The little AU: New Year's Day, June 7, 2010
The little AU: New Year's Day, June 7, 2010
slashfairy
~~
It somehow came and went January before any of them, Orlando included, recognized it. October may come and go without marking- it has before. Here, there, gone, together, apart, ever in each others' hearts even if not on each others' minds: sometimes the actual celebrating of a birthday slides a bit east or west, north or south of the actual natal day.
And sometimes they can slide themselves here or there, and meet.
So it is that Karl's sitting between them, facing Orlando, leaning against Viggo, while Orlando sketches different designs on a pad of paper tabled atop Karl's legs (which sit, comfortably, in Orlando's lap. They never really forget how to fit to each other, no matter how much time apart).
There on the table, the remains of dinner, cooked by Viggo, and here, next to them, glasses of wine brought by Viggo from Vienna, along with his beard, which he plays along Karl's shoulder just to get a shiver out of him (it works). Karl's the only one clean-shaven, and by tomorrow he'll be scruffy, but they won't care. Orlando's goatee will feel strange against his chest, he reckons, used to smooth over smooth, there, when Orlando's kissing his way from neck to cock. This thought distracts him enough to bring him back to the present, and the task at hand: coming up with a design for his rug.
It's you two who're artists, he says, draining his wine glass. I'm just a Kiwi who was in the right place at the right time.
You were, Viggo says, nodding at the design Orlando holds up. You were, Orlando says.
Karl takes the pad. Studies the top page, then turns it. Looks at that one, turns to the next.
Orlando says nothing as Karl looks through them, but his eyes are shining as Karl's smile gets bigger and bigger.
You've caught it, he says. You've read my mind.
Thanks, Orlando says, putting pad and pencils back on the table. He rolls his shoulders, his head upon his neck, arches his back.
No, thank you, love. Karl leans forward, caresses Orlando's face, kisses him. Come on, get you in the shower, and us all to bed, yeah?
Viggo tidies the dishes. Karl puts the pad of designs with his other presents: another bottle of wine, and an album of photos from New Zealand, pictures Viggo took that are private just to the two of them, of the Southern Cross and the curve of a river and fishing poles laid aside, and a bracelet from Nepal and another from Japan that Orlando's brought him, moments of connection caught in ambers and jades because they remind me of your eyes, Orlando'd said.
After they shower, after they fuck, after Karl finds himself half-asleep with one leg out from under the covers, he dreams a bit about this new year of his that's come upon him with the turn of the world: new films coming out, Hunter half-grown, so many possibilities ahead- if you'd told him ten years ago he'd be offered all this. . . well, he'd hoped, yeah? But you can't demand of fate, and destiny brings what it will.
Even the chance to design a rug. For Orlando to do yoga on, and Viggo to cross barefoot no doubt.
He falls asleep, smiling.
previously: Indiscretion
next:
slashfairy
~~
It somehow came and went January before any of them, Orlando included, recognized it. October may come and go without marking- it has before. Here, there, gone, together, apart, ever in each others' hearts even if not on each others' minds: sometimes the actual celebrating of a birthday slides a bit east or west, north or south of the actual natal day.
And sometimes they can slide themselves here or there, and meet.
So it is that Karl's sitting between them, facing Orlando, leaning against Viggo, while Orlando sketches different designs on a pad of paper tabled atop Karl's legs (which sit, comfortably, in Orlando's lap. They never really forget how to fit to each other, no matter how much time apart).
There on the table, the remains of dinner, cooked by Viggo, and here, next to them, glasses of wine brought by Viggo from Vienna, along with his beard, which he plays along Karl's shoulder just to get a shiver out of him (it works). Karl's the only one clean-shaven, and by tomorrow he'll be scruffy, but they won't care. Orlando's goatee will feel strange against his chest, he reckons, used to smooth over smooth, there, when Orlando's kissing his way from neck to cock. This thought distracts him enough to bring him back to the present, and the task at hand: coming up with a design for his rug.
It's you two who're artists, he says, draining his wine glass. I'm just a Kiwi who was in the right place at the right time.
You were, Viggo says, nodding at the design Orlando holds up. You were, Orlando says.
Karl takes the pad. Studies the top page, then turns it. Looks at that one, turns to the next.
Orlando says nothing as Karl looks through them, but his eyes are shining as Karl's smile gets bigger and bigger.
You've caught it, he says. You've read my mind.
Thanks, Orlando says, putting pad and pencils back on the table. He rolls his shoulders, his head upon his neck, arches his back.
No, thank you, love. Karl leans forward, caresses Orlando's face, kisses him. Come on, get you in the shower, and us all to bed, yeah?
Viggo tidies the dishes. Karl puts the pad of designs with his other presents: another bottle of wine, and an album of photos from New Zealand, pictures Viggo took that are private just to the two of them, of the Southern Cross and the curve of a river and fishing poles laid aside, and a bracelet from Nepal and another from Japan that Orlando's brought him, moments of connection caught in ambers and jades because they remind me of your eyes, Orlando'd said.
After they shower, after they fuck, after Karl finds himself half-asleep with one leg out from under the covers, he dreams a bit about this new year of his that's come upon him with the turn of the world: new films coming out, Hunter half-grown, so many possibilities ahead- if you'd told him ten years ago he'd be offered all this. . . well, he'd hoped, yeah? But you can't demand of fate, and destiny brings what it will.
Even the chance to design a rug. For Orlando to do yoga on, and Viggo to cross barefoot no doubt.
He falls asleep, smiling.
previously: Indiscretion
next: