Fic: Going Places (V/O) 1/1
Title: Going Places
Author: laeglass
Pairing: VigOrli
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: language, rimming
Disclaimer: Not true, never happened. It's all just dreams and lies.
Summary: Viggo and Orlando are travelling together.
Author's Notes: Beta'd by the wonderful tularia *hugs* Written for my precious zee113.
Viggo finished shampooing his hair and listened to Orlando puttering about the small bathroom, muttering to himself and finally locating his toothbrush under a pile of towels. He didn't sound too cheery this morning, his Sunshine, and Viggo wisely kept his peace; better to leave him be until he had a couple of mugs of tea under his belt.
Their Nordic countries tour was slowly but surely nearing its end; first, they'd been to Denmark and visited Viggo's family for nearly a week, from there they'd flown to Reykjavik to open a photography exhibition (Orlando had kept low key, and familiarised himself with the city by himself, all bundled up until he was impossible to recognise) and now they were ending their tour in Finland.
Orlando had been less than enthusiastic about another flight and another unknown country, but had finally given in; at the very least it awarded them another few days together, a real rarity these days.
“Stop whistling,” Orlando groused, irritated, and resumed brushing his teeth in a manner that made Viggo feel sorry for his enamel.
“Wasn't whistling.”
“Were.”
“Come on, get in here. It'll wake you up.”
“I'm awake.”
“And grumpy.”
Orlando gurgled and spat in the sink. “Fucking midnight sun, it's driving me bonkers. I barely slept a wink all night.”
“Scandinavia is best place to be in summer,” Viggo said, Nikolai's accent heavy in his speech, grinning to himself at Orlando's huff. His boyfriend hadn't like old Nikolai one tiny bit, insisting that he didn't like to associate his boyfriend with someone as brutish and cave-mannish as Mr. Luzhin.
“Stop it, I'm not fucking a Russian mob,” Orlando said automatically.
He stood watching himself in the mirror, wondering whether he should shave or let his stubble evolve into something that would pass off as a beard, not that it was anything impressive. His facial hair didn't seem to have grasped the fact that he was a man already in his thirties, damn it.
“You have,” Viggo pointed out, using his own voice this time. “So, are you going to stop sulking and get in the shower?”
Orlando pouted. “I've been up since the fucking sun came up at three o'clock, I'm jet-lagged as all fuck, stroppy as hell and you're asking me to get in the shower with you?”
Viggo snorted. “It's only a two hour time difference to London, you can't be jet-lagged.”
“The sun was shining straight into my face when I woke up!” Orlando snapped. “You and your fucking Scandinavia, I'm telling you, man.”
“Not all consider Finland to be a part of it.” Viggo stood under the shower, butt naked and calm, seemingly ready and willing to discuss the matter until the stars burned out. “Come on, get in here. Let's get you warmed up.”
“I swear, this is the last time we're going northwards of Denmark, is that clear?” Orlando was still grumbling as he took off his boxers and stepped inside the stall, making a little shriek as droplets of water hit his skin. Viggo grabbed him and turned him around so that he was straight under the fall of water, which, true to word, warmed him up quickly.
“I will show you places,” Viggo said in Nikolai's voice, slowly. “Helsinki, it's a nice city, small enough.”
Orlando laughed and flicked water in his direction. “Stop it, I meant what I said. I'm not taking a shower with a gangster dude, seriously.”
“Earlier you talked about fucking,” Viggo said, and oomphed as Orlando's sudsy hands slipped down his back, a couple of fingers straying near his crack. “Change your mind?”
“Giving you an incentive to ditch old Kolya,” Orlando said, droplets of water clinging to his now obscenely long eyelashes.
They started to smile at the same time, amusement creeping into Orlando's eyes just as Viggo's grin widened, and seconds later Orlando had reason to shriek again as his back met the wet and slippery tiles, still chilly despite the warm water.
“You're giving me lots of reasons these days,” Viggo said seriously under his smile.
“I want to give you reasons to put up with me.” Orlando's knee wedged between Viggo's thighs, and he grunted at the slick pressure. “For being the brat that I am.”
“I should really tan your ass, shouldn't I,” Viggo said, sounding a bit breathless. “Now quit doing that or I will.”
“Promises, promises.”
Orlando was slippery all over, thinner than Viggo remembered in some places, a bit softer in a couple of others; he growled as Viggo pinched the fleshy underside of one buttock, simultaneously attempting to slap his hands away and get in some pinches of his own.
“You start talking mob-Russian now and I'll kick your arse to Copenhagen and back,” he panted.
“Wouldn't dream of it.”
Viggo wrestled the slippery and tittering Orlando out of the stall, slapping his ass as the Brit sprinted past him to the bedroom, and then chased after him. Orlando landed face-first on the mattress, crawling further until Viggo's hand closing on his ankle halted his progress. Thrashing and swearing, he was relentlessly pulled back, and then Viggo's hand clamped down on his hips and anchored him in place.
“Will you eat me out?” Orlando asked, turning to look at Viggo over his shoulder, hopefulness evident. He wiggled his butt and pouted his lips, blinking a little as water got into his eyes.
Viggo made a face. “You're still soapy,” he said, but before Orlando could give voice to any possible protest, he dove right in, never minding the combination of sensitive places and whiskers.
