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fellowshippers2007-04-20 03:54 am
stormatdusk.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2007-04-20 03:54 am
Entry tags:
Geek!Orlando, part 19 (Orlando/Viggo, adult)
author: ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
stormatdusk
pairing: Viggo/Orlando
rating: adult
warnings: m/m sex
disclaimer: this is only fiction.
a/n: starts here
picks up directly from part 18
happy birthday, Gwen!!
super geek!banner and very viggo-esque icon made by the lovelygalor5!
SLAVEBOY???
He did not.
Just.
Say that.
Okay… YELL that.
And he did NOT grab Viggo by the hair and….
Did he?
Oh god.
Maybe if he stayed really, really still, Viggo would forget all about it, all about him, and Orlando could sneak out and just disappear. He’d quit his job, move away, maybe join a convent. Wait; that was for girls, right? What was a boy convent called? Sure, that’s what he could do. They probably wouldn’t have computers there, but that would serve him right. He was too big of a freak; he didn’t deserve computering any more. He would just eat gruel and sit and copy really long books with a feather and an inkwell, all day, every day, forever.
ARGH! What the heck was wrong with him?
Although…
Now that he thought about it, Viggo hadn’t really seemed too mortified by Orlando’s - - uh… enthusiasm.
Actually, Viggo hadn’t seemed mortified at all. Not from what Orlando could see, anyway. Which wasn’t much, given his poor visual angle.
Huh.
After a few more minutes, Orlando finally gathered his breath and his courage. He quietly lifted his now-recovered nose out of the wad of Kleenex, and sneaked in a squint at Viggo.
Nope. Viggo didn’t seem mortified.
Viggo didn’t even seem awake.
His eyes were closed; his breathing was soft and slow. And… Viggo was… was he…?
Orlando squinted harder.
Yeah, he was. Viggo was… smiling. Sort of.
Orlando squinted harder.
Yep, definitely. Viggo was smiling in his sleep.
Orlando smiled.
Gosh, Viggo was cute.
Huh.
Well, he figured he had two choices.
Orlando could sneak out of Viggo’s bed and go out in the chilly night and slink back to his own house and die of embarrassment. By himself.
Or he could stay here in bed next to Viggo and die of embarrassment. Next to Viggo.
And Viggo was all warm and sleep-smily and toast-smelling and… well, Viggo-ish.
Huh. That wasn’t such a tough decision after all.
Well, maybe a shower would be good before he slept. He was kind of a mess.
Holy moly. He was definitely a mess.
Another handful of Kleenex helped with the worst of that. He made a mental note to himself to buy Viggo some Kleenex to replace the mountain he’d used tonight. Shoot; the Kleenex had just been in the next aisle from the personal sexual wellness display, too.
He quietly ratcheted himself out of bed and tip-toed to the kitchen to dispose of the Kleenex. He wasn’t sure that much would flush, and he’d embarrassed himself enough already tonight. He was so not going to risk clogging Viggo’s toilet!
He used his cell phone to leave a quick message with the store’s voice mail, saying that he didn’t feel well and wouldn’t be in to work tomorrow. Today. Well, Karl would know what he meant.
Orlando almost never called in sick, and he felt a little guilty about it. It wasn’t completely a fib, though. All he had to do was let himself remember how he’d behaved in the last half hour or so, and – voila – he was feeling anything but well.
As quietly as he could, he got in the shower. He was shivering by then and the hot water felt wonderful. He stood there for a moment and let it wrap him in soothing warmth.
He still couldn’t believe that Viggo had… done… that. And more, that Orlando had reacted like he had! Like he was some kind of animal being filmed for a documentary on rutting instincts in the wilderness or something!
Huh. Actually, that might make a pretty good National Geographic special.
It would probably be better than that Planet Earth series that was being advertised all over the Discovery Channel lately. Yeah, it was fine – the photography was really good, and it was cool that they got that rare footage of the snow leopard and a lot of other stuff – but Orlando didn’t think it was better than the stuff he usually watched. The Planet Earth story jumped all over; they’d go from penguins to koalas to eagles to tigers all in a few minutes. It was just too choppy or something. Personally, Orlando would rather watch a good solid hour about the feeding habits of wallabies over that chaos.
