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fellowshippers2007-04-07 11:25 pm
stormatdusk.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2007-04-07 11:25 pm
Entry tags:
Geek!Orlando, part 15 (Orlando/Viggo, adult)
author: stormatdusk
pairing: Viggo/Orlando
rating: adult
warnings: m/m sex; otherwise, none
disclaimer: this is only fiction.
a/n: starts here
picks up directly from part 14
a/n 2: icon of evil toaster love by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
alliwantisanelf!
super geek!banner made by the lovelygalor5!
Orlando was so happy.
He tried to focus on the minister’s words. Really, he did. But he was here, surrounded by their family and their friends, in this lovely church on a long red carpet, standing next to Viggo, and they were getting married.
He was just too blissfully happy to focus.
And too – well… you know – horny.
The minister seemed to talk forever. So near yet so far given their very public circumstances, Viggo’s delicious scent was driving Orlando mad. He just wanted – needed – to finish this ceremony and sequester away with his new husband, to find the relief he was aching for. His body didn’t care about the solemnity of the occasion; his lust was rising more with every Viggo-whiff.
Sweat broke out on his forehead as he began to panic. If they didn’t finish the wedding soon, he was in serious danger of coming in his lovely rented tux, right in front of everyone.
Finally, finally, they had spoken their vows and were pronounced husband and husband. “Orlando,” the minister concluded joyfully, “you may now depress your husband’s lever.”
Hard as stone now, Orlando blinked in confusion. He turned to Viggo.
Viggo, his new husband Viggo, was. A giant. Toaster.
Viggo the Giant Toaster turned and waved his shiny chrome backside temptingly at Orlando. “Come on, lover,” he rasped. “Do it. Turn me all the way up to Dark and press down my lever, baby.”
Orlando grabbed for his crotch, trying to stave off his imminent orgasm. He could NOT shoot all over his new husband here, now, in church, in front of everyone they knew!
He glanced desperately out at the congregation, hoping to find one face, one friendly face to help him hold on, help him avoid losing it altogether….
The seats were filled with bread.
Viggo the Giant Toaster-sized slices of bread.
Rye bread, and wheat bread, and sour dough. Enriched white, and cottage, and potato. And – oh god – raisin. All chanting quietly, in one, giant, bready voice:
“DO it… DO it… DO it… DO it…”
Viggo’s toast popped up.
Nooooooooooooooo!
Orlando opened his eyes.
A blurry Viggo was crouched over him. Just Viggo. Not Viggo the Giant Toaster.
Oh thank goodness.
“You awake now?” Viggo asked, concern on his face. Well, it looked like concern. It was either concern or dinner had disagreed with him.
“Yeah… um,” Orlando mumbled.
Why was he on the floor?
“You just dropped,” Viggo said. “How do you feel? Are you dizzy? Sick?”
“I… I fainted?” Orlando asked unnecessarily.
“Yeah,” Viggo helped gently prop Orlando to a sit. “One minute I was handing you a shopping bag, and the next minute you were lying on the floor, mumbling something about ‘forsaking all other toasters…’”
Oh god. Orlando wobbled. Viggo tightened his grip on Orlando’s arms.
“Orlando, are you ill? Is there something you’re not telling me?” Viggo really seemed worried. Well, either worried, or that disagreeing with dinner thing. Probably worried.
He couldn’t let Viggo worry like this. It just wouldn’t be right.
He had to tell him.
Orlando clapped both his hands over his squeezed-shut eyes. And told him.
Viggo blinked.
“You think… I smell like toast?”
Orlando nodded miserably behind his hands.
“You think… I smell like toast.”
Orlando nodded again, even more miserably.
“Well… is that a good thing?” Viggo asked, nudging Orlando’s hand to give him the glasses Viggo had removed earlier.
“Huh?” Orlando unclapped his eyes. He took the glasses and pushed them on.
He blinked at Viggo.
“Is that a good thing, to you?” Viggo took Orlando’s jittery hand in his own and began to rub a soothing thumb over his knuckles. “That I smell like toast?”
“Well, yeah,” Orlando said quietly. “It’s the - - … the best… thing ever.”
“Then why would I mind?” Viggo asked, just as quietly.
Orlando blinked again. Huh?
“We’re mammals, Orlando. Scent matters to us.” Viggo’s thumb was doing more of those soothing Viggo Circles on the back of Orlando’s hand now. “Now, if I smelled like… cheesecake, and you hated cheesecake….”
“Um,” Orlando ummed. “I like cheesecake.”