Orlando did taste like soap, but he tasted of himself too, and it was this flavour that Viggo was after; flawlessly masculine mixed with a dash of something sweet. Orlando pressed his face in the mattress and pushed up his bottom, hissing as Viggo's facial hair scraped the tender skin. Then a hot tongue wiggled its way inside, and he groaned, torn between pushing his stiffening cock against the bed cover and pushing his arse more insistently against Viggo's mouth. Eventually, the latter option won and his back arched, trying to get more of Viggo's tongue inside.
“Hold still,” Viggo commanded, and slapped the ass that wouldn't stay still. “You're breaking my tongue here.”
“Stop mucking about,” Orlando said, his voice muffled by the bed cover. “Just eat me, will you?”
“Bossy.” Viggo spread him with his hands and buried his mouth in Orlando's crack, pushing him down as to avoid getting a broken nose for his efforts as Orlando's hips rocketed up.
He was thorough and merciless, and it wasn't until Orlando was moaning incoherently that he even considered moving on, which included a quick but all the more frantic search for the lube. Orlando whined and growled as Viggo prepared him, insisting that he didn't need any finger-fucking, that he was fucking ready, and Viggo should for fuck's sake just stick it in already.
“I really should tan your ass one day,” Viggo said as he positioned Orlando on his back and hoisted his legs up onto his shoulders. “Or maybe just wash your mouth with soap.”
“Do whatever you want, as long as you fuck me.” Orlando screwed his eyes shut and hissed at the initial penetration as Viggo wasted no time in pushing inside. “Fuck, you're big.”
“And you're tight,” Viggo said, his voice strained as Orlando's heat consumed him. He manoeuvred them a bit, pulling Orlando closer to the edge of the bed until he could lower his feet down to stand on the floor; the mattress gave little leverage, and wasn't at all suitable for what he had in mind.
Bending Orlando nearly in half, he sheathed himself fully and then placed his hands down next to Orlando's head. They shared a smile (Orlando's a little more tight around the edges as he was stretched in places unused to being used so) and then kissed, rejoicing in the familiar that was nonetheless exhilarating each time they were together.
“You gonna move anytime soon?” Orlando asked, contracting his inner muscles encouragingly around Viggo's cock and willing the burning pain to diminish. It'd get better soon, he knew it, but it required that Viggo moved, and hit places inside him.
Viggo grunted and made a tentative push that was more like a grinding motion against Orlando's pelvis, and was rewarded with a low moan from the Brit. He was slippery all around, hot inside and cool and moist on the outside where his skin was still drying.
Viggo looked down to see where their bodies joined, his cock jumping a little at the provocative sight of himself disappearing into Orlando's body and the younger man's cock hard and leaking against his belly. Unable to resist the urge to possess the body so temptingly laid out in front of him, Viggo started to thrust, the muscles in his buttocks clenching and releasing as he drove forward to the tight hotness of Orlando's hole. Orlando took himself in hand, tugging lazily at his cock, the leisurely pace a counterpoint to Viggo's forceful thrusts.
“Not going to last long,” Viggo ground out, too far gone to even consider slowing down, never mind stopping.
They'd flown in late the night before and hit the sack as soon as they were in, both too knackered to consider anything beyond a bed and a pillow, give or take a brushing of the teeth; now, however, he had a horny Orlando in his bed, a hard-on that felt at least a foot long and an orgasm building up in his balls.
Orlando's eyes were scrunched shut, his lower lip drawn in between his teeth as he sought his own climax, his hand shuttling up and down on his shaft, pausing briefly just below to head to apply a delicious little squeeze on each upwards stroke.
“Yeah, that's it, fuck me, make me come.” He pushed up against Viggo, his ankles digging into Viggo's shoulders as he fought for leverage, and Viggo pushed him down bodily.
“Come with me, Orli, fuck,” Viggo panted, knowing he had just passed the point of no return.
His thrusts were erratic now, short quick pushes that brushed against Orlando's prostate at each stroke. Orlando made a gurgled little noise as he came, his back arching almost painfully as his cock shot out several long ropes of come all over himself; Viggo followed him silently in comparison, a little grunt marking his climax. He rode out his orgasm, Orlando's contractions prolonging his pleasure, but soon had to admit that he had no strength left in his arms.
Orlando winced as Viggo's arms gave and he collapsed on top of the younger man. He allowed his legs slide down from Viggo's shoulders, and rolled away, sighing in relief as Viggo's cock slipped out; he had been ready for it, sure, and more than willing, but he was still a little sore. Viggo missed neither the sigh nor the wince, and brushed a sweaty curl back from Orlando's forehead.
“Still in one piece?”
Orlando made an indistinct noise. “I think I just came my brains out.”
Viggo chuckled lazily. “What say you to another shower?”
“I'd say that you've got a deal, mate.”
* * *
Orlando adjusted the knapsack on his back, glowering in silence.
He knew Viggo was something of a tree-hugger. He'd known that ever since they got together, and normally, it didn't pose a problem. He himself didn't mind a trek in the woods now and then, provided that there were paths and trails to follow, the weather was fair, and there were no hordes of blood-thirsty insects milling about; however, right now they were facing the exact opposite of his idea of a nice nature walk.
Just why, exactly, had Viggo chosen to drag him into some national park in the middle of nowhere was well beyond him; even now, he could feel something biting him in the neck, despite the fact that he'd pulled the hood of his anorak over his head as soon as they'd exited the cab. He should've suspected something when Viggo told him to grab his mittens and put on a sweater, but this really was something else; he'd thought they'd be going to a beach somewhere, or perhaps take a stroll in the city, but never this.
