August 1st, 2007
Authors have been revealed in the early_theory fic exchange. Thank you to peppervl, for wrangling the community.
Here's the fic I wrote for lady_razzle, who asked for filthy, filthy sex, using the prompt words: breathless, red, aquamarine, pound and fingers.
Title: Miracle Fiber Man
Betaed by crimson_bride
The gaggle of women filled the suburban living room, and the wave of noxious perfume made Viggo’s head reel. Eyelashes fluttered and there was a certain amount of surreptitious boob hiking and lip licking.
Viggo sighed mentally, smile plastered on his face.
“Thank you for coming along to Hilary’s Miracle Fiber demonstration. I’m delighted to have the chance to tell you about the wonders of non-chemical micro-fiber cleaning, and show you some of the exciting Miracle Fiber products.”
His employers, the Miracle Fiber Corporation, had a plan for the demonstrations. First, talk about micro-fibers and saving the environment. Second, hand around the complimentary notepads and red pens, and get the customers to list all the cleaning products they bought. Third, open his carry bag of goodies, and hand around the cleaning mitts and brushes.
Then, no doubt, the women would rush around Hilary’s house, trying out the products on all the surfaces. At least Hilary’s house looked clean. The previous demonstration, the hostess’ house had been filthy. The memory of Viggo’s demonstration mitts being returned to him clogged with grease and cat fur still made him shudder.
The ladies listened to him attentively, then dutifully listed their toxic furniture polishes and oven cleaners, a how-to guide to carcinogens, poisonous residue and landfill.
It was as Viggo unzipped his carry bag and lifted out the aquamarine-and-blush checkered Kitchen Glove, with its clever grime-and-grease sides, that he saw the lanky young man lounging in the doorway to the living room.
“And the interwoven scouring patches help dislodge grime, hardened food and light grease,” Viggo said to the cooing women, unable to shift his gaze from the man.
The really extraordinarily dirty man. With the smears of—was it engine grease?—something on his gorgeous cheekbones. And the—oh God, it couldn’t be—grass stains and sweat on his overalls.
The young man pushed a hand covered in black goo at his cropped dark hair, leaving a lump that it would take the Grease side of the Kitchen Glove to move.
“Excuse me, Mrs. D. The lawnmower won’t start,” he said. “I think the spark plugs are dirty.”
A thrill went through Viggo, just at hearing the man say the word.
“Oh,” Hilary said. “Can you fix it, Orlando?”
Orlando nodded. “Think so,” he said. “But it’s going to make a mess.”
“The Extreme Floor Fiber Mop will move all oil and grease residue from outdoor surfaces,” Viggo blurted out. “Including paving and decking. Just use it wet.”
Orlando looked at him, and his smile was warm, making Viggo want to clean up after him.
“Really?” Orlando said.
“I’ll show you later,” Viggo said, aware he was flushing under Orlando’s gaze.
Orlando winked at him—he actually winked—and disappeared back out to whichever contaminated work environment he was using. Viggo made himself focus on the ladies, who were divided between fondling the Dust Flexi and the Dust Glove, with its Microdust asthma-preventing side, and peering out of the window to where Orlando was now crouched over a recalcitrant lawnmower.
Viggo left Hilary handing out martinis at the end of the demonstration, beaming at the orders that the ladies-who-lunch had placed with her. He and the Extreme Floor Fiber Mop had business outside, where he could hear a lawnmower whirring.
The paving bordering newly clipped lawn was smeared with engine grease and two-stroke fuel, a difficult household stain by any assessment, but it wasn’t enough to distract Viggo from the sight of Orlando, overalls now open to his waist, pushing the mower around the immaculate lawn.
Orlando looked up from guiding the mower around a rose garden and waved a hand at Viggo, then switched the mower off.
He strolled over to Viggo, and Viggo was suddenly aware of how hot it was in the sunshine. Sweat beaded his upper lip.
“I’ve made a bit of a mess,” Orlando said apologetically. “Do you think you can clean it?”
Viggo blinked and swallowed. “Any mess you can make, I can fix.”
Orlando pushed his hands into his pockets, making the front of his overalls gape open even further.
“Really?” he said, his voice husky.
Viggo nodded and met his gaze, despite the distraction of Orlando’s left nipple sliding into view.
The Extreme Floor Fiber Mop slid wetly across the paving, its fibers trapping the spilled oil, each pass of the mop head lifting more of the stain.