Viggo played along. “Okay, give me something you hate.”
“Olives.”
Circle. Circle. Ciiiirrrrrrcle.
“Okay, olives,” Viggo conceded. “If I smelled like olives, then we’d have a problem. But if I smell like toast, and you like the smell of toast, then….”
Olrando was sort of agape. “You don’t think I’m sick and weird?”
Viggo smiled. “I don’t think you’re sick and weird. Sensitive? Yes. Sensual? Definitely. You’re special. You’re you. I like you."
Orlando grimaced. “Yeah, but … that’s not all.”
Circle. Circle. Ciiiirrrrrrcle.
“What isn’t all?” Viggo asked.
“I’ve… I’ve DONE things.” Orlando’s own throat tried to kick him.
Circle. Circle. Ciiiirrrrrrcle.
“What do you mean?” Viggo asked, his voice calm.
Orlando broke.
“I… I… it’s like, suddenly I can’t control myself! I never thought much one way or the other about - - sex, about all this… stuff – - but I meet you, and suddenly I’m getting - - you know, hot - - just walking through the grocery store! Or at work! Or out in my neighborhood! Gosh, just - - everywhere! All the time!”
Viggo grinned.
“And I sort of… oh god - -…” Orlando trailed off, mortified.
Circle. Circle. Ciiiirrrrrrcle.
“It’s alright, Orlando,” Viggo soothed. “Honestly, it is. You can tell me.”
Orlando wrestled his throat back open.
“I sort of… abused… my toaster,” he whispered.
Viggo blinked.
Orlando wondered where the nearest fire extinguisher was in case his face really did burst into flames.
Viggo made a funny, scratchy sound in his throat.
He giggled a little. He chuckled some. He guffawed.
Then he bellowed, great bellowing bellows of delighted bellowing. He fell over sideways on the floor, holding his sides.
Orlando blinked.
Viggo moved back down to guffawing, and then chuckling, and then took a deep, deep breath and let it out in a big AHHHhhhhhh. He had tears in his eyes when he sat back up and looked at Orlando.
“God, Orlando,” Viggo sniffled, his voice shaking out from his well-exercised lungs. “You are just adorable.”
Orlando blinked.
He was creepy. He was sick. He was not adorable!
Viggo scooted closer to Orlando and took the clueless face between his hands. “Do you want to know what you smell like?”
Boy, Orlando was doing a heck of a lot of blinking on this date.
“What you smell like to me,” Viggo explained. “I want to tell you.”
“Um - - …” Orlando ummed.
“Rain.” Viggo pressed a chaste kiss to Orlando’s cheek.
“Well, not rain. Just after a rain, really. That freshness that lingers for a few minutes, right after a spring rain, when the earth opens up and reminds you that you’re really a part of it.”
Orlando felt like he could fall into the sound of Viggo’s voice and never come back out, never even want to.
“And apple pie,” Viggo continued. “When it’s baking. Right at that point where the juice from the apples starts to bubble up a little through the slits in the crust. At that point where you can smell the sweetness, but still there’s that hint of cinnamon and cloves, so it’s this delicious mixture that makes your mouth water, and you think you’ll never be able to stand the wait to get that first bite.”
Orlando barely breathed. He just listened, sandwiched snuggly between Viggo’s hands.
“At first I thought it might be your shampoo or something. But no, it’s you. I smelled behind your knee the other night, while you were sleeping. I just… I had to know.”
Orlando gasped.
“If I tell you something embarrassing, will you feel better?” Viggo said.
Orlando nodded slightly, dazed, his mouth agape.
“I walked to the gallery this afternoon, and with the clouds, I brought my umbrella just in case.
“It wasn’t raining. I didn’t even have the umbrella open. But all I could think about was how you smell, first thing in the morning, or when you’re under my computer desk, or when you’ve just come….”
Orlando gulped.
“And I… I ran into McDonald’s, and bolted to the restroom, and….”
Viggo blushed.
Orlando’s voice was a tiny whisper. “You… you abused… your umbrella?”
Viggo nodded, and smiled, and blushed a little more.
Orlando flattened the other man to the floor, covering his mouth and his face and his neck with urgent kisses, unleashing every vestige of passion he’d been trying to restrain since the first time he laid eyes on shirtless, gorgeous, toast-smelling Viggo.
And Viggo was really okay with that.
ETA: continued here
pairing: Viggo/Orlando
rating: adult
warnings: m/m sex; otherwise, none
disclaimer: this is only fiction.
a/n: starts here
picks up directly from part 14
a/n 2: icon of evil toaster love by
alliwantisanelf!super geek!banner made by the lovely
galor5!Orlando was so happy.
