Making It

Recipient: oftenadamanta
Author: trianne
Pairing: Orlando/Elijah
Rating: R


"I don't like fucking orange juice."

Orlando sighed, wondering in passing how one would fuck orange juice anyway, and took away the offending plastic beaker. The seven year-old Birthday Boy glared defiantly at him and began to move his finger through the air, with almost balletic grace, towards his left nostril. Orlando wasn't waiting around for touchdown, he'd seen that one quite enough times today. "I'll get you some lemonade," he said, smiling brightly, and headed back to the kitchen.

Elijah was in there, filling up bright pink and green beakers with lemonade, making sure every one was filled with exactly the same measure - for one child to discover s/he had less than their neighbour? Well, that way lay pain and much noise. And shin-kicking of the waiter.

As he poured, his tongue stuck out a little; he was bending slightly over the counter and Orlando paused in the doorway to admire the view. He particularly liked how Elijah's cowboy hat had slipped to a rakish angle, only the string tied beneath his chin keeping it from slithering off altogether. That hat, and the comedy cowboy chaps, was the only thing keeping him from screaming. He himself was Batman, a personal favourite.

"I can't do this anymore, Elijah," he said, moving into the kitchen to stand by Elijah's side.

Elijah looked up and smiled. "You won't have to after today. Just think about the money, babe," he said, putting down the now-empty bottle.

He picked up the tray with its load of six beakers and headed back out to the party. "Besides, you love kids, you know you do," he threw back over his shoulder.

Which was true. Orlando did love kids. Just not the ones he found himself around at these parties. He was pretty sure he'd never used his mum's electric knife to fell a rubber plant. Also, if he'd ever tried to drown a neighbour's cat in the rain barrel, he was sure he'd have remembered...

But then again, that was the point, wasn't it?

Are your kids little angels? Are your kids perfect? Do you love throwing parties for your kids? Well, if they are and you do, don't read on. But if you can never get the same babysitter twice, and you KNOW your kids are little devils; if you would rather eat your own vomit with a rusty spoon than cater another of their birthday parties... we are just what you need! Orli'n'Lijah! We boldly go where other party organizers fear to tread! We tackle ANYTHING.

"It can't fail, man," Elijah had said, five months, three weeks and four days earlier. He'd been sipping a cup of coffee that he'd made last the past hour.

Orlando had finished his own and was eyeing the empty cup, regretfully. This being poor malarkey was no fun at all. "Who in their right mind is going to admit that their kids are monsters? You're out of yours if you think this'll work, Lij," he'd said, staring out of the window at the rain which was battering the pavement.

"Think about it, Orli. These parents love their kids. They love them despite the fact that they are little bastards. They want them to be happy and have fun. They want to lavish them with money and gifts and parties. They just can't face having to be there when it's happening. That's where we step in. We guarantee the kids have fun, we clean up afterwards, we get paid the big bucks, we split. End of story." Elijah sat back in his chair and folded his arms. "And then Vegas here we come."

Vegas. Marble floors and chandeliers. Waitresses that looked like Miss Nicaragua. Venetian gondoliers in the middle of the desert. All-You-Can-Eat-Buffets with crab and sixty nine varieties of salad dressing. Hot tubs big enough to accommodate the two of them, and a circular water bed dressed in red silk...

Orlando forgot about the rain. He forgot about his rumbling stomach. He forgot about the apartment they'd be returning to at the end of the evening, with its antique plumbing and ratty carpets. He felt Elijah's hand on his and smiled his Vegas smile. "How long do you think we'd have to do it for?" he asked, hoping against hope that the answer would be weeks rather than months.

Elijah consulted his legal pad upon which he'd been calculating costs in a series of neat columns. He had it all in his head, but this way he could explain better to Orlando. Not that Orlando was stupid. Far from it. It was just that Elijah was one of those guys you see on the TV, one of those savants, only without the autism. Well, that was the best way Orlando could describe Elijah. He had this way with numbers that defied rational thought, but he acted in every other way like an ordinary person. Except in bed, when he was anything but ordinary. But that was the kind of not-ordinary that Orlando could understand and appreciate.

