Posted: November 2004
Title: Exchange
Author: Haleth Haladin
Type: RPS
Characters: Urban/Bloom
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Obsession. Kink. Reciprocity. Really explicit rimming. (Like that'll scare anyone away…)
Disclaimer: This didn't happen. I don't say it did. I would like to watch, but that's impossible, since it's 100% fiction.
Dedication: To Miranda.
Note: Take one Haleth obsession, add one Miranda obsession. Blend until smooth. Add a dash of not-so-very-vanilla extract. Let sit until fit to burst.
Reason: Because every relationship requires a degree of give-and-take. It may seem lop-sided at times, but it all evens out in the end.

*****

Part 1 – Acting Exercise

Karl's head rolls from one side to the other and back again. He's given up on controlling it. He's far too close to worry about how it might look. And way too gone to care about that low, helpless moan that keeps escaping from his lips.

His cock is engulfed – completely buried in Orlando's mouth. And Orlando's throat. Because there is far too much of Karl to fit entirely in any mouth, even Orlando's. So, while lips squeeze the base of his cock and throat muscles massage the head, Karl can only lie back and hope his body will remember how to breathe all on its own, because he's fucked if he can.

There are two fingers up his arse, twisting and curling inside him, pushing him closer and closer. It's all over when the humming starts. Rumbling, vibrating humming.

He makes the moan again and feels his orgasm spread from the hot central point in his gut out in all directions at once. He feels his whole body spasm. Then it all flows back to his cock, and the release of his come is nothing short of cataclysmic.

A layer of sweat glues the back of his calves to Orlando's back. The fingers twist one more time, and he realizes that Orlando's actually had them crossed inside him, and that it was the bend of the first joint of the upper finger that had been causing that incredible jolting, electric sensation that made him go weak all over. Now unbent, uncrossed, the fingers slide out, slick with lube. His arsehole tries to close around them, hold them inside with lingering orgasmic contractions, but they leave him. They leave him empty.

Orlando is sitting on his heels, knees resting beside the outsides of Karl's hips. He lowers Karl's legs so they drape limply over Orlando's spread thighs. He's looking down at Karl's body, at his heaving chest, his slack mouth, his glazed eyes.

Orlando looks relaxed. Almost casual.

Except for his cock. His cock is not relaxed. It's hard. It's more than hard. It's sticking up ramrod straight, but beyond straight and beyond stiff, which are the result of the cock being filled with blood; Orlando's cock appears to be vibrating. That would be the result of Orlando's cock being so full it can't get any fuller, but his body is sending more blood to it regardless.

Yet, his expression remains neutral.

Oh, fuck, Karl thinks. He's doing one of his fucking acting exercises.

He dreads the voice. Most of the acting exercises involve the voice. It's all about control. If you can train your voice to behave in totally unexpected ways, then you will excel at making it behave in exactly the appropriate manner, on demand. That's the theory.

So, Orlando does his fucking acting exercises when Karl least expects them. Except now, Karl has grown to expect it. He's just not sure of what to expect. He only knows that whatever Orlando is planning, whatever it is that will come out of his mouth, the mouth that just devoured Karl's cock and sucked the come out of him – something Karl knows that Orlando is counting on him to focus on at this very moment – he knows that whatever way Orlando chooses to speak is going to be completely devastating.

And, sure enough, when Orlando speaks it is in a voice so light and casual, a tone so smooth and cheerful, so utterly unlike the husky murmur or throaty rasp one would logically expect in such a situation, Karl is.

Devastated.

"You know," Orlando says glibly, "if you just spread your legs a little more, I could ram my cock straight up your arse without even needing to guide it with my hands."

Karl spreads his legs.

---

Part 2 – New Grammar

There would have to be two kinds of nouns. One would be the usual regular person, place or thing type noun. Whether concrete or abstract, there would be that first kind of noun. A word denoting something that exists, whether you can see it or not. Something that can be named.

The second kind of noun would not be something that exists in mind or body. It would be for something that potentially exists, or even is in the process of coming into being, but cannot be described by any existing word. A possibility with potentiality. Indescribable.

This new kind of noun would probably be spelled exactly the same way as a regular noun, and pronounced the same way as well. But it would be written differently, somehow, to signify that extra layer of meaning. It could be a concrete noun like tongue or hand or cock. It could be an abstract noun like lust or anticipation or desire. It could be a noun that is really an action, like kiss or orgasm or response. But it would hold within it so much more. The promise of ecstasy. Rapture beyond compare. Fulfilment.

Karl tries a variety of symbols – the asterisk, the parenthesis, the tilde – to set these special nouns apart. He tries writing the special nouns upside-down, backwards, vertically and in different colours, in attempts to make them stand out.

But it's no good. He cannot describe, on paper, with words alone, what Orlando makes him feel. It is futile.

It's downright ridiculous, that's what it is; silly to invent a new grammar just to describe a man.

But then Orlando walks in and smiles at him.

Hell, yes – new grammar, new syntax, new punctuation, new language. New everything. Nothing is adequate to describe how Karl feels about this man.

Orlando flops on the couch and asks what Karl is writing.

Karl's hand contracts, crumples the paper. It won't do, his new grammar; it's not enough.

Maybe if he could teach his cock to speak.

He walks over to the couch, kicks Orlando's knees apart, kneels on the edge of the cushion between them, leans forward. Breathes into Orlando's ear.

"Never mind. It doesn't work on the page."

Orlando sucks in a deep breath. "So, it'll have to be a performance piece then, yeah?"

Karl nods.

---

Part 3 – Not the Knees!

A flat, hot, wet tongue trails across the back of Karl's left knee. This is nothing new. It's been going on for… he looks to the right at the digital clock… thirteen minutes.

He's amazed he can still do the math.

The delicate scraping of teeth over skin makes his whole body shiver.

Lips form an ‘o' and start to suck, gently at first, then hard enough to mark. While the lips apply suction, the tongue flicks out over the tendon, drawn tight like a string, strumming it.

Karl wishes the sucking would stop. It's too much. It makes his cock hurt.

He's powerless. He has to give in. He has no choice. He has to let Orlando make love to the backs of his knees.

The scarf wound around both wrists is firmly attached to a hook in the headboard with a carabiner. The rope wrapped around his ankles ties them together, so they are separated by only a square of folded silk carefully positioned to keep them from knocking. Orlando's forearm keeps him from bending his knees, from denying Orlando access to his most sensitive skin.

It was his fifth or sixth go at sex when Karl discovered how sensitive he is behind his knees. Until then, he'd believed himself merely ticklish. He's grown to view it as a weak spot, a weakness, a vulnerability. So, he's tended to keep it secret.

Orlando discovered it the very first time they made love. He didn't exploit it, at first. He loved it.

But Karl kept trying to protect himself. And it bothered Orlando that Karl didn't trust him.

Orlando moves his mouth to the other knee and begins to lap at it. Noisily. Sloppily. He brings his hand to the other knee and strokes the warm, wet spot rhythmically.

This is a test. Trust. Honour. Something.

Karl frantically thrusts his hips into the mattress. His cock is so close to bursting. The scarf tugs at his wrists. The pressure from Orlando's thumb increases. Wet slurps bathe him. A high-pitched whine comes from somewhere inside Karl. And then his cock erupts, between his belly and the towel Orlando insisted on placing between Karl and the mattress.

Karl bites down on the t-shirt Orlando stuffed in his mouth. He'd like to scream, so he's thankful for the t-shirt. It allows him to retain a shred of dignity.

Orlando glides up Karl's body, stretches out over him, with his hard cock nestled between the cheeks of Karl's arse. He pulls the t-shirt out of Karl's mouth, flips the carabiner open to release Karl from the headboard, and licks the upper curve of his ear.

"You see," he purrs, "I told you that you could come from just that."

Karl whimpers.

---

Part 4 – Too Much

Orlando's knees are practically beside his ears. That's how far he's bent in two. His chin rests between his kneecaps and his forehead rests on the mattress. It's the most comfortable position, what with his wrists being tied to his ankles the way they are.

