Fic: Cartoon Heroes

[teh-kimeye.livejournal.com]

Title: Cartoon Heroes
Author: Uhm, me?
Beta: Mein Hottehüe, Momo
Summary: Orlando has a movement problem
Warnings: The crack in this fic is bigger than the one in my arse.
Disclaimer: If this was true, there's be a video on Youtube already!



Orlando looked at the hi-fi system with something akin to confused disgust.

That CD was not his…was it?

No, surely it was a remnant of his recently ended “relationship” with the blonde twiglet. That girl was gayer than he was – if such a thing could be possible.

But how had it gotten there?

…The party. The celebration party that Kate had thrown for them to celebrate Orlando’s new freedom to possibly grope Viggo in public. There, of course, had been alcohol…and dancing…and groping…and Orlando couldn’t remember the rest, but he’d woken up next to Viggo and with a sore arse, so he presumed the night had proceeded to its inevitable satisfying conclusion (with Viggo, obviously) and had carried on with life.

This song was getting on Orlando’s tits. There was only one thing for it – he’d have to turn the stereo off.

So…why was he dancing?

No, seriously. He couldn’t stop.

At all.

This was getting scary – it seemed that he was also making up a dance. His body was moving of its own volition in a manner that would have had even Michael Flatley looking on in fantastic envy. Orlando, however, just wanted to cry. Why was this damn song so catchy and why couldn’t he stop moving to the beat?

The final straw came when he started to do ‘The Robot’.

“VIGGO! HELP!” he shouted, unable to stop. By the time his older lover came into the room, Orlando was shimmying across the carpet of the living room with more style than any male member of a pop band and with twice as much cool factor as the lead singer of Tokio Hotel.

Viggo stared, dumbfounded. After a few seconds of looking like a frightened deer, he burst out laughing.

“You’re…you’re…HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

As was custom when Orlando was making a memorable arse of himself (whether in private or in public), the camera came out and, after a million flashes of doom, Viggo came over to Orlando and held him still.

“Angel, why…?” Viggo looked down at his lover with an expression of adoration, confusion…and a bit of fear.

“I couldn’t stop!” Orlando enthused. “It was so catchy! It was like the Jenny Rom incident all over again!”

Viggo stifled a chuckle at the memory of that one; it hadn’t ended prettily. Orlando still had the emotional scars; it was rather embarrassing to be thrown out of an arcade at the age of 27, especially when you’ve overused the Dance Dance Revolution game to the point that smoke was coming from the back of it. It was no small miracle that Robin had managed to keep the story out of the papers. Orlando’s punishment had been the premiere for Beyond the Sea, but we all know how he got his revenge there.

“Stop laughing at me!” Orlando whimpered. “I have a problem!”

“Yes, muffin pie, you do,” Viggo said. “It’s quite obvious that I have, once again, been neglecting my duties as your resident stud muffin.”

Immediately, Orlando’s expression changed from upset puppy to sex kitten.

“Care to do something about that, you sex god, you?” Orlando purred. “Come on, you Northern savage; beat me with Odin’s hammer!”

“…That was, quite possibly, the worst request for sex I have ever heard.” Viggo snorted. “But that’s not to say it didn’t work.”

Orlando smirked, but then apprehension crept into his perfect facial features (and fantastic new haircut).

“…I don’t have to wear the costume again, do I?” he mewled.

Viggo tried to stop himself from laughing. Orlando had never quite grasped the concept that that particular costume had been a joke present.

“No, darling, you don’t,” he replied indulgently. “Just go get naked and wait for me, yeah?”

Orlando squealed happily and went on his merry way to the bedroom.

Viggo followed quickly behind.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Preparation, as is normal in these situations, was rushed. Fingers lubed, Viggo inserted two into his boyfriend more out of kindness than necessity; whilst Orlando was used to taking Viggo’s massive monster cock in any position you can name, he was not liable to do so without a lot of slickness.

Manboy stretched, Viggo pushed into the well-lubed passage and remained still until he received “The Signal” to move. “The Signal” was Orlando whining and trying to squirm despite being held down by his lover’s oh-so-manly weight. At this sign, Viggo chuckled and began to thrust. However, seeing as he felt like being a bitch today, he deliberately avoided Orlando’s prostate.

For obvious reasons, this did not go unnoticed by Orlando.

“Viggoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!” he whined.

“Yes, cupcake?” Viggo chuckled.

Orlando didn’t answer verbally; he merely tried, in vain, to move to a better position. When that failed, he whimpered. When Viggo angled a single thrust to hit his lover’s special spot, Orlando whimpered even louder. When this stimulation did not continue, Orlando nearly tantrumed.

“Viggo…please…!”

As a concession, Viggo leant on one arm and started to massage his boyfriend’s not-too-shabbily-sized erection (and with which, Viggo knew, he’d probably be pounded with later as a punishment).

“VIGGO!” Orlando tantrumed. “You know that’s not enough! Stop arsing around!”

Viggo merely smirked and continued toward his own fruition, moaning loudly (and overdramatically, if this author may say so herself) as he came and pulled out of Orlando’s mangina.

It was at this point that Orlando was considering shacking up with Beanie; his mind was changed, however, by the fact that Viggo had just deliciously inhaled his cock and begun sucking like that time when Orlando was 13 and had gotten his hands on the hoover…

As a consequence, it was not long until Orlando was singing to the ceiling as he pumped his hips and came down Viggo’s throat.

Viggo crawled up his boyfriend’s body, placing loving kisses wherever he could reach before settling next to the younger man and pulling his little cupcake into his arms for a post-coital cuddle and a whispered promise.

“I promise you’ll never have to dance to Aqua again, Orlando,” Viggo vowed, kissing his lover’s temple.

“What about Lordi?” Orlando asked around a yawn.

“Lordi I can deal with,” Viggo smiled. “Lordi don’t make me want to saw off my own ears out with poultry shears.”

“Viggo, we don’t have poultry shears,” Orlando mumbled, more asleep than awake.

Viggo chuckled, planted a kiss on Orlando’s lips and, soon after, followed his lover into slumber.