Fic: Sometimes when you dream (7/7)
Title: Sometimes when you dream
Author: Liv
Pairing: VM/OB, OB/SB (implied)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Angst, character death, slight non-con (brief).
Summary: While trying to save the man in his life, Orlando finds himself attracted to another. What will they do when they are all face to face?
Feedback: most encouraged, please, no flames.
Beta-ed by Myr.
Disclaimer: I don’t know the guys; I’m just playing with them in my own fantasy world.
Notes: The fic is set in present day and despite the warnings, it is not dark, but rather adventurous and it has a happy-end.
Chapter 7 - Healing
Despite their superior number, the bandits flew into the jungle soon after seeing their leader fall. Mortensen’s men had briefly followed them, and then returned to the clearing, unharmed except for a few scrapes. They watched saddened as Mortensen gently pried Orlando away from his husband’s body and held him in his arms as the young man cried quietly.
Without being told, they began building a makeshift stretcher to transport the body back to civilization. It would be a slow progress, but more dignified than placing him on a horse.
The ride back to town was uneventful. Orlando rode numbly, staring at nothing in particular, while Mortensen watched him, ready to support him if he eventually had a break down. The other three men kept their weapons at hand and their eyes and ears open, in case they were being followed. They didn’t think that it was very likely to happen, considering the fact that they had left the artifacts behind, with the transport likely to arrive soon. The bandits would probably let them escape, in favor of getting their earnings in safety.
Once they were back in town, Mortensen was surprised that, rather than paying him for his services and sending him on his way, Orlando also asked him to attend to his husband’s funeral.
Mortensen suspected that it was perhaps due to the fact that he had embellished the report made to the local authorities, mentioning that Sean had indeed been a victim of a kidnapping, for which Orlando was very grateful. It was heart-breaking enough to have to tell his little son that daddy wouldn’t be coming back home.
The police reached the clearing where the artifacts had been stored with unsurprising slowness, so much so that there had been nothing left to investigate. Orlando found that he didn’t care very much. After all, the man who had killed his husband had received his own punishment and the rest interested him very little.
There were few people in attendance at the funeral, most of them were those who had accompanied Orlando and Sean on their trip. Mortensen arrived later during the service and, despite his gloomy mood, Orlando could not help but notice that the man certainly cleaned up well. He was wearing an elegant dark suit and his blond hair was clean and well combed. He looked like an executive, rather than the adventurer he was.
Later, when Orlando was absentmindedly fiddling with the flowers on the fresh grave, Mortensen approached him.
“Will you be going back to England now?” he asked casually, even through he cringed inside at the thought that he probably wasn’t going to see the young man again.
Orlando looked up and resumed his work: “Yes, Will and I are leaving tomorrow, my parents are expecting me.” He rose, dusting the knees of his pants where he had crouched near the grave.
“I didn’t have the chance to thank you or your friends for your help,” he said softly, looking anywhere but at Viggo.
“There’s no need to thank me, I just wish things could have turned out the way you hoped.” The man placed a comforting hand on Orlando’s shoulder, hoping to convey his regret without more words that would remind Orlando of his loss. He wasn’t very successful, because Viggo could feel the tremors that shook the slender frame. It cost him great effort to not reach out and take the young man in his arms, as he had in the jungle. There were too many people around and he didn’t want to embarrass Orlando.
“I don’t suppose you’ll be coming back,” he said instead, trying not to let the regret show in his voice.
“Sean’s here, I’ll always come back,” Orlando answered, selecting a single yellow rose to take with him.
Viggo escorted Orlando back to his hotel. They walked slowly, neither in any apparent hurry to arrive at their destination.
Viggo was childishly happy when Orlando asked him up to his suite for tea. He was surprised and concerned when Orlando later asked him to spend the night.
“Mr. Bloom, you’ve just buried your husband. You don’t want me around and I don’t think it’s prudent for me to stay,” Viggo protested.
“Don’t call me that,” Orlando said quietly, looking lost, “Mr. Bloom was my husband, I am Orlando, call me Orlando. I can’t sleep in that big bed all by myself, I’m afraid to. I just want you to hold me,” he pleaded.
Despite his misgivings regarding how inappropriate the request was, Viggo couldn’t refuse and he knew that it was partly because of his own selfishness. He wanted to hold Orlando one last time before he left.
Orlando provided him with some comfortable sleepwear and waited for him in bed, where Viggo joined him, spooning him, placing an arm around his waist.
