Fic: Vanity Fair (VM/OB) 6/8
Title: Vanity Fair
Author: laeglass
Pairing: VM/OB; mentions of OB/other and VM/other
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Adult themes all around. AU, angst, mentions of substance abuse, violence, mentions of promiscuity.
Summary: Orlando Bloom is living the perfect, enviable life of a celebrated male supermodel, but looks aren't everything.
Disclaimer: This is just a dream and a lie. No profit made.
A/N: This story has finally progressed from a WIP to Finished. Beta read by a dear friend. *hugs* Feedback is very much appreciated. :)
Previous chapters
'Thank God I have insurance.' That was one of the first things in Orlando's mind after he woke up - or rather, was woken up - and the nurse checking his vitals had explained to him where he was and what had happened (granted, the information she had was very limited). Thank God for insurance, because for all his modelling he still wasn't exactly a multi-millionaire, and who knew what tests and scans and treatments were in his near future and how much they’d cost, and how long a stay in hospital he was looking at.
The nurse looked at his face critically, and then exclaimed happily that a lot of the swelling had gone down during the past few hours; at the comment, Orlando dreaded to think how he had looked coming in. Perhaps it was an odd thing to be worried about, considering the circumstances, but he couldn't help wondering if a lucky paparazzo had managed a shot of his swollen mug when he was taken in to the Emergency Room.
A doctor came in some time later and told him the verdict; severe dehydration and overheating of the body. She explained that dehydration interfered with the body's normal functions, which was why it was so dangerous, and the swiftest means to achieve fluid balance was restoration of fluids and electrolytes through intravenous means. Bed rest coupled with hooking him to IV would ascertain Orlando's full recovery. The doctor told him that he was lucky in that he was young and physically fit; a child or an elderly person might not have survived the ordeal that he had gone through.
That was not to say that he could resume normal activity just yet; they would likely keep him overnight, on an IV, and he was not to tax himself physically under any circumstances. No exercise for at least a week.
Orlando paled as he looked at the large needle inserted into a vein on the back of his hand, and then quickly looked away. He hated needles, had hated them since he was still just a kid and getting his vaccinations at the doctor. He reckoned he was glad he'd been out of it while they were putting that needle in, because awake and conscious, he would have tried to get out of its way, never mind what his rational brain was telling him.
The room was white, and sterile, and while there was a window Orlando couldn't really see out of it from where he was lying, because the bed wasn't anywhere near the window and Orlando wondered which idiot had planned this room and arranged the furniture and the equipment and then he drifted off, not having been very conscious at all.
His second thought was that he could probably sue the gym for the incident and then he had to laugh, because that thought were just so American it was incredible. When in Rome. The thought struck him as funny and he laughed until tears were running down his cheeks, causing the nurse in charge to look at him like he was a loony and then offer him a sympathetic smile.
“You're on the road to recovery now,” she said. “Good thing the gym staff found you when they did.”
Orlando was still laughing when she left the room, and a short while later he was crying, now alone again.
* * *
Orlando had no kith and kin in town, but they did admit Elijah that afternoon at Orlando's insistence that he was well enough to receive a visitor, and Orlando was moved close to tears again at the sight of his friend. Elijah was pale and looked worried, and practically flew to Orlando's bedside from the door. He had a room of his own, and whether it was due to his celebrity status or his injuries he wasn't sure and didn't really care, but he appreciated the privacy. He wasn't sure if this was all in the tabloids. Elijah assured him that he'd heard nothing of the sort.
“God, Orli,” Elijah said and then hugged him fiercely, mindful of the tubes that connected Orlando's arm to the IV bag. Orlando had seen the nurse change the bag once already that day, and who knew how many he had needed before waking up. “I couldn't believe it when they called me. God, you look so wrong in that bed. We need to get you out of here. You must come and stay with us.”
“What is Matt going to say?” Orlando asked when Elijah at last let go of him, only to drag the visitor's chair as close to the bed as he could and plop down into it. “He's not going to love having a third wheel. Especially as that wheel is me.”
Elijah's boyfriend's dislike of Orlando was the only sore spot in their relationship; he and Orlando had got off to a rocky start and the intervening years had alleviated only some of the tension.
“He's fine, we talked about it on the way over. And you know Matt doesn't hate you. He was a bit jealous at first but he's been over it for years now. You just don't want to give him a chance.”
“Well, he did call me a stupid slut that one time,” Orlando said mildly. “But then I guess I did use some insulting words too, so I suppose we're even. And you're right, it was years ago. Ancient history. But I don't think... That is, I thought...”
He floundered, not sure how to voice the thought that he wanted to ask Viggo if he could come and stay with him. That would probably sound ungrateful regarding Elijah's offer. Not to mention presumptuous after how he and Viggo had parted the day before. Just a day. Orlando's mind spun. Two accidents in two days. No small wonder it was hard to wrap his mind around the facts.
“You'd rather stay at someone else's?” Elijah asked, perceptive as ever, and Orlando was grateful that he didn't look offended or hurt. “Anyone I know?”
“You might know his name actually,” Orlando started, and Elijah's eyes widened.
“Don't say Davide,” he said fiercely. “Don't say you're going back to him.”
“God, no! Lij, are you crazy? Never in this lifetime,” Orlando said, his lips thinning at the mere suggestion. “It's the bloke I've been talking about.”
“So is it some model you've worked with?” Elijah asked knowingly. Orlando knew that people gossiped about him and Andrea, but he just shook his head with a smile.
“No, a photographer, actually. His name's Viggo Mortensen. Not that I've called him yet or anything, so I'm just presuming he might want to have me over, so...”
Elijah squeezed his arm. “He'd be crazy not to. Just look at you when you speak his name. Are you just friends, really, or are you together?”
Orlando looked down, feeling a bit shy all of a sudden. “We're friends. I mean, we've done a bit more, but at this point we don't want to rush things. But I do like him. And don't I sound weird, saying that. Good thing I'm in a hospital already, maybe they could examine my head while they're at it.”
He tried to make it into a joke, because it really felt like one; him falling for some man like a teenager with his first crush, but making light of serious things never flew with Elijah.
“Shut it, Orli,” Elijah said softly. “Falling for someone isn't something to be ashamed of.”
“I guess I finally did,” Orlando said, and it wasn't such an awful thing to admit, after all. “But the timing is a bit of a challenge.”
He could have chuckled at the understatement. He was not an expert on relationships on the best of days, and now everything was such a mess it was no small wonder nothing seemed to make any sense.
“What do you mean?” Elijah asked. “Because you're in the hospital?”
Orlando sighed and let his head fall back on the pillow. “Actually, it's a bit more complicated than that.”
And because the visiting hour was nowhere near to its end, he had the time to tell Elijah everything that had happened since the morning that he had finally broken it off with Davide, and stormed out of his apartment, and wrecked his 'Vette. Elijah's eyes were wide as saucers by the time Orlando finished his tale, his face paler than it had been before.
“God, I can't believe this. Are you sure it's not Davide?”
Orlando made a wry face. “I checked from a reliable source, and he actually is cruising in the Mediterranean. That fucker. So I suppose it's not him. At least not the acid thing and this sauna thing. Or he's hired somebody to do it. I don't know anymore. I do know that he has a new bloke since I went to his place that morning.”
“You must call the police, Orli,” Elijah said. “Couldn't they put some surveillance on you, or something? Or get you into a safe house or what have you. Clearly you can't go home.”
That much Orlando had deduced by himself. His apartment hadn't been broken into; he assumed that the acid, whatever it had been, had probably been put in the bottle while it was in his bag, which meant that someone had likely followed him to the shooting location and changed the bottles while everyone was busy working. He shivered. If the bottle hadn't slipped from his grasp, and if he'd applied the stuff to his face, he would still have landed in hospital but for a whole other reason, probably waiting to be seen by a plastic surgeon. Goodbye career, goodbye the Face.
“And I can't come to your house, because I don't want to put you two at risk. I'm not so sure about Viggo's place, either. But I guess I have to go somewhere.”
Elijah nodded, accepting his reasoning. “And the police?”
Orlando bit his lip. “I guess I'll have to. I don't want to die, Lij. I just.... I didn't think someone would follow me there. Unless it was some stupid prank and I just happened to be there. I don't know. But I'll think about it.”
Elijah nodded empathetically. Orlando appreciated him not ordering him around; Elijah usually trusted Orlando to know his own mind, and didn't pressure.
“You do that. This is getting out of hand, big time. I'd feel a lot better if the police looked into it.”
“He sounded so convincing,” Orlando said, almost to himself. “And there is also the fact that when I went to his place there was some young dude in there. It didn't take all that long for him to replace me. So maybe I just imagined the threat. Maybe it's just some crazy fan or something who's gone insane. I don't know.”
Elijah squeezed his hand. “You probably want to call Viggo before the visiting hour is over, right? So I'll just take Matt and head home. But if you ever need anything, a place to stay, anything, call me. Day or night, whatever, I don't care. And please do call me if you go to Viggo's from here. I need to know you got to some place safe.”
Orlando smiled tiredly. “Will do. Love you, Lij.”
