Partners-in-Crime. [christian/orlando]
Feb. 12th, 2005 10:53 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
palacechristian.
Humming along to the radio, Christian scrubbed away at the pan, suds flying. The music changed to something . . . boppy and he grinned and did a stupid little dance, stupid because the water splashed up out of the sink and over his bare foot. "Bugger! Sod! Ow!"
Orlando shook his head and grinned, leaning against the doorway. "Y'know, if it got out to the Council the Crown Prince did his own washing up, you'd be in a lot of trouble." Orlando smirked and pushed himself off the wall, coming to stand next to Christian. "What crap have you got on now?" he said, indicating the radio.
"Jeez, Orlando! Give a guy some warning next time!" Christian spun around, nearly slipping on the wet floor and scowled at his little brother, despite being pleased to see him. There were standards of brotherly behavior to be upheld, after all. "And I dunno what it is. Just . . . catchy, is all." Sliding the pan onto the drainer, he released the water and turned dried his hands on the tea towel. "You want something, pain? Or just spying so you can report my nefarious activities to Council?" He spoiled the scowl he affected by grinning.
Orlando chuckled. "Seriously, if I'd given you a warning, you woulda fallen into the sink." he grinned and took a step back, out of range. "Aren't I allowed to come and visit my favourite brother?"
Christian eyed him skeptically. "What do you want?" he asked in a voice ripe with suspicion.
"Oh not much...just a little protection...y'know, from a possible skinning alive."
Christian raised an eyebrow at that. Then he had a thought. “Oh. Hang on.” He shot out of the kitchen area, near-skidding on the damp tiles, and down the hall where he shut the bedroom door before turning around and trudging back.
Orlando looked at him and blinked.
Christian grinned. “Shannon’s here.” he told him.
“What? Where?”
“Relax, rabbit.” he told Orli. “I just shut her in the bedroom. She lives here now, just so you know. But she stays inside the fence. Lemme know when you’re coming over and I’ll make sure she’s not around.”
Reaching up into the overhead cabinet he pulled down two glasses and then into the fridge, holding up a container of orange juice and a bottle of soda. Orlando pointed, choosing soda and Christian poured two, handing his brother one before leading the way into the living area and settling on the couch. "Okay." he said after taking a sip. "What'd you do and why is dad gonna be mad?"
"Well, y'know how I went on holiday and all..." He murmured, taking a large sip and screwing up his nose before continuing. "Well, I got a little bit too drunk one night and . . . kindasuggestedwegottattoos." He finished, burying his nose in the glass.
His eyes bugged and he choked, soda fizzing up the back of his throat almost to the point of emerging from his nostrils. "You what?" Christian coughed, setting the glass carefully back down. "You didn't!"
Orlando looked over the rim of his glass, eyes wide, and managed a small nod.
Christian grinned, swiping a hand across his face to hide it and fighting to quell the bubble of laughter that was trying to escape. He managed a sober look. "You’re telling me that, not content to scare dad's hair white by leaping tall buildings in a single bound or whatever-the-fuck, you then went and got a tattoo! Where?"
"Yeah, well, I was pissed, 'kay?" Orlando pouted. "It's on my stomach, 'snot even that big!"
"He's gonna kill you." Christian shook his head sadly and let out a huge sigh. "C'mon then, show me."
Orlando thumped his glass on the table and sat back, lifting the hem of his shirt up. "See. Not that big."
Omigodfuck! It was huge! Christian's eyes widened at the sight of the sun tattoo with its curving rays. "Dead." he said. "Dead'er 'n dead. Gonna miss you bro'." He shook his head in sadness and leaned back into the couch, sipping his drink and completely enjoying himself.
Orlando glared at him and took another sip of his soda. "Thanks."
Shrugging, Christian added, "I'll send flowers but I won't be at your funeral."
"Thanks so much!! What's got you so busy you can't attend your own brother's fucking funeral!?!" Orlando whined.
Scooting forward, Christian snapped open the fasteners on his watchband and let it drop onto the couch beside him, holding out his arm for Orlando to see. "I'll be too busy arranging my own." he grinned.
"You bastard!" Orlando thumped him playfully on the arm. "Getting me all worked up about dad gonna kill me!! Rotten bastard." Orlando huffed. "Nice tattoo though."
"Yeah? So's yours." Free to laugh now, he did so, falling back against the couch until the desire to giggle was overcome by more somber thoughts. "What are we gonna do?" he asked the glass of soda. "If we don't think of something, Craig'll be king."