And nothing against her, but he wasn’t really keen on Sigourney Weaver doing the narrating. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Bill Murray and Dan Akroyd would be Ghost-Bustering out onto the Arctic tundra at any moment.
Huh. He should rent that again soon; it had been a while. Considering those movies were made, what, 20 years ago?, the special FX guys did a pretty cool job of making the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man’s eyebrows look super scary-clownish once he got really ticked off. The ghosts looked pretty real, too; especially the one in the hotel hallway who slimed Bill Murray and left him lying there totally covered with goo -
Orlando froze mid-thought.
Kinda like what had just happened in Viggo’s bedroom…
That was a good sign, he would guess – that Viggo had enjoyed himself? – that Viggo had… come - - like that, on Orlando’s butt….
Uh oh.
No! He was not going to think about sex again. It was time to go to bed, like a normal human being!
Okay, cleaned up and dried off, Orlando carefully slipped back into bed.
He lay there for a while and squint-watched Viggo sleep.
Gosh, Viggo was beautiful.
Like, actually beautiful. For sure, when he smiled and turned those pretty blue eyes to look at Orlando. But also now, when he was so relaxed and completely open somehow, and Orlando could just look and look until he got his fill.
Orlando reached up and carefully patted Viggo’s head in what he hoped was the right vicinity, and whispered very quietly, “Sorry I pulled your hair, Viggo.”
Viggo stirred briefly, sleep-reaching out to Orlando and pulling him close.
Oh.
Oh, this was nice.
Really nice.
So close. Were they going to sleep like this now, all night?
He could literally count Viggo’s eyelashes, see every tiny dot of his beard.
And gosh, Viggo smelled just amazing. Toast, and sleep, and… sex. Which was really hot to think about, because that was them, together, and… wow.
It was so… intimate, somehow. To sleep all tangled up like this. More intimate in bed, and for all night, than it had been to just fall asleep on the living room floor for an hour, like they did earlier.
Which was kind of a dumb thought, thinking that this was intimate, considering what Viggo had just done, and where he’d just done it, and….
Uh oh.
No way.
HOW could Orlando’s cock be awake at ALL right now?
Holy moly, he was turning into such a freak!
He still wanted… ??
His cock conferred briefly, and vehemently, with his brain.
Geez! Yes! He still wanted…!!
Not Viggo’s hands. Not Viggo’s mouth.
Well, yes, those too. But… he really wanted…
IT.
Orlando wondered how he could get Viggo to do … THAT… again.
He remembered when his mom had first brought home their pet cat Misty when Orlando was in 7th grade. They’d had her spayed only a month after they got her, but she managed to go into heat one time before the appointment. And for some unfathomable reason, she’d decided Orlando was Mr. Right. Any time he so much as moved, she would run in front of him and sort of move along slowly, looking over her shoulder at him and totally sticking her butt up in the air at him, yowling out orders for him to take care of business. It was funny for about five minutes, and then it was just creepy. She would not let up! He’d tried reasoning with her – like, HELLO, YO – we are different species, Cat! I don’t like you like that! Stop it! – but Misty just wasn’t buying it. He’d finally resorted to carrying around a squirt bottle full of water just to give himself a few feet of breathing room.
However much his mom had paid to have that cat spayed, it was totally worth it.
Oh god. What if Orlando ended up walking around in front of Viggo all day, with his butt sticking up in the air, begging Viggo to….
At this rate, Viggo was going to have to carry a heck of a big squirt bottle to get Orlando’s mind off of it.
A fire hose, maybe.
Okay, Orlando was so not getting sleepy.
He sighed.
Viggo stirred.
“Cat sleep?” Viggo murmured.
Wait… did Viggo just say, Cat??
Orlando could feel his butt get a little furry and start to stick itself up in the air.