"Five months, three weeks, four days," Elijah said, his big blue eyes unblinking behind his chunky glasses.

"Fuck that!" Orlando cried, picking up his spoon and dropping it loudly into his empty coffee cup. The hatchet-faced waitress sent a warning glare his way, and he gave a placating nod. They couldn't afford to be barred from this, the cheapest coffee shop for miles and the one that stayed open the longest hours.

Unperturbed, Elijah continued, "That's allowing for three parties a week. At the end of which, we will have enough to drive to Vegas, pay for a motel, eat modestly, and have enough stake money to make all our dreams come true. We win big, Orlando, then neither of us has to ever work again."

"Answer me one thing, man," Orlando spluttered, still in shock at the prospect of deliberately putting himself into the lions' den three times a week. "When are we going to find time to turn tricks if we're babysitting Baby Attila the Huns?"

Elijah finally finished off his cold coffee, replacing the cup on its saucer with care. Orlando wasn't fooled; he knew procrastination when he saw it. This should be good.

"Well, in order for us to get together enough to make the odds work in our favour, which is fundamental to my system, I calculate we will both have to increase the number of tricks by a ratio of-"

"Increase?" Orlando gasped. He stared at Elijah as if he were the most venomous snake in the zoo. Elijah merely blinked and pushed his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose.

"I'm sorry. Believe me, I'd like to do less, too. I'm sick of sucking dick for guys who think soap is a chick thing. And the nutjobs! There's this one guy who - can you believe this? - wants me to be exclusive. You always get one, don't you? Who thinks he can make you fall in love? Wants to set you up in a place and help him live out all his little fantasies, some of which are pretty damned sick, I'm telling you! And yeah, babe, I know you have your share of whackos, too. But it comes down to this: Do you want this to work or not?" he asked, quietly. "Because if you don't, we can walk away now. We can take what we have already and blow it on a month in Acapulco; fly to England and I can finally meet your folks; buy each other gold plated iPods..."

The waitress appeared at the table and crassly removed the crockery, motioning to the door as she did so. The rain was still barrelling down and the thought of going back to their unheated, dingy little place was enough to make Orlando want to cry. He dug in the pocket of his combat jacket and pulled out enough coins to buy them another hour.

"I want it," he said, dully, when the waitress had gone. Elijah nodded briefly and closed his legal pad. "It's just the thought of turning more tricks, when I'd hoped we'd be able to turn less. I want to make love to you, Lijah, in a big bed with satin sheets, in a warm apartment, listening to good music, with enough energy to really go at it like we used to... Is that so wrong?"

Elijah put a comforting arm about his lover's shoulder and kissed him softly on the ear. "No, it's not wrong. I want that too, more than anything. Which is why if we just hold out for another five months, three weeks and four days, we can have it all. My system can't fail. You trust me, right?" He tilted Orlando's chin and looked into his eyes.

"I do trust you. I love you. I just want it to be five months, three weeks and five days from now," Orlando had said, sadly.

Five months, three weeks and four days later, they were at their very last Hard To Handle Kids party.

Outside, their battered old Ford was packed with everything they owned. After this evening, they were on the road to Vegas. They would get paid for this last gig and then it was bye bye to Orli'n'Lijah, Kids Entertainers - hello to Bloom and Wood, High Rollers.