“Love you too, Orli. Always have and always will.” Elijah kissed him on the cheek and left.
The white from the walls seemed to wash over him and he dozed off after Elijah left, still feeling like he was drifting in the winds, weightless, bodiless.
* * *
Orlando was told that at his rate of recovery he could be released tomorrow, but they wanted to keep him over night just to see that there were no further complications. Orlando accepted this information with as much grace as he could muster, although a night spent in the hospital bed didn't appeal in the slightest.
He called Viggo just after the doctor left, and first told him not to worry, and then divulged his current whereabouts. Viggo told him that he had a visitor - it was Joaquín, visiting Viggo to get some photographs Viggo had shot earlier - but he wouldn't be staying the night, and Viggo promised to come and get Orlando the second he was released the next day, because he didn't want Orlando having to take a taxi when he could get a ride from a friend.
Orlando didn't know how to ask, so finally he just blurted, “I know this is asking a lot, but could you perhaps give me a roof over my head until I figure something out? I'll be out of your hair soon, I promise.”
Viggo immediately said that Orlando could stay at his place as long as he wanted, promising that his old sweats were Orlando's to use whenever he needed them. Viggo wasn't talkative on the phone, but Orlando could hear from his tone of voice that he was very worried, and that he was forcing himself not to react too overtly to Orlando's 'accident'.
“Are you allowed any more visitors tonight?” Viggo asked. “I'll come right over if you want me there.”
Orlando wanted that, too, but he knew that by the time Viggo got to the hospital the visiting hour would be over. Besides, he was exhausted, and was already fighting sleep. He suspected it might also have something to do with the stuff that was dripping into his veins from the IV.
“It's okay,” he said. “If nothing goes wrong they'll release me tomorrow. I'll see you then. And please, don't worry. I think I'm quite safe here.”
“I guess I'll worry until I see you again,” Viggo said, and Orlando dearly wished he could have seen Viggo's face then.
“It's just one night,” Orlando said to reassure him, and then he had to smile. “Wait a minute, you should be comforting me, you ass, not the other way around. Come to think of it, I just had to hold Lij's hand too. What's the world coming to?”
The attempt at humour fell a little flat; Viggo was too concerned to appreciate Orlando making light of the matter, and Orlando was feeling a little too trampled on to manage anything better.
“I'll hold your hand tomorrow all you can stand and more,” Viggo said. “Now get some sleep, you sound exhausted. And try and keep your precious self alive until tomorrow.”
Orlando's throat closed at the tender words and he had to swallow. “Okay. Good night. And don't do anything I wouldn't. Namely Joaquín.”
Orlando could almost hear the smile that followed his little joke. “I won't, I promise.”
“Okay, bye then.”
“See you tomorrow. Sleep well.”
* * *
If I didn't have insurance, I would have to sue, Orlando concluded the next morning as they were finishing the paperwork on his release and he wrote down his insurance info, and was more than glad of his insured state because the last thing he wanted was to file a lawsuit and risk the whole thing leaking to the public, creating a scandal and causing the paparazzi and journalists to hound him more than they usually did.
He'd phoned Viggo that morning to let him know that he'd be released around twelve, after the doctor had checked him, and at twelve thirty he walked out, still feeling slightly out of sorts but more than glad to get up from the dreadful hospital bed; and when he spotted Viggo coming to greet him at the parking lot it was all he could do not to break into a run, like some movie heroine that throws herself in the hero's arms.
They did hug, though, and Viggo held him without words for at least a full minute. Orlando was more than grateful for the support, because all his muscles felt sore, and he still felt weak as a kitten.
“I'll just take you home, okay?” Viggo said to his ear, and Orlando nodded, breathing in the scent of safety that only Viggo's embrace could offer nowadays. They both knew that 'home' meant Viggo's place.
“Fourth time you’ve had to take care of me,” Orlando said when they were in the car, and they'd driven a few minutes in silence. “This is a habit we have to break, mate. It's not doing much for my self-esteem. Or my health.” He attempted to sound humorous, but the sentiment was sincere.
Viggo smiled briefly, but his hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I'm starting to think this is a police matter. To state the very obvious. I should've insisted on that ages ago. I'm so sorry, Orlando.”
“You're sorry? You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about,” Orlando said. “How about I'm sorry for freaking out yesterday and all but throwing you out after you'd been nothing but supportive and kind? After you'd stayed the night pretty much holding me together? If I'd acted like a rational normal person I wouldn't even have been in that stupid sauna and have someone attempt to murder me.”
He bit his lip hard after the last sentence, as it sunk in, and he could see Viggo blanch as well, his eyes still fixed on the road.
“Babe, don't blame yourself. Please. You couldn't have known. I should've said something and not just left like a big idiot.” Viggo smacked the steering wheel in frustration.
“Well, you couldn't have known either,” Orlando said, and then replayed Viggo's words in his brain. “Babe?”
Viggo grimaced. Apparently he hadn't intended to let that slip. “Shit, I'm sorry. You don't need that.”
“Stop saying you're sorry,” Orlando said, irritated. “You have nothing to apologise for. I don't mind, besides.”
Silence fell, where Viggo contemplated what Orlando had meant, and Orlando contemplated if this signalled a shift in their relationship.
“Being called babe?” Viggo asked.
“Being called babe by you,” Orlando clarified, feeling a bit demure, but all feelings of foolishness disappeared at the sight of Viggo's face breaking into a grin. Christ. He was turning into a teenage boy. Or girl. He wasn't sure which sex freaked out the worst when they first fell for somebody, but he was just as bad.
“How's Joaquín, by the way?” he asked off-handedly, but paid attention to Viggo's reaction. It seemed that for all his near death experiences he still had to shrug off the green-eyed monster. Viggo's smile vanished at the mention of his Spanish friend. Orlando assumed - or hoped - they had had a few words about boundaries and such after Joaquín's words to Orlando at Viggo's party.
“Fine, I suppose. He came by yesterday to talk about the project we both worked on, and left after you called. He was shocked to hear that you were in hospital.”
They came to a busy intersection and had to stop at the red light, and Viggo fumbled with the gears; the first outward sign that he was nervous. Orlando assumed it was because of the personal, even intimate, turn that their conversation had taken. He wasn't too pleased with the implication that Viggo had talked to Joaquín about his personal matters.
“You told him that?”
“Well, he knew it was you calling, and I suppose our discussion led him to the conclusion that you'd been admitted. He didn't ask about it, though, and I didn't say anything about the cause, so no, he doesn't know why and doesn't need to. I'm not expecting to see him for a while anyway, since we have no projects pending.”
Orlando bit his lip again. “I know I was being a bit presumptuous last night when I told you not to fuck him.” Not that he regretted it one bit.
Viggo snorted laughter. “It's okay, but I wouldn't have fucked him anyway. We haven't had sex in months and I don't mean to go down that road again.”
“Does he know that?” Orlando asked. “Just asking because the last time I talked to him, he was all but pissing all over you and warning me off.”
“He knows,” Viggo said with emphasis, and looked over at Orlando. “He and I had a discussion after that night and I made very clear that if he continues spewing such bullshit it'll be the last he sees of me. I can just imagine how it made you feel.”
“Pretty bad, actually,” Orlando said, “but that's over. I won't be missing the sight of him.”
They'd reached Viggo's apartment building, and Viggo steered the car onto the ramp that lead to the underground parking lot. Orlando smiled at the sight of Viggo's neighbour's dented Ferrari, thinking that it felt like years since he'd first come here, seeking refuge from the paparazzi. Viggo was quiet in the elevator on their way up, and Orlando didn't say anything either, sensing that Viggo was putting distance between them - again. It had got a bit emotional back there at the hospital parking lot and on the ride over, and Orlando had to admit to feeling a bit shaken up, so perhaps Viggo thought it best not to crowd him.
“Are you hungry?” Viggo asked him as soon as they were inside. “I changed the bed in the guest room so if you want to take a nap it's ready. Anything you need, or want, you only need to say.”
Orlando felt the invisible wall between them, and was desperate to tear it down. He'd already admitted to himself - and to Elijah - that he had feelings for Viggo. It was time to do something about it, rather than just fret about it. Which reminded him that he had some questions that he would like to have answered before the evening progressed.
“Can I ask you something first?” he asked.
Viggo shrugged. “Sure.”
“I was just wondering why you didn't call me after I left your place that one time before Christmas.” Orlando wanted to ask why Viggo hadn't invited him for his New Year Eve's party, but that would be a bit too presumptuous.
To his surprise, Viggo coloured a little. “I made the mistake of listening to the wrong people,” he said quietly.
Orlando's brows quirked curiously. “In what way?”
“I heard from someone we both know that you had hit it off with Andrea Peretti,” Viggo said, clearly embarrassed to recount the piece of gossip. “And they were pretty adamant that it was all official and a well-known fact, so I thought you'd moved on and got yourself a new boyfriend. And after your note I thought you wanted me to leave you alone, so I thought I'd wait to see if you called me.”
