Metallic
The sky is pressing down on them. It's just that bit too warm (shirts are not a option, shorts are barely tolerated) and the air is heavy on Dom and Orlando's skin as they laze, unwilling to do anything except breathe, in Dom's garden, the sun hazy through the clouds.
Orlando shifts, peeling his almost unresponsive body off the grass in an attempt to follow the breeze provided by the ancient fan on the porch. He gets less than a foot away from his original place and gives up, flopping to the ground with a pathetic whimper.
"It's hot," he whines. It's just about all Dom can do to nod, the humidity sapsucking the will to live straight out of him.
"Yeah."
They lie there in silence for a while. Dom notices that even the birds are strangely quiet. The whole place feels like it's waiting for something and he wishes it would hurry up and happen, get it over with so he can stop feeling like someone's dishtowel; wrung out and left to dry. He barely manages to lift one arm and flop it across his face before the crushing heaviness overwhelms him.
Orlando rolls over and sprawls stomach-down on the grass. Dom can see that Orlando's back is covered with bits of grass and he can feel the dull itch on his own skin, reminding him that the pair of them have been lying here now for a good few hours. Dom peers at the sky from under his arm, at the greyish yellow clouds and sighs loudly. "Maybe it'll rain. That would be nice."
All he gets out or Orlando is a muffled "Mmm" and what sounds suspiciously like a snore. So he shrugs and closes his eyes too.
The rain is what wakes Dom up; heavy drops thudding slowly onto his mostly bare body. The sky is dark. Threatening ominous grey, the clouds hanging heavy in the still silence of the air.
Then the skies open and the occasional heavy drop becomes millions. A sheet. Orlando squawks in sleep-shock and they struggle upright, blinking as the rain runs down over their faces and slides into their eyes. Orlando whoops, tilting his face up to the rain like a water-starved flower and stretching his arms out to the side as he lets the coolness of the rain sink into his humidity-parched skin.
Dom can't take his eyes off him.
The thunder and lightning start soon afterwards, bright bolts arcing through the sky. They leave a metallic taste in the back of Dom's mouth. The thunder follows behind the bolts and when Orlando throws his arm over Dom's shoulder and laughs by his ear, kissing him seems like the right thing to do.
Orlando's mouth tastes equally metallic and he's rain-slick against Dom's skin. For a moment there's nothing but Orlando, kissing Orlando, his skin and then there's another crack of thunder, in what feels like the air right above their heads and they pull apart. Up close, Dom can see how the rain makes Orlando's eyelashes clump together, giving his eyes a look of innocence that Dom knows is false.
Orlando's lips move and Dom has to concentrate on what he's saying, not the feeling of his breath on Dom's lips. It's hard but he manages to catch "move this inside?" and nods.
Orlando is still pressed close against him as they tumble up the porch stairs and if Dom had any worries about Orlando's response, they're soon wiped out when he's pushed up against the wall and kissed hard. Orlando's hands slide down Dom's chest and Dom groans.
"Wanted this. Christ."
"Yes." Orlando kisses him again, blunt nails trailing along Dom's jaw. "So long."
"Couch?"
The couch is small, the remote was lurking under a pillow and the porch door is still open, letting splatters of rain in, but they don't care. Dom takes advantage of their fall, twisting them so Orlando lands first (finding the remote with his hip and a muffled "fuck!") so they're tangled up on the couch, legs dangling over the edge as Dom finally gets to touch the skin he's seen in front of him all afternoon. He runs his tongue up the join of Orlando's shoulder and neck and Orlando automatically tilts his head up against the arm of the couch. Dom can feel the tendon harden under his tongue, nuzzles it briefly and bites. Not hard. Just enough to provoke a reaction. Orlando gasps (fuckerfuckerfucker) and his hands tighten on Dom's waist in response, fingers almost painful on his skin.
Dom does it again, delighting in the arch of Orlando's neck, the taste of Orlando's skin and the strangled cursing.
"Christ!"
They wake in the morning, sweat-sticky and glued together on the couch when Billy thumps on the front door, yelling for Dom to move his arse already. Orlando borrows Dom's spare toothbrush and a clean pair of boxers and kisses him slowly up against the cool porcelain of the sink while Billy taps his foot in the living room.
Dom almost drops his toothbrush on the floor but in the end he has to pry it out of his fingers when Orlando finishes. He can't quite meet Billy's eyes either as they step out into another hot and heavy day.