Oh. No, he said, Can’t.
Whew.
Geez, Orlando the Budding Sex Freak was in some serious trouble.
“No, kind of not, I guess,” Orlando whispered.
“What are you thinking about?” Viggo whispered back. He turned to look at Orlando.
Gosh. So pretty, those Viggo eyes.
Orlando blinked. “Just, this and that, I guess.”
Viggo stretched a little. “I’m actually thinking about getting up, doing some painting. Want to join me?”
“Um, wow. Yeah,” Orlando whispered. “I’ve never seen where you paint. That’d be great.”
Viggo pulled on a pair of sweatpants while Orlando fumbled for his glasses. He went to the closet and then helped Orlando shrug into a Viggo-scented robe. He kissed Orlando chastely as he tied it closed in front, then took his hand and led him down the hall to the spare room he used as a studio.
Gosh, Viggo was just so… nice.
Orlando stood silently, gazing around, while Viggo moved some brushes and things aside and lit a few thick candles sitting atop an old, beat-up dresser. The flames jumped into life and multiplied in the carved mirror, missing so much of its silver in places that it almost looked painted itself.
Canvases were everywhere: stacked on the floor, leaning against walls, some hung haphazardly, a few on easels. The house smelled different here, smells that weren’t familiar to Orlando. The air was thick and oily – the paints, Orlando supposed – yet still warm, somehow. Still Viggo.
“There’s great light in here during the day, with the southwest exposure,” Viggo said. “And I have lamps, of course, for nighttime. But candlelight feels good right now.”
Orlando’s breath caught a bit, looking around the room, watching the flickering shadows. This was a whole other side of Viggo.
Viggo blushed a bit. “And it’ll help hide the mess a bit.”
Orlando’s brows raised. “I don’t care what it looks like. It’s… it’s wonderful.”
Viggo smiled. “Well, I usually try to keep the rest of the place neat, at least. You know, in case any gorgeous computer technicians happen to stop by.”
Orlando blushed, suddenly feeling a little unsettled.
Viggo was so beautiful, himself. And now Orlando was standing in a room where Viggo made beautiful things, things that other people thought were beautiful, and bought and took home and admired.
“You don’t - - um… you don’t have to say things like that,” Orlando whispered. “I mean, it’s nice – really nice – of you. But I know I’m no Grant Imahara. So, um… you don’t have to.”
Viggo tilted his head, frowning a bit as he looked at Orlando for a moment.
“C’mere.” Viggo turned them to face the old mirror, enfolding Orlando in his arms in front of him.
“Look at yourself,” he said gently.
Orlando blinked, confused. Viggo tightened his hold reassuringly.
“Just for a minute. Would you? Just look, and let me tell you what I see.”
Orlando pushed back into the safety of Viggo’s arms a bit, but he stayed, and he looked. He saw… just… himself.
“Do you see?” Viggo whispered after a long minute.
Confused, Orlando turned his head to find Viggo’s eyes.
Viggo took Orlando’s chin gently in his fingers, turning his attention back to the mirror. “Look at the lines of you.”
Orlando blinked.
“This strong forehead…” Viggo trailed his finger across Orlando’s forehead, moving over his temple, then the shell of his ear. Viggo gently took off Orlando’s glasses and set them amongst the clutter on the dresser.
Orlando breathed in Viggo’s arms.
“See your mouth. See the curve of it.” Viggo’s finger painted carefully over Orlando’s parted lips.
Orlando drew in an unsteady breath.
“Look at the angle of your jaw.” Viggo moved his fingers again, stroking a line of slow heat. “Masculine, yet still beautiful. Do you see?”
Orlando felt more than saw. His skin itself seemed to be listening to Viggo’s whispers.
“Your eyes…” Viggo faltered. “Since I first saw you, I’ve been trying to articulate that color to myself. I haven’t been able to yet. Do you know that?”
Orlando’s knees shook a little. Viggo’s voice was so near, right next to Orlando’s ear. The warmth of his chest penetrated into Orlando’s back, glowing into him like the candlelight.