He tried to focus on the minister’s words. Really, he did. But he was here, surrounded by their family and their friends, in this lovely church on a long red carpet, standing next to Viggo, and they were getting married.
He was just too blissfully happy to focus.
And too – well… you know – horny.
The minister seemed to talk forever. So near yet so far given their very public circumstances, Viggo’s delicious scent was driving Orlando mad. He just wanted – needed – to finish this ceremony and sequester away with his new husband, to find the relief he was aching for. His body didn’t care about the solemnity of the occasion; his lust was rising more with every Viggo-whiff.
Sweat broke out on his forehead as he began to panic. If they didn’t finish the wedding soon, he was in serious danger of coming in his lovely rented tux, right in front of everyone.
Finally, finally, they had spoken their vows and were pronounced husband and husband. “Orlando,” the minister concluded joyfully, “you may now depress your husband’s lever.”
Hard as stone now, Orlando blinked in confusion. He turned to Viggo.
Viggo, his new husband Viggo, was. A giant. Toaster.
Viggo the Giant Toaster turned and waved his shiny chrome backside temptingly at Orlando. “Come on, lover,” he rasped. “Do it. Turn me all the way up to Dark and press down my lever, baby.”
Orlando grabbed for his crotch, trying to stave off his imminent orgasm. He could NOT shoot all over his new husband here, now, in church, in front of everyone they knew!
He glanced desperately out at the congregation, hoping to find one face, one friendly face to help him hold on, help him avoid losing it altogether….
The seats were filled with bread.
Viggo the Giant Toaster-sized slices of bread.
Rye bread, and wheat bread, and sour dough. Enriched white, and cottage, and potato. And – oh god – raisin. All chanting quietly, in one, giant, bready voice:
“DO it… DO it… DO it… DO it…”
Viggo’s toast popped up.
Nooooooooooooooo!
Orlando opened his eyes.
A blurry Viggo was crouched over him. Just Viggo. Not Viggo the Giant Toaster.
Oh thank goodness.
“You awake now?” Viggo asked, concern on his face. Well, it looked like concern. It was either concern or dinner had disagreed with him.
“Yeah… um,” Orlando mumbled.
Why was he on the floor?
“You just dropped,” Viggo said. “How do you feel? Are you dizzy? Sick?”
“I… I fainted?” Orlando asked unnecessarily.
“Yeah,” Viggo helped gently prop Orlando to a sit. “One minute I was handing you a shopping bag, and the next minute you were lying on the floor, mumbling something about ‘forsaking all other toasters…’”
Oh god. Orlando wobbled. Viggo tightened his grip on Orlando’s arms.
“Orlando, are you ill? Is there something you’re not telling me?” Viggo really seemed worried. Well, either worried, or that disagreeing with dinner thing. Probably worried.
He couldn’t let Viggo worry like this. It just wouldn’t be right.
He had to tell him.
Orlando clapped both his hands over his squeezed-shut eyes. And told him.
Viggo blinked.
“You think… I smell like toast?”
Orlando nodded miserably behind his hands.
“You think… I smell like toast.”
Orlando nodded again, even more miserably.
“Well… is that a good thing?” Viggo asked, nudging Orlando’s hand to give him the glasses Viggo had removed earlier.
“Huh?” Orlando unclapped his eyes. He took the glasses and pushed them on.
He blinked at Viggo.
“Is that a good thing, to you?” Viggo took Orlando’s jittery hand in his own and began to rub a soothing thumb over his knuckles. “That I smell like toast?”
“Well, yeah,” Orlando said quietly. “It’s the - - … the best… thing ever.”
“Then why would I mind?” Viggo asked, just as quietly.
Orlando blinked again. Huh?
“We’re mammals, Orlando. Scent matters to us.” Viggo’s thumb was doing more of those soothing Viggo Circles on the back of Orlando’s hand now. “Now, if I smelled like… cheesecake, and you hated cheesecake….”
“Um,” Orlando ummed. “I like cheesecake.”
Viggo played along. “Okay, give me something you hate.”
“Olives.”
Circle. Circle. Ciiiirrrrrrcle.
“Okay, olives,” Viggo conceded. “If I smelled like olives, then we’d have a problem. But if I smell like toast, and you like the smell of toast, then….”
Olrando was sort of agape. “You don’t think I’m sick and weird?”