“Viggo,” he said, having decided that three hours in the woods was quite enough. They'd waded through some strips of swamp and his socks were soaking wet, not to mention cold. His teeth were starting to chatter, and he was itching everywhere, from insect bites or something else. This had to stop.
“Come on, I know a place where we can build a fire.”
“No, really, this is quite enough,” Orlando said, and slapped himself in the face as an insect landed on his cheek. “Viggo, stop.”
“We're just half a kilometer from this place,” Viggo said, but did stop. He frowned when he saw the glower on Orlando's face. “Okay, what's wrong?”
"We've been to see your family in Denmark," Orlando said. "And I wanted to visit Iceland after hearing all this praise year after year. But Finland, man, seriously. Just because you once had a Finnish girlfriend doesn't mean, or shouldn't mean that I have to hop around the countryside and sleep in bushes. This just fucking sucks. I want to go back to the hotel."
"You've been camping before," Viggo said.
"But it wasn't like ten degrees then, was it?”
Viggo sighed. "Look, darling. If you want to go back to the hotel, we'll go back. I just thought it might be nice to spend a night here out in the woods, experience the midnight sun. Although, you'd have to get a lot northwards --"
"We're not going any more northwards!" Orlando's voice was definite; he didn't like the speculative look that had come in Viggo's eyes. "Come on, let's go back."
He was all bundled up, his nose a little red and he was scratching himself where insects had bitten him; all in all, he looked quite miserable. Viggo considered cajoling him a little more, telling him that he'd purchased new sleeping bags, but in the end decided that Orlando had been through enough; and if he was honest with himself, trekking in unknown woods after a few hours' rest perhaps hadn't been his brightest idea to begin with. He flipped out his cell phone with flair, and then frowned.
"If your battery's dead I'm going to kill you," Orlando said, and sniffled.
"No, it's... This is not my phone," Viggo said.
"What do you mean, it's not your phone?" Orlando asked. "I just saw you call the cab back at the hotel."
"I mean, it's not mine," Viggo said. "It's the same model, yeah, but look." He flipped it shut and handed it over.
Orlando looked at him with a raised eyebrow, and turned the cell phone in his hands, still looking like he expected this to be a prank of some sort. "Yeah? What about it?"
"Open it."
Orlando did as he was told, and blinked as he saw the screen; unless Viggo had for some mysterious reason decided to download a garish screen logo, this really wasn't his. Which meant...
"So where's yours?"
Viggo thought back all the way to the hotel; he'd made the call while Orlando was flirting with the receptionist, a young woman who was more than willing to humour the handsome British gentleman; then, he'd put down his phone to jot down some tips and suggestions from the girl who told them that if they were interested in going hiking, Nuuksio National Park, which was just some 40 kilometres from Helsinki, was just the perfect place.
Just then, a group of people had come in to check in to the hotel, and someone had come to stand right next to him, close enough that he'd had to step aside a little as to avoid being squashed; that much he could remember. He'd grabbed his phone without thinking from the counter, and headed out with Orlando in tow.
"I think they may have gotten switched." Viggo tugged on an ear, looking mildly uncomfortable.
"Viggo! There are my text messages in there," Orlando said, and groaned in dismay. "My extremely pornographic text messages."
Orlando's face was growing red with mortification as he considered the possible consequences; his spelling error riddled texts that praised the size, shape, and endurance as well as the owner of Viggo's cock might well end up in the cover of some gossip rag. He moaned and banged his head against a tree trunk, thinking that he was well and duly doomed. What rotten luck! Viggo tried to console him, seeing that Orlando was getting distraught.
"They probably won't even read the messages," he said. "As soon as they realise they have someone else's phone, they're likely to call the police. Or 'mother'. Who happens to live in the States, but there you go."
Orlando blinked at him owlishly. "Who are 'they'?"
"The owner of this." Viggo nodded at the cell phone clutched in Orlando's shaking hands. "So, any suggestions?"
"Leave that to me," Orlando said, and dived straight into the address book. "I'll just call someone and ask who this number belongs to, yeah? Then we'll know who has your phone."
"Orli..."
"Shut up, you caused this," Orlando said, and seeing that he meant business, Viggo mimed zipping his lips shut. Fine, let the Elf boy handle it.
Orlando dialled and waited, chewing on his thumbnail nervously. After awhile his face brightened as someone picked up.
"Um, hi? I found this phone, um, do you know who this number belongs to?" He listened for the reply, his face falling almost comically. "Uh, do you speak English? Eng-?" He listened some more, shaking his head and looking at Viggo in mute appeal. "I'm sorry, I don't understand."
The other person seemed to finally end the call, since Orlando's shoulders slumped and he flipped the phone shut. "I think they just threatened to call the police on me."
Suddenly he squealed as something started to vibrate on his pocket, and then he recognised the tune he'd picked himself to differentiate one caller from all the others.
"Vig, it's your phone!"
Viggo turned around and walked away, his shoulders shaking in suppressed mirth, leaving Orlando standing confused. Shrugging, he dug out his phone and answered it, not caring to think just exactly what he was called in Viggo's address book. Suddenly fuckbunny didn't sound such a nice name after all.
"Hello?"
Viggo watched him from the distance, still laughing to himself until his laughter mellowed down to slight chuckles. Orlando was listening very intently and kept nodding at whatever the person on the other end of the line was saying; soon enough, he fished a scrap of paper from the front pocket of his anorak along with a pencil, and scribbled something down against a tree trunk.