With his eyes closed and his back to the other man, Orlando could pretend that he was in bed with Sean. It wasn’t a perfect illusion, but Orlando clung to it like a life line. Soon though, it became obvious that the other man smelled differently and breathed differently. The arm around him was heavy, but Orlando wished it would be heavier still, pulling him back tightly, almost painfully, so that he could feel something, anything other than numbness.
He forced himself to remain still, willing sleep to come. On the very edge of wakefulness, he remembered the dream he had had of Viggo during the first night they had spent in the jungle. It had been disconcerting then and it was disturbing now, when he was supposed to be grieving. Orlando couldn’t help but be affected by the images in his head. He shifted slightly and the arm around him slid lower, palm coming in contact with his arousal.
Orlando froze, waiting for the older man to retreat, disgusted by his reaction. But Viggo was asleep and having dreams of his own. His hand grasped Orlando’s flesh out of its own volition and he pushed his own hardness against the young man’s buttocks.
Orlando wanted to push the hand away, wanted to pull himself away, but he couldn’t go through the motions. Instead he pushed back and forth, between the hard body and the strong hand while Viggo unconsciously nuzzled his neck, brushing his lips against the fine hair.
Climax came quickly for both of them, one almost awake, straining for the forbidden touch, the other barely asleep, caught in a vivid dream of things he didn’t dare to hope for when he woke.
Orlando moaned in guilty pleasure as he spilled, the fine fabric of his sleep pants soaking up the moisture and Viggo was startled awake, feeling the wetness against his own skin. He quickly assessed their position and snatched back his hand, sitting up abruptly.
“Shit!” he managed to say.
Orlando sat up slowly, crawling across the bed to reach Viggo.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m a terrible person.”
Viggo looked at him disbelievingly: “What do you mean you’re a terrible person? I woke up practically assaulting you,” he added.
Orlando cupped Viggo’s cheeks between his hands: “I let you do this, I wanted you to do more,” he confessed.
Viggo didn’t want to let himself hope for anything, he’d been disappointed before and Orlando wasn’t very stable right now. He wasn’t sure he was stable himself: “You’re not yourself,” he said neutrally.
“No, I’m not,” Orlando conceded, pressing his forehead against Viggo’s shoulder. “But I’m going to be eventually. I have Will to think about, he’ll help keep me sane.”
Viggo’s heart was a shriveled little thing hiding in his chest. He knew this was goodbye, but he couldn’t make himself dress and leave. Orlando’s warmth was precious in his arms and he clung to it as long as he could.
“What about you?” Orlando asked. “Will you be alright?”
“Why shouldn’t I? I haven’t lost anyone,” he answered, not believing his own words.
“That’s not true,” Orlando pressed. “You loved him didn’t you? Just because he didn’t die doesn’t mean it hurt less to lose him”.
“You’re leaving too, you think that doesn’t hurt?” Viggo asked angrily, rising to put on his clothes.
Orlando followed him, not deterred in the least. “You never had me to begin with. You never told me how you felt!”
“How could I?” Viggo asked. “I had no right,” he added, crumbling in an armchair, rubbing tiredly at his face.
“Self-righteousness does not become you,” Orlando said, kneeling at Viggo’s feet and taking his hands between his own. “I will come back, I need to get myself sorted out, but I will come back.”
Viggo looked at him, his expression raw and tortured. He wanted to believe, but was afraid to. Both of them were hurting and reluctant to trust.
“Meet me in a year’s time in New York, on neutral territory,” Orlando offered. “I’ve always loved Central Park, there’s a fountain there, with a statue of Poseidon.”
“And if we meet?” Viggo asked, his voice small and hesitant.
“When we meet,” Orlando corrected, “we will see what future we can make for ourselves together. As for my commitment…” he reached up and pressed a soft kiss on Viggo’s lips.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The sun had come up, surprising the people of New York after a solid week of nothing but rain. Viggo had been sitting on the edge of the fountain for seemed like forever. He felt foolish sitting there, wearing his worn leather coat and his riding boots, he thought he probably looked a lot like a misplaced Indiana Jones. But he was who he was and his clothes were part of that.
It was late. Sighing, Viggo rose from his spot and walked a few steps towards the exit from the park. He stumbled a little when a black dog ran straight into him and happily began chewing on the edge of his coat. Viggo smiled and crouched down, petting the dog in an attempt to get him to relinquish his prey.
“Sidi!!” Viggo froze when he heard the voice. He’s imagined it so many times during the past year, even dreamed about it, but never truly allowed himself to hope he would hear it again.