“I’m impressed,” Orlando said.
Sweat trickled down Viggo’s back, and he could feel it soaking into the cotton of his shirt. He needed a shower.
Shower, oh God.
“Do you get this dirty every day?” Viggo asked, let the ‘r’ of the word ‘dirty’ roll across his tongue, but not lifting his gaze from the stain on the paving.
“Guess I do,” Orlando said. “But I always scrub myself in the shower after work.”
The mop paused while Viggo inspected the remnants of the stain. “Your shower would have special cleaning needs then, to remove the build-up of lime and soap.”
“Gosh,” Orlando said, sounding amused. “I had no idea.”
Viggo pushed the mop across the stain again. “I’d be happy to give you a consultation on dealing with the issue. It’s important not to use too much friction when dealing with stubborn stains.”
“But, sometimes, friction is the only thing that does the job,” Orlando said. “What if it needs the friction?”
Viggo was about to have a staining incident of his very own, his hands were curled so tightly around the handle of the Extreme Floor Fiber Mop that his knuckles had blanched and he just wanted to pound the mop against the stain.
“You might think it needs the friction,” Viggo said. “But what if you found out that a lighter touch was more effective?”
“Using one of those fluffy things?” Orlando asked.
The thought of running a Dust Flexi, with its bendable handle and soft fibers, over Orlando’s chest made Viggo whimper audibly, and he wasn’t sure if he was relieved or not that Hilary tottered out of the house at that moment, two martinis in her hands.
“Here you are,” she said, handing the martinis to the men and sounding breathless. “My goodness, Viggo, that stain on the paving is just melting away.”
“No friction at all, that’s the trick,” Viggo said, and Orlando choked on his martini olive.
In Viggo’s shower, Orlando wrapped his arms around Viggo’s neck and drew him close for a kiss that was so scorching that Viggo feared for the smear-free Perspex of the shower door for a moment.
“Now show me,” Orlando said against Viggo’s lips when Viggo lifted his head briefly.
Viggo didn’t need to look to slide two Bathroom Gloves onto his hands, then he ran the Care side of the gloves across Orlando’s slippery thighs carefully, sliding the gloves between their bodies, where their cocks were jabbing and rubbing against each other.
“Oh, fuck,” Orlando whispered, when Viggo pulled back a little, and they both glanced down to watch the yellow-and-cream mitts creep up Orlando’s belly, Viggo’s fingers drawing circles on Orlando’s tanned skin.
“How does that feel?” Viggo asked, when the mitts rubbed over Orlando’s nipples.
“Please…” Orlando gasped, and he was so damned sexy that Viggo relented and flipped the gloves over, to the Clean side, with the longer, coarser fibers.
“Better?” Viggo asked, smoothing the rougher fibers across Orlando’s chest, across Orlando’s nipples, then down the sides of Orlando’s body.
“Yeah,” Orlando gasped. “Need to come… Please touch…”
Orlando turned around, the water streaming down his back, his hands braced against the Perspex door of Viggo’s shower. Viggo let one of the Bathroom Gloves drop to the spotless floor of the shower, and reached for the Bathroom Mini cloth.
The fibers of the Bathroom Mini slid down Orlando’s back, soaking up the water, turning slippery in Viggo’s hand. He wiped the Mini across Orlando’s ass, circling each buttock, then they both groaned when he let the Mini trail up the crack of Orlando’s ass.
“I’m so dirty,” Orlando said. “Make me clean.”
The Bathroom Mini rubbed against Orlando’s ass again, and Viggo wrapped the soft, wet fibers of the Bathroom Mitt on his other hand around Orlando’s cock. Orlando’s hips jerked forward and his face thudded against the Perspex as he moaned loudly. Seconds later, strands of thick, white liquid looped across the Perspex as his body shuddered.
“I made a mess,” Orlando said. “Oops.”
Viggo had a 25cm squeegee, perfect for streak-free cleaning of all Perspex and glass surfaces, so he didn’t care.
Viggo’s bedroom, dust-free and tidy, had been waiting for a long time for someone like Orlando to stumble into it, dripping water and trailing a bath towel. The sheets were smooth, crisp and white, crinkling as Orlando tumbled back onto the bed, Viggo following him.
Orlando laughed as Viggo nuzzled his damp neck, then said, “You promised me fluffy glove things.”
