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Title: Three Go To Bed(fordshire)
Author : [ profile] gattodoro
Shouting from the sidelines: [ profile] silvan_lady
Rating: NC17
Word Count; 1676
Pairing: Eric/Karl/Orlando and delicious combinations thereof
Disclaimer: As ever, if you believe anything in the slash_cave is real, then you are crazier than us, and that’s saying something!
Author’s note: Prompted by a three-way (ooh-err missus) text exchange with the adotable [ profile] artemisallen so she should take a share of the blame.

Karl would be the first to admit that hanging out at the Slash Cave brought with it certain benefits – regular and spectacular orgasms, for instance – but there were also some ‘challenges’. Typically these coincide with one of the 'wielders of the blue pen' having a bad day in which case it is anybody’s guess what might happen and whether it will be fun – it could go both ways (and Karl frequently does!).  Instructions to mete out random acts of revenge on deserving idiots, Plonkers, cyclists, inconsiderate colleagues and London Midland (amongst others) were welcome; who didn’t like a little gratuitous violence?  Shagging, ditto (duh!).  Requests for tea and sympathy (or warming cuddles) were less exciting and not really Karl’s area of expertise, but he was prepared to give anything a go if it made them happy.  If they wanted him to be a human duvet or rustle up a cup cake, fine, he’d grit his teeth and get on with it. He’d do anything really, just as long as he didn’t get left behind.

Like today.

At this point Karl is glowering at the spot on the ceiling that is generally used as the focal point for attempts at communicating with the wielders of the blue pen because he finds himself alone in the Slash Cave. Well alone except for Viggo, but he doesn’t count because he is in one of his artistic manic states, and Sean, who also doesn’t count because he is indulging Viggo. (Feel free to interpret ‘indulging’ in any way you see proper … or indeed improper.) Of Eric, Karl’s favourite shag du jour, and Orlando (everybody’s favourite sex toy), there is no sign. They’ve been missing since Silvan_Lady complained about being cold in the office and, on being offered the choice of the two to warm her up, wisely chose both. Obviously this is entirely fair – Silv gets what Silv wants - but Karl had been expecting them to return to the Cave for the weekend and they haven’t. Karl is feeling lonely. Karl is feeling neglected. To be blunt, Karl is feeling horny and suspicious that he is missing out on some epic sex – a not unreasonable notion.

Mindful that a frustrated Karl is bad news for the fixtures and fittings (though not as bad as Hugh in Wolverine mode), Gattodoro decides that she will let our anxious hero head off in search of his missing fuck buddies friends. To this end she persuades him into his best suit (guaranteed to push Silvan_Lady’s buttons), furnishes him with the spare Oyster card, and instructs him to be in bed by midnight (whose bed, she wisely does not specify). Karl pouts a bit – he was hoping to be granted one of the (mythical) Slash Cave vehicles – but Gattodoro says that only a fool would want to drive across London. Karl obviously is a fool – one only has to remember the incident with the JCB and the open top tour bus (and Gattodoro does). She holds firm on the public transport option, though with some misgivings over the potential mental health issues this might cause Karl’s fellow passengers, because the length of the journey should give Silvan_ Lady time to extract Eric and Orlando from wherever (or whoever…) they’ve got to and hose them down clean them up.

Fortunately - or should that be remarkably? - the Northern Line and the trains from Euston are running well and the commuters prudently choose not to notice Karl even though – or is it because? - he is carrying a stuffed puffer fish (Author: no I don’t know why either, but I imagine it could be used for nefarious purposes). This probably contravenes all sorts of Transport for London bye-laws, but, frankly, Karl doesn’t give a fuck. He just wants his Eric back. Or was it to fuck Eric on his back? He can be hazy on details such as these.

Eventually Karl arrives at Slash Cave Middle Earth England (it would have been named Slash Cave North but there is a certain establishment in Yorkshire that is a promising target for future territorial expansion, not least because the locals can actually understand Sean and Henderson's Relish can be readily obtained), though not before pausing to express his displeasure at some very unsafe and inconsiderate parking on the approach road.  He was quite restrained by his standards, merely writing ‘You park like a c**t’ across the windscreen of the offending vehicles in orange lipstick. Poor Karl, he was so excited to get his hands on a ‘chubby stick’ but Mango Tango wasn’t really his shade.