Viggo looked at him, glad to see a shine to his eyes and a quirk to his lips that had been missing mere hours ago. Oh, he should've known; Orlando liked nothing better than a little adventure. He must've been all kinds of fool not to acknowledge this integral part of Orlando's personality, but keep blindly pushing his own agenda.
“Okay, see you. Bye.”
Orlando sauntered over with a haughty little smirk on his face.
“We've got a date. And now, would you please call the fucking cab?”
* * *
The cab driver kept his eyes on the road as Orlando wrestled around with his knapsack, finally unearthing a pair of dry socks, and then went on to take off his shoes and socks. A toe-tickle ensued, and by the time Orlando had his socks changed both men were equally dishevelled and flushed with laughter. The driver glanced at them via the mirror and couldn't help a slight grin; tourists, no doubt about it.
He left them off at the central railway station at Orlando's request, both men ignoring Viggo's baffled look.
“Why didn't we go straight to the meeting point?” he asked, but Orlando shushed him.
“Come on, we don't wanna be late.”
They cut in through people milling about the Railway square, tourists with cameras and maps, as well as busy city-dwellers hurrying home, or to work, or to whatever activity that caught their fancy. Orlando was slightly bemused to find that out of all the people they saw, he was the only one to be dressed warmly; it seemed that for these people +15 degrees Celsius was a perfectly fine temperature to leave house wearing only a t-shirt and some shorts. He shivered, and hastened his steps.
“That's our bus!”
He bustled Viggo inside it without giving him the chance to ask what the hell was going on, and paid the fee to the lady standing by the door. She gave them a startled glance, but Orlando's smile and a flash of his puppy dog eyes softened her; besides, he told her to keep the change. Not one to miss an extra twenty, she crisply pocketed the money.
“Where are we going?” Viggo asked, and Orlando elbowed him gently.
“Shush.”
The lady in the front took the microphone, and tapped on it to see if it was on.
“Okay, we'd like to welcome you all to this Helsinki Sightseeing tour. In these two hours, we'll cover the best-known locations, such as the Sibelius monument and ---”
Viggo tuned her out. “Why are we on a sightseeing bus, Orlando?”
He spoke in a low voice as to avoid attracting attention, but he needn't have bothered. Everyone else was raptly listening to the tour guide and leafing through their maps as to keep record where they would be going and on what schedule.
“We've someone to meet, don't we?” Orlando asked innocuously. “Just wait.”
The tour started, and slowly Viggo started to warm up. Orlando kept pointing things at him, things that were either similar or radically different from either UK or the States (“Where are the Starbucks, man?” “They don't have it here, at all - they don't have too many in Denmark, either. Just at the airport, I think.”). They noticed that a lot of people were having picnics in the parks, although Orlando took a double take as he realised that most of them were young, and drinking wine and beer in broad daylight.
“When I was young people used to drink in secret, in friends' garages or basements or whatever,” he said sulkily, smiling a little as Viggo patted his arm consolingly.
The tour took them past the Parliament building, the Olympics stadion, a church built in rock in Temppelinaukio and many others; by the end of the tour, Orlando felt that he was well educated in the topic of Finnish architecture. In fact, he wasn't sure he ever wanted to hear another word of it; Viggo, on the other hand, seemed pleased, and asked the tour guide for extra information on many locations, something she seemed to take as a great compliment to herself.
It had been raining steadily all afternoon, but little by little the clouds started to disperse, just when their tour came to its end. Orlando grinned and took off his mittens as they exited the bus.
“Now this is what I'm talking about,” he said. “Hey, you!”
He waved at the bus driver, a young man in his thirties maybe, who came over and took a long look at Orlando, barely sparing a glance in Viggo's direction.
“I talked to you on the phone earlier,” Orlando confirmed. “I think I've got your phone.”
“Great! And I have yours.” The man produced Viggo's phone from his coat pocket and handed it to Orlando, accepting his own in return. He then gave Orlando another long look, not sure whether he should say anything. “Look, I... Have I seen you before?”
“At the hotel this morning,” Orlando said promptly. “Thanks so much, have a lovely day!”
He grabbed a flabbergasted Viggo and hauled him over to the nearest bench. Viggo checked that the cell phone was really his (it was) and then looked at Orlando quizzically; the younger man was looking decidedly smug.
“So, you knew that he'd be driving a sightseeing bus,” he said, and Orlando nodded. “But you could've given him the phone without actually partaking in the tour, you know. That took us two hours at the very least, and I know you must be wiped out.”
“Ah, sod it, I can shoulder some discomfort. Besides, I knew you wanted to see the city a little,” Orlando said, and grinned. “This way, you've already seen all the main attractions, and we've no reason at all to leave the room until tomorrow at noon.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Perhaps we could give the room service a little something to do.”
“You're one cheeky bugger,” Viggo said, squeezing Orlando's thigh. “Thanks. I know it was on my behalf, and you didn't have to do it.”
“Don't mention it. Besides, you were right. I think this is a nice little place. Makes for a nice break from the L.A. fumes, at the very least.”
“So... should we get back to the hotel?” Viggo asked. “I think someone's earned a full-on back rub, and if you're nice, I can throw in some tongue action, just because.”
He started to laugh, seeing that Orlando was already dialling the taxi service with an exaggerated urgency. Orlando grinned at him, and then frowned as he remembered something of vital importance.
“Hey, Vig? What am I called in your address book?”
Viggo blushed a little, but answered Orlando's smile. “Husband.”
The End
Author: laeglass
Pairing: VigOrli
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: language, rimming
Disclaimer: Not true, never happened. It's all just dreams and lies.
Summary: Viggo and Orlando are travelling together.
Author's Notes: Beta'd by the wonderful tularia *hugs* Written for my precious zee113.
Viggo finished shampooing his hair and listened to Orlando puttering about the small bathroom, muttering to himself and finally locating his toothbrush under a pile of towels. He didn't sound too cheery this morning, his Sunshine, and Viggo wisely kept his peace; better to leave him be until he had a couple of mugs of tea under his belt.
Their Nordic countries tour was slowly but surely nearing its end; first, they'd been to Denmark and visited Viggo's family for nearly a week, from there they'd flown to Reykjavik to open a photography exhibition (Orlando had kept low key, and familiarised himself with the city by himself, all bundled up until he was impossible to recognise) and now they were ending their tour in Finland.
Orlando had been less than enthusiastic about another flight and another unknown country, but had finally given in; at the very least it awarded them another few days together, a real rarity these days.
“Stop whistling,” Orlando groused, irritated, and resumed brushing his teeth in a manner that made Viggo feel sorry for his enamel.
“Wasn't whistling.”
“Were.”
“Come on, get in here. It'll wake you up.”
“I'm awake.”
“And grumpy.”
Orlando gurgled and spat in the sink. “Fucking midnight sun, it's driving me bonkers. I barely slept a wink all night.”
“Scandinavia is best place to be in summer,” Viggo said, Nikolai's accent heavy in his speech, grinning to himself at Orlando's huff. His boyfriend hadn't like old Nikolai one tiny bit, insisting that he didn't like to associate his boyfriend with someone as brutish and cave-mannish as Mr. Luzhin.
“Stop it, I'm not fucking a Russian mob,” Orlando said automatically.
He stood watching himself in the mirror, wondering whether he should shave or let his stubble evolve into something that would pass off as a beard, not that it was anything impressive. His facial hair didn't seem to have grasped the fact that he was a man already in his thirties, damn it.
“You have,” Viggo pointed out, using his own voice this time. “So, are you going to stop sulking and get in the shower?”
Orlando pouted. “I've been up since the fucking sun came up at three o'clock, I'm jet-lagged as all fuck, stroppy as hell and you're asking me to get in the shower with you?”
Viggo snorted. “It's only a two hour time difference to London, you can't be jet-lagged.”
“The sun was shining straight into my face when I woke up!” Orlando snapped. “You and your fucking Scandinavia, I'm telling you, man.”
“Not all consider Finland to be a part of it.” Viggo stood under the shower, butt naked and calm, seemingly ready and willing to discuss the matter until the stars burned out. “Come on, get in here. Let's get you warmed up.”
“I swear, this is the last time we're going northwards of Denmark, is that clear?” Orlando was still grumbling as he took off his boxers and stepped inside the stall, making a little shriek as droplets of water hit his skin. Viggo grabbed him and turned him around so that he was straight under the fall of water, which, true to word, warmed him up quickly.
“I will show you places,” Viggo said in Nikolai's voice, slowly. “Helsinki, it's a nice city, small enough.”
Orlando laughed and flicked water in his direction. “Stop it, I meant what I said. I'm not taking a shower with a gangster dude, seriously.”
“Earlier you talked about fucking,” Viggo said, and oomphed as Orlando's sudsy hands slipped down his back, a couple of fingers straying near his crack. “Change your mind?”
“Giving you an incentive to ditch old Kolya,” Orlando said, droplets of water clinging to his now obscenely long eyelashes.
They started to smile at the same time, amusement creeping into Orlando's eyes just as Viggo's grin widened, and seconds later Orlando had reason to shriek again as his back met the wet and slippery tiles, still chilly despite the warm water.
“You're giving me lots of reasons these days,” Viggo said seriously under his smile.
“I want to give you reasons to put up with me.” Orlando's knee wedged between Viggo's thighs, and he grunted at the slick pressure. “For being the brat that I am.”
“I should really tan your ass, shouldn't I,” Viggo said, sounding a bit breathless. “Now quit doing that or I will.”
“Promises, promises.”
Orlando was slippery all over, thinner than Viggo remembered in some places, a bit softer in a couple of others; he growled as Viggo pinched the fleshy underside of one buttock, simultaneously attempting to slap his hands away and get in some pinches of his own.
“You start talking mob-Russian now and I'll kick your arse to Copenhagen and back,” he panted.
“Wouldn't dream of it.”
Viggo wrestled the slippery and tittering Orlando out of the stall, slapping his ass as the Brit sprinted past him to the bedroom, and then chased after him. Orlando landed face-first on the mattress, crawling further until Viggo's hand closing on his ankle halted his progress. Thrashing and swearing, he was relentlessly pulled back, and then Viggo's hand clamped down on his hips and anchored him in place.
“Will you eat me out?” Orlando asked, turning to look at Viggo over his shoulder, hopefulness evident. He wiggled his butt and pouted his lips, blinking a little as water got into his eyes.
Viggo made a face. “You're still soapy,” he said, but before Orlando could give voice to any possible protest, he dove right in, never minding the combination of sensitive places and whiskers.