And Karl loves him like this. Oh, fuck, he loves him. Spread open. Arse stretched, skin smooth, arsehole exposed. He's got such a beautiful arsehole, too.

Karl can't see it right now, though. He cannot look at what he is licking. He could look at it, if he were to give it a broad swipe with his tongue and then pull back to watch the little puckers of skin contract and quiver under a coating of saliva. That's what he was doing a few minutes ago. But he's doing something different now.

Now he's making his tongue as stiff as he can and he's poking it inside Orlando, wriggling it inside as far as he can. He can feel the little folds of skin under his lips, feel them relax and tighten as Orlando reacts to the invasion of tongue in his arse.

"Karl, please, oh, fuck."

The pleading tone is truly lovely.

"Karl, ahh, more."

The lack of control in Orlando's voice, the way the pitch veers wildly, is even lovelier.

Karl stops.

"No!"

"So tell me what you want."

"I want you to fuck me!"

Karl goes back to licking, but without penetration. He runs the tip of his tongue in fast, tight circles.

"Aw, Karl, fuck! No!"

Karl stops again.

"No! Don't stop!"

Karl presses his lips to Orlando's arsehole. He kisses him tenderly.

Orlando moans.

"Tell me, then," Karl growls. "Tell me what you need."

"You," Orlando gasps.

That's right, Karl thinks. Me. He resumes his fucking of Orlando's arse with his tongue.

Orlando's fingers clench and unclench. He shudders and groans. He manages to wriggle his arse, forcing Karl's tongue a millimetre or so deeper. But that's all.

"Karl…" Orlando's voice breaks. He takes in a sharp breath, and it breaks as well. He let's the air out in a jagged rush. That's not all that escapes him.

Tears. He's sobbing, gasping and crying. Karl reaches up to feel Orlando's wet cheek, the moisture spreading on the sheet. He stops licking and kneels up, touching the head of his cock to the wet, tight hole.

"Karl," Orlando sobs. Brokenly. "Too much, too much…"

Karl grabs his cock and rubs it up and down the smooth bulge of Orlando's perineum. Orlando shakes in response, cries without words, just sounds. Noises.

It's so fucking beautiful, Karl can't help it. He comes. He gives his cock a half dozen rough strokes and then he comes, watching, fascinated, as his seed spurts out over Orlando's tight arse, drips down over perfect curves, smears across his arsehole, down to his balls, where a glob of it hangs suspended by the hairs its glued together.

Karl doesn't count how many seconds he simply looks. He looks until Orlando stops crying. Then he leans down and licks at the cooling skin, licks up the sticky come, tasting himself.

"Karl, Karl, Karl, Karl, Karl."

Orlando is whispering.

Karl's tongue curls around the suspended come, then swirls over Orlando's tight balls. He laps at the tender insides of thighs. He licks taut skin and the quivering hole. Karl gathers all the come he can and purses his lips, pulls Orlando open and spits it into his arsehole.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck." The timbre has risen dramatically.

Karl pulls himself up over Orlando's body and is not at all surprised that he is still hard enough to get inside. Or maybe he's hard again. He's also not surprised at how easily his cock slides into Orlando's arse. He was licking for a good half-hour. Licking, tongue-fucking, lapping, kissing…

"Karl."

He thrusts in.

"Fuck."

He pulls out.

"Karl, fuck. Karl, fuck. Karl, fuck."

Karl reaches down and unties Orlando's wrists. Orlando doesn't respond immediately, but after a few more "Karl, fuck"s he moves with lightning speed. He grabs Karl's wrists and plants them on the bed so they'll be under Orlando's shoulders when he rises onto his hands and knees. Karl spreads his hands open on the sheet. It's damp with Orlando's tears. He slams into Orlando's arse harder.

Jesus, it's so perfect it hurts.

"Now. Tell me."

"I want…"

"No. What you need."

Orlando stiffens under him. The clenching of muscles around Karl's cock is excruciating. Too much.

"You," Orlando is able to gasp the split second before he comes.

They fall to the bed as one.

THE END

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