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PART 1

Drunken, she'd once pestered him: "C'mon, the deepest, the darkest fantasy, tell meeeee."

And he'd said: "Well, no, I couldn't..." but after she'd tickled him into submission, was straddling him behind the potplant, he gasped: "OK, OK, it's Dom!"

She'd forgotten that, in the haze of tequila. She remembers it now, she couldn't say why, when she turns and sees his face that close to hers. But once she's remembered, she can't forget again.

She can't concentrate on the movie - knows it by heart, anyway. Can't concentrate on the party afterwards. So, when Orli leans past her, arm around her shoulders, she filches his mobile phone from his pocket. He doesn't notice a thing.

Dom's number's there on the list, after his mother and sister and agent.

She escapes, locks the cubicle door in the ladies with trembling fingers. It takes her three tries to hit "yes" after the number. She almost presses "cancel" as she hears the dull ringing on the other end, phone still in her hand, not raised to her ear.

Then there's the click of it picking up, and she's got it against her ear before she can blink. Before she can think. And her voice is saying: "Where are you?"

She cups her hand over her other ear to hear better though what little noise that gets through the bathroom walls is muffled and hardly loud enough to restrict her hearing. A heartbeat. Waiting.

"Huh?" It's him. She knows, somehow, she's met him somewhere once, can't remember where, it doesn't matter. "Who is this?" he asks.

"It's Keira" she answers, hopes he makes the connection. "Uh, with Orlando?" she hesitates. Wonders how he'll take that.

"With Orlando, huh?" Drily amused, and his voice isn't that sexy, why are her knees weak? "So you're all at your premiere and..." a rustle of cloth, he's looking at his watch, she can see his body like he's right in front of her "...and you're all pissed to the eyelids, right?"

"Something like that," she tells him. Feels a fluttering in her stomach at doing what she's doing. Imagines Orlando on the other side of the walls, mingling, smiling, glowing. The image or Orlando melding with that of the other.

And then she jumps and shrieks as her name comes through the cubicle door, right into her ear. "Keira, are you hiding?" That voice, that voice, she knows that voice. She almost drops his phone, as on the other end Dom says: "Hey, what? What? Who's that?"

She says - whispers - "It's Orli."

"Is it now," Dom answers in her ear, sounds amused.

To Orlando through the door, "I'm not hiding," a pause, "not exactly." Her fingers wrap around the door lock but she doesn't slide it open yet.

Silence from both. Orlando's voice, lower, "What, exactly, are you doing then?"

She's not drunk enough for this, she's not drunk enough for this, she's not -- she rams the latch open, stands back a little to let the door fall open. He's standing there, all amused and God! and she says: "Dom, I want you to tell me something."

"What?" And he's still laughing at her, both of them are.

"Your deepest, darkest fantasy."