Orlando did taste like soap, but he tasted of himself too, and it was this flavour that Viggo was after; flawlessly masculine mixed with a dash of something sweet. Orlando pressed his face in the mattress and pushed up his bottom, hissing as Viggo's facial hair scraped the tender skin. Then a hot tongue wiggled its way inside, and he groaned, torn between pushing his stiffening cock against the bed cover and pushing his arse more insistently against Viggo's mouth. Eventually, the latter option won and his back arched, trying to get more of Viggo's tongue inside.
“Hold still,” Viggo commanded, and slapped the ass that wouldn't stay still. “You're breaking my tongue here.”
“Stop mucking about,” Orlando said, his voice muffled by the bed cover. “Just eat me, will you?”
“Bossy.” Viggo spread him with his hands and buried his mouth in Orlando's crack, pushing him down as to avoid getting a broken nose for his efforts as Orlando's hips rocketed up.
He was thorough and merciless, and it wasn't until Orlando was moaning incoherently that he even considered moving on, which included a quick but all the more frantic search for the lube. Orlando whined and growled as Viggo prepared him, insisting that he didn't need any finger-fucking, that he was fucking ready, and Viggo should for fuck's sake just stick it in already.
“I really should tan your ass one day,” Viggo said as he positioned Orlando on his back and hoisted his legs up onto his shoulders. “Or maybe just wash your mouth with soap.”
“Do whatever you want, as long as you fuck me.” Orlando screwed his eyes shut and hissed at the initial penetration as Viggo wasted no time in pushing inside. “Fuck, you're big.”
“And you're tight,” Viggo said, his voice strained as Orlando's heat consumed him. He manoeuvred them a bit, pulling Orlando closer to the edge of the bed until he could lower his feet down to stand on the floor; the mattress gave little leverage, and wasn't at all suitable for what he had in mind.
Bending Orlando nearly in half, he sheathed himself fully and then placed his hands down next to Orlando's head. They shared a smile (Orlando's a little more tight around the edges as he was stretched in places unused to being used so) and then kissed, rejoicing in the familiar that was nonetheless exhilarating each time they were together.
“You gonna move anytime soon?” Orlando asked, contracting his inner muscles encouragingly around Viggo's cock and willing the burning pain to diminish. It'd get better soon, he knew it, but it required that Viggo moved, and hit places inside him.
Viggo grunted and made a tentative push that was more like a grinding motion against Orlando's pelvis, and was rewarded with a low moan from the Brit. He was slippery all around, hot inside and cool and moist on the outside where his skin was still drying.
Viggo looked down to see where their bodies joined, his cock jumping a little at the provocative sight of himself disappearing into Orlando's body and the younger man's cock hard and leaking against his belly. Unable to resist the urge to possess the body so temptingly laid out in front of him, Viggo started to thrust, the muscles in his buttocks clenching and releasing as he drove forward to the tight hotness of Orlando's hole. Orlando took himself in hand, tugging lazily at his cock, the leisurely pace a counterpoint to Viggo's forceful thrusts.
“Not going to last long,” Viggo ground out, too far gone to even consider slowing down, never mind stopping.
They'd flown in late the night before and hit the sack as soon as they were in, both too knackered to consider anything beyond a bed and a pillow, give or take a brushing of the teeth; now, however, he had a horny Orlando in his bed, a hard-on that felt at least a foot long and an orgasm building up in his balls.
Orlando's eyes were scrunched shut, his lower lip drawn in between his teeth as he sought his own climax, his hand shuttling up and down on his shaft, pausing briefly just below to head to apply a delicious little squeeze on each upwards stroke.
“Yeah, that's it, fuck me, make me come.” He pushed up against Viggo, his ankles digging into Viggo's shoulders as he fought for leverage, and Viggo pushed him down bodily.
“Come with me, Orli, fuck,” Viggo panted, knowing he had just passed the point of no return.
His thrusts were erratic now, short quick pushes that brushed against Orlando's prostate at each stroke. Orlando made a gurgled little noise as he came, his back arching almost painfully as his cock shot out several long ropes of come all over himself; Viggo followed him silently in comparison, a little grunt marking his climax. He rode out his orgasm, Orlando's contractions prolonging his pleasure, but soon had to admit that he had no strength left in his arms.
Orlando winced as Viggo's arms gave and he collapsed on top of the younger man. He allowed his legs slide down from Viggo's shoulders, and rolled away, sighing in relief as Viggo's cock slipped out; he had been ready for it, sure, and more than willing, but he was still a little sore. Viggo missed neither the sigh nor the wince, and brushed a sweaty curl back from Orlando's forehead.
“Still in one piece?”
Orlando made an indistinct noise. “I think I just came my brains out.”
Viggo chuckled lazily. “What say you to another shower?”
“I'd say that you've got a deal, mate.”
* * *
Orlando adjusted the knapsack on his back, glowering in silence.
He knew Viggo was something of a tree-hugger. He'd known that ever since they got together, and normally, it didn't pose a problem. He himself didn't mind a trek in the woods now and then, provided that there were paths and trails to follow, the weather was fair, and there were no hordes of blood-thirsty insects milling about; however, right now they were facing the exact opposite of his idea of a nice nature walk.
Just why, exactly, had Viggo chosen to drag him into some national park in the middle of nowhere was well beyond him; even now, he could feel something biting him in the neck, despite the fact that he'd pulled the hood of his anorak over his head as soon as they'd exited the cab. He should've suspected something when Viggo told him to grab his mittens and put on a sweater, but this really was something else; he'd thought they'd be going to a beach somewhere, or perhaps take a stroll in the city, but never this.