Orlando began to clear up. The birthday boy's parents would be back in twenty minutes, having enjoyed a rare dinner and adult conversation in a nice restaurant in town. Mom had called twice in the first thirty minutes of the agreed three hours. She'd sounded nervous and guilty. Orlando always dealt with the moms, Elijah with the dads. Not that this dad had been there when they'd arrived. Mom was meeting him, apparently, and she was all spruced up and wearing a lot of French perfume. Orlando had helped her on with her coat, flashing her his most disarming smile and getting the expected breathless giggle in return. For a moment, he thought she might actually stay, for she couldn't take her eyes off him, looked actually ravenous... But then she'd come to her senses and gone to kiss Birthday Boy on his chubby cheek. "Fuck off, Mom!" Birthday Boy had yelled, to the amusement of his fifteen closest, most obnoxious friends. Mom had tussled his hair affectionately and then ran out the door to her waiting cab.

In the kitchen, scraping plastic plates, Orlando wondered if Mom and Dad had chosen to go to a motel and have some real fun, rather than bother with the meal... He shrugged. It was their business, they were the ones footing the bill.

Inside the great room, Elijah was performing his last magic trick of the day. It was pretty crap but it didn't matter. He performed it with gusto, his features never once betraying his true feelings. Half the kids were watching and booing and telling him quite bluntly they could see how it was done and did he really think they were fucking morons? Birthday Boy had found Mom's Barbie pink vibrator and was using it to terrorise the other half, charging around the sofas. When Elijah saw that he was heading for the fish tank, he shouted out "Hey, Edwin, leave the fish alone, dude." Edwin, the Birthday Boy, merely sniggered and advanced on the tank, only to have the offending weapon plucked gingerly from his hands by Orlando, who held it above his head whilst Edwin stamped his feet.

"Okay, party's nearly over," Elijah announced. "We need to clear up, guys."

"Then do it, stuupid!" Edwin shouted, falling onto the nearest comfy chair.

"Right," Elijah said, breathing deeply. He picked his way amongst the children, bending down to retrieve beakers and candy wrappers from the sheeting he'd spread on Mom's carpet. He'd got it down to a fine art, the clearing-up. He'd also fine-tuned his senses when it came to just when exuberance turned to Danger!Will Robinson!Danger! His expert eye, however, detected no serious breaches in the sheeting. The kids refused to accommodate him, of course, but he kept smiling, physically lifting them out of the way as necessary.

Orlando, meanwhile, found the master bedroom and slipped Mom's sex toy on top of the wardrobe. He helped Elijah with a few last items, adroitly avoided being tripped by some horror of a girl with ridiculously high pigtails, and then took the trash bags out to the can in the back yard.

He was replacing the lid when he heard the sound of a car pulling into the drive. Thank God.

It was a lovely evening and he stood a minute, ignoring the clamour inside, enjoying the potted plants and the gazebo with its innovative modern art - "Mom & Dad I Hate You" - no doubt lovingly daubed by Birthday Boy on one side. Oh well, time to go get paid and head off. This time tomorrow, they'd be in Vegas!

When he entered the great room again, he saw Mom, a trifle unsteady on her stilettos, her face flushed with alcohol, and there was Dad, tall and surprisingly attractive, giving the room the once-over before handing over their fee.

Orlando was drawn to Elijah, as always, and was surprised to see him hanging back, his head down.

"Did you have a good time, baby?" Mom cooed, grinning. Edwin opened his mouth and Orlando prepared himself for the stream of invective.

"It was the best party ever, Mom! I want these guys next year, too! I want them next year!" Edwin shouted, and then he wrapped his arms around Elijah's waist and held on like a limpet. Mom burst into tears of happiness, the other kids began to yell that they too would only accept Orli'N'Lijah and no substitutes... Orlando gently shook his head. Kids never failed to surprise. He was almost sad it was their last party...

"Well, here's your money. I think you probably earned it," Dad was saying, holding out an envelope full of cash to Elijah. Elijah gently prised off Edwin and tussled his hair, which Edwin didn't seem to find nearly as objectionable as when his Mom did it. He reached out for the envelope and now he had to look up at Dad.

There was a moment's silence. Orlando watched the scene unfold as if it were in a movie. He saw Mom looking from Edwin to Elijah to her husband, the big beaming smile on her face fading to puzzlement. He saw Dad, still holding onto the envelope, staring down at Elijah and his mouth falling open. He saw Dad's handsome features contort into something very intense... He saw Elijah taking the envelope as if it might burn his fingers.