“Your neck is so long, so proud.” Orlando felt the back of Viggo’s fingers slide slowly up the side of his throat, then spread into feathering touches. “Sometimes I swear I can hear it call to me. I can’t keep my mouth from it.”
Viggo slid soft, open lips along the line his fingers had just traced. Orlando’s breath caught; his lashes fluttered closed.
“You’ve got the face of an angel.” Viggo moved forward, trapping Orlando lightly between the dresser and his own hips, the welcome pressure forcing a gasp from both of them.
“But then there’s nothing angelic about the way your body makes me ache like this.” Viggo’s cock was hard, eager against Orlando’s butt, and Orlando pushed back, needing.
He moaned, dropping his head, hugging himself to try to clutch onto Viggo’s arms.
“Will you let me fuck you, Orlando?” Viggo whispered.
Orlando’s body reached, demanded. “Please,” he urged, “Viggo, please.”
Viggo moved the closest candle away and bent Orlando forward, pressing his mouth hotly along Orlando’s neck as his head hung forward. Orlando leaned heavily on the scarred wood, his forearms supporting them both.
He nearly cried with loss when Viggo’s warmth left him for a few moments. He shivered until Viggo was there again, covering Orlando’s back with his own body, sweeping aside the robe to run possessive hands over Orlando’s ass.
Orlando had no reserves, no patience; he knew only need and ache and please. Viggo’s fingers entered him, and then Viggo’s cock, and then Viggo’s soul, and Orlando accepted it, welcomed it, took it all greedily.
Orlando felt Viggo’s palm baptize each vertebrae of his spine, sliding up slowly, one by one, until Viggo’s fingers tangled into his hair, wrapped themselves in it, pulling back gently to bring his neck to Viggo’s eager mouth.
The candles flickered and shivered on the dresser in time with their thrusts, wax spilling over onto the battered wood, and they gasped each other’s names there in the shadows.
Orlando knew then, for a brief moment, before they found their climax, and then the bed, and then deep sleep.
He wouldn’t remember, come morning.
But for that moment, he knew.
ETA: continued here
stormatduskpairing: Viggo/Orlando
rating: adult
warnings: m/m sex
disclaimer: this is only fiction.
a/n: starts here
picks up directly from part 18
happy birthday, Gwen!!
super geek!banner and very viggo-esque icon made by the lovely
galor5!SLAVEBOY???
He did not.
Just.
Say that.
Okay… YELL that.
And he did NOT grab Viggo by the hair and….
Did he?
Oh god.
Maybe if he stayed really, really still, Viggo would forget all about it, all about him, and Orlando could sneak out and just disappear. He’d quit his job, move away, maybe join a convent. Wait; that was for girls, right? What was a boy convent called? Sure, that’s what he could do. They probably wouldn’t have computers there, but that would serve him right. He was too big of a freak; he didn’t deserve computering any more. He would just eat gruel and sit and copy really long books with a feather and an inkwell, all day, every day, forever.
ARGH! What the heck was wrong with him?
Although…
Now that he thought about it, Viggo hadn’t really seemed too mortified by Orlando’s - - uh… enthusiasm.
Actually, Viggo hadn’t seemed mortified at all. Not from what Orlando could see, anyway. Which wasn’t much, given his poor visual angle.
Huh.
After a few more minutes, Orlando finally gathered his breath and his courage. He quietly lifted his now-recovered nose out of the wad of Kleenex, and sneaked in a squint at Viggo.
Nope. Viggo didn’t seem mortified.
Viggo didn’t even seem awake.
His eyes were closed; his breathing was soft and slow. And… Viggo was… was he…?
Orlando squinted harder.
Yeah, he was. Viggo was… smiling. Sort of.
Orlando squinted harder.
Yep, definitely. Viggo was smiling in his sleep.
Orlando smiled.
Gosh, Viggo was cute.
Huh.
Well, he figured he had two choices.
Orlando could sneak out of Viggo’s bed and go out in the chilly night and slink back to his own house and die of embarrassment. By himself.