“Viggo,” he said, having decided that three hours in the woods was quite enough. They'd waded through some strips of swamp and his socks were soaking wet, not to mention cold. His teeth were starting to chatter, and he was itching everywhere, from insect bites or something else. This had to stop.
“Come on, I know a place where we can build a fire.”
“No, really, this is quite enough,” Orlando said, and slapped himself in the face as an insect landed on his cheek. “Viggo, stop.”
“We're just half a kilometer from this place,” Viggo said, but did stop. He frowned when he saw the glower on Orlando's face. “Okay, what's wrong?”
"We've been to see your family in Denmark," Orlando said. "And I wanted to visit Iceland after hearing all this praise year after year. But Finland, man, seriously. Just because you once had a Finnish girlfriend doesn't mean, or shouldn't mean that I have to hop around the countryside and sleep in bushes. This just fucking sucks. I want to go back to the hotel."
"You've been camping before," Viggo said.
"But it wasn't like ten degrees then, was it?”
Viggo sighed. "Look, darling. If you want to go back to the hotel, we'll go back. I just thought it might be nice to spend a night here out in the woods, experience the midnight sun. Although, you'd have to get a lot northwards --"
"We're not going any more northwards!" Orlando's voice was definite; he didn't like the speculative look that had come in Viggo's eyes. "Come on, let's go back."
He was all bundled up, his nose a little red and he was scratching himself where insects had bitten him; all in all, he looked quite miserable. Viggo considered cajoling him a little more, telling him that he'd purchased new sleeping bags, but in the end decided that Orlando had been through enough; and if he was honest with himself, trekking in unknown woods after a few hours' rest perhaps hadn't been his brightest idea to begin with. He flipped out his cell phone with flair, and then frowned.
"If your battery's dead I'm going to kill you," Orlando said, and sniffled.
"No, it's... This is not my phone," Viggo said.
"What do you mean, it's not your phone?" Orlando asked. "I just saw you call the cab back at the hotel."
"I mean, it's not mine," Viggo said. "It's the same model, yeah, but look." He flipped it shut and handed it over.
Orlando looked at him with a raised eyebrow, and turned the cell phone in his hands, still looking like he expected this to be a prank of some sort. "Yeah? What about it?"
"Open it."
Orlando did as he was told, and blinked as he saw the screen; unless Viggo had for some mysterious reason decided to download a garish screen logo, this really wasn't his. Which meant...
"So where's yours?"
Viggo thought back all the way to the hotel; he'd made the call while Orlando was flirting with the receptionist, a young woman who was more than willing to humour the handsome British gentleman; then, he'd put down his phone to jot down some tips and suggestions from the girl who told them that if they were interested in going hiking, Nuuksio National Park, which was just some 40 kilometres from Helsinki, was just the perfect place.
Just then, a group of people had come in to check in to the hotel, and someone had come to stand right next to him, close enough that he'd had to step aside a little as to avoid being squashed; that much he could remember. He'd grabbed his phone without thinking from the counter, and headed out with Orlando in tow.
"I think they may have gotten switched." Viggo tugged on an ear, looking mildly uncomfortable.
"Viggo! There are my text messages in there," Orlando said, and groaned in dismay. "My extremely pornographic text messages."
Orlando's face was growing red with mortification as he considered the possible consequences; his spelling error riddled texts that praised the size, shape, and endurance as well as the owner of Viggo's cock might well end up in the cover of some gossip rag. He moaned and banged his head against a tree trunk, thinking that he was well and duly doomed. What rotten luck! Viggo tried to console him, seeing that Orlando was getting distraught.
"They probably won't even read the messages," he said. "As soon as they realise they have someone else's phone, they're likely to call the police. Or 'mother'. Who happens to live in the States, but there you go."
Orlando blinked at him owlishly. "Who are 'they'?"
"The owner of this." Viggo nodded at the cell phone clutched in Orlando's shaking hands. "So, any suggestions?"
"Leave that to me," Orlando said, and dived straight into the address book. "I'll just call someone and ask who this number belongs to, yeah? Then we'll know who has your phone."
"Orli..."
"Shut up, you caused this," Orlando said, and seeing that he meant business, Viggo mimed zipping his lips shut. Fine, let the Elf boy handle it.
Orlando dialled and waited, chewing on his thumbnail nervously. After awhile his face brightened as someone picked up.
"Um, hi? I found this phone, um, do you know who this number belongs to?" He listened for the reply, his face falling almost comically. "Uh, do you speak English? Eng-?" He listened some more, shaking his head and looking at Viggo in mute appeal. "I'm sorry, I don't understand."
The other person seemed to finally end the call, since Orlando's shoulders slumped and he flipped the phone shut. "I think they just threatened to call the police on me."
Suddenly he squealed as something started to vibrate on his pocket, and then he recognised the tune he'd picked himself to differentiate one caller from all the others.
"Vig, it's your phone!"
Viggo turned around and walked away, his shoulders shaking in suppressed mirth, leaving Orlando standing confused. Shrugging, he dug out his phone and answered it, not caring to think just exactly what he was called in Viggo's address book. Suddenly fuckbunny didn't sound such a nice name after all.
"Hello?"
Viggo watched him from the distance, still laughing to himself until his laughter mellowed down to slight chuckles. Orlando was listening very intently and kept nodding at whatever the person on the other end of the line was saying; soon enough, he fished a scrap of paper from the front pocket of his anorak along with a pencil, and scribbled something down against a tree trunk.