“I wouldn’t want to disappoint,” Viggo said. “There are warranties at stake here, after all.” He propped himself up on one elbow and reached for his bedside drawer, where he kept a Dust Glove for any last-thing-at-night dusting needs.
Orlando’s eyes widened as Viggo wriggled on the Dust Glove, and his breath hitched as the delicate fibers of the Dust side of the glove touched the skin of his belly.
Orlando’s skin was tanned and smooth, still a little damp from the shower, and the fibers picked up the moisture. When Viggo had mapped Orlando’s chest and belly, drying the skin, he flipped the glove over to the softer Microdust side and let his hand drift lower, making Orlando squirm and gasp.
“Want me to fuck you?” Viggo asked. “Want me to make you dirty again?”
Orlando reached down, wrapping his hands over the mitt, trapping it around his cock, and Viggo groaned. “Like that…” Orlando said. “Will you make it like that?”
“Better than that,” Viggo said, then he leaned forward and bit gently at the skin stretched across Orlando’s collarbone. “Don’t move.”
He slid his hand out of the glove, abandoning Orlando, hands still clamped over the Dust Glove around his cock, and rolled off the bed. He had more supplies, in a closet.
Orlando was right where he’d left him, working the Dust Glove across his cock, neck arched back, eyes closed in bliss, so Viggo settled on the bed beside him.
“Keep your eyes closed,” he said, and he peeled Orlando’s hands off his cock. Fluff, tiny fibers from the Dust Glove, had stuck to the tip of Orlando’s cock, so Viggo bent over and licked them off, making Orlando shout and thrust his hips upwards.
It was just going to get better.
Viggo slid the new replacement sleeve for the Dust Wand out of its packaging, then rubbed the dense fibers of the Wand, designed to collect and hold dust, against his own face for a moment, just to enjoy the springy texture on his lips and cheek.
It was going to feel even better for Orlando.
He rolled the Dust Wand sleeve inside out, so the fibers were on the inside, then eased the opening of the sleeve over the head of Orlando’s cock
Orlando yelled and clutched wildly at Viggo, grabbing his arm and squeezing it, but when Viggo looked up, Orlando’s eyes were still closed tightly.
“Fuck! Fuck!” Orlando shouted, his responses making Viggo’s cock throb. Viggo pushed the sleeve down Orlando’s cock, so the fabric was stretched tightly around his shaft, encasing his cock securely in soft, absorbent fibers. It seemed fair, since Viggo’s cock was soon going to be buried deep inside Orlando, that Orlando got something just as good.
The lube was supposed to be non-staining, but the drops from Viggo’s fingers still marked his sheets. The lube trickled across Orlando’s ass as Orlando rolled further onto his belly and lifted one leg, opening himself up.
“So dirty,” Viggo murmured, then the head of his cock pressed against Orlando’s ass, like a kiss.
It took time, inching his cock in, time for sweat to slide down Viggo’s chest and drip onto Orlando’s back, then he was all the way inside the achingly tight heaven of Orlando’s ass. He pulled back slowly, thrust in steadily, so the bed creaked. Orlando’s hands bunched up the sheets, and his teeth were gritted, but the noises he made were delicious groans and gasps, and he lifted his hips to meet each slow stroke.
“Come for me,” Viggo whispered, lowering his mouth to Orlando’s ear, then kissing his neck.
Orlando didn’t answer, but on the next stroke, his buttocks slammed against Viggo’s hips and he shoved one hand under his body to grip the Dust Wand sleeve.
It was so easy to respond to Orlando’s movements, letting him pick up the pace, so that the burning inside Viggo’s balls built and built, and he felt like he was on fire.
Orlando bucked and yelled, and it was all over for Viggo as wave after wave of incandescent heat burst out of him.
Orlando was limp in Viggo’s arms, not resisting as Viggo rolled them both onto their sides, and Viggo pressed his face against Orlando’s shoulder.
Once Viggo’s cock had softened and slid out, Orlando rolled over in Viggo’s arms and settled his head on Viggo’s shoulder with a deep sigh. The Dust Wand sleeve was still stuck on the end of his cock, and Viggo gently tugged it free.
“It’s machine washable,” Viggo said. “Just remember not to use fabric softener, and the micro-fibers will remain fresh and absorbent for up to a thousand uses. Products are only covered when used for their intended purposes.”