PART 2 by Dee Silence from both of them. Orlando's not laughing any more. All she can hear over the phone is Dom's breathing. "C'mon," she says. "Don't be shy. Orli's told me his." "Has he?" Dom says, as Orlando says: "Keira!" and reaches for her. She's got nowhere to step back to in the cubicle, and Orlando grabs her wrist as she says: "Yes, he has." He doesn't pull the phone away from her ear. He stares at her, and she stares at him, and says: "Lock the door. He does, turning and scrunching beside her to twist and close the door one-handed, slide the bolt home. The sound's like electricity straight through her, but she has to concentrate, because Dom's asking: "Where are you?" His voice has changed, has been changing for a while, it's closer, more intense, and now she understands the shiver. She tells him. "We're in a cubicle in the ladies." "We?" "You know who. And you haven't told me what I want to know." She's mad. She doesn't even know this guy, but she knows Orli, and she knows Orli wants him, would know even without that memory by his breath, his gaze on her. She shifts slightly, and their limbs jangle together in the tight space. She knows, and she wants to know, she wants... "Can he hear?" Dom asks, in a tone that lodges in her abdomen. "Do you want him to?" "No." They both wait. "Yes," he admits. "He's right here," she says, and he is. Right there, so right there she wonders if Dom can hear them both breathing. "I don't... I can't," Dom says quickly. Keira knows what he means. And he's not giving him up, not relinquishing this. She's a conduit, she's their go-between. She says: "Tell me. I'll tell him." "Keira," Orlando says, and he's moved closer, or maybe the cubicle's just gotten smaller. His fingers meet around her wrist, warm and certain, and Dom's in her ear saying: "God," with a voice turning jagged. "C'mon," she whispers, wheedling and insisting, her voice low and somehow resonant in the space between Orlando and the phone. Orlando leans, and she can feel his breath by her ear. She tilts, arches her cheek against his. "C'mon. Let me." She can hear them breathing, one in each ear, all ragged and raw and out of sync. Orli's trembling, or maybe that's her. Dom, somewhere, sometime, says: "Tell him... God, tell him..." And she does, repeating what she hears, letting Dom's words come through her mouth. "I want him." The grip around her wrist tightens. "I want--fuck! I want you, Orlando." He draws back a little, so they're nose to nose, and she can look into his eyes. "Dom?" he whispers, and she feels a puff of air against her lips. "You have no idea," she repeats. "No sodding idea how damn fuckable you are." She barely recognises her voice; there's a thread of steel straight down the middle. "You've been wasted. I want to kiss you the way you fucking should be kissed. I want to show you -" She's cut off as lips hit hers, a tongue crushes into her mouth, the hand around her wrist almost painful but she's pushing back and God! she's never kissed someone like this, so hard and fast and a voice in her head saying: "Not a fucking princess, I can force this, you can't have it all your way, c'mon, give it up, give it up for me..." But Orlando's not giving anything up. He's kissing her like violence, his hand around her wrist and the other on her shoulder, fingers pressing, digging in. "God," she gasps, echoes, when he lets her. "Orli." She's pressed against him in the close space, and he's hard against her lower stomach. "Yes," he hisses against her lips. "Now I'm going to..." she says, breathless voice in her ear, breathless against his mouth. "I'm going to touch you." Keira pushes her free hand between them, and Orli jumps into her palm, gasps. "Yes. C'mon, let me..." She works at his trousers, unfastens faster and easier than she's ever managed before. Reaches inside and curls her fingers, lets him fill her palm, strokes - long and sure and firm but holding back, just a little, and - "You like that, don't you?" Orli's answer has no vowels. His eyes are closed, he's leaning against her forehead. "Yes. Oh yes. I know you. I can bring you to your fucking knees." She knows it's true, with Dom in her ear and Orli in her hand. "So tell me, Orli," she repeats. "What do you want?" "Harder," he mutters, bucking into her hand. But she backs off a little. "No. What do you want? Orlando!" Sharp, stern and his eyes snap open, so close to hers. "Tell me." There's something in his gaze she's never seen, something she knows she never could, something so sharp and burning. "I want to fuck you," he growls, lips brushing hers. She smiles, grimly satisfied. "Then do it," she echoes, the voice on the phone like a thrill through her. "Bend me over and fuck me." He kisses her; she kisses him, fast and deep and biting, then they're disentangling, letting go to spin her around. There's rustling and movement behind her - the sound of tearing foil - as she works the buttons of her jeans one-handed. Hands from behind wrench her jeans and underwear down together, and then there's a hand between her shoulder blades, pushing her forward. She bends over the toilet, splays the fingers of her free hand against the cold porcelain of the cistern. Braces herself. Orli leans over her, circles his fingers around her wrist again, just brushing the phone against her ear. She arches, and he asks: "Are you ready?" "Do it," they rasp. She's barely ready, and his first thrust draws a low cry from her, a grunt in her ear. "Wait." Orli pauses, holds, buried deep inside her as she shifts, stretches, breathes shallowly as she gets used to him. "Shit, it's so..." But there are no descriptions adequate, and they tell him: "Now fuck me." He does. He pulls back and plunges into her, his hands on her hip, her wrist, the phone warm in her hand, the cistern cool and hard. She moves with his rhythm, presses back to meet him. It's slower and quickening. It's deep and approaching the all-encompassing. It's like nothing else. She's never been noisy, let alone a talker, but Dom's voice is in her ear, straining in counterpoint, in her head, and she tells Orli, she tells him what comes through her - oh God, yes, harder, c'mon, make me... Her blood's boiling, she's burning up, going out of her mind in the middle, with them pushing her from both sides, but she's teetering, can't tip over the edge until Dom's voice cracks. His groan jags through her, and she comes, strangling her own scream in the back of her throat. She rides it, waves and waves of Dom's shuddering breath, Orli's rhythm unabated, until he loses it, convulses and jerks. He gasps a name, and she's pulled over the edge again. She's undone, she's lost; her elbow buckles and she sags forward, her forehead almost meeting porcelain. Orli leans against her, she leans against the cistern. When his weight is removed, when he pulls out and lets her go, she's boneless. Crumbles to her knees, leaning against the toilet. Sags. The phone's gone, she realises. It's lying on the floor beside a hand she could only move with effort. She watches other fingers - broader, trembling slightly - curl around it, and disappear from her view. "Dom?...Dom...yes." She closes her eyes.