Silvan_Lady, being a sensible (and pervy) woman leads Karl to where Eric and Orlando are reclining on her capacious (and wipe-clean) sofa before retreating, with a fresh mug of tea, to the relative safety of the conservatory from where she has a good view of the living room (and her LOTR DVDs for entertainment should things not pan out as she hopes).

“Karl!” yells Eric, as he bounds enthusiastically to his feet.  “I hope you’ve brought more lube?” His supplies are running low – you’d have thought that anyone whose arse got as much use as Orlando’s did in Fanfic would have loosened up by now, but the man continues to have the snuggest sphincter in seven kingdoms – it is either witchcraft or lazy writing. Eric clutches his snuggly sex bear bezzie mate to his impressive chest so tightly he would have crushed the spine of a lesser man. He’d missed the Kiwi bastard; Orlando might not snore as much as Karl but he wriggles in bed like a lap dancer with an itchy thong and Eric needs his beauty sleep if he isn’t to be Mr Grumpy.

“Hey Karl,” Orlando waves, but doesn’t bother to get up; he is conserving his strength. He is used to being ‘ridden hard and put away wet’ as Viggo so memorably put it, but it had been an unusually energetic weekend. Who knew that inventorying Tupperware boxes could be so much work? Orlando is quietly confident that them with the blue pen have designs on his arse, again – and why not? It is a stellar arse, or so he’s been told by many people in multiple Fandoms – so he is girding his loins (and that isn’t as much of a metaphor as you may think).

It suddenly becomes very hot in the living room – almost assuredly because Silvan_Lady has used her phone to sneakily tweak the Hive thermostat – and our three dashing gentlemen feel compelled to shrug off their beautifully tailored suit jackets, at which point Silv hyperventilates and realises that her view - and her conscience – were going to be obstructed by an accusing pile of ironing. Cue intervention of blue pen.

Wouldn’t it be lovely if structural alterations could be achieved so easily in the real world? As it is, here in Slash Cave ME, our boys now find themselves in a well-appointed bedroom, though, unusually, it is one with a viewing gallery on which Silv and her awesome friends (she is a sharing sort of person) have taken up position. Let us proceed.

Karl, who is eying the bed in case it disappears as suddenly as it appeared, hastily removes his trousers and Eric and Orlando follow his example. Shirts and underwear follow in short order (you can work out for yourselves who had been wearing the leopard print thong, and who owned the Mr Men socks), though Orlando is made to keep his shirt on, albeit unbuttoned, because the white fabric does set off his caramel toned skin rather nicely and Eric, thinking ahead, reckons it might make a useful gag if Orlando gets too demanding – or too loud. It wouldn’t do to scandalise the neighbours, would it?

The onlookers in the viewing gallery applaud this tableau – what is not to like about bulging biceps, awesome abs and eager erections? (Obviously this is a rhetorical question.) – so Orlando takes a bow – force of habit from his theatrical excursions (not all of which have been on stage) – which may be a strategic error as Karl immediately takes the opportunity to get behind him and tumble him head first onto the bed. Alternatively it might just have been Orlando bowing to the inevitable, so to speak.
“Bagsy first go!” cries Karl somewhat redundantly because he has already lined up Orlando’s lissom limbs and is slathering on the lube (as if he would have left home without it…). Orlando moans loudly when he is penetrated by the bulbous head of Karl’s cock - “You could have warmed it up first, you git!” – but soon he is moaning in a quite different manner.

Eric- like the audience – is enjoying the show. It isn’t often that he gets a full view of Karl’s beautiful butt and he has his head cocked in appreciation.  Other parts of him are cocked too, however, and as Karl has incautiously left his rear unprotected, Eric feels that he should take advantage of the situation. So he does.

Well if you thought Orlando was vocal, you’ve never heard Karl in full voice. He sets off car alarms two streets away with his mighty roar and the British Geological Society record an earth tremor of 2.6 magnitude. The budgies in the garden aren’t impressed, and nor are the bed springs, but Karl definitely is. Though taken aback, as it were, by the sudden intrusion, the dual onslaught on his senses is, well, sensational, for want of a better description. Though to try, in inimitable Kiwi fashion, consider the contrast between being stretched by Eric, who is more filling than a burger and fries, and being squeezed by Orlando, who is a man who likes to get every last drop out of a lemon and you might begin to get the idea.  (Why yes, Karl is feeling quite peckish, how did you guess?)

You can imagine how this scene plays out – in fact you are going to have to because I’m done writing! – but be sure that there will be multiple happy endings.

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