Fic: Thirty Forever (1/1)
Title: Thirty Forever (1/1)
Author: laeglass
Pairing: VM/OB
Rating: R, just to be safe
Warnings: angst
Disclaimer: Not mine, not true, no profit.
A/N: Inspired by the rumour of Viggo actually attending Orlando’s birthday party. I’m sure this is not what happened, at all, but I guess we’ll probably never know. Not beta’d.
Orlando looked around. In just a couple of years he had gathered an impressive list of friends. Famous friends. The kind that looked good when you posed for the photographers together, the kind who knew what ‘discreet’ and ‘PR’ meant. The kind who knew all about smoke and mirrors.
Penelope, dressed in a strapless red dress, had been the first to get to him, the birthday boy. A wide smile accompanied by a smoky happy birthday, big boy was then followed by a long stream of well-wishers and friends, faces he recognised from other industry get-togethers and gossip rags. An hour into the party and his face hurt from the smiles and grins, and his shirt already smelled of an interesting, if sickening, combination of aftershave and perfume.
It was loud, the talk and the music, and Penelope stayed nearby, chatting with friends and strangers in case someone had brought a camera. Orlando’s head hurt, from smoke and booze and noise but reached his hand to accept the champagne flute just the same as someone handed him one. He looked up from the calloused fingers holding the delicate glass to the face of a man he hadn’t seen in almost a year.
“Tipsy yet?” Viggo asked softly, his face serious. “Good party; pretty girls, as always, but seeing as how this is your bash that’s nothing new.”
“Oh yeah, my parties are just so infamous for the girls,” Orlando snorted. The stupid, mindless banter came so easily to him these days, the meaningless talk that said nothing. It was a shield, even if in reality there were none against Viggo. His fidgety fingers pulled on his hair and then settled as he pushed them deep into his pockets.
“Had to see if that has changed,” Viggo said. Too was left unsaid, mercifully, even if Orlando knew he would have deserved that.
Orlando nodded and hummed in his throat, watching Penelope and willing her to see them and to come and interrupt, to plaster herself all over him. It had worked so well with Kate, before.
“So, why did you come?”
“I was invited,” Viggo said. “Thought, why not, before going back to London.”
His hands were empty, save for the glass of champagne Orlando hadn’t taken. People everywhere were getting louder and drunker, but Viggo appeared sober.
He hated not being in control of himself in front of others. Orlando remembered that, now. He had forgotten so much, the way Viggo’s eyes crinkled when he was smiling on the inside.
“Every year, old man,” Orlando said quietly. “But this is the first time you’ve actually made it.”
Viggo shrugged, and Orlando knew he wasn’t going to explain himself. “I wanted to come. Just to say happy birthday.”
Orlando didn’t smile; his lips wouldn’t obey him. “Thanks. The big three-o, wow. Feels strange.”
“It gets easier after that. Forty-five is another big thing, but that’s still years away,” Viggo said, and handed the glass to Orlando as he seemed to need it now.
The bubbles were sharp on Orlando’s tongue as he downed his champagne, but he managed not to splutter. “I guess I’ll stop counting,” he said. “Thirty forever, yeah?”
Viggo smiled then, and leaned in to brush their cheeks together, briefly enough for no-one else to notice, but long enough for Orlando to freeze. To stop breathing.
“Happy birthday, elf boy.”
Viggo was gone. Orlando hogged Penelope’s champagne glass and buried his face in her hair, breathing in and blaming his pricking eyes on the cloying scent of hairspray and perfume. Let them watch, let them gossip. Let them dub him the party boy gone wild. But damn if he’d let them see him cry.
THE END.
Author: laeglass
Pairing: VM/OB
Rating: R, just to be safe
Warnings: angst
Disclaimer: Not mine, not true, no profit.
A/N: Inspired by the rumour of Viggo actually attending Orlando’s birthday party. I’m sure this is not what happened, at all, but I guess we’ll probably never know. Not beta’d.
Orlando looked around. In just a couple of years he had gathered an impressive list of friends. Famous friends. The kind that looked good when you posed for the photographers together, the kind who knew what ‘discreet’ and ‘PR’ meant. The kind who knew all about smoke and mirrors.
Penelope, dressed in a strapless red dress, had been the first to get to him, the birthday boy. A wide smile accompanied by a smoky happy birthday, big boy was then followed by a long stream of well-wishers and friends, faces he recognised from other industry get-togethers and gossip rags. An hour into the party and his face hurt from the smiles and grins, and his shirt already smelled of an interesting, if sickening, combination of aftershave and perfume.
It was loud, the talk and the music, and Penelope stayed nearby, chatting with friends and strangers in case someone had brought a camera. Orlando’s head hurt, from smoke and booze and noise but reached his hand to accept the champagne flute just the same as someone handed him one. He looked up from the calloused fingers holding the delicate glass to the face of a man he hadn’t seen in almost a year.
“Tipsy yet?” Viggo asked softly, his face serious. “Good party; pretty girls, as always, but seeing as how this is your bash that’s nothing new.”
“Oh yeah, my parties are just so infamous for the girls,” Orlando snorted. The stupid, mindless banter came so easily to him these days, the meaningless talk that said nothing. It was a shield, even if in reality there were none against Viggo. His fidgety fingers pulled on his hair and then settled as he pushed them deep into his pockets.
“Had to see if that has changed,” Viggo said. Too was left unsaid, mercifully, even if Orlando knew he would have deserved that.
Orlando nodded and hummed in his throat, watching Penelope and willing her to see them and to come and interrupt, to plaster herself all over him. It had worked so well with Kate, before.
“So, why did you come?”
“I was invited,” Viggo said. “Thought, why not, before going back to London.”
His hands were empty, save for the glass of champagne Orlando hadn’t taken. People everywhere were getting louder and drunker, but Viggo appeared sober.
He hated not being in control of himself in front of others. Orlando remembered that, now. He had forgotten so much, the way Viggo’s eyes crinkled when he was smiling on the inside.
“Every year, old man,” Orlando said quietly. “But this is the first time you’ve actually made it.”
Viggo shrugged, and Orlando knew he wasn’t going to explain himself. “I wanted to come. Just to say happy birthday.”
Orlando didn’t smile; his lips wouldn’t obey him. “Thanks. The big three-o, wow. Feels strange.”
“It gets easier after that. Forty-five is another big thing, but that’s still years away,” Viggo said, and handed the glass to Orlando as he seemed to need it now.
The bubbles were sharp on Orlando’s tongue as he downed his champagne, but he managed not to splutter. “I guess I’ll stop counting,” he said. “Thirty forever, yeah?”
Viggo smiled then, and leaned in to brush their cheeks together, briefly enough for no-one else to notice, but long enough for Orlando to freeze. To stop breathing.
“Happy birthday, elf boy.”
Viggo was gone. Orlando hogged Penelope’s champagne glass and buried his face in her hair, breathing in and blaming his pricking eyes on the cloying scent of hairspray and perfume. Let them watch, let them gossip. Let them dub him the party boy gone wild. But damn if he’d let them see him cry.
THE END.