Orlando bit his lip. "Well, I've not a clue. Yours is easy to hide, but I'll be damned if I can figure out why the fuck I got it tattooed there. S'pose it's better'n having it on my arse though." He shrugged. "Don't ask me."
"True. But at least on your arse only Harry'd see it." He mock-shuddered. "Right there's a bit . . . obvious." Christian thought about it for a moment then brightened. "Yours is bigger than mine. Maybe he'll be so busy killing you that he won't bother with me!"
"Thanks!!" Orlando glared. "You're so helpful. It was bad enough when bloody Harry saw it anyways!!"
"What'd he say?" This should be good!
"Well, it started off with something like: "Uhm, Orlando, what's this?' and got rapidly worse."
"I can imagine." Christian snorted. He didn't figure Harry for being the body art type. "Doesn't solve our problem though, does it. 'Less we get Harry to tell him while we cower?"
"Uh yeah. Can so see him agreeing to that. Nice try there."
"Harry's not scared of dad! Is he?"
"I'd rather not test that theory."
Christian thought it over, chewing on his bottom lip. Eventually he said, "We're screwed. Completely and utterly screwed. No two ways about it."
Orlando shuddered. “I hate it when dad gives me that ‘disappointed’ look.”
“Me too.”
They stared at one another for a while then Christian said, “So, how was the trip?” and Orlando began relating his adventures to the accompaniment of much mock-horror and pretend outrage on the part of his big brother.
“ . . . and he got a ride back with me.” Christian finished explaining his side of the ‘Harry Affair’.
Orlando sighed and pulled a face. “Yeah, well . . .” He looked up, catching sight of the clock on the wall above the breakfast bar, and cursed. “Damn. I promised Sean I’d look in and sort through a bit of the stuff that’s come in. I have to go.”
Christian got up and walked with him to the door. “Good to have you home, rabbit.” he told him, giving Orlando a hug and watching as he headed off down the path. At least he uses the gate, he thought with a chuckle, as Orlando closed it neatly behind him.
A sound from the bedroom stirred him and he wandered across and opened the door. “Need to go out?”
Shannon waved her feathery tail to and fro and he gestured, giving her permission. Christian turned back to thought of housekeeping. Now, where’d he leave the polish . . .
Humming along to the radio, Christian scrubbed away at the pan, suds flying. The music changed to something . . . boppy and he grinned and did a stupid little dance, stupid because the water splashed up out of the sink and over his bare foot. "Bugger! Sod! Ow!"
Orlando shook his head and grinned, leaning against the doorway. "Y'know, if it got out to the Council the Crown Prince did his own washing up, you'd be in a lot of trouble." Orlando smirked and pushed himself off the wall, coming to stand next to Christian. "What crap have you got on now?" he said, indicating the radio.
"Jeez, Orlando! Give a guy some warning next time!" Christian spun around, nearly slipping on the wet floor and scowled at his little brother, despite being pleased to see him. There were standards of brotherly behavior to be upheld, after all. "And I dunno what it is. Just . . . catchy, is all." Sliding the pan onto the drainer, he released the water and turned dried his hands on the tea towel. "You want something, pain? Or just spying so you can report my nefarious activities to Council?" He spoiled the scowl he affected by grinning.
Orlando chuckled. "Seriously, if I'd given you a warning, you woulda fallen into the sink." he grinned and took a step back, out of range. "Aren't I allowed to come and visit my favourite brother?"
Christian eyed him skeptically. "What do you want?" he asked in a voice ripe with suspicion.
"Oh not much...just a little protection...y'know, from a possible skinning alive."
Christian raised an eyebrow at that. Then he had a thought. “Oh. Hang on.” He shot out of the kitchen area, near-skidding on the damp tiles, and down the hall where he shut the bedroom door before turning around and trudging back.
Orlando looked at him and blinked.
Christian grinned. “Shannon’s here.” he told him.
“What? Where?”
“Relax, rabbit.” he told Orli. “I just shut her in the bedroom. She lives here now, just so you know. But she stays inside the fence. Lemme know when you’re coming over and I’ll make sure she’s not around.”
Reaching up into the overhead cabinet he pulled down two glasses and then into the fridge, holding up a container of orange juice and a bottle of soda. Orlando pointed, choosing soda and Christian poured two, handing his brother one before leading the way into the living area and settling on the couch. "Okay." he said after taking a sip. "What'd you do and why is dad gonna be mad?"