Then "Outside," he heard Dad say, or rather spit. He saw Dad's big hand on Elijah's shoulder and Dad was pushing Elijah out of the great room, past Orlando, through the kitchen and out into the yard with its pot plants and graffitied gazebo.

"Wait a minute." Orlando snapped to and followed them.

Dad had cornered Elijah, had him against the wall where the trash can stood.

"I looked for you! I've been going crazy looking for you, wanting you! None of the other boys knew where you'd gone, or they wouldn't say, at any rate. Oh God, and now you turn up here at my house... dressed like this... I didn't hardly know you in those glasses..."

Elijah said nothing, not even when Dad squeezed his arm very tightly.

"Let go of him." Orlando pulled at the man, who was perhaps not as tall as him but much heavier. "We're leaving. We did our job and now we have to be going." He kept his voice low, aware that a dozen feet away there was a roomful of children, one of whom was this man's son.

"Stay out of it," Edwin's father snarled, not even looking at Orlando. "This is between me and Joe."

Despite the situation and his mounting anger, Orlando quirked an eyebrow at Elijah's working name. Sometimes it was Nate, sometimes it was Angelo, sometimes it was Joe.

Orlando made to pull at the man again but Elijah shook his head.

"'Sokay. Maybe I owe Nigel here an explanation," he said, looking meaningfully at his lover. Nigel? Orlando had to swallow the absurdity of that one down. He nodded, tersely, and released Nigel's arm.

Nigel squared his shoulders and waited, never taking his eyes from Elijah, completely uncaring that his wife was in the house, his son... He stroked Elijah through his plaid shirt and waited.

"I'm leaving - we're leaving, Nigel. Leaving town. I would have told you but I, well, I've been," and here Elijah laughed and lowered his voice, conspiratorially, "kind of sick, you know? And my friend here is taking me to see this specialist in Tucson but it's expensive for the treatment, so we've been doing these parties you know, and we've got enough now, so we have to be, er, leaving."

Nigel heard him out and then frowned. "Crock of shit!" he exclaimed, tightening his grip on Elijah's arm. "You're not going anywhere! You're staying here and you're moving into that apartment we talked about. Hell, fuck Leonora, I'll move in with you!"

Orlando had heard enough. He'd learned how to take care of himself on the mean streets of Canterbury, he knew a trick or two. He stamped down hard on Nigel's foot and then grabbed his hair, yanking his head back. "If you don't want a Chinese burn, man, you let him go - now!"

Taken by surprise, Nigel relaxed his grip on Elijah, who sidled sideways and away. "Orli, come on!" he shouted.

"You will not go! You will not!" Nigel screamed, his brows drawn down and his face now transformed completely.

"I'm guessing this is where Edwin gets it from," Orlando sniped, following Elijah down the garden path to the rear gate. They'd left their catering equipment back in the house but where they were going who needed two dozen plastic beakers and a piñata kit?

"God, yeah," Elijah agreed, running round the side of the property, back to the front road where their car was parked. "Quick, before he heads us off!"

They reached the car and Orlando raced round to the driver's side. He opened the door - nice quiet neighbourhood - and reached for his keys and that was when he realised.

"You're still wearing your Batman gear, Orlando," Elijah pointed out, staring at Orlando's blue and black satin ensemble. He'd always assured Orlando it was cute, but that was then and this was now. "Your keys are in your jacket."

They leaned against the car and stared back at the house. From which Nigel was emerging, holding an old tan corduroy jacket in one hand, and a combat jacket in the other. He had a smug look on his face as he parked himself in the doorway and swung the items of clothing to and fro.

"Fuck," Orlando opined. "How could you get mixed up with such a nutter?"