Someone ran up to him and into him, much like the dog had earlier and they spilled onto the grass, the assailant firmly on top.
Orlando breathed hard and ran his hand through his curls, trying to get his unruly hair under control. Viggo thought he looked lovely.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” Orlando panted, “Sidi got loose and chased a squirrel through half the goddamn park.”
“I thought you wouldn’t come,” Viggo said softly, hands coming up to touch Orlando, as if making sure he was real, while the overgrown puppy did his best to eat both of their faces.
Orlando grinned: “Of course I came… I didn’t want to lose my deposit,” he added cheekily, swooping down to steal back the kiss he had given Viggo a year before.
Viggo let himself be devoured by both boy and dog and thought he would never be happier than in that one moment.
THE END.
Author: Liv
Pairing: VM/OB, OB/SB (implied)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Angst, character death, slight non-con (brief).
Summary: While trying to save the man in his life, Orlando finds himself attracted to another. What will they do when they are all face to face?
Feedback: most encouraged, please, no flames.
Beta-ed by Myr.
Disclaimer: I don’t know the guys; I’m just playing with them in my own fantasy world.
Notes: The fic is set in present day and despite the warnings, it is not dark, but rather adventurous and it has a happy-end.
Chapter 7 - Healing
Despite their superior number, the bandits flew into the jungle soon after seeing their leader fall. Mortensen’s men had briefly followed them, and then returned to the clearing, unharmed except for a few scrapes. They watched saddened as Mortensen gently pried Orlando away from his husband’s body and held him in his arms as the young man cried quietly.
Without being told, they began building a makeshift stretcher to transport the body back to civilization. It would be a slow progress, but more dignified than placing him on a horse.
The ride back to town was uneventful. Orlando rode numbly, staring at nothing in particular, while Mortensen watched him, ready to support him if he eventually had a break down. The other three men kept their weapons at hand and their eyes and ears open, in case they were being followed. They didn’t think that it was very likely to happen, considering the fact that they had left the artifacts behind, with the transport likely to arrive soon. The bandits would probably let them escape, in favor of getting their earnings in safety.
Once they were back in town, Mortensen was surprised that, rather than paying him for his services and sending him on his way, Orlando also asked him to attend to his husband’s funeral.
Mortensen suspected that it was perhaps due to the fact that he had embellished the report made to the local authorities, mentioning that Sean had indeed been a victim of a kidnapping, for which Orlando was very grateful. It was heart-breaking enough to have to tell his little son that daddy wouldn’t be coming back home.
The police reached the clearing where the artifacts had been stored with unsurprising slowness, so much so that there had been nothing left to investigate. Orlando found that he didn’t care very much. After all, the man who had killed his husband had received his own punishment and the rest interested him very little.
There were few people in attendance at the funeral, most of them were those who had accompanied Orlando and Sean on their trip. Mortensen arrived later during the service and, despite his gloomy mood, Orlando could not help but notice that the man certainly cleaned up well. He was wearing an elegant dark suit and his blond hair was clean and well combed. He looked like an executive, rather than the adventurer he was.
Later, when Orlando was absentmindedly fiddling with the flowers on the fresh grave, Mortensen approached him.
“Will you be going back to England now?” he asked casually, even through he cringed inside at the thought that he probably wasn’t going to see the young man again.
Orlando looked up and resumed his work: “Yes, Will and I are leaving tomorrow, my parents are expecting me.” He rose, dusting the knees of his pants where he had crouched near the grave.
“I didn’t have the chance to thank you or your friends for your help,” he said softly, looking anywhere but at Viggo.
“There’s no need to thank me, I just wish things could have turned out the way you hoped.” The man placed a comforting hand on Orlando’s shoulder, hoping to convey his regret without more words that would remind Orlando of his loss. He wasn’t very successful, because Viggo could feel the tremors that shook the slender frame. It cost him great effort to not reach out and take the young man in his arms, as he had in the jungle. There were too many people around and he didn’t want to embarrass Orlando.
“I don’t suppose you’ll be coming back,” he said instead, trying not to let the regret show in his voice.
“Sean’s here, I’ll always come back,” Orlando answered, selecting a single yellow rose to take with him.
Viggo escorted Orlando back to his hotel. They walked slowly, neither in any apparent hurry to arrive at their destination.
Viggo was childishly happy when Orlando asked him up to his suite for tea. He was surprised and concerned when Orlando later asked him to spend the night.
