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fellowshippers2008-01-17 10:11 am
stormatdusk.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2008-01-17 10:11 am
Entry tags:
fic: Comfort (Viggo/Orlando/Karl, adult)
title: comfort
author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
stormatdusk
pairing: viggo/orlando/karl
disclaimer: this is only fiction
a/n: written for and with the gracious permission ofslashfairy, set in her exquisite universe, The little AU. if you read nothing else this year, read The little AU. it's that good.
Viggo is dreaming.
He's caught between the near-collapse of exhaustion and the over-adrenalized thrum of living in constant fear. He's where the man is, out on The Road, is the man, living the terror every minute, with no respite. Then he's himself, dreading his need to go there, his absolute drive to give life and form to that terror in the hope it'll help keep it from ever becoming reality. Then he's there again. There's just barren waste, and brutality, and nothing, and he's not sure if it's real, what's real anymore, but he's afraid, and cold, so damn cold.
The men had come to bed quietly so as not to wake him; they're lying next to him in a loose embrace, lazily kissing with no real destination in mind, just mutual comfort and an unspoken but well-understood appreciation of the fact that they're together tonight, all of them, in their own bed. They feel him grow restless, hear his breathing change, and as Orlando lifts his head from Karl's mouth, dark brow creasing, Viggo whimpers.
The sound frays at the edges of their own senses of despair, that he's again going where they can't go with, maybe farther than ever this time, and they need - need - to hold him, to let him know he's being held, that they've got him. Karl shifts to gather Viggo into his arms, just the same way he needs to when Hunter's hurt or upset, just that same urge. He brings Viggo to him, his back to Karl's big chest, and Viggo allows it, though he's stiff, tense, not awake, not really.
Orlando aches, decides, and slides down under the covers, completely under them. He tucks them back around Viggo as he goes, so as not to let out any of the precious heat Viggo's managed to build up under his layers of silk long johns and flannel pajamas and thick blankets. He struggles to move between Viggo's legs, first laying careful, cautious hands on him so as not to startle him. He pulls Karl's legs closer to him, to Viggo, to snug up that layer of warmth and protection. He maneuvers Viggo's other leg close to his own body and presses his hand flat on Viggo's thigh - thin even under the layers - not stroking, not wanting to cause shivers, and wills his warmth into Viggo's skin, muscle, veins, so that maybe it'll circulate through him, back to his heart, and let him rest, just for tonight, at least.
Viggo's still half asleep, but he feels more pliant now, and Orlando only just shifts the waistbands of his layers down before he takes him into his mouth, not teasing, not foreplay, just takes him in and holds him there, in the wet and the heat. Viggo's scent fills Orlando's lungs as Viggo's cock lengthens, hardens on his tongue. It's stuffy under the blankets, but Orlando wants it to be, knows that it means Viggo's tucked in tight.
He waits, nearly still, as the quiet tones of Karl's soothing purr filter through the blankets, until Viggo's hips hitch up a bit; then Orlando sucks deeply, as if he can pull out the cold and the tension and that bloody fear, pull it right out through Viggo's cock, and just keep it all and hold it for a while, until Viggo inevitably takes it all back again.
He can feel Viggo calming even as his muscles tense on the build to orgasm; Viggo's body knows this, knows his men. It's not long, a few minutes only, but Orlando's forehead is beaded with sweat from the heat of his cocoon and the moistness of his own breath. Then Viggo exhales harshly, and Karl's arms tighten around him, and Orlando swallows, and holds on, and swallows again.
Viggo's drifting into deep relaxation even as Orlando slithers back up to the pillows, Karl's hand smoothing the blankets down around them both as he goes. Viggo's face is different now; he's peaceful and his forehead is smooth. Orlando breathes deeply, letting go the last of his own tension. His hair is damp and wild, and Karl reaches across Viggo to smooth it in slow, grateful strokes. Orlando lets him, drinks it in, then catches Karl's hand and presses a kiss to his palm. He lies down then, tilts his head to Viggo's shoulder, and drops off easily.
Some time later, Karl rises in the dark, switches on the light in the hallway, and comes back to bed. If - when - the bad dreams return, he hopes the thin strip of yellow light beneath the bedroom door will help Viggo remember that he's here, for now, here where there's electricity, and food, and warmth, and comfort, and most of all, love.