Or he could stay here in bed next to Viggo and die of embarrassment. Next to Viggo.
And Viggo was all warm and sleep-smily and toast-smelling and… well, Viggo-ish.
Huh. That wasn’t such a tough decision after all.
Well, maybe a shower would be good before he slept. He was kind of a mess.
Holy moly. He was definitely a mess.
Another handful of Kleenex helped with the worst of that. He made a mental note to himself to buy Viggo some Kleenex to replace the mountain he’d used tonight. Shoot; the Kleenex had just been in the next aisle from the personal sexual wellness display, too.
He quietly ratcheted himself out of bed and tip-toed to the kitchen to dispose of the Kleenex. He wasn’t sure that much would flush, and he’d embarrassed himself enough already tonight. He was so not going to risk clogging Viggo’s toilet!
He used his cell phone to leave a quick message with the store’s voice mail, saying that he didn’t feel well and wouldn’t be in to work tomorrow. Today. Well, Karl would know what he meant.
Orlando almost never called in sick, and he felt a little guilty about it. It wasn’t completely a fib, though. All he had to do was let himself remember how he’d behaved in the last half hour or so, and – voila – he was feeling anything but well.
As quietly as he could, he got in the shower. He was shivering by then and the hot water felt wonderful. He stood there for a moment and let it wrap him in soothing warmth.
He still couldn’t believe that Viggo had… done… that. And more, that Orlando had reacted like he had! Like he was some kind of animal being filmed for a documentary on rutting instincts in the wilderness or something!
Huh. Actually, that might make a pretty good National Geographic special.
It would probably be better than that Planet Earth series that was being advertised all over the Discovery Channel lately. Yeah, it was fine – the photography was really good, and it was cool that they got that rare footage of the snow leopard and a lot of other stuff – but Orlando didn’t think it was better than the stuff he usually watched. The Planet Earth story jumped all over; they’d go from penguins to koalas to eagles to tigers all in a few minutes. It was just too choppy or something. Personally, Orlando would rather watch a good solid hour about the feeding habits of wallabies over that chaos.
And nothing against her, but he wasn’t really keen on Sigourney Weaver doing the narrating. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Bill Murray and Dan Akroyd would be Ghost-Bustering out onto the Arctic tundra at any moment.
Huh. He should rent that again soon; it had been a while. Considering those movies were made, what, 20 years ago?, the special FX guys did a pretty cool job of making the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man’s eyebrows look super scary-clownish once he got really ticked off. The ghosts looked pretty real, too; especially the one in the hotel hallway who slimed Bill Murray and left him lying there totally covered with goo -
Orlando froze mid-thought.
Kinda like what had just happened in Viggo’s bedroom…
That was a good sign, he would guess – that Viggo had enjoyed himself? – that Viggo had… come - - like that, on Orlando’s butt….
Uh oh.
No! He was not going to think about sex again. It was time to go to bed, like a normal human being!
Okay, cleaned up and dried off, Orlando carefully slipped back into bed.
He lay there for a while and squint-watched Viggo sleep.
Gosh, Viggo was beautiful.
Like, actually beautiful. For sure, when he smiled and turned those pretty blue eyes to look at Orlando. But also now, when he was so relaxed and completely open somehow, and Orlando could just look and look until he got his fill.
Orlando reached up and carefully patted Viggo’s head in what he hoped was the right vicinity, and whispered very quietly, “Sorry I pulled your hair, Viggo.”
Viggo stirred briefly, sleep-reaching out to Orlando and pulling him close.
Oh.
Oh, this was nice.
Really nice.
So close. Were they going to sleep like this now, all night?
He could literally count Viggo’s eyelashes, see every tiny dot of his beard.
And gosh, Viggo smelled just amazing. Toast, and sleep, and… sex. Which was really hot to think about, because that was them, together, and… wow.
It was so… intimate, somehow. To sleep all tangled up like this. More intimate in bed, and for all night, than it had been to just fall asleep on the living room floor for an hour, like they did earlier.
