Fic: Privately Divided (1/1)
Title: Privately Divided (1/1)
Author: laeglass
Pairing: VM/OB
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: AU, angst
Disclaimer: It’s all lies, and I’m a filthy liar.
Beta: the wonderful namarie120 *hugs*
Orlando sits up on the bed, the tangled sheet pooling down on his lap, and shivers violently as his dampened skin meets the cold air. Ten feet to the bathroom, to a hot shower, to solitude. Just ten feet. Orlando contemplates the distance. If he gets up now, he’ll probably make it before Viggo says anything. Worth a try, anyway.
”How is Ellen?” Viggo asks suddenly, just as Orlando starts getting up, and his skin starts to tingle with the old annoyance. The terse reply that follows shows it all.
“Fine.”
“Does she like it in London?”
Orlando grits his teeth. “Well enough.”
“Won’t she be upset that you’ll be gone for a few weeks?”
Enough. Fucking enough. “No, she won’t.”
“Has she- ”
“I don’t want to talk about my fucking dog, okay?” Orlando yells. “Jesus, what is it with you?”
“Just trying to make some conversation,” Viggo says, and now he’s angry too. “I guess we’re done here, so you can leave now.”
Orlando’s fingers curl into a fist and he wants to slam it straight into Viggo’s nose, feel and hear the satisfying crunch of bones breaking, see the violent red flash of blood. “Fuck you,” he says clearly and gets up. “Fuck you, Viggo Mortensen.”
“It’s you who will always end up fucked, Orlando,” Viggo calls behind him, and Orlando slams the bathroom door closed behind him so hard that he can hear the contents of the cabinet rattle.
He slips a finger inside himself and sighs as it slides in easily. He knows he should clean up and take a shower, rid himself of the taste and feel and memory of Viggo on him, in him, all over him. But instead he rubs the inside of his arse with his fingers and pushes back, dreaming of a touch not tainted with regret, jealousy and the bitter seeds of anger. There is no slickness there but that of the lube. Viggo’s refused to fuck him raw ever since Orlando stopped seeing Kate.
Seeing Kate meant Orlando didn’t fuck around. Seeing Kate meant Orlando sleeping next to a pajama-wearing Kate in their big bed, their dogs sleeping between them.
Stopping seeing Kate meant Orlando on the loose.
Kate took Essa, Sidi got into an accident perhaps a year later and Orlando got Ellen.
There are two fingers inside him now, and Orlando bites his tongue when he curls them almost painfully against his prostate.
”Fuck,” he whispers, and tries to imagine something hot to make him hard enough for a wank, but his mind refuses to work its magic. “Fuck,” Orlando growls and thrusts his fingers inside so hard it actually hurts, and then with a loud ‘ouch’ he pulls them back out. With angry moves he turns the water on and steps inside the stall. The lukewarm water washes away the memory of Viggo’s hands.
When he finally emerges the bedroom is empty, and Orlando scowls to himself. Fine then, run away, you fucking coward. It’s not like you I needed you to be my Superman anyway.
Viggo’s bare feet make a slapping sound on the tiled floor when he returns to the bedroom. “Took your sweet time, there. You should give me your new address so I can forward my next water bill to you.”
Orlando looks up from the t-shirt he’s considering pulling over his head. “I haven’t moved in two years, you moron,” he says and tosses the shirt on the floor. “Got anything to wear? There’s some weird shit on my shirt.”
Viggo waves his hand in the general direction of his wardrobe and Orlando doesn’t need to be told twice. Finally he ends up choosing a white wife-beater and then pulls on his jeans. It never feels good to wear jeans after a shower, but he doesn’t want to ask for a pair of pants, too. Bad enough that he must now wear Viggo’s shirt.
“Keep it,” Viggo says from where he is sitting at the edge of the bed.
“Thanks,” Orlando says tersely and dries the final drops of water from his hair with the towel. What he really wants is to throw it in Viggo’s face, or toss it on the floor in a sorry heap, but he brings the towel back to the steam-filled bathroom and hangs it to dry.
“See you around,” Viggo says when he’s leaving, and that’s when Orlando snaps.
“You prick,” he says. “You fucking prick. You think you can just call me like some fucking call-boy and have me come over so that you can fuck me?”
Viggo raises an eyebrow, and his answer is deliberately cruel. “I just did, didn’t I? I thought you liked fucking. Or getting fucked. I seem to remember a certain boy in New fucking Zealand chasing tail all the time.”
“What the fuck did you expect?” Orlando asks, his jaw clenched tight. “I was twenty-two. Fucking twenty-two, and you expected me to know what I wanted?”