“Oh,” Orlando said, as realisation dawned. “I've heard that rumour before. Every time we hit the town together it starts to circulate again. Andrea is a friend and has never been, nor ever will be, anything more than that. Not a friend with benefits, and not a boyfriend.”
He thought he could guess who'd told Viggo that he and Andrea had hooked up, and thought he would happily strangle Joaquín for the lie the next time he saw him, Viggo's friend or not. In fact, Viggo would be better off with such 'friends' out of his life. Judging by Viggo's expression he shared the sentiment.
He saw Viggo filing this away, but he still looked uneasy. “I know that now. And I shouldn't have listened to gossip to begin with,” Viggo said. “And I know I should've given you a call to wish you a Merry Christmas, but all I could see before my mind's eye was you spending Christmas with your boyfriend, all cosy and bundled up, and not welcoming any calls from me, so I didn't. That's also why I didn't invite you to the New Year party. I thought you'd be too busy to come.”
Viggo had been jealous? Normally any signs of possessiveness had Orlando all but running to the hills, thanks to his experiences with past lovers, but Viggo admitting to having been jealous sent a pleased little thrill down Orlando's spine.
“Well, I'm glad we cleared that up,” Orlando said. “Just for the record, there hasn't been anyone new in my life in any capacity since I broke it off with my ex. Apart from you, of course. I know people talk and this industry being what it is...”
“It's not a very friendly one,” Viggo said with a little smile. “So, now that we've sorted that, I should probably also come clean and confess that I also haven't any new boyfriends or such. Still single.”
Orlando shared Viggo's smile and felt a small frisson of excitement. The interest was still there, and it had to be two-sided if Viggo had wanted him over. Orlando wasn't good with taking things slow, and so he thought it better to follow Viggo's lead in this. There was no rush, and no hurry, and he didn't want to spoil things by being too pushy.
Viggo was studying his face carefully, and asked if he'd like to get some rest. Orlando suppressed a wince. The last thing he wanted was to get any more sleep! Not to mention that the thought of being sequestered in Viggo's guest room didn't hold much appeal.
“Actually I was thinking that it'd be nice to just watch something, on the couch, or do something together. I feel I've slept enough for a week.”
It wasn't much of a proposal, but he didn't feel he had the energy for anything more strenuous than lounging around. If Viggo wanted sex, Orlando thought he could comply, but it wasn't on the top of his own agenda at the moment. Now, kissing or cuddling, on the other hand, would be more than welcome. Orlando secretly hoped that Viggo's thoughts ran in the same direction.
“Of course,” Viggo said immediately, and Orlando could have sworn he looked relieved. “I'll get us something to snack on, why don't you go and make yourself comfortable.”
Orlando was quick to comply, and headed over to the couch facing Viggo's flat screen TV. He arranged the cushions so that they formed a cosy nest on the couch, and reached over for the blanket, burrowing underneath it in search of warmth. Viggo's apartment was quite cool, and as one who was perpetually cold, Orlando appreciated the warm woollen blanket. The couch was large enough to seat several people, but he hoped that with him lying down they'd find themselves in close proximity. He was still hoping for those cuddles.
He'd warmed up quite nicely by the time Viggo brought in a few cans of soda - sugar free for Orlando - , a small bag of potato chips and walnuts in a small bowl.
“What, they're good for you,” he explained at the sight of Orlando's raised eyebrow, and Orlando smiled.
“Well, what are we going to watch?”
Viggo went over to his stack of DVDs, hunkering down in front of the television. Orlando thought it very domestic to watch Viggo puttering around; it was something he could easily get used to. What an odd thought. Not to mention that he'd been over at Viggo's only twice before, but already it felt familiar, and welcoming. The feeling was most decidedly nice, if a bit unexpected.
“Now let's see...” Viggo dug through his DVDs, looking at the covers of a few and scrunching up his face in indecision, and finally came up with the newest Bond film that Orlando hadn't yet seen. It had been on the theatres while he was busy with Fashion week and other work projects, and he'd managed to miss it despite his best intentions. “How about a British dude kicking ass?”
Orlando never went for straight blokes, but he thought he would happily go for Daniel Craig in any way, shape or form. He thought Viggo would take a piss if he revealed his celeb crush, so he went with a reserved, “Yeah, that's fine.”
Viggo put the DVD on and came to sit next to Orlando on the couch. After a few minutes of awkward scuffling, they found a position that they both found agreeable; Viggo leaning on the cushions with his feet propped up on the living room table, and Orlando's head resting on Viggo's chest, his body curled on the couch.
Orlando did his best to follow the storyline but even despite the hotness that was a beaten up Daniel Craig - and his own earlier proclamation that he wasn't tired - his lids started to droop at the thirty minute mark, and he drowsed through the movie, lulled into a sense of security by the sound of Viggo's heartbeat, and the feel of his warm, strong body against his own.
“Are you asleep?” Viggo asked quietly when the credits rolled, and Orlando mmh'ed a sleepy answer. “Do you want to move to the guest room?”
“Nah, here's fine,” Orlando mumbled, and burrowed into deeper contact with Viggo.
He more felt than heard Viggo chuckle a little, and then Viggo wriggled a bit to get into a more comfortable position, and they drowsed together in the afternoon silence. Orlando took in the scent of Viggo with every indrawn breath, aware on some level that it was really quite pleasing, but the erection forming in his pants still took him by surprise. He shifted a little, hoping it would subside before it drove him crazy, and the small movement drew a comment from Viggo.
“You comfortable?”
“Yeah,” Orlando said, and was glad that his face was against Viggo's chest, because that way Viggo couldn't see him blush. He, Orli Bloom who had performed oral sex with people watching and never batted an eyelash.
Orlando started as Viggo gathered him close, his lips tracing a path from his ear to his jaw, sending erotic sparks pooling down south. Well, there went his hope that his hard-on would go away quietly, he thought giddily, and then let out a disappointed whine when Viggo's lips left his skin.
“Are you going to apologise for that too?” he asked, when Viggo didn't say anything, but just held him.
“No. Maybe I ought to, because you're still recovering, but I've wanted to do that since I first saw you today.”
Orlando smiled, warmed by the compliment, and closed his eyes. “Too bad I'm not quite feeling up to going to bed.”
“No, I don't expect that at all,” Viggo said quickly. “If you meant sex.”
“Yes, I meant sex,” Orlando said with a significant glance at Viggo from under his lashes. “And I really mean 'too bad' because I'm hard as hell.”
Viggo exhaled sharply, and his hand ran down Orlando's arm to his side, and then curled there around his ribs almost reflexively. “Do you want...?”
“If you don't think it's too soon,” Orlando said, and then added wryly, “I've told you before that I don't really know what's normal. I've always been all too quick to ditch the pants and just go for it. So a bit of a slut, really, when you think about it.”
“You're not a slut. You're the most precious thing I've known in my life.” It was perhaps a corny thing to say, and Orlando would have scoffed had it come out of anyone else's mouth, but Viggo's face was so serious that Orlando couldn't doubt his sincerity and he melted at the kindness.
Orlando raised himself so that he could find Viggo's mouth, and they shared their first kiss that wasn't driven by lust. Viggo's hands combed his hair back from his face, and when Orlando opened his eyes he saw that Viggo's eyes were open too. It felt almost dreadfully intimate to kiss and be held like this, but Orlando withstood it, knowing that Viggo wasn't after a quick blowjob or a frenzied from the behind fuck, and because he wasn't after any of those things either.
“You taste so good,” Viggo said when the kiss ended. “I love the taste of your mouth.”
Orlando almost made a quip about having quit smoking just to hear that, but smiled instead.
“You too. God, I never really used to like kissing, but you...”
And he went back for another. It was a new thing, this, kissing and being kissed just for the sake of it. Before, a kiss was the compulsory prelude to going down on your knees for the preparatory fluffing that preceded the main event. Now, they were tasting each other with permission, Viggo's mouth moving under his, his tongue sweeping Orlando's own, creating slick contact that made him want to burst.
And most amazing of all was that Viggo wasn't groping him, wasn't fingering him, pawing at him like a horny teen boy allowed to cop his first feel; Viggo's hand remained on his side, the other one resting on his neck, and Orlando was hot all over in a way that was awesomely foreign.
Out of an unspoken agreement they manoeuvred themselves until they were lying flush against each other, and Orlando pushed the blanket away, since they had now created enough heat to keep him warm, and placed Viggo's hand on his groin, feeling the heat of his palm even through the bunched fabric. Viggo pressed down with the heel of his hand, and Orlando groaned, and took Viggo's lips again.
“God, just do it,” he said, and Viggo's fingers formed a loose fist around Orlando's cock, and even without skin contact Orlando felt small jolts running from his cock to his balls, and he realised he was so close to orgasm already it wouldn't take more than just a few tugs to get him off. He pushed his hips into Viggo's hand, and Viggo moaned with him as Orlando's hips stuttered and his cock pulsed in Viggo's palm.
His heart racing, Orlando pulled back a little to better be able to gasp for breath, and he felt Viggo's hand leave his crotch and pull at his shoulder, to turn him so that they were face to face again. Orlando kept his eyes open, and met Viggo's gaze unguardedly, his smile a bit tired around the edges, but still happy.