Which was kind of a dumb thought, thinking that this was intimate, considering what Viggo had just done, and where he’d just done it, and….
Uh oh.
No way.
HOW could Orlando’s cock be awake at ALL right now?
Holy moly, he was turning into such a freak!
He still wanted… ??
His cock conferred briefly, and vehemently, with his brain.
Geez! Yes! He still wanted…!!
Not Viggo’s hands. Not Viggo’s mouth.
Well, yes, those too. But… he really wanted…
IT.
Orlando wondered how he could get Viggo to do … THAT… again.
He remembered when his mom had first brought home their pet cat Misty when Orlando was in 7th grade. They’d had her spayed only a month after they got her, but she managed to go into heat one time before the appointment. And for some unfathomable reason, she’d decided Orlando was Mr. Right. Any time he so much as moved, she would run in front of him and sort of move along slowly, looking over her shoulder at him and totally sticking her butt up in the air at him, yowling out orders for him to take care of business. It was funny for about five minutes, and then it was just creepy. She would not let up! He’d tried reasoning with her – like, HELLO, YO – we are different species, Cat! I don’t like you like that! Stop it! – but Misty just wasn’t buying it. He’d finally resorted to carrying around a squirt bottle full of water just to give himself a few feet of breathing room.
However much his mom had paid to have that cat spayed, it was totally worth it.
Oh god. What if Orlando ended up walking around in front of Viggo all day, with his butt sticking up in the air, begging Viggo to….
At this rate, Viggo was going to have to carry a heck of a big squirt bottle to get Orlando’s mind off of it.
A fire hose, maybe.
Okay, Orlando was so not getting sleepy.
He sighed.
Viggo stirred.
“Cat sleep?” Viggo murmured.
Wait… did Viggo just say, Cat??
Orlando could feel his butt get a little furry and start to stick itself up in the air.
Oh. No, he said, Can’t.
Whew.
Geez, Orlando the Budding Sex Freak was in some serious trouble.
“No, kind of not, I guess,” Orlando whispered.
“What are you thinking about?” Viggo whispered back. He turned to look at Orlando.
Gosh. So pretty, those Viggo eyes.
Orlando blinked. “Just, this and that, I guess.”
Viggo stretched a little. “I’m actually thinking about getting up, doing some painting. Want to join me?”
“Um, wow. Yeah,” Orlando whispered. “I’ve never seen where you paint. That’d be great.”
Viggo pulled on a pair of sweatpants while Orlando fumbled for his glasses. He went to the closet and then helped Orlando shrug into a Viggo-scented robe. He kissed Orlando chastely as he tied it closed in front, then took his hand and led him down the hall to the spare room he used as a studio.
Gosh, Viggo was just so… nice.
Orlando stood silently, gazing around, while Viggo moved some brushes and things aside and lit a few thick candles sitting atop an old, beat-up dresser. The flames jumped into life and multiplied in the carved mirror, missing so much of its silver in places that it almost looked painted itself.
Canvases were everywhere: stacked on the floor, leaning against walls, some hung haphazardly, a few on easels. The house smelled different here, smells that weren’t familiar to Orlando. The air was thick and oily – the paints, Orlando supposed – yet still warm, somehow. Still Viggo.
“There’s great light in here during the day, with the southwest exposure,” Viggo said. “And I have lamps, of course, for nighttime. But candlelight feels good right now.”
Orlando’s breath caught a bit, looking around the room, watching the flickering shadows. This was a whole other side of Viggo.
Viggo blushed a bit. “And it’ll help hide the mess a bit.”
Orlando’s brows raised. “I don’t care what it looks like. It’s… it’s wonderful.”
Viggo smiled. “Well, I usually try to keep the rest of the place neat, at least. You know, in case any gorgeous computer technicians happen to stop by.”
Orlando blushed, suddenly feeling a little unsettled.
Viggo was so beautiful, himself. And now Orlando was standing in a room where Viggo made beautiful things, things that other people thought were beautiful, and bought and took home and admired.