Viggo looked at him, glad to see a shine to his eyes and a quirk to his lips that had been missing mere hours ago. Oh, he should've known; Orlando liked nothing better than a little adventure. He must've been all kinds of fool not to acknowledge this integral part of Orlando's personality, but keep blindly pushing his own agenda.
“Okay, see you. Bye.”
Orlando sauntered over with a haughty little smirk on his face.
“We've got a date. And now, would you please call the fucking cab?”
* * *
The cab driver kept his eyes on the road as Orlando wrestled around with his knapsack, finally unearthing a pair of dry socks, and then went on to take off his shoes and socks. A toe-tickle ensued, and by the time Orlando had his socks changed both men were equally dishevelled and flushed with laughter. The driver glanced at them via the mirror and couldn't help a slight grin; tourists, no doubt about it.
He left them off at the central railway station at Orlando's request, both men ignoring Viggo's baffled look.
“Why didn't we go straight to the meeting point?” he asked, but Orlando shushed him.
“Come on, we don't wanna be late.”
They cut in through people milling about the Railway square, tourists with cameras and maps, as well as busy city-dwellers hurrying home, or to work, or to whatever activity that caught their fancy. Orlando was slightly bemused to find that out of all the people they saw, he was the only one to be dressed warmly; it seemed that for these people +15 degrees Celsius was a perfectly fine temperature to leave house wearing only a t-shirt and some shorts. He shivered, and hastened his steps.
“That's our bus!”
He bustled Viggo inside it without giving him the chance to ask what the hell was going on, and paid the fee to the lady standing by the door. She gave them a startled glance, but Orlando's smile and a flash of his puppy dog eyes softened her; besides, he told her to keep the change. Not one to miss an extra twenty, she crisply pocketed the money.
“Where are we going?” Viggo asked, and Orlando elbowed him gently.
“Shush.”
The lady in the front took the microphone, and tapped on it to see if it was on.
“Okay, we'd like to welcome you all to this Helsinki Sightseeing tour. In these two hours, we'll cover the best-known locations, such as the Sibelius monument and ---”
Viggo tuned her out. “Why are we on a sightseeing bus, Orlando?”
He spoke in a low voice as to avoid attracting attention, but he needn't have bothered. Everyone else was raptly listening to the tour guide and leafing through their maps as to keep record where they would be going and on what schedule.
“We've someone to meet, don't we?” Orlando asked innocuously. “Just wait.”
The tour started, and slowly Viggo started to warm up. Orlando kept pointing things at him, things that were either similar or radically different from either UK or the States (“Where are the Starbucks, man?” “They don't have it here, at all - they don't have too many in Denmark, either. Just at the airport, I think.”). They noticed that a lot of people were having picnics in the parks, although Orlando took a double take as he realised that most of them were young, and drinking wine and beer in broad daylight.
“When I was young people used to drink in secret, in friends' garages or basements or whatever,” he said sulkily, smiling a little as Viggo patted his arm consolingly.
The tour took them past the Parliament building, the Olympics stadion, a church built in rock in Temppelinaukio and many others; by the end of the tour, Orlando felt that he was well educated in the topic of Finnish architecture. In fact, he wasn't sure he ever wanted to hear another word of it; Viggo, on the other hand, seemed pleased, and asked the tour guide for extra information on many locations, something she seemed to take as a great compliment to herself.
It had been raining steadily all afternoon, but little by little the clouds started to disperse, just when their tour came to its end. Orlando grinned and took off his mittens as they exited the bus.
“Now this is what I'm talking about,” he said. “Hey, you!”
He waved at the bus driver, a young man in his thirties maybe, who came over and took a long look at Orlando, barely sparing a glance in Viggo's direction.
“I talked to you on the phone earlier,” Orlando confirmed. “I think I've got your phone.”
“Great! And I have yours.” The man produced Viggo's phone from his coat pocket and handed it to Orlando, accepting his own in return. He then gave Orlando another long look, not sure whether he should say anything. “Look, I... Have I seen you before?”
“At the hotel this morning,” Orlando said promptly. “Thanks so much, have a lovely day!”
He grabbed a flabbergasted Viggo and hauled him over to the nearest bench. Viggo checked that the cell phone was really his (it was) and then looked at Orlando quizzically; the younger man was looking decidedly smug.
“So, you knew that he'd be driving a sightseeing bus,” he said, and Orlando nodded. “But you could've given him the phone without actually partaking in the tour, you know. That took us two hours at the very least, and I know you must be wiped out.”
“Ah, sod it, I can shoulder some discomfort. Besides, I knew you wanted to see the city a little,” Orlando said, and grinned. “This way, you've already seen all the main attractions, and we've no reason at all to leave the room until tomorrow at noon.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Perhaps we could give the room service a little something to do.”
“You're one cheeky bugger,” Viggo said, squeezing Orlando's thigh. “Thanks. I know it was on my behalf, and you didn't have to do it.”
“Don't mention it. Besides, you were right. I think this is a nice little place. Makes for a nice break from the L.A. fumes, at the very least.”
“So... should we get back to the hotel?” Viggo asked. “I think someone's earned a full-on back rub, and if you're nice, I can throw in some tongue action, just because.”
He started to laugh, seeing that Orlando was already dialling the taxi service with an exaggerated urgency. Orlando grinned at him, and then frowned as he remembered something of vital importance.
“Hey, Vig? What am I called in your address book?”
Viggo blushed a little, but answered Orlando's smile. “Husband.”
The End