slash_cave: (Slash_cave)
[personal profile] slash_cave
Title: Getting Creative with the Stuffing!
Authors: [ profile] gattodoro & [ profile] silvan_lady
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Most of the usual crowd get a mention
Word Count: 1,964
Warning: Christmas Crack fic!
Authors' Note: Beware the blue!

( Getting Creative with the Stuffing! )

It was nearly Christmas in the Slash Cave and Orlando was worried.

Of course, it wasn’t his first Christmas there, but his memories of last year were distinctly hazy due to Eric and his bottle of brandy.

Not that Orlando ever drank brandy - nasty burny stuff in his opinion - but Eric had added almost the entire bottle to the Christmas pudding. The resulting subterranean detonation had sent seismologists over three continents rushing to stare at computer print outs instead of Christmas dinner. It also put most of the residents of the Slash Cave flat on their backs, but they hardly noticed as they spent a great deal of time in that position anyway.

By the time they recovered, no one could remember very much about anything, but they blamed Captain Jack because usually it was his fault. No one had forgotten the temporal anomaly; in fact Sean had been heard to speculate on occasion that Viggo lived in it permanently.

Gatty: You haven’t said why Orlando was worried?

Silv: Okay, okay I’m getting there!

Orlando was worried because the Slash Cave didn’t have a chimney and he wanted somewhere to hang his stocking.

Gatty (being pedantic): Actually, the Cave does have a chimney, but the fireplace is blocked up. Since I don’t want Karl demolishing anything structural just to satisfy Orlando’s inner child, I am prepared to ignore this blatant disregard for the facts, as long as one of the boys gets on with satisfying Orlando in more important, and assuredly NC17 ways at the earliest opportunity.

Silv (rolling eyes): Goodness me woman, stop complaining and put the kettle on. You of all people should know that there is no Slash without tea!

And with a wave of the mighty blue pen, there was tea. Now where were we? *Coughs*

Orlando was worried because the Slash Cave didn’t have a chimney and he wanted somewhere to hang his stocking.

He would have hung it from the bedstead, but they had had to remove the footboard so that Eric could dangle his feet over the end of the mattress and there wasn’t enough space at the other end due to the plethora of scarves, handcuffs, whips and paddles they kept on hand should the need arise (and it arose remarkably frequently).

He toyed with hanging his stocking from a doorknob, but it slid off every time someone turned the handle. Then he tried a real knob - Viggo was wafting his around while he contemplated his use of negative space in his latest masterwork - but quickly realised that Viggo was going to appropriate it as a willy warmer and what would Santa say if he found a pre-stuffed stocking?

Silv: That depends on Santa’s inclinations. I’m sure there are some who would be very happy to find Viggo stuffed in their stocking!

Gatty: Yes, but this is Orlando’s stocking, and frankly, I think ‘they’ *waves vaguely at the slash cave readers* would prefer Viggo to stuff Orlando’s something else!

Silv: Well, he can, AFTER Orlando has found somewhere to hang it.

Orlando stood, still undecided, slowly swinging the red woolly sock from side to side.

Sean who had been Christmas shopping, chose that moment to stagger into the cave carrying a ridiculous number of bags. Having unceremoniously dropped them on the floor in multi-coloured heap, he eyed Orlando warily.

"That's not a ribbon you've got there, lad, is it?"

Memories of a red satin ribbon used as make-shift cock ring still haunted him. Not that such use of a ribbon was a problem, but Orlando's attempt at an ornate bow for Viggo's birthday, had meant that more than the pen in Slash Cave had been blue.

"It's a stocking," Orlando said.

"Now that's a much better idea," Sean told him with a sudden gleam in his eye. "But don't you need two? And isn't that a bit small?"

"I'm not going wear it! It's for Santa!"

Sean pursed his lips. "Last time I checked Santa wore red trousers," he pointed out, and then ran as Orlando grabbed the nearest loose object and threw it. As it happened to be a tube of cerulean paint, the air was suddenly blue, literally.

"Viggo! You are meant to put the lids back on," Sean bellowed.

Viggo looked up from his canvas. "Why? I just have to take them off again," he explained, sounding surprised that Sean hadn't realised that already.

Sean looked pointedly at the wet splashes across the floor. "They won't like it," he said cryptically. "There's only one kind of splattering they approve of, and that's not it!"

There was a muffled expression of agreement from the direction of the bed and Eric's head appeared. "Did someone mention splattering? I like the sound of that."

Sean pointed towards their resident Elf and his sock. "We all like the sound of it," he said, "and the sight, and the feel, but he has something else on his mind at the moment!"

Silv and Gatty (in unison): We like it too!

"In that case," said Sean somewhat sarcastically, glaring at the authors, or at least in the direction where he assumed the authors would be. (His gaze was aimed pretty much directly above the bed, so he wasn't far wrong.) "Perhaps you could provide something appropriate and we can all get back to business as usual!"