Viggo smiled. “I don’t think you’re sick and weird. Sensitive? Yes. Sensual? Definitely. You’re special. You’re you. I like you."
Orlando grimaced. “Yeah, but … that’s not all.”
Circle. Circle. Ciiiirrrrrrcle.
“What isn’t all?” Viggo asked.
“I’ve… I’ve DONE things.” Orlando’s own throat tried to kick him.
Circle. Circle. Ciiiirrrrrrcle.
“What do you mean?” Viggo asked, his voice calm.
Orlando broke.
“I… I… it’s like, suddenly I can’t control myself! I never thought much one way or the other about - - sex, about all this… stuff – - but I meet you, and suddenly I’m getting - - you know, hot - - just walking through the grocery store! Or at work! Or out in my neighborhood! Gosh, just - - everywhere! All the time!”
Viggo grinned.
“And I sort of… oh god - -…” Orlando trailed off, mortified.
Circle. Circle. Ciiiirrrrrrcle.
“It’s alright, Orlando,” Viggo soothed. “Honestly, it is. You can tell me.”
Orlando wrestled his throat back open.
“I sort of… abused… my toaster,” he whispered.
Viggo blinked.
Orlando wondered where the nearest fire extinguisher was in case his face really did burst into flames.
Viggo made a funny, scratchy sound in his throat.
He giggled a little. He chuckled some. He guffawed.
Then he bellowed, great bellowing bellows of delighted bellowing. He fell over sideways on the floor, holding his sides.
Orlando blinked.
Viggo moved back down to guffawing, and then chuckling, and then took a deep, deep breath and let it out in a big AHHHhhhhhh. He had tears in his eyes when he sat back up and looked at Orlando.
“God, Orlando,” Viggo sniffled, his voice shaking out from his well-exercised lungs. “You are just adorable.”
Orlando blinked.
He was creepy. He was sick. He was not adorable!
Viggo scooted closer to Orlando and took the clueless face between his hands. “Do you want to know what you smell like?”
Boy, Orlando was doing a heck of a lot of blinking on this date.
“What you smell like to me,” Viggo explained. “I want to tell you.”
“Um - - …” Orlando ummed.
“Rain.” Viggo pressed a chaste kiss to Orlando’s cheek.
“Well, not rain. Just after a rain, really. That freshness that lingers for a few minutes, right after a spring rain, when the earth opens up and reminds you that you’re really a part of it.”
Orlando felt like he could fall into the sound of Viggo’s voice and never come back out, never even want to.
“And apple pie,” Viggo continued. “When it’s baking. Right at that point where the juice from the apples starts to bubble up a little through the slits in the crust. At that point where you can smell the sweetness, but still there’s that hint of cinnamon and cloves, so it’s this delicious mixture that makes your mouth water, and you think you’ll never be able to stand the wait to get that first bite.”
Orlando barely breathed. He just listened, sandwiched snuggly between Viggo’s hands.
“At first I thought it might be your shampoo or something. But no, it’s you. I smelled behind your knee the other night, while you were sleeping. I just… I had to know.”
Orlando gasped.
“If I tell you something embarrassing, will you feel better?” Viggo said.
Orlando nodded slightly, dazed, his mouth agape.
“I walked to the gallery this afternoon, and with the clouds, I brought my umbrella just in case.
“It wasn’t raining. I didn’t even have the umbrella open. But all I could think about was how you smell, first thing in the morning, or when you’re under my computer desk, or when you’ve just come….”
Orlando gulped.
“And I… I ran into McDonald’s, and bolted to the restroom, and….”
Viggo blushed.
Orlando’s voice was a tiny whisper. “You… you abused… your umbrella?”
Viggo nodded, and smiled, and blushed a little more.
Orlando flattened the other man to the floor, covering his mouth and his face and his neck with urgent kisses, unleashing every vestige of passion he’d been trying to restrain since the first time he laid eyes on shirtless, gorgeous, toast-smelling Viggo.
And Viggo was really okay with that.
ETA: continued here
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“I sort of… abused… my toaster,” he whispered.
Viggo blinked.
I giggled and giggled and giggled. This story just cracks me up. I am enjoying it so much! They are adorable together.
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It just makes me *happy.* Which is the bestest feeling in the world.
Among all the wonderful lines you hooked be bad with "Boy, Orlando was doing a heck of a lot of blinking on this date." Tee!
Thank you for posting this fic. It's just brightening my day everytime I read it.
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now i feel like we should all be passing a doob around a circle with john lennon or something.
*hugs you hard*
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(got here via
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