“But you did know what you wanted, didn’t you?” Viggo’s tone is friendly as he speaks the scathing words. “And if my memory serves me right you got it, too. Cock from friends, cock from strangers, cock from anyone who was willing and able to get it up for you.”
Orlando breathes out a silent sob. When did they become like this, when did their friendly banter turn into a competition of who could say the most hurtful thing to the other? Because right now, Viggo is winning, and Orlando has no ammunition. Nothing he can say. He’s thrown Lola in Viggo’s face enough times to know that Viggo won’t flinch anymore, he’s made sneering comments about Maria and David and Ed and everyone he can think of, but he can never hurt Viggo with his words the way Viggo hurts him.
“Yes,” he says. “Most of them got it up. Even you, most of the time.”
Why he says that, instead of I am sorry or even could we please just stop this?, he will never know. An I love you is out of the question; the words have gone unspoken for so many years that they have forgotten about them. Orlando misses those times when he was still Elf-boy and not a pretty cunt, and he believes that Viggo rather liked being an old man.
Now, there are no words.
“See you,” he says, and leaves.
He’s glad that there are no witnesses now, no Henry he could run into while walking past the kitchen. He knows Viggo only rings him when Hen isn’t around, and today he’s glad it is so.
He isn’t heartless, or cold, or jaded, he thinks. Not with burning eyes and a tingling nose, he isn’t.
* * *
Viggo wonders if he has punished them enough.
It is a sweet pain when he denies himself the gentle touch and, instead, thrusts inside with force, heedless of Orlando’s pain-filled grunts. He never asks for quarter, and Viggo makes sure to deliver each thrust a bit harder than the one before that, wanting to see when Orlando will break.
He won’t, Viggo knows. He has broken Orlando once before, and it required no physical force whatsoever.
Are they done? Could it be that they are finally done?
Orlando chose wrong; for years on end, he always made the wrong choices, and Viggo wonders if he has finally punished him enough.
What’s the price for a broken heart?
Viggo knows that his own punishment is still forthcoming. It comes when Orlando stops answering his calls, when he finally realises that coming to Viggo solves nothing, and just… disappears.
Then, only then will they both be duly well punished.
* * *
No pretenses, just you and I.
We hurt. It is hard to put an end to the bullshit we have been throwing at each other, but we must. We must.
The first step is mine to take, for it was I who first took a step back all those years ago.
I step forward, and hold my breath.
END.
Author: laeglass
Pairing: VM/OB
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: AU, angst
Disclaimer: It’s all lies, and I’m a filthy liar.
Beta: the wonderful namarie120 *hugs*
Orlando sits up on the bed, the tangled sheet pooling down on his lap, and shivers violently as his dampened skin meets the cold air. Ten feet to the bathroom, to a hot shower, to solitude. Just ten feet. Orlando contemplates the distance. If he gets up now, he’ll probably make it before Viggo says anything. Worth a try, anyway.
”How is Ellen?” Viggo asks suddenly, just as Orlando starts getting up, and his skin starts to tingle with the old annoyance. The terse reply that follows shows it all.
“Fine.”
“Does she like it in London?”
Orlando grits his teeth. “Well enough.”
“Won’t she be upset that you’ll be gone for a few weeks?”
Enough. Fucking enough. “No, she won’t.”
“Has she- ”
“I don’t want to talk about my fucking dog, okay?” Orlando yells. “Jesus, what is it with you?”
“Just trying to make some conversation,” Viggo says, and now he’s angry too. “I guess we’re done here, so you can leave now.”
Orlando’s fingers curl into a fist and he wants to slam it straight into Viggo’s nose, feel and hear the satisfying crunch of bones breaking, see the violent red flash of blood. “Fuck you,” he says clearly and gets up. “Fuck you, Viggo Mortensen.”
“It’s you who will always end up fucked, Orlando,” Viggo calls behind him, and Orlando slams the bathroom door closed behind him so hard that he can hear the contents of the cabinet rattle.
He slips a finger inside himself and sighs as it slides in easily. He knows he should clean up and take a shower, rid himself of the taste and feel and memory of Viggo on him, in him, all over him. But instead he rubs the inside of his arse with his fingers and pushes back, dreaming of a touch not tainted with regret, jealousy and the bitter seeds of anger. There is no slickness there but that of the lube. Viggo’s refused to fuck him raw ever since Orlando stopped seeing Kate.
Seeing Kate meant Orlando didn’t fuck around. Seeing Kate meant Orlando sleeping next to a pajama-wearing Kate in their big bed, their dogs sleeping between them.
Stopping seeing Kate meant Orlando on the loose.
Kate took Essa, Sidi got into an accident perhaps a year later and Orlando got Ellen.