“You're so beautiful,” Viggo said, and gave a light kiss on his lower lip.
He'd been called that all his life, ever since he was still just a little kid, and it was just another of those remarks that didn't even really register anymore, but he was glad when Viggo said it. Viggo thought he was beautiful and didn't think he was a slut; Viggo who had been his friend ever since they had first met.
“What about you?” he asked, and had to wince as that reminded him of their first encounter in the motel. Only there was nothing about this that made him feel cheap, or stupid; quite the opposite.
Viggo smiled. “Good things come to those who wait,” he said. “If you don't mind, we can pick up on this a bit later when you're more rested. I don't want to put too much pressure on you.”
Orlando wouldn't have minded, but he knew better than to argue. The prospect of continuing getting more intimate was more than appealing; they'd had sex twice - sort of - and he had yet to even see Viggo's cock, let alone do anything else; something he intended to rectify at the earliest opportunity.
“I'm looking forward to actually returning the favour, and more,” Orlando said with emphasis. ”Now, I should probably get out of these jeans.” His crotch was wet and sticky, and his trunks were starting to feel uncomfortably cold against his skin.
“I'll get you a pair of boxers,” Viggo said, and stole another kiss. “Now don't move. I'll be back in a sec.”
They shared a few kisses while Orlando changed into Viggo's boxer shorts, Viggo's hand squeezing a buttock that fitted his hand nicely, but when Orlando's stomach rumbled they were reminded that they hadn't even had lunch yet. Viggo's fridge didn't offer much in the way of edibles, and he then rummaged through the freezer to see if he had anything worth eating. He disregarded a pizza box out of consideration for Orlando's strict diet, and came up with an apologetic frown.
“I'm sorry. I usually eat out.”
“A bachelor house, I should have known,” Orlando said with a gentle roll of his eyes. “Is there a grocery shop nearby? We could make a quick dash there and then cook something together.”
“There's one just around the block. You look dead on your feet, though,” Viggo said, and was proven right when Orlando couldn't hold back a yawn. “Why don't you go and rest, I'll run to the store to get something to eat. I could make a salad or a soup or something.”
Orlando padded back to their cosy man-made nest on the couch, and allowed Viggo to tuck him in.
“I'll be back before you know it,” Viggo said, and couldn't help a possessive little caress down Orlando's cheek. “Do you need anything else? Toothbrush, maybe?”
Orlando realised that all his essentials were still at his place, and made a mental note to ask Viggo to take him by his apartment. Not right now, though. Tomorrow was soon enough.
“Yeah, other than that, I'm fine,” Orlando said. “Please hurry back.”
Viggo gave him a kiss and left, but when he was closing the door he paused. “I know this might sound paranoid,” he said, “but I'd feel a lot better if you put the security chain on after I left. I'll call you from outside the door when I'm back, so that you can let me in.”
Orlando got up tiredly, and put on the security chain after the door closed. He trudged back to the couch and flopped down, closing his eyes with a big yawn, and wrapped the blanket around himself.
It seemed he had fallen asleep, because he was jostled awake when the door buzzer went off. Orlando thought about ignoring it, but when the persistent would-be-visitor wouldn't give up, he got up sluggishly and padded over to the voice-com.
“Who is it?”
A pause, then, “Orlando? Is Viggo in?”
Joaquín. Orlando closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. “No, you just missed him.”
“Oh, too bad. I had something I wanted to show him.”
Awesome. Orlando refrained from telling him to beat it, and opted for the polite, “Well, maybe if you came back another time...”
“This is actually kind of heavy, mind if I drop it there? I'll call him later.”
He sighed. Well, if that was what it took to get him out of his hair.
“Okay, I guess that's fine,” he said, and buzzed Joaquín in. A minute later the doorbell rang, and Orlando checked it was him (apparently Viggo's paranoia was catching) by the peep-hole before letting the other boy in.
Joaquín took a long look at him from head to toe. “Wow, I wouldn't have known that the Face could get so crumpled.”
There was a bald insinuation to his words that Orlando didn't like, but he put that down to Joaquín being jealous. He rolled his eyes, and stepped aside to admit Joaquín; he was carrying a bag, which looked heavy, and walked past Orlando into the apartment.
“You can put that in Viggo's studio,” Orlando called out, and watched Joaquín go to the appointed room. He pushed the door shut with his foot, deciding that paranoia or no paranoia he was locking the door again after Joaquín, even if Viggo would be back in five minutes.
A few minutes passed, and Orlando forced back a sigh of annoyance. Surely it didn't take that long to put the bag away, even if he was unpacking it. “Joaquín?”
There was no answer. Orlando waited a few minutes more and then crossed the hallway and went in the door on the left to Viggo's studio. A movement in the left corner of his eye alerted him and he threw himself to the right just as something hard and heavy fell down, catching his shoulder instead his head.
He fell to the ground, shocked and in pain, and looked up to see Joaquín.
“You stupid whore, you should be dead already,” Joaquín spat out, and brought down the sculpture again. It caught Orlando on the left forearm which he had instinctively raised to protect his head, and he shrieked as his arm exploded in pain.
Joaquín had overreached and lost his balance, falling on his knees, and the sculpture smashed to pieces on the floor. Orlando tried to ward him off with the other arm that was still working, but didn't have the strength to keep him off. Joaquín's hands closed around Orlando's throat, and Orlando tried to wheeze in a breath; Joaquín's grip was iron and he was snarling, spit flying from his lips.
Orlando reached with his hand to get something, anything to hit Joaquín with, his fingers searching the floor next to him, and at last his hand encountered a piece of plaster from the smashed sculpture, and he grabbed that and went for Joaquín's face as hard as he could. The crushing pressure on his windpipe immediately eased as Joaquín shrieked and brought his hands to his face; Orlando could see blood gushing from between his fingers, and Orlando had a split second to be grateful that the piece of plaster he'd caught had been sharp and jagged.
He struggled to get up while Joaquín was holding his face and wailing, but it felt like air refused to go down his windpipe, and he coughed and spluttered even as he tried to get up and out of the room. Fuck, I'll crawl if I have to, he thought, and did so, now cursing the fact that he had closed the door after Joaquín. He stumbled to his feet when he reached the hallway, but even as he reached for the door he was hit again, this time on the head, and he went down on his crushed arm.
The pain that flared almost made him pass out, and as he rolled to his side to vainly cradle the throbbing mess that had been his arm he saw that Joaquín stood in the hallway, panting and with one hand still pressed to his face, namely over his right eye. In his left hand was a bigger piece of plaster than the one Orlando had found, and this one had Orlando's blood on it from the blow that had felled him.
“You fucking slut,” Joaquín said, and dropped down to his knees next to Orlando. “You fucking slut.”
Orlando kicked out with his foot in a final, desperate attempt to avoid being smashed in the head again, and by luck his foot struck Joaquín right between the legs. He let out a howl and brought his hands, even the one that had been covering his ruined eye, to his crotch, his whole body balling around the pain.
Orlando tried to get away from him, pushing his body backwards on the hallway carpet with his uninjured hand and both his feet, knowing that he should try and get up, but his head was spinning and his vision was growing grainy, and he knew he was on the verge of passing out. He banged his useless arm against the floor and was grateful for the pain, because that washed away the threat of going out cold.
His mobile phone went off in the living room, and Orlando's mind made a full 180. If it was Viggo calling, then it was Viggo coming home, maybe even as close as behind the door, and he started to scream.
“Help! Viggo! Help!”
Joaquín was crawling to him on hands and feet, and Orlando could barely stand to look at his bloody face; not just because of the bloody mess that had been his face from the right cheekbone up, but for the hate-filled, murderous look in his uninjured eye.
“Shut up you --”
The door opened, and seconds later Joaquín was flung aside, falling with a pained 'oomph'. Orlando managed one look at Viggo's white, livid face, and then he fell back and blessedly knew no more, didn't hear the panicked repetition of his name, didn't feel the gentle hand checking him for injury.
* * *
Orlando came to in the ambulance, his lashes fluttering as he regained consciousness little by little, and after an instant's panic he scanned the faces around him, looking for the one he most needed to see. There were two people riding in the back with him, and he realised with a pang that neither of them was --
“Viggo?” he asked, his voice little more than a whisper.
“Mr. Mortensen is following us to the hospital in his own car,” the younger of the medics said. “Stay still, please.”
Orlando stilled and then asked the obligatory, “What about... what about that other guy?”
“Another ambulance took him,” the medic said. “Please, sir, keep still to avoid jolting your arm.”
Orlando felt his shattered arm throb as if in reply to the comment, and soon his abused shoulder joined in the choir. He groaned and closed his eyes. His scalp felt a bit numb where the blow had fallen, and he was glad for that small mercy. A slow, pulsing headache started behind his eyes on the way to the hospital, and he mentioned it to the medic.
“You're concussed, Mr. Bloom. We'll just take you in so they can start treating you.”
Orlando didn't say anything after that, he simply concentrated on breathing and riding the pain.