Elijah snorted. "Same way that you turned up at that broad's house in Cincinnati to provide her weekly cha cha cha lesson and found her wearing a wedding dress, with six bridesmaids dancing attendance. Goes with the territory, dude."

"You want your stuff, you come get it. By that I mean you, Joe. Your ugly friend can stay right where he is," Nigel crowed.

"Ugly?" Orlando said, indignantly. Elijah made to move toward the house and Orlando fixed him with a stern glare. "Elijah, don't you dare. I didn't just learn street fighting on the mean streets of Canterbury, I also learned this - "

Elijah watched with fascination as Orlando fiddled under the dash, completing the ignition circuit by detaching the ignition wires and then tying together the exposed ends. The car came to life and Orlando emerged, triumphant.

Nigel, hearing the engine start up, gave a strangled howl and set off down the steps in pursuit. Elijah jumped into the passenger seat and Orlando pulled away from the curb, just ahead of Nigel. Elijah glanced in the wing mirror at his most troublesome John.

They drove along the suburban street, all their belongings packed into the trunk, on the roof rack and on the back seat. Batman and Woody.

"Tell me this is going to work," Orlando said, a little breathlessly. "Tell me that tomorrow night, we are going to be rich."

Elijah fastened his seat belt and removed his glasses, which he proceeded to polish on the hem of his plaid shirt. "I calculate that it will take us," he said, after some consideration, forty two hours, six minutes and nine seconds." He tapped his temple and added "It's all in here, Orlando. I have a system. Trust me."


(Forty two hours, thirty three minutes and six seconds later)

"Oh man, oh man, would you look at this?" Orlando stepped over the threshold of the penthouse suite at the Venetian and looked about in awe.

Elijah pushed past him, followed by two bell hops carrying champagne bottles and fruit baskets to complement the dozen fruit baskets already in there. Elijah casually tipped them a hundred each and then they were alone - Orli'N'Elijah: no longer Kids Entertainer and no longer hookers.

"I know I said it already," Orlando said, pulling Elijah into his arms, "but, man, you were awesome! You totally nailed their ass! It was - beautiful!" He leaned down and kissed Elijah hard, his hands groping as much of Elijah as he could. He felt Elijah's hands moving to return the favour, enjoyed the sensation of Elijah's tongue caressing his own.

They made their way awkwardly to the huge bed that dominated the spacious master bedroom. "You were amazing, just amazing," Orlando mumbled into Elijah's mouth. "Your system was incredible. All in your head, all in that beautiful head of yours..." He pushed his boyfriend down onto the luxurious bed and straddled him, his eyes glittering with lust and puppy dog excitement.

Elijah lay there and looked up at him and Orlando saw that he was crying. There were tears... "Elijah, what's wrong?" he asked, alarmed.

"I am so fucking relieved! I can't believe it worked," Elijah replied, then he began to laugh through the tears, reaching up to cup Orlando's face. "It was always 50-50, man," he said, softly.

Orlando felt the room shift.

"You mean you gambled every dime we had on a 50-50 chance your system might work?" he said, incredulously. He stared down at this man who had been his lover for four years as if he was seeing him for the very first time. "Is that it?"

Elijah was giggling now, hysterical laughter. He struggled to sit up, impeded by Orlando's superior weight and his own trembling. He gave up and made do with grasping Orlando and pulling him down so he could mash their lips together before throwing his head back down on the bed and punching the air with his fist.

"It worked! Man, it worked! We won!" he shouted. "We won! Does it matter how? Orlando?"

Orlando was silent for a moment, his head bowed, his expression hidden from an increasingly alarmed Elijah. Then he looked up and said, very quietly and very carefully: "I calculate that in sixty nine seconds, you will be giving me the very best blowjob you have ever given anyone in your entire life. Would you agree with that estimate, Mister Wood?"

Elijah pondered, but not for long. He had already calculated how long it would take to get Orlando out of his dress pants and the clock was ticking...


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Fabulous artwork ©2002 by Hope.
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