PART 2 by Amy And suddenly Orlando is in the cubicle with her, sliding the lock closed behind him with a metallic scrape. He still seems amused, but now something else is sparkling in the depths of his eyes. Something dangerous. “My darkest fantasy?” Dom’s voice questions, unsure. Orlando steps closer, hands coming to rest on her hips. She watches him, eyes locked. Feels the heat radiating from him and contrasting with the cold of the bathroom. “Yeah,” she says, still watching Orlando. Watching him watching her. “Is Orli there?” The question gives her the answer she needs, simultaneously calms her and makes her stomach flip. “He’s here,” she answers, sees Orlando’s eyes dart to the phone, “and he told me his fantasy already.” Orlando’s eyes widen ever so slightly. Another pause on the phone. She can still see Dom in her mind, fingers tightening around the phone a little too tensely, brow wrinkled as he tries to evaluate the situation. Make a decision. “Fuck,” Dom breathes softly, voice catching. “How…?” “Tell me,” she finds herself saying, although she hadn’t thought it out this far. “Tell me what to do.” Orlando inches closer, one hand sliding down her hip, over her ass and up again. She’d started this recklessly, and that’s how she wants to finish it now. Recklessly, and up against the cubicle door. She can tell Orlando knows it. “His throat,” Dom breathes in her ear, and she can see him, standing there with his eyes closed, mouth parted. “I’ve always wanted… his throat.” So she moves into Orlando’s neck, presses her lips to a tendon as she presses the phone and the sound of Dom’s breathing to Orlando’s ear. Pushes forward, backing Orlando up against the cold cubicle door. She licks along muscle, salty warm skin. Can feel him swallow hard under her lips and feels her body respond, as it always does, to the knowledge of her control over him. She’s doing this. And the thought makes a shiver trill down her spine, settle through to her abdomen. Well. Her and Dom, she amends, sinks her teeth gently into Orlando’s flesh, feels the warmth of him on her lips, against her tongue. But she knows the effect this is having on Dom too. On all of them. Orlando’s breath rasps in his chest, pushes up against her breasts and the tight corset, and she wonders if it was because of her mouth sucking along his throat, or if it’s Dom, speaking into his ear. Breathing. Moaning. It doesn’t matter. It all has the same effect. Orlando’s arms are tight around her, hands roaming her back, sliding under her top, through the slits of the sleeves and around her shoulders. Down the back of her jeans, tracing tailbones and skin. His head leans back against the door of the stall, eyes closed. She brings the phone back from Orlando to her, presses the warmed plastic to her ear. “Dom?” “Yeah?” his breath sounds harsh and she almost swears at the flush of weakness that shoots down her legs. Wishes she could see him, see him watching Orlando. Watching her. “What now?” A distinct groan, muffled through the phone. “His mouth.” And her lips are on Orlando’s with a force that surprises even her. It’s not like she hasn’t done this a thousand times before. But now she’s being told to, and it makes her want to obey. To ravish the pink flesh, slide her tongue across the blindingly white, fucking perfect teeth. To make his tongue do what she wants it to. Confusion swirls in her head as she curls her tongue against Orlando’s, presses her pelvis hard into his. She wants to dominate him. Wants to make him hers, make him do every thing she tells him, make him fuck her at the slightest arch of an eyebrow, brush of a fingertip. But at the same time she wants to be told. Wants someone…Dom, to rule her actions. Give her permission, and hold her back. She wants him to make her submissive. Make her beg. Make her the medium to fuck Orlando. She’s managing to do both. Dom’s breathing is fast in her ear, Orlando’s tongue hot in her mouth and he’s hard and pressing against her hip. His hands now pressing against the small of her back, pulling her into him, and she knows he can’t wait much longer. Not like this. And neither can she. They can’t do this long, make it slow and excruciatingly sweet, not with the party outside the room, the party for them, and not with the situation. And there’s time for more, later. In person. She pulls her lips from Orlando, his eyes boring into hers with a lust that makes her stomach sink to her toes. Breathes heavily into the phone, almost pleading, “Dom?” He can hear her need, they both can. “Give the phone to Orli,” Dom commands and she presses it to Orlando’s ear, his hand coming up to hold it there. Orlando groans into the phone at whatever Dom is saying to him. Sounds so frustrated and vulnerable