“You don’t - - um… you don’t have to say things like that,” Orlando whispered. “I mean, it’s nice – really nice – of you. But I know I’m no Grant Imahara. So, um… you don’t have to.”
Viggo tilted his head, frowning a bit as he looked at Orlando for a moment.
“C’mere.” Viggo turned them to face the old mirror, enfolding Orlando in his arms in front of him.
“Look at yourself,” he said gently.
Orlando blinked, confused. Viggo tightened his hold reassuringly.
“Just for a minute. Would you? Just look, and let me tell you what I see.”
Orlando pushed back into the safety of Viggo’s arms a bit, but he stayed, and he looked. He saw… just… himself.
“Do you see?” Viggo whispered after a long minute.
Confused, Orlando turned his head to find Viggo’s eyes.
Viggo took Orlando’s chin gently in his fingers, turning his attention back to the mirror. “Look at the lines of you.”
Orlando blinked.
“This strong forehead…” Viggo trailed his finger across Orlando’s forehead, moving over his temple, then the shell of his ear. Viggo gently took off Orlando’s glasses and set them amongst the clutter on the dresser.
Orlando breathed in Viggo’s arms.
“See your mouth. See the curve of it.” Viggo’s finger painted carefully over Orlando’s parted lips.
Orlando drew in an unsteady breath.
“Look at the angle of your jaw.” Viggo moved his fingers again, stroking a line of slow heat. “Masculine, yet still beautiful. Do you see?”
Orlando felt more than saw. His skin itself seemed to be listening to Viggo’s whispers.
“Your eyes…” Viggo faltered. “Since I first saw you, I’ve been trying to articulate that color to myself. I haven’t been able to yet. Do you know that?”
Orlando’s knees shook a little. Viggo’s voice was so near, right next to Orlando’s ear. The warmth of his chest penetrated into Orlando’s back, glowing into him like the candlelight.
“Your neck is so long, so proud.” Orlando felt the back of Viggo’s fingers slide slowly up the side of his throat, then spread into feathering touches. “Sometimes I swear I can hear it call to me. I can’t keep my mouth from it.”
Viggo slid soft, open lips along the line his fingers had just traced. Orlando’s breath caught; his lashes fluttered closed.
“You’ve got the face of an angel.” Viggo moved forward, trapping Orlando lightly between the dresser and his own hips, the welcome pressure forcing a gasp from both of them.
“But then there’s nothing angelic about the way your body makes me ache like this.” Viggo’s cock was hard, eager against Orlando’s butt, and Orlando pushed back, needing.
He moaned, dropping his head, hugging himself to try to clutch onto Viggo’s arms.
“Will you let me fuck you, Orlando?” Viggo whispered.
Orlando’s body reached, demanded. “Please,” he urged, “Viggo, please.”
Viggo moved the closest candle away and bent Orlando forward, pressing his mouth hotly along Orlando’s neck as his head hung forward. Orlando leaned heavily on the scarred wood, his forearms supporting them both.
He nearly cried with loss when Viggo’s warmth left him for a few moments. He shivered until Viggo was there again, covering Orlando’s back with his own body, sweeping aside the robe to run possessive hands over Orlando’s ass.
Orlando had no reserves, no patience; he knew only need and ache and please. Viggo’s fingers entered him, and then Viggo’s cock, and then Viggo’s soul, and Orlando accepted it, welcomed it, took it all greedily.
Orlando felt Viggo’s palm baptize each vertebrae of his spine, sliding up slowly, one by one, until Viggo’s fingers tangled into his hair, wrapped themselves in it, pulling back gently to bring his neck to Viggo’s eager mouth.
The candles flickered and shivered on the dresser in time with their thrusts, wax spilling over onto the battered wood, and they gasped each other’s names there in the shadows.
Orlando knew then, for a brief moment, before they found their climax, and then the bed, and then deep sleep.
He wouldn’t remember, come morning.
But for that moment, he knew.
ETA: continued here