ext_1776 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
ethrosdemon.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fellowshippers2003-02-14 02:15 pm
ethrosdemon.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2003-02-14 02:15 pm
(no subject)
Title: Paper Heart
Author: Kassie
E-mail: naturallycalm@yahoo.com
Pairing: VM/OB
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Completely invented. No intention towards reality.
Notes: Not related to the other VM/OB crap I post. For Z.
Viggo rarely throws anything away. He never knows when he might be in desperate need of a broken lock or Styrofoam eggcrates or a box *just* this size. So his closets are overflowing with disorganized rubble and unlabeled crates he intuitively knows the contents of. Once he made the mistake of saying "Hell no I don’t mind if you look through there," to Orlando. Who then took that as a standing invitation to rummage through Viggo’s odds and ends in moments of boredom. He also possesses a key to the house.
So when Viggo stumbles through his front door in need of a drink, a bath, and about a case of tiger balm, he grunts at the figure crouched on his living room floor pawing through a box. He comes back from his room half-dressed when his mind catches up with him and he realizes which box, exactly, Orlando is exploring.
He watches delicate fingers drift over leggos and a homemade, leather and feather Indian headband from a few steps away. This would be a stellar invasion of privacy if it were anyone else. But Orlando loves Henry, and Viggo knows how to share. People aren’t possession, and a child can’t have too many parents, or perhaps older brothers. And that last thought jars him slightly because he’s almost mauled Orlando on several occasions and watched as Dom blew him under the table not looking away from his face as he came in whispers and a slack mouth.
Those thoughts occupy him while Orlando slips the paper heart out of the cardboard envelope. The red heart frames a white doily one, and in the scrawling, precise writing of a child, it reads: "Happy Valentine’s Day, Daddy". Orlando turns, the card resting on his open palms and stares directly into Viggo’s dirt-smudged and surprised face.
"Where do you hide my box?" He slips the card back into its protective sleeve, looking away to allow Viggo to compose a reply, to decide whether to lie or step over the invisible line Orlando has just drawn with words in the transparent air of Viggo’s living room.
"It’s in my bedroom closet. Do you want to see it?" He watches as Orlando carefully repacks everything he’s removed, settles the lid back on the blue, Rubbermade container and stands.
"The contents of the box, or just the inside of your bedroom?" Orlando half smiles, allowing it to be just another breezy, friendly pass to add to the list.
Viggo considers making a joke about Orlando probably napping in his bed while he sleeps in the leaves and twigs of the woods, but doesn’t. Instead he answers, "Whatever you want." And whatever Orlando wants includes his hands in Viggo’s pants immediately and for Viggo to dirty talk in Spanish.
Author: Kassie
E-mail: naturallycalm@yahoo.com
Pairing: VM/OB
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Completely invented. No intention towards reality.
Notes: Not related to the other VM/OB crap I post. For Z.
Viggo rarely throws anything away. He never knows when he might be in desperate need of a broken lock or Styrofoam eggcrates or a box *just* this size. So his closets are overflowing with disorganized rubble and unlabeled crates he intuitively knows the contents of. Once he made the mistake of saying "Hell no I don’t mind if you look through there," to Orlando. Who then took that as a standing invitation to rummage through Viggo’s odds and ends in moments of boredom. He also possesses a key to the house.
So when Viggo stumbles through his front door in need of a drink, a bath, and about a case of tiger balm, he grunts at the figure crouched on his living room floor pawing through a box. He comes back from his room half-dressed when his mind catches up with him and he realizes which box, exactly, Orlando is exploring.
He watches delicate fingers drift over leggos and a homemade, leather and feather Indian headband from a few steps away. This would be a stellar invasion of privacy if it were anyone else. But Orlando loves Henry, and Viggo knows how to share. People aren’t possession, and a child can’t have too many parents, or perhaps older brothers. And that last thought jars him slightly because he’s almost mauled Orlando on several occasions and watched as Dom blew him under the table not looking away from his face as he came in whispers and a slack mouth.
Those thoughts occupy him while Orlando slips the paper heart out of the cardboard envelope. The red heart frames a white doily one, and in the scrawling, precise writing of a child, it reads: "Happy Valentine’s Day, Daddy". Orlando turns, the card resting on his open palms and stares directly into Viggo’s dirt-smudged and surprised face.
"Where do you hide my box?" He slips the card back into its protective sleeve, looking away to allow Viggo to compose a reply, to decide whether to lie or step over the invisible line Orlando has just drawn with words in the transparent air of Viggo’s living room.
"It’s in my bedroom closet. Do you want to see it?" He watches as Orlando carefully repacks everything he’s removed, settles the lid back on the blue, Rubbermade container and stands.
"The contents of the box, or just the inside of your bedroom?" Orlando half smiles, allowing it to be just another breezy, friendly pass to add to the list.
Viggo considers making a joke about Orlando probably napping in his bed while he sleeps in the leaves and twigs of the woods, but doesn’t. Instead he answers, "Whatever you want." And whatever Orlando wants includes his hands in Viggo’s pants immediately and for Viggo to dirty talk in Spanish.
no subject
no subject
Your eyebrow is scaring me into a hobbit-like trance of doom.
no subject
Yes.
:)
no subject
no subject
Thanks for the love.
no subject