-end-
author:
stormatduskpairing: viggo/orlando/karl
disclaimer: this is only fiction
a/n: written for and with the gracious permission of
slashfairy, set in her exquisite universe, The little AU. if you read nothing else this year, read The little AU. it's that good.Viggo is dreaming.
He's caught between the near-collapse of exhaustion and the over-adrenalized thrum of living in constant fear. He's where the man is, out on The Road, is the man, living the terror every minute, with no respite. Then he's himself, dreading his need to go there, his absolute drive to give life and form to that terror in the hope it'll help keep it from ever becoming reality. Then he's there again. There's just barren waste, and brutality, and nothing, and he's not sure if it's real, what's real anymore, but he's afraid, and cold, so damn cold.
The men had come to bed quietly so as not to wake him; they're lying next to him in a loose embrace, lazily kissing with no real destination in mind, just mutual comfort and an unspoken but well-understood appreciation of the fact that they're together tonight, all of them, in their own bed. They feel him grow restless, hear his breathing change, and as Orlando lifts his head from Karl's mouth, dark brow creasing, Viggo whimpers.
The sound frays at the edges of their own senses of despair, that he's again going where they can't go with, maybe farther than ever this time, and they need - need - to hold him, to let him know he's being held, that they've got him. Karl shifts to gather Viggo into his arms, just the same way he needs to when Hunter's hurt or upset, just that same urge. He brings Viggo to him, his back to Karl's big chest, and Viggo allows it, though he's stiff, tense, not awake, not really.
Orlando aches, decides, and slides down under the covers, completely under them. He tucks them back around Viggo as he goes, so as not to let out any of the precious heat Viggo's managed to build up under his layers of silk long johns and flannel pajamas and thick blankets. He struggles to move between Viggo's legs, first laying careful, cautious hands on him so as not to startle him. He pulls Karl's legs closer to him, to Viggo, to snug up that layer of warmth and protection. He maneuvers Viggo's other leg close to his own body and presses his hand flat on Viggo's thigh - thin even under the layers - not stroking, not wanting to cause shivers, and wills his warmth into Viggo's skin, muscle, veins, so that maybe it'll circulate through him, back to his heart, and let him rest, just for tonight, at least.
Viggo's still half asleep, but he feels more pliant now, and Orlando only just shifts the waistbands of his layers down before he takes him into his mouth, not teasing, not foreplay, just takes him in and holds him there, in the wet and the heat. Viggo's scent fills Orlando's lungs as Viggo's cock lengthens, hardens on his tongue. It's stuffy under the blankets, but Orlando wants it to be, knows that it means Viggo's tucked in tight.
He waits, nearly still, as the quiet tones of Karl's soothing purr filter through the blankets, until Viggo's hips hitch up a bit; then Orlando sucks deeply, as if he can pull out the cold and the tension and that bloody fear, pull it right out through Viggo's cock, and just keep it all and hold it for a while, until Viggo inevitably takes it all back again.
He can feel Viggo calming even as his muscles tense on the build to orgasm; Viggo's body knows this, knows his men. It's not long, a few minutes only, but Orlando's forehead is beaded with sweat from the heat of his cocoon and the moistness of his own breath. Then Viggo exhales harshly, and Karl's arms tighten around him, and Orlando swallows, and holds on, and swallows again.
Viggo's drifting into deep relaxation even as Orlando slithers back up to the pillows, Karl's hand smoothing the blankets down around them both as he goes. Viggo's face is different now; he's peaceful and his forehead is smooth. Orlando breathes deeply, letting go the last of his own tension. His hair is damp and wild, and Karl reaches across Viggo to smooth it in slow, grateful strokes. Orlando lets him, drinks it in, then catches Karl's hand and presses a kiss to his palm. He lies down then, tilts his head to Viggo's shoulder, and drops off easily.
Some time later, Karl rises in the dark, switches on the light in the hallway, and comes back to bed. If - when - the bad dreams return, he hopes the thin strip of yellow light beneath the bedroom door will help Viggo remember that he's here, for now, here where there's electricity, and food, and warmth, and comfort, and most of all, love.
-end-