* * *
tbc in Chapter seven a
Author: laeglass
Pairing: VM/OB; mentions of OB/other and VM/other
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Adult themes all around. AU, angst, mentions of substance abuse, violence, mentions of promiscuity.
Summary: Orlando Bloom is living the perfect, enviable life of a celebrated male supermodel, but looks aren't everything.
Disclaimer: This is just a dream and a lie. No profit made.
A/N: This story has finally progressed from a WIP to Finished. Beta read by a dear friend. *hugs* Feedback is very much appreciated. :)
Previous chapters
'Thank God I have insurance.' That was one of the first things in Orlando's mind after he woke up - or rather, was woken up - and the nurse checking his vitals had explained to him where he was and what had happened (granted, the information she had was very limited). Thank God for insurance, because for all his modelling he still wasn't exactly a multi-millionaire, and who knew what tests and scans and treatments were in his near future and how much they’d cost, and how long a stay in hospital he was looking at.
The nurse looked at his face critically, and then exclaimed happily that a lot of the swelling had gone down during the past few hours; at the comment, Orlando dreaded to think how he had looked coming in. Perhaps it was an odd thing to be worried about, considering the circumstances, but he couldn't help wondering if a lucky paparazzo had managed a shot of his swollen mug when he was taken in to the Emergency Room.
A doctor came in some time later and told him the verdict; severe dehydration and overheating of the body. She explained that dehydration interfered with the body's normal functions, which was why it was so dangerous, and the swiftest means to achieve fluid balance was restoration of fluids and electrolytes through intravenous means. Bed rest coupled with hooking him to IV would ascertain Orlando's full recovery. The doctor told him that he was lucky in that he was young and physically fit; a child or an elderly person might not have survived the ordeal that he had gone through.
That was not to say that he could resume normal activity just yet; they would likely keep him overnight, on an IV, and he was not to tax himself physically under any circumstances. No exercise for at least a week.
Orlando paled as he looked at the large needle inserted into a vein on the back of his hand, and then quickly looked away. He hated needles, had hated them since he was still just a kid and getting his vaccinations at the doctor. He reckoned he was glad he'd been out of it while they were putting that needle in, because awake and conscious, he would have tried to get out of its way, never mind what his rational brain was telling him.
The room was white, and sterile, and while there was a window Orlando couldn't really see out of it from where he was lying, because the bed wasn't anywhere near the window and Orlando wondered which idiot had planned this room and arranged the furniture and the equipment and then he drifted off, not having been very conscious at all.
His second thought was that he could probably sue the gym for the incident and then he had to laugh, because that thought were just so American it was incredible. When in Rome. The thought struck him as funny and he laughed until tears were running down his cheeks, causing the nurse in charge to look at him like he was a loony and then offer him a sympathetic smile.
“You're on the road to recovery now,” she said. “Good thing the gym staff found you when they did.”
Orlando was still laughing when she left the room, and a short while later he was crying, now alone again.
* * *
Orlando had no kith and kin in town, but they did admit Elijah that afternoon at Orlando's insistence that he was well enough to receive a visitor, and Orlando was moved close to tears again at the sight of his friend. Elijah was pale and looked worried, and practically flew to Orlando's bedside from the door. He had a room of his own, and whether it was due to his celebrity status or his injuries he wasn't sure and didn't really care, but he appreciated the privacy. He wasn't sure if this was all in the tabloids. Elijah assured him that he'd heard nothing of the sort.
“God, Orli,” Elijah said and then hugged him fiercely, mindful of the tubes that connected Orlando's arm to the IV bag. Orlando had seen the nurse change the bag once already that day, and who knew how many he had needed before waking up. “I couldn't believe it when they called me. God, you look so wrong in that bed. We need to get you out of here. You must come and stay with us.”
“What is Matt going to say?” Orlando asked when Elijah at last let go of him, only to drag the visitor's chair as close to the bed as he could and plop down into it. “He's not going to love having a third wheel. Especially as that wheel is me.”
Elijah's boyfriend's dislike of Orlando was the only sore spot in their relationship; he and Orlando had got off to a rocky start and the intervening years had alleviated only some of the tension.
“He's fine, we talked about it on the way over. And you know Matt doesn't hate you. He was a bit jealous at first but he's been over it for years now. You just don't want to give him a chance.”
“Well, he did call me a stupid slut that one time,” Orlando said mildly. “But then I guess I did use some insulting words too, so I suppose we're even. And you're right, it was years ago. Ancient history. But I don't think... That is, I thought...”
He floundered, not sure how to voice the thought that he wanted to ask Viggo if he could come and stay with him. That would probably sound ungrateful regarding Elijah's offer. Not to mention presumptuous after how he and Viggo had parted the day before. Just a day. Orlando's mind spun. Two accidents in two days. No small wonder it was hard to wrap his mind around the facts.
“You'd rather stay at someone else's?” Elijah asked, perceptive as ever, and Orlando was grateful that he didn't look offended or hurt. “Anyone I know?”
“You might know his name actually,” Orlando started, and Elijah's eyes widened.
“Don't say Davide,” he said fiercely. “Don't say you're going back to him.”
“God, no! Lij, are you crazy? Never in this lifetime,” Orlando said, his lips thinning at the mere suggestion. “It's the bloke I've been talking about.”
“So is it some model you've worked with?” Elijah asked knowingly. Orlando knew that people gossiped about him and Andrea, but he just shook his head with a smile.
“No, a photographer, actually. His name's Viggo Mortensen. Not that I've called him yet or anything, so I'm just presuming he might want to have me over, so...”
Elijah squeezed his arm. “He'd be crazy not to. Just look at you when you speak his name. Are you just friends, really, or are you together?”
Orlando looked down, feeling a bit shy all of a sudden. “We're friends. I mean, we've done a bit more, but at this point we don't want to rush things. But I do like him. And don't I sound weird, saying that. Good thing I'm in a hospital already, maybe they could examine my head while they're at it.”
He tried to make it into a joke, because it really felt like one; him falling for some man like a teenager with his first crush, but making light of serious things never flew with Elijah.
“Shut it, Orli,” Elijah said softly. “Falling for someone isn't something to be ashamed of.”
“I guess I finally did,” Orlando said, and it wasn't such an awful thing to admit, after all. “But the timing is a bit of a challenge.”
He could have chuckled at the understatement. He was not an expert on relationships on the best of days, and now everything was such a mess it was no small wonder nothing seemed to make any sense.
“What do you mean?” Elijah asked. “Because you're in the hospital?”
Orlando sighed and let his head fall back on the pillow. “Actually, it's a bit more complicated than that.”
And because the visiting hour was nowhere near to its end, he had the time to tell Elijah everything that had happened since the morning that he had finally broken it off with Davide, and stormed out of his apartment, and wrecked his 'Vette. Elijah's eyes were wide as saucers by the time Orlando finished his tale, his face paler than it had been before.
“God, I can't believe this. Are you sure it's not Davide?”
Orlando made a wry face. “I checked from a reliable source, and he actually is cruising in the Mediterranean. That fucker. So I suppose it's not him. At least not the acid thing and this sauna thing. Or he's hired somebody to do it. I don't know anymore. I do know that he has a new bloke since I went to his place that morning.”
“You must call the police, Orli,” Elijah said. “Couldn't they put some surveillance on you, or something? Or get you into a safe house or what have you. Clearly you can't go home.”
That much Orlando had deduced by himself. His apartment hadn't been broken into; he assumed that the acid, whatever it had been, had probably been put in the bottle while it was in his bag, which meant that someone had likely followed him to the shooting location and changed the bottles while everyone was busy working. He shivered. If the bottle hadn't slipped from his grasp, and if he'd applied the stuff to his face, he would still have landed in hospital but for a whole other reason, probably waiting to be seen by a plastic surgeon. Goodbye career, goodbye the Face.
“And I can't come to your house, because I don't want to put you two at risk. I'm not so sure about Viggo's place, either. But I guess I have to go somewhere.”
Elijah nodded, accepting his reasoning. “And the police?”
Orlando bit his lip. “I guess I'll have to. I don't want to die, Lij. I just.... I didn't think someone would follow me there. Unless it was some stupid prank and I just happened to be there. I don't know. But I'll think about it.”
Elijah nodded empathetically. Orlando appreciated him not ordering him around; Elijah usually trusted Orlando to know his own mind, and didn't pressure.
“You do that. This is getting out of hand, big time. I'd feel a lot better if the police looked into it.”
“He sounded so convincing,” Orlando said, almost to himself. “And there is also the fact that when I went to his place there was some young dude in there. It didn't take all that long for him to replace me. So maybe I just imagined the threat. Maybe it's just some crazy fan or something who's gone insane. I don't know.”
Elijah squeezed his hand. “You probably want to call Viggo before the visiting hour is over, right? So I'll just take Matt and head home. But if you ever need anything, a place to stay, anything, call me. Day or night, whatever, I don't care. And please do call me if you go to Viggo's from here. I need to know you got to some place safe.”
Orlando smiled tiredly. “Will do. Love you, Lij.”