There are two fingers inside him now, and Orlando bites his tongue when he curls them almost painfully against his prostate.
”Fuck,” he whispers, and tries to imagine something hot to make him hard enough for a wank, but his mind refuses to work its magic. “Fuck,” Orlando growls and thrusts his fingers inside so hard it actually hurts, and then with a loud ‘ouch’ he pulls them back out. With angry moves he turns the water on and steps inside the stall. The lukewarm water washes away the memory of Viggo’s hands.
When he finally emerges the bedroom is empty, and Orlando scowls to himself. Fine then, run away, you fucking coward. It’s not like you I needed you to be my Superman anyway.
Viggo’s bare feet make a slapping sound on the tiled floor when he returns to the bedroom. “Took your sweet time, there. You should give me your new address so I can forward my next water bill to you.”
Orlando looks up from the t-shirt he’s considering pulling over his head. “I haven’t moved in two years, you moron,” he says and tosses the shirt on the floor. “Got anything to wear? There’s some weird shit on my shirt.”
Viggo waves his hand in the general direction of his wardrobe and Orlando doesn’t need to be told twice. Finally he ends up choosing a white wife-beater and then pulls on his jeans. It never feels good to wear jeans after a shower, but he doesn’t want to ask for a pair of pants, too. Bad enough that he must now wear Viggo’s shirt.
“Keep it,” Viggo says from where he is sitting at the edge of the bed.
“Thanks,” Orlando says tersely and dries the final drops of water from his hair with the towel. What he really wants is to throw it in Viggo’s face, or toss it on the floor in a sorry heap, but he brings the towel back to the steam-filled bathroom and hangs it to dry.
“See you around,” Viggo says when he’s leaving, and that’s when Orlando snaps.
“You prick,” he says. “You fucking prick. You think you can just call me like some fucking call-boy and have me come over so that you can fuck me?”
Viggo raises an eyebrow, and his answer is deliberately cruel. “I just did, didn’t I? I thought you liked fucking. Or getting fucked. I seem to remember a certain boy in New fucking Zealand chasing tail all the time.”
“What the fuck did you expect?” Orlando asks, his jaw clenched tight. “I was twenty-two. Fucking twenty-two, and you expected me to know what I wanted?”
“But you did know what you wanted, didn’t you?” Viggo’s tone is friendly as he speaks the scathing words. “And if my memory serves me right you got it, too. Cock from friends, cock from strangers, cock from anyone who was willing and able to get it up for you.”
Orlando breathes out a silent sob. When did they become like this, when did their friendly banter turn into a competition of who could say the most hurtful thing to the other? Because right now, Viggo is winning, and Orlando has no ammunition. Nothing he can say. He’s thrown Lola in Viggo’s face enough times to know that Viggo won’t flinch anymore, he’s made sneering comments about Maria and David and Ed and everyone he can think of, but he can never hurt Viggo with his words the way Viggo hurts him.
“Yes,” he says. “Most of them got it up. Even you, most of the time.”
Why he says that, instead of I am sorry or even could we please just stop this?, he will never know. An I love you is out of the question; the words have gone unspoken for so many years that they have forgotten about them. Orlando misses those times when he was still Elf-boy and not a pretty cunt, and he believes that Viggo rather liked being an old man.
Now, there are no words.
“See you,” he says, and leaves.
He’s glad that there are no witnesses now, no Henry he could run into while walking past the kitchen. He knows Viggo only rings him when Hen isn’t around, and today he’s glad it is so.
He isn’t heartless, or cold, or jaded, he thinks. Not with burning eyes and a tingling nose, he isn’t.
* * *
Viggo wonders if he has punished them enough.
It is a sweet pain when he denies himself the gentle touch and, instead, thrusts inside with force, heedless of Orlando’s pain-filled grunts. He never asks for quarter, and Viggo makes sure to deliver each thrust a bit harder than the one before that, wanting to see when Orlando will break.
He won’t, Viggo knows. He has broken Orlando once before, and it required no physical force whatsoever.
Are they done? Could it be that they are finally done?
Orlando chose wrong; for years on end, he always made the wrong choices, and Viggo wonders if he has finally punished him enough.
What’s the price for a broken heart?
Viggo knows that his own punishment is still forthcoming. It comes when Orlando stops answering his calls, when he finally realises that coming to Viggo solves nothing, and just… disappears.
Then, only then will they both be duly well punished.
* * *
No pretenses, just you and I.
We hurt. It is hard to put an end to the bullshit we have been throwing at each other, but we must. We must.
The first step is mine to take, for it was I who first took a step back all those years ago.
I step forward, and hold my breath.
END.