierced. Thrusts and grunts and coarse endearments bounced off the stucco walls, echoing across the placid water.
Backlit and shadowed and Miranda’s sight had never been clearer, outlines never so sharp. The contour of Viggo’s ass, the silhouette of each finger as it clawed at the cloth, the shape of Sean’s cock as it rose and descended, a fall of sweaty fringe, open-mouthed, frantic for air.
Propelled by lust, he drove forward and Viggo arched back and met him thrust for thrust, tiny beads of perspiration flung outward by their exertions, spinning through the golden light like miniature rainbows.
He arched again, spine curved and straining and Sean slipped a hand beneath him.
Viggo growled, low and dangerous and then he cried out, muscles trembling at the effort, head flung back, his expression rapturous.
Unstoppable, driven, Sean lifted him, rose behind him on his knees and plunged harder and deeper, blindly seeking release. Conquering and predatory and Viggo matching him push for shove until Sean’s spine curved too and he collapsed along the line of Viggo’s spine, stroking his shaking hands across Viggo’s damp stomach.
Presence of mind enough to lower her head below the level of the poolside, despite the pounding of blood through her veins and the cotton-woolliness of a dry mouth. Listening to them murmur and rise, the drag of terry toweling across the floor and the final silence that came with the soft thud as the door closed.
Miranda floated, torn between embarrassment and . . . what? Not arousal. Too immediate a happening for that. Too close.
With distance, time, it would be replayed and enjoyed in her private little theatre of carnality, but not yet. For the moment, however, she still felt quite . . . objective.
An unseen party to the clandestine. And . . .
God! How hot was that! She giggled.
The favourite fantasy of a good portion of the women on this planet had just come true right under her nose! Two hot guys going at it. Two hunky, famous guys! Her own private performance. Not smutty, not pornographic, just . . . wow.
The giggles bubbled up in her throat and she was smiling as she climbed the ladder and retrieved her towel and bag. Smiling still as she shrugged on her robe, squeezed the moisture out of her hair and slipped out into the hall to the lifts.
Someone walked past, so she ducked her head and covered her mouth with a hand as she got on the lift and punched the button, her head still full of visions. She didn’t want anyone asking about the silly grin on her face.
Managing to get it under control as the lift shuddered to a halt on the sixth floor, she waited for the doors to open and stepped out.
As the lift door closed behind her, she heard a soft, familiar voice.
“Nice swim?”
Miranda swung around just in time to see Sean and Viggo grinning at her as the doors closed.
Fin.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-01-26 02:46 pm (UTC)*thud*
I never thought I'd be jealous of Miranda... but whoa, am I. Lucky girl! A ringside seat (okay, poolside), even!
And the last two lines... *giggles* Caught! Those two are *so* devious... bet they set it all up, huh? Exhibitionists!
Lovely and hot and oh lord, the description.... *thud* again.
~Kris
no subject
Date: 2004-01-26 03:00 pm (UTC)I didn't intend that they knew she was there, I rather thought they'd guessed because of the bikini, the robe and the wet hair, but, come to think of it (my fictional Sean and Viggo, that is) I wouldn't put it past 'em! *g*
no subject
Date: 2004-01-26 05:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-26 06:54 pm (UTC)That last bit...oh how funny!
no subject
Date: 2004-01-26 09:28 pm (UTC)Gorgeous
and I still have to comment on the previous two *wails*
no subject
Date: 2004-01-27 02:18 am (UTC)Steam billowed from my ears reading this. Very hot, erotic, and the ending was just. Guh.
BadHot boys. >)no subject
Date: 2004-01-28 02:27 am (UTC)And aren't they just cute and sneaky naughty boys. I'm still giggling over the end. I love unwitting voyeurism - it's all about the reaction.
Lovely descriptions of sight and clarity and shadow - nice contrasts.