Silv: Why didn't I think of that?

Gatty: You just did!

Silv: Okay, suggestions please guys, and make it snappy; I've got to get creative with the stuffing!

"Creative stuffing is our department!" Karl emerged from under the bed, which caused a few raised eyebrows, until it became obvious that Eric's feet weren't the only things that he could hang over the edge of the mattress. "I've got a spear left over from...."

"And it can stay left over!" Eric interjected. "That thing is damn sharp!"

"I was only going to suggest pinning the stocking to the wall with it," Karl protested mildly.

Gatty: No way! I've seen the size of your spear. It's not going anywhere near the walls of the Slash Cave!

Silv: So what then? Come on, guys, what would you like?"

"Something that grows," Viggo suggested with a wink.

"Something that lets me score," Sean added grinning.

"Something I can get both hands around." Eric demonstrated a twisting motion.

Gatty: Will you please take your minds out the gutter, we need sensible suggestions!"

"But I meant a tree," said Viggo innocently.

"Goal posts," said Sean with a smirk.

"Handlebars," said Eric beaming.

"A hook," said Orlando.

"What?" Everyone turned to look at him.

"A hook," he repeated, "or something with a hook on it. You guys need to think outside the box occasionally. We have the magic blue pen at our disposal since 'they' are being obliging today. All we need is a hook, or five* hooks to be accurate, because you guys need to hang up your stockings too. We don’t need to dig out the wall or cut a hole in the roof."

*There are only five boys in residence at the moment - sadly, Hugh is away promoting ‘Les Mis’ and Captain Jack is missing in action, most probably trying to gatecrash the Doctor Who Christmas Special.

It was no sooner said than done.

A cast iron grate with a blazing log fire appeared almost instantly. A mantel shelf, liberally be-decked with ornate hooks on either side settled into place above the fire, and garlands of flame-proof holly festooned every available surface. A few seconds later, a selection of coloured socks twisted and tumbled across the room and neatly hung themselves in an orderly fashion, leaving just one empty place.

“See!” Orlando looked smug. “You just have to ask nicely, and ‘they’ will oblige.”

Eric looked longingly at a photo of a Harley Davidson on the cover of Motor Cycle Monthly that Karl had inadvertently pushed out from under the mattress, and then upwards, but thought better of it. Gatty really didn’t like oil on the carpet.

Gatty: Not that sort of oil anyway…*Smirks*

Orlando advanced across the room towards to the vacant hook and attached his stocking with great care.

“There, I’m all ready,” he said. “Father Christmas can come now!”

Sean and Viggo looked at each other, and then advanced across the room towards Orlando with great care.

“I don’t know about Father Christmas,” Sean said with a grin, “but the ‘come now’ bit sounds good!”

Ever one to take a hint, Gatty hastily wrote in a very large, very deep, very soft rug in front of the fire and thoughtfully placed a few tubes of lube on the hearth to warm Nothing worse than cold lube in intimate places! having first checked that all of Viggo’s oil paints were accounted for and the lids tightened. Another waft of the blue pen and Orlando was divested of his clothing, all save for an artfully undone bow tie and a festively themed thong that made it clear that Santa’s sack wasn’t the only thing that was bulging.

Viggo’s eyes lit up. “Is all that for me? My, I have been a good boy this year!” He set about removing the thong - with his teeth naturally - which was both relief and torment for Orlando; it had been rather a snug fit, but Viggo’s wicked tongue was doing all manner of things to inflame his desire.

“Now then Vig, what have ‘they’ told you about sharing your toys?” Sean chided, though without heat, because Viggo had carefully positioned himself and Orlando so that Sean had full access to Orlando’s eager lips. Sean pressed his mouth to Orlando’s just in time to swallow his mewl of surprise as Viggo, having disposed of the offending thong, poured something warm and sticky over Orlando’s balls and proceeded to lick it off.

Silv: Is that brandy sauce?

Gatty: Randy sauce, more like! But yes. I thought if I put the brandy in a sauce then Eric won’t be able to ignite the pudding this year.

Silv: That’s as maybe, but he’ll probably find something to set fire to... in fact, perhaps it wasn’t wise to have an open fire?

Gatty: Possibly not, but he seems to be gainfully occupied at the moment.

As indeed Eric was. Karl had emerged from under the bed and was now trussed like the proverbial Christmas turkey giving Eric full access to stuff his cavity. It seemed likely that this particular bird was going to get a very thorough basting and served with all the trimmings.

Silv: *Groans* That’s a terrible pun, even by your standards.

Gatty: I know; it was a reject from a Christmas cracker.

And so, as Orlando screams out the first orgasm of the day, we leave the male inhabitants of the Slash Cave in their customary, compromising positions and the authors, cleaning their spectacles for a better view, wish you all a very, very pervy Christmas.

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