“Love you too, Orli. Always have and always will.” Elijah kissed him on the cheek and left.
The white from the walls seemed to wash over him and he dozed off after Elijah left, still feeling like he was drifting in the winds, weightless, bodiless.
* * *
Orlando was told that at his rate of recovery he could be released tomorrow, but they wanted to keep him over night just to see that there were no further complications. Orlando accepted this information with as much grace as he could muster, although a night spent in the hospital bed didn't appeal in the slightest.
He called Viggo just after the doctor left, and first told him not to worry, and then divulged his current whereabouts. Viggo told him that he had a visitor - it was Joaquín, visiting Viggo to get some photographs Viggo had shot earlier - but he wouldn't be staying the night, and Viggo promised to come and get Orlando the second he was released the next day, because he didn't want Orlando having to take a taxi when he could get a ride from a friend.
Orlando didn't know how to ask, so finally he just blurted, “I know this is asking a lot, but could you perhaps give me a roof over my head until I figure something out? I'll be out of your hair soon, I promise.”
Viggo immediately said that Orlando could stay at his place as long as he wanted, promising that his old sweats were Orlando's to use whenever he needed them. Viggo wasn't talkative on the phone, but Orlando could hear from his tone of voice that he was very worried, and that he was forcing himself not to react too overtly to Orlando's 'accident'.
“Are you allowed any more visitors tonight?” Viggo asked. “I'll come right over if you want me there.”
Orlando wanted that, too, but he knew that by the time Viggo got to the hospital the visiting hour would be over. Besides, he was exhausted, and was already fighting sleep. He suspected it might also have something to do with the stuff that was dripping into his veins from the IV.
“It's okay,” he said. “If nothing goes wrong they'll release me tomorrow. I'll see you then. And please, don't worry. I think I'm quite safe here.”
“I guess I'll worry until I see you again,” Viggo said, and Orlando dearly wished he could have seen Viggo's face then.
“It's just one night,” Orlando said to reassure him, and then he had to smile. “Wait a minute, you should be comforting me, you ass, not the other way around. Come to think of it, I just had to hold Lij's hand too. What's the world coming to?”
The attempt at humour fell a little flat; Viggo was too concerned to appreciate Orlando making light of the matter, and Orlando was feeling a little too trampled on to manage anything better.
“I'll hold your hand tomorrow all you can stand and more,” Viggo said. “Now get some sleep, you sound exhausted. And try and keep your precious self alive until tomorrow.”
Orlando's throat closed at the tender words and he had to swallow. “Okay. Good night. And don't do anything I wouldn't. Namely Joaquín.”
Orlando could almost hear the smile that followed his little joke. “I won't, I promise.”
“Okay, bye then.”
“See you tomorrow. Sleep well.”
* * *
If I didn't have insurance, I would have to sue, Orlando concluded the next morning as they were finishing the paperwork on his release and he wrote down his insurance info, and was more than glad of his insured state because the last thing he wanted was to file a lawsuit and risk the whole thing leaking to the public, creating a scandal and causing the paparazzi and journalists to hound him more than they usually did.
He'd phoned Viggo that morning to let him know that he'd be released around twelve, after the doctor had checked him, and at twelve thirty he walked out, still feeling slightly out of sorts but more than glad to get up from the dreadful hospital bed; and when he spotted Viggo coming to greet him at the parking lot it was all he could do not to break into a run, like some movie heroine that throws herself in the hero's arms.
They did hug, though, and Viggo held him without words for at least a full minute. Orlando was more than grateful for the support, because all his muscles felt sore, and he still felt weak as a kitten.
“I'll just take you home, okay?” Viggo said to his ear, and Orlando nodded, breathing in the scent of safety that only Viggo's embrace could offer nowadays. They both knew that 'home' meant Viggo's place.
“Fourth time you’ve had to take care of me,” Orlando said when they were in the car, and they'd driven a few minutes in silence. “This is a habit we have to break, mate. It's not doing much for my self-esteem. Or my health.” He attempted to sound humorous, but the sentiment was sincere.
Viggo smiled briefly, but his hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I'm starting to think this is a police matter. To state the very obvious. I should've insisted on that ages ago. I'm so sorry, Orlando.”
“You're sorry? You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about,” Orlando said. “How about I'm sorry for freaking out yesterday and all but throwing you out after you'd been nothing but supportive and kind? After you'd stayed the night pretty much holding me together? If I'd acted like a rational normal person I wouldn't even have been in that stupid sauna and have someone attempt to murder me.”
He bit his lip hard after the last sentence, as it sunk in, and he could see Viggo blanch as well, his eyes still fixed on the road.
“Babe, don't blame yourself. Please. You couldn't have known. I should've said something and not just left like a big idiot.” Viggo smacked the steering wheel in frustration.
“Well, you couldn't have known either,” Orlando said, and then replayed Viggo's words in his brain. “Babe?”
Viggo grimaced. Apparently he hadn't intended to let that slip. “Shit, I'm sorry. You don't need that.”
“Stop saying you're sorry,” Orlando said, irritated. “You have nothing to apologise for. I don't mind, besides.”
Silence fell, where Viggo contemplated what Orlando had meant, and Orlando contemplated if this signalled a shift in their relationship.
“Being called babe?” Viggo asked.
“Being called babe by you,” Orlando clarified, feeling a bit demure, but all feelings of foolishness disappeared at the sight of Viggo's face breaking into a grin. Christ. He was turning into a teenage boy. Or girl. He wasn't sure which sex freaked out the worst when they first fell for somebody, but he was just as bad.
“How's Joaquín, by the way?” he asked off-handedly, but paid attention to Viggo's reaction. It seemed that for all his near death experiences he still had to shrug off the green-eyed monster. Viggo's smile vanished at the mention of his Spanish friend. Orlando assumed - or hoped - they had had a few words about boundaries and such after Joaquín's words to Orlando at Viggo's party.
“Fine, I suppose. He came by yesterday to talk about the project we both worked on, and left after you called. He was shocked to hear that you were in hospital.”
They came to a busy intersection and had to stop at the red light, and Viggo fumbled with the gears; the first outward sign that he was nervous. Orlando assumed it was because of the personal, even intimate, turn that their conversation had taken. He wasn't too pleased with the implication that Viggo had talked to Joaquín about his personal matters.
“You told him that?”
“Well, he knew it was you calling, and I suppose our discussion led him to the conclusion that you'd been admitted. He didn't ask about it, though, and I didn't say anything about the cause, so no, he doesn't know why and doesn't need to. I'm not expecting to see him for a while anyway, since we have no projects pending.”
Orlando bit his lip again. “I know I was being a bit presumptuous last night when I told you not to fuck him.” Not that he regretted it one bit.
Viggo snorted laughter. “It's okay, but I wouldn't have fucked him anyway. We haven't had sex in months and I don't mean to go down that road again.”
“Does he know that?” Orlando asked. “Just asking because the last time I talked to him, he was all but pissing all over you and warning me off.”
“He knows,” Viggo said with emphasis, and looked over at Orlando. “He and I had a discussion after that night and I made very clear that if he continues spewing such bullshit it'll be the last he sees of me. I can just imagine how it made you feel.”
“Pretty bad, actually,” Orlando said, “but that's over. I won't be missing the sight of him.”
They'd reached Viggo's apartment building, and Viggo steered the car onto the ramp that lead to the underground parking lot. Orlando smiled at the sight of Viggo's neighbour's dented Ferrari, thinking that it felt like years since he'd first come here, seeking refuge from the paparazzi. Viggo was quiet in the elevator on their way up, and Orlando didn't say anything either, sensing that Viggo was putting distance between them - again. It had got a bit emotional back there at the hospital parking lot and on the ride over, and Orlando had to admit to feeling a bit shaken up, so perhaps Viggo thought it best not to crowd him.
“Are you hungry?” Viggo asked him as soon as they were inside. “I changed the bed in the guest room so if you want to take a nap it's ready. Anything you need, or want, you only need to say.”
Orlando felt the invisible wall between them, and was desperate to tear it down. He'd already admitted to himself - and to Elijah - that he had feelings for Viggo. It was time to do something about it, rather than just fret about it. Which reminded him that he had some questions that he would like to have answered before the evening progressed.
“Can I ask you something first?” he asked.
Viggo shrugged. “Sure.”
“I was just wondering why you didn't call me after I left your place that one time before Christmas.” Orlando wanted to ask why Viggo hadn't invited him for his New Year Eve's party, but that would be a bit too presumptuous.
To his surprise, Viggo coloured a little. “I made the mistake of listening to the wrong people,” he said quietly.
Orlando's brows quirked curiously. “In what way?”
“I heard from someone we both know that you had hit it off with Andrea Peretti,” Viggo said, clearly embarrassed to recount the piece of gossip. “And they were pretty adamant that it was all official and a well-known fact, so I thought you'd moved on and got yourself a new boyfriend. And after your note I thought you wanted me to leave you alone, so I thought I'd wait to see if you called me.”