"Well, y'know how I went on holiday and all..." He murmured, taking a large sip and screwing up his nose before continuing. "Well, I got a little bit too drunk one night and . . . kindasuggestedwegottattoos." He finished, burying his nose in the glass.
His eyes bugged and he choked, soda fizzing up the back of his throat almost to the point of emerging from his nostrils. "You what?" Christian coughed, setting the glass carefully back down. "You didn't!"
Orlando looked over the rim of his glass, eyes wide, and managed a small nod.
Christian grinned, swiping a hand across his face to hide it and fighting to quell the bubble of laughter that was trying to escape. He managed a sober look. "You’re telling me that, not content to scare dad's hair white by leaping tall buildings in a single bound or whatever-the-fuck, you then went and got a tattoo! Where?"
"Yeah, well, I was pissed, 'kay?" Orlando pouted. "It's on my stomach, 'snot even that big!"
"He's gonna kill you." Christian shook his head sadly and let out a huge sigh. "C'mon then, show me."
Orlando thumped his glass on the table and sat back, lifting the hem of his shirt up. "See. Not that big."
Omigodfuck! It was huge! Christian's eyes widened at the sight of the sun tattoo with its curving rays. "Dead." he said. "Dead'er 'n dead. Gonna miss you bro'." He shook his head in sadness and leaned back into the couch, sipping his drink and completely enjoying himself.
Orlando glared at him and took another sip of his soda. "Thanks."
Shrugging, Christian added, "I'll send flowers but I won't be at your funeral."
"Thanks so much!! What's got you so busy you can't attend your own brother's fucking funeral!?!" Orlando whined.
Scooting forward, Christian snapped open the fasteners on his watchband and let it drop onto the couch beside him, holding out his arm for Orlando to see. "I'll be too busy arranging my own." he grinned.
"You bastard!" Orlando thumped him playfully on the arm. "Getting me all worked up about dad gonna kill me!! Rotten bastard." Orlando huffed. "Nice tattoo though."
"Yeah? So's yours." Free to laugh now, he did so, falling back against the couch until the desire to giggle was overcome by more somber thoughts. "What are we gonna do?" he asked the glass of soda. "If we don't think of something, Craig'll be king."
Orlando bit his lip. "Well, I've not a clue. Yours is easy to hide, but I'll be damned if I can figure out why the fuck I got it tattooed there. S'pose it's better'n having it on my arse though." He shrugged. "Don't ask me."
"True. But at least on your arse only Harry'd see it." He mock-shuddered. "Right there's a bit . . . obvious." Christian thought about it for a moment then brightened. "Yours is bigger than mine. Maybe he'll be so busy killing you that he won't bother with me!"
"Thanks!!" Orlando glared. "You're so helpful. It was bad enough when bloody Harry saw it anyways!!"
"What'd he say?" This should be good!
"Well, it started off with something like: "Uhm, Orlando, what's this?' and got rapidly worse."
"I can imagine." Christian snorted. He didn't figure Harry for being the body art type. "Doesn't solve our problem though, does it. 'Less we get Harry to tell him while we cower?"
"Uh yeah. Can so see him agreeing to that. Nice try there."
"Harry's not scared of dad! Is he?"
"I'd rather not test that theory."
Christian thought it over, chewing on his bottom lip. Eventually he said, "We're screwed. Completely and utterly screwed. No two ways about it."
Orlando shuddered. “I hate it when dad gives me that ‘disappointed’ look.”
“Me too.”
They stared at one another for a while then Christian said, “So, how was the trip?” and Orlando began relating his adventures to the accompaniment of much mock-horror and pretend outrage on the part of his big brother.
“ . . . and he got a ride back with me.” Christian finished explaining his side of the ‘Harry Affair’.
Orlando sighed and pulled a face. “Yeah, well . . .” He looked up, catching sight of the clock on the wall above the breakfast bar, and cursed. “Damn. I promised Sean I’d look in and sort through a bit of the stuff that’s come in. I have to go.”
Christian got up and walked with him to the door. “Good to have you home, rabbit.” he told him, giving Orlando a hug and watching as he headed off down the path. At least he uses the gate, he thought with a chuckle, as Orlando closed it neatly behind him.
A sound from the bedroom stirred him and he wandered across and opened the door. “Need to go out?”
Shannon waved her feathery tail to and fro and he gestured, giving her permission. Christian turned back to thought of housekeeping. Now, where’d he leave the polish . . .