all at once. But she wants to hear, moves up on her tiptoes. She’s so close to Orlando, her face up against his, feeling his breath hot on her cheek, curls blurring in her vision. She hears Dom’s words, tinny and faint. Forceful. Fuck her, Orli. And at the words in his ear Orlando tosses the phone aside lets it clatters against the dirty linoleum, skitters backwards and hit the base of the toilet with a dull clang. He’s twirling her around and she almost loses her balance before he presses her up against the door. Hard. His mouth fucks hers, rough and full of need. The thought that they’re going to have to take a moment so no one can tell what they’ve been doing makes it tantalizingly close to staying in her consciousness before it’s swallowed in the lust. “Oh god,” Orlando pulls away, dips his head and moans against her throat. “Keira.” He moans it into her flesh like it’s a dirty word and it only makes her need increase. His hands are fumbling at the base of her jeans, slipping the button open, sliding the zip down. Dexterous fingers sliding in between the denim folds…wet material, sensitive skin… making her yelp softly and press against him. “Now, Orli,” she whispers urgently and he nods. “You have to take these off,” he murmurs, helps her to slide the denim down her legs, tries to take one leg off but it gets stuck on her shoe, point and the heel refusing to release the material. “Fuck,” she mutters, pushes the shoe off with Orlando helping. It joins the phone in the corner of the cubicle. The other leg pools around her still shoed ankle and she urges Orlando up. She doesn’t need to go further. Orlando’s sweats prove infinitely more cooperative and she wonders if that is merely coincidence. She clings to his shoulders as he lifts her up, wraps her legs around his waist as he pushes her against the door. Pushes into her. Oh god. Oh god. Oh fuck. She pushes her head back against the door, bites her lip to keep from making noise, drawing attention. Dies a little every time Orlando moves within her, fills her and completes her. Thrusts. Possesses. She reaches an arm up, elbow bending and fingers curling around the top of the door, knuckles white as she grips harder and harder. Anyone coming into the bathroom will have no trouble figuring out what’s going on. Orlando’s shoes, those awful obvious cloven shoes, at the bottom of the stall, her fingers curling over the top and the door lock rattling against the jam with every rhythmic thrust. She wishes Dom could see them, see them wrapped up together, panting, groaning, trying as hard as they can to be quiet, unnoticed. Wonders if Dom can hear them anyway. If he’s even listening anymore or occupied with his own pleasure. She wants Dom to see her, watch her as she arches suddenly and shudders, grips the door and Orlando as tight as she can and swallows the noises that are trying so hard to push up her throat. She hears Orlando’s groans, so familiar, and while she should caution him, press a finger to his lips to quiet him, she can’t. Can’t silence him because she wants to hear him. She always does. She slides to the ground, Orlando’s weight against her keeping her upright. Breathing hard against each other. His forehead presses against her, damp and burning with heat. His curls stick to her forehead as well as his own. “Orli,” she whispers against his lips. “You’re an evil, evil woman,” he murmurs, amusement lacing his voice once more. He kisses her mouth softly. “Well yes…sometimes…oh,” she exclaims, remembering the phone. “Dom...” Orlando laughs softly, “He’ll be fine,” he pauses, glances behind him, “though my phone might not be.” She grins, “I’ll buy you a new one.” “So you can do this again?” he asks, bestows a full grin on her that makes her want to never leave the bathroom. She just smiles mysteriously. “Well that depends.” He raises an eyebrow, “On?” “On whether you have any more deep and dark fantasies,” she grins. He presses harder against her, flattening her into the door. Growls into her ear, “I haven’t experienced this one fully.” “Neither has Dom,” she answers. He kisses her right temple softly, “You look so hot in this thing,” he murmurs, traces the top of her corset with a fingertip. “Oh I know,” she smiles, amused. “You look hotter out of it, though,” he grins, dips his finger teasingly down the crevice between her breasts and the stiff material. “Think Dom will think so?” she smirks. “I’d say it’s a safe bet,” Orlando smirks back. “Shall we pay him a visit,” she asks, gestures around her with her hands, meaning to indicate the party, “after this?” “Find out what his fantasies are?” Orlando asks, voice lowering, full of sex and promise. “His deepest darkest ones,” she adds as her mouth finds its way back to his.

END