“Oh,” Orlando said, as realisation dawned. “I've heard that rumour before. Every time we hit the town together it starts to circulate again. Andrea is a friend and has never been, nor ever will be, anything more than that. Not a friend with benefits, and not a boyfriend.”
He thought he could guess who'd told Viggo that he and Andrea had hooked up, and thought he would happily strangle Joaquín for the lie the next time he saw him, Viggo's friend or not. In fact, Viggo would be better off with such 'friends' out of his life. Judging by Viggo's expression he shared the sentiment.
He saw Viggo filing this away, but he still looked uneasy. “I know that now. And I shouldn't have listened to gossip to begin with,” Viggo said. “And I know I should've given you a call to wish you a Merry Christmas, but all I could see before my mind's eye was you spending Christmas with your boyfriend, all cosy and bundled up, and not welcoming any calls from me, so I didn't. That's also why I didn't invite you to the New Year party. I thought you'd be too busy to come.”
Viggo had been jealous? Normally any signs of possessiveness had Orlando all but running to the hills, thanks to his experiences with past lovers, but Viggo admitting to having been jealous sent a pleased little thrill down Orlando's spine.
“Well, I'm glad we cleared that up,” Orlando said. “Just for the record, there hasn't been anyone new in my life in any capacity since I broke it off with my ex. Apart from you, of course. I know people talk and this industry being what it is...”
“It's not a very friendly one,” Viggo said with a little smile. “So, now that we've sorted that, I should probably also come clean and confess that I also haven't any new boyfriends or such. Still single.”
Orlando shared Viggo's smile and felt a small frisson of excitement. The interest was still there, and it had to be two-sided if Viggo had wanted him over. Orlando wasn't good with taking things slow, and so he thought it better to follow Viggo's lead in this. There was no rush, and no hurry, and he didn't want to spoil things by being too pushy.
Viggo was studying his face carefully, and asked if he'd like to get some rest. Orlando suppressed a wince. The last thing he wanted was to get any more sleep! Not to mention that the thought of being sequestered in Viggo's guest room didn't hold much appeal.
“Actually I was thinking that it'd be nice to just watch something, on the couch, or do something together. I feel I've slept enough for a week.”
It wasn't much of a proposal, but he didn't feel he had the energy for anything more strenuous than lounging around. If Viggo wanted sex, Orlando thought he could comply, but it wasn't on the top of his own agenda at the moment. Now, kissing or cuddling, on the other hand, would be more than welcome. Orlando secretly hoped that Viggo's thoughts ran in the same direction.
“Of course,” Viggo said immediately, and Orlando could have sworn he looked relieved. “I'll get us something to snack on, why don't you go and make yourself comfortable.”
Orlando was quick to comply, and headed over to the couch facing Viggo's flat screen TV. He arranged the cushions so that they formed a cosy nest on the couch, and reached over for the blanket, burrowing underneath it in search of warmth. Viggo's apartment was quite cool, and as one who was perpetually cold, Orlando appreciated the warm woollen blanket. The couch was large enough to seat several people, but he hoped that with him lying down they'd find themselves in close proximity. He was still hoping for those cuddles.
He'd warmed up quite nicely by the time Viggo brought in a few cans of soda - sugar free for Orlando - , a small bag of potato chips and walnuts in a small bowl.
“What, they're good for you,” he explained at the sight of Orlando's raised eyebrow, and Orlando smiled.
“Well, what are we going to watch?”
Viggo went over to his stack of DVDs, hunkering down in front of the television. Orlando thought it very domestic to watch Viggo puttering around; it was something he could easily get used to. What an odd thought. Not to mention that he'd been over at Viggo's only twice before, but already it felt familiar, and welcoming. The feeling was most decidedly nice, if a bit unexpected.
“Now let's see...” Viggo dug through his DVDs, looking at the covers of a few and scrunching up his face in indecision, and finally came up with the newest Bond film that Orlando hadn't yet seen. It had been on the theatres while he was busy with Fashion week and other work projects, and he'd managed to miss it despite his best intentions. “How about a British dude kicking ass?”
Orlando never went for straight blokes, but he thought he would happily go for Daniel Craig in any way, shape or form. He thought Viggo would take a piss if he revealed his celeb crush, so he went with a reserved, “Yeah, that's fine.”
Viggo put the DVD on and came to sit next to Orlando on the couch. After a few minutes of awkward scuffling, they found a position that they both found agreeable; Viggo leaning on the cushions with his feet propped up on the living room table, and Orlando's head resting on Viggo's chest, his body curled on the couch.
Orlando did his best to follow the storyline but even despite the hotness that was a beaten up Daniel Craig - and his own earlier proclamation that he wasn't tired - his lids started to droop at the thirty minute mark, and he drowsed through the movie, lulled into a sense of security by the sound of Viggo's heartbeat, and the feel of his warm, strong body against his own.
“Are you asleep?” Viggo asked quietly when the credits rolled, and Orlando mmh'ed a sleepy answer. “Do you want to move to the guest room?”
“Nah, here's fine,” Orlando mumbled, and burrowed into deeper contact with Viggo.
He more felt than heard Viggo chuckle a little, and then Viggo wriggled a bit to get into a more comfortable position, and they drowsed together in the afternoon silence. Orlando took in the scent of Viggo with every indrawn breath, aware on some level that it was really quite pleasing, but the erection forming in his pants still took him by surprise. He shifted a little, hoping it would subside before it drove him crazy, and the small movement drew a comment from Viggo.
“You comfortable?”
“Yeah,” Orlando said, and was glad that his face was against Viggo's chest, because that way Viggo couldn't see him blush. He, Orli Bloom who had performed oral sex with people watching and never batted an eyelash.
Orlando started as Viggo gathered him close, his lips tracing a path from his ear to his jaw, sending erotic sparks pooling down south. Well, there went his hope that his hard-on would go away quietly, he thought giddily, and then let out a disappointed whine when Viggo's lips left his skin.
“Are you going to apologise for that too?” he asked, when Viggo didn't say anything, but just held him.
“No. Maybe I ought to, because you're still recovering, but I've wanted to do that since I first saw you today.”
Orlando smiled, warmed by the compliment, and closed his eyes. “Too bad I'm not quite feeling up to going to bed.”
“No, I don't expect that at all,” Viggo said quickly. “If you meant sex.”
“Yes, I meant sex,” Orlando said with a significant glance at Viggo from under his lashes. “And I really mean 'too bad' because I'm hard as hell.”
Viggo exhaled sharply, and his hand ran down Orlando's arm to his side, and then curled there around his ribs almost reflexively. “Do you want...?”
“If you don't think it's too soon,” Orlando said, and then added wryly, “I've told you before that I don't really know what's normal. I've always been all too quick to ditch the pants and just go for it. So a bit of a slut, really, when you think about it.”
“You're not a slut. You're the most precious thing I've known in my life.” It was perhaps a corny thing to say, and Orlando would have scoffed had it come out of anyone else's mouth, but Viggo's face was so serious that Orlando couldn't doubt his sincerity and he melted at the kindness.
Orlando raised himself so that he could find Viggo's mouth, and they shared their first kiss that wasn't driven by lust. Viggo's hands combed his hair back from his face, and when Orlando opened his eyes he saw that Viggo's eyes were open too. It felt almost dreadfully intimate to kiss and be held like this, but Orlando withstood it, knowing that Viggo wasn't after a quick blowjob or a frenzied from the behind fuck, and because he wasn't after any of those things either.
“You taste so good,” Viggo said when the kiss ended. “I love the taste of your mouth.”
Orlando almost made a quip about having quit smoking just to hear that, but smiled instead.
“You too. God, I never really used to like kissing, but you...”
And he went back for another. It was a new thing, this, kissing and being kissed just for the sake of it. Before, a kiss was the compulsory prelude to going down on your knees for the preparatory fluffing that preceded the main event. Now, they were tasting each other with permission, Viggo's mouth moving under his, his tongue sweeping Orlando's own, creating slick contact that made him want to burst.
And most amazing of all was that Viggo wasn't groping him, wasn't fingering him, pawing at him like a horny teen boy allowed to cop his first feel; Viggo's hand remained on his side, the other one resting on his neck, and Orlando was hot all over in a way that was awesomely foreign.
Out of an unspoken agreement they manoeuvred themselves until they were lying flush against each other, and Orlando pushed the blanket away, since they had now created enough heat to keep him warm, and placed Viggo's hand on his groin, feeling the heat of his palm even through the bunched fabric. Viggo pressed down with the heel of his hand, and Orlando groaned, and took Viggo's lips again.
“God, just do it,” he said, and Viggo's fingers formed a loose fist around Orlando's cock, and even without skin contact Orlando felt small jolts running from his cock to his balls, and he realised he was so close to orgasm already it wouldn't take more than just a few tugs to get him off. He pushed his hips into Viggo's hand, and Viggo moaned with him as Orlando's hips stuttered and his cock pulsed in Viggo's palm.
His heart racing, Orlando pulled back a little to better be able to gasp for breath, and he felt Viggo's hand leave his crotch and pull at his shoulder, to turn him so that they were face to face again. Orlando kept his eyes open, and met Viggo's gaze unguardedly, his smile a bit tired around the edges, but still happy.
“You're so beautiful,” Viggo said, and gave a light kiss on his lower lip.
He'd been called that all his life, ever since he was still just a little kid, and it was just another of those remarks that didn't even really register anymore, but he was glad when Viggo said it. Viggo thought he was beautiful and didn't think he was a slut; Viggo who had been his friend ever since they had first met.
“What about you?” he asked, and had to wince as that reminded him of their first encounter in the motel. Only there was nothing about this that made him feel cheap, or stupid; quite the opposite.
Viggo smiled. “Good things come to those who wait,” he said. “If you don't mind, we can pick up on this a bit later when you're more rested. I don't want to put too much pressure on you.”
Orlando wouldn't have minded, but he knew better than to argue. The prospect of continuing getting more intimate was more than appealing; they'd had sex twice - sort of - and he had yet to even see Viggo's cock, let alone do anything else; something he intended to rectify at the earliest opportunity.
“I'm looking forward to actually returning the favour, and more,” Orlando said with emphasis. ”Now, I should probably get out of these jeans.” His crotch was wet and sticky, and his trunks were starting to feel uncomfortably cold against his skin.
“I'll get you a pair of boxers,” Viggo said, and stole another kiss. “Now don't move. I'll be back in a sec.”
They shared a few kisses while Orlando changed into Viggo's boxer shorts, Viggo's hand squeezing a buttock that fitted his hand nicely, but when Orlando's stomach rumbled they were reminded that they hadn't even had lunch yet. Viggo's fridge didn't offer much in the way of edibles, and he then rummaged through the freezer to see if he had anything worth eating. He disregarded a pizza box out of consideration for Orlando's strict diet, and came up with an apologetic frown.
“I'm sorry. I usually eat out.”
“A bachelor house, I should have known,” Orlando said with a gentle roll of his eyes. “Is there a grocery shop nearby? We could make a quick dash there and then cook something together.”
“There's one just around the block. You look dead on your feet, though,” Viggo said, and was proven right when Orlando couldn't hold back a yawn. “Why don't you go and rest, I'll run to the store to get something to eat. I could make a salad or a soup or something.”
Orlando padded back to their cosy man-made nest on the couch, and allowed Viggo to tuck him in.
“I'll be back before you know it,” Viggo said, and couldn't help a possessive little caress down Orlando's cheek. “Do you need anything else? Toothbrush, maybe?”
Orlando realised that all his essentials were still at his place, and made a mental note to ask Viggo to take him by his apartment. Not right now, though. Tomorrow was soon enough.
“Yeah, other than that, I'm fine,” Orlando said. “Please hurry back.”
Viggo gave him a kiss and left, but when he was closing the door he paused. “I know this might sound paranoid,” he said, “but I'd feel a lot better if you put the security chain on after I left. I'll call you from outside the door when I'm back, so that you can let me in.”
Orlando got up tiredly, and put on the security chain after the door closed. He trudged back to the couch and flopped down, closing his eyes with a big yawn, and wrapped the blanket around himself.
It seemed he had fallen asleep, because he was jostled awake when the door buzzer went off. Orlando thought about ignoring it, but when the persistent would-be-visitor wouldn't give up, he got up sluggishly and padded over to the voice-com.
“Who is it?”
A pause, then, “Orlando? Is Viggo in?”
Joaquín. Orlando closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. “No, you just missed him.”
“Oh, too bad. I had something I wanted to show him.”
Awesome. Orlando refrained from telling him to beat it, and opted for the polite, “Well, maybe if you came back another time...”
“This is actually kind of heavy, mind if I drop it there? I'll call him later.”
He sighed. Well, if that was what it took to get him out of his hair.
“Okay, I guess that's fine,” he said, and buzzed Joaquín in. A minute later the doorbell rang, and Orlando checked it was him (apparently Viggo's paranoia was catching) by the peep-hole before letting the other boy in.
Joaquín took a long look at him from head to toe. “Wow, I wouldn't have known that the Face could get so crumpled.”
There was a bald insinuation to his words that Orlando didn't like, but he put that down to Joaquín being jealous. He rolled his eyes, and stepped aside to admit Joaquín; he was carrying a bag, which looked heavy, and walked past Orlando into the apartment.
“You can put that in Viggo's studio,” Orlando called out, and watched Joaquín go to the appointed room. He pushed the door shut with his foot, deciding that paranoia or no paranoia he was locking the door again after Joaquín, even if Viggo would be back in five minutes.
A few minutes passed, and Orlando forced back a sigh of annoyance. Surely it didn't take that long to put the bag away, even if he was unpacking it. “Joaquín?”
There was no answer. Orlando waited a few minutes more and then crossed the hallway and went in the door on the left to Viggo's studio. A movement in the left corner of his eye alerted him and he threw himself to the right just as something hard and heavy fell down, catching his shoulder instead his head.
He fell to the ground, shocked and in pain, and looked up to see Joaquín.
“You stupid whore, you should be dead already,” Joaquín spat out, and brought down the sculpture again. It caught Orlando on the left forearm which he had instinctively raised to protect his head, and he shrieked as his arm exploded in pain.
Joaquín had overreached and lost his balance, falling on his knees, and the sculpture smashed to pieces on the floor. Orlando tried to ward him off with the other arm that was still working, but didn't have the strength to keep him off. Joaquín's hands closed around Orlando's throat, and Orlando tried to wheeze in a breath; Joaquín's grip was iron and he was snarling, spit flying from his lips.
Orlando reached with his hand to get something, anything to hit Joaquín with, his fingers searching the floor next to him, and at last his hand encountered a piece of plaster from the smashed sculpture, and he grabbed that and went for Joaquín's face as hard as he could. The crushing pressure on his windpipe immediately eased as Joaquín shrieked and brought his hands to his face; Orlando could see blood gushing from between his fingers, and Orlando had a split second to be grateful that the piece of plaster he'd caught had been sharp and jagged.
He struggled to get up while Joaquín was holding his face and wailing, but it felt like air refused to go down his windpipe, and he coughed and spluttered even as he tried to get up and out of the room. Fuck, I'll crawl if I have to, he thought, and did so, now cursing the fact that he had closed the door after Joaquín. He stumbled to his feet when he reached the hallway, but even as he reached for the door he was hit again, this time on the head, and he went down on his crushed arm.
The pain that flared almost made him pass out, and as he rolled to his side to vainly cradle the throbbing mess that had been his arm he saw that Joaquín stood in the hallway, panting and with one hand still pressed to his face, namely over his right eye. In his left hand was a bigger piece of plaster than the one Orlando had found, and this one had Orlando's blood on it from the blow that had felled him.
“You fucking slut,” Joaquín said, and dropped down to his knees next to Orlando. “You fucking slut.”
Orlando kicked out with his foot in a final, desperate attempt to avoid being smashed in the head again, and by luck his foot struck Joaquín right between the legs. He let out a howl and brought his hands, even the one that had been covering his ruined eye, to his crotch, his whole body balling around the pain.
Orlando tried to get away from him, pushing his body backwards on the hallway carpet with his uninjured hand and both his feet, knowing that he should try and get up, but his head was spinning and his vision was growing grainy, and he knew he was on the verge of passing out. He banged his useless arm against the floor and was grateful for the pain, because that washed away the threat of going out cold.
His mobile phone went off in the living room, and Orlando's mind made a full 180. If it was Viggo calling, then it was Viggo coming home, maybe even as close as behind the door, and he started to scream.
“Help! Viggo! Help!”
Joaquín was crawling to him on hands and feet, and Orlando could barely stand to look at his bloody face; not just because of the bloody mess that had been his face from the right cheekbone up, but for the hate-filled, murderous look in his uninjured eye.
“Shut up you --”
The door opened, and seconds later Joaquín was flung aside, falling with a pained 'oomph'. Orlando managed one look at Viggo's white, livid face, and then he fell back and blessedly knew no more, didn't hear the panicked repetition of his name, didn't feel the gentle hand checking him for injury.
* * *
Orlando came to in the ambulance, his lashes fluttering as he regained consciousness little by little, and after an instant's panic he scanned the faces around him, looking for the one he most needed to see. There were two people riding in the back with him, and he realised with a pang that neither of them was --
“Viggo?” he asked, his voice little more than a whisper.
“Mr. Mortensen is following us to the hospital in his own car,” the younger of the medics said. “Stay still, please.”
Orlando stilled and then asked the obligatory, “What about... what about that other guy?”
“Another ambulance took him,” the medic said. “Please, sir, keep still to avoid jolting your arm.”
Orlando felt his shattered arm throb as if in reply to the comment, and soon his abused shoulder joined in the choir. He groaned and closed his eyes. His scalp felt a bit numb where the blow had fallen, and he was glad for that small mercy. A slow, pulsing headache started behind his eyes on the way to the hospital, and he mentioned it to the medic.
“You're concussed, Mr. Bloom. We'll just take you in so they can start treating you.”
Orlando didn't say anything after that, he simply concentrated on breathing and riding the pain.
* * *
tbc in Chapter seven a