“Mr. Bloom, you’ve just buried your husband. You don’t want me around and I don’t think it’s prudent for me to stay,” Viggo protested.
“Don’t call me that,” Orlando said quietly, looking lost, “Mr. Bloom was my husband, I am Orlando, call me Orlando. I can’t sleep in that big bed all by myself, I’m afraid to. I just want you to hold me,” he pleaded.
Despite his misgivings regarding how inappropriate the request was, Viggo couldn’t refuse and he knew that it was partly because of his own selfishness. He wanted to hold Orlando one last time before he left.
Orlando provided him with some comfortable sleepwear and waited for him in bed, where Viggo joined him, spooning him, placing an arm around his waist.
With his eyes closed and his back to the other man, Orlando could pretend that he was in bed with Sean. It wasn’t a perfect illusion, but Orlando clung to it like a life line. Soon though, it became obvious that the other man smelled differently and breathed differently. The arm around him was heavy, but Orlando wished it would be heavier still, pulling him back tightly, almost painfully, so that he could feel something, anything other than numbness.
He forced himself to remain still, willing sleep to come. On the very edge of wakefulness, he remembered the dream he had had of Viggo during the first night they had spent in the jungle. It had been disconcerting then and it was disturbing now, when he was supposed to be grieving. Orlando couldn’t help but be affected by the images in his head. He shifted slightly and the arm around him slid lower, palm coming in contact with his arousal.
Orlando froze, waiting for the older man to retreat, disgusted by his reaction. But Viggo was asleep and having dreams of his own. His hand grasped Orlando’s flesh out of its own volition and he pushed his own hardness against the young man’s buttocks.
Orlando wanted to push the hand away, wanted to pull himself away, but he couldn’t go through the motions. Instead he pushed back and forth, between the hard body and the strong hand while Viggo unconsciously nuzzled his neck, brushing his lips against the fine hair.
Climax came quickly for both of them, one almost awake, straining for the forbidden touch, the other barely asleep, caught in a vivid dream of things he didn’t dare to hope for when he woke.
Orlando moaned in guilty pleasure as he spilled, the fine fabric of his sleep pants soaking up the moisture and Viggo was startled awake, feeling the wetness against his own skin. He quickly assessed their position and snatched back his hand, sitting up abruptly.
“Shit!” he managed to say.
Orlando sat up slowly, crawling across the bed to reach Viggo.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m a terrible person.”
Viggo looked at him disbelievingly: “What do you mean you’re a terrible person? I woke up practically assaulting you,” he added.
Orlando cupped Viggo’s cheeks between his hands: “I let you do this, I wanted you to do more,” he confessed.
Viggo didn’t want to let himself hope for anything, he’d been disappointed before and Orlando wasn’t very stable right now. He wasn’t sure he was stable himself: “You’re not yourself,” he said neutrally.
“No, I’m not,” Orlando conceded, pressing his forehead against Viggo’s shoulder. “But I’m going to be eventually. I have Will to think about, he’ll help keep me sane.”
Viggo’s heart was a shriveled little thing hiding in his chest. He knew this was goodbye, but he couldn’t make himself dress and leave. Orlando’s warmth was precious in his arms and he clung to it as long as he could.
“What about you?” Orlando asked. “Will you be alright?”
“Why shouldn’t I? I haven’t lost anyone,” he answered, not believing his own words.
“That’s not true,” Orlando pressed. “You loved him didn’t you? Just because he didn’t die doesn’t mean it hurt less to lose him”.
“You’re leaving too, you think that doesn’t hurt?” Viggo asked angrily, rising to put on his clothes.
Orlando followed him, not deterred in the least. “You never had me to begin with. You never told me how you felt!”
“How could I?” Viggo asked. “I had no right,” he added, crumbling in an armchair, rubbing tiredly at his face.
“Self-righteousness does not become you,” Orlando said, kneeling at Viggo’s feet and taking his hands between his own. “I will come back, I need to get myself sorted out, but I will come back.”
Viggo looked at him, his expression raw and tortured. He wanted to believe, but was afraid to. Both of them were hurting and reluctant to trust.
“Meet me in a year’s time in New York, on neutral territory,” Orlando offered. “I’ve always loved Central Park, there’s a fountain there, with a statue of Poseidon.”
“And if we meet?” Viggo asked, his voice small and hesitant.
“When we meet,” Orlando corrected, “we will see what future we can make for ourselves together. As for my commitment…” he reached up and pressed a soft kiss on Viggo’s lips.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The sun had come up, surprising the people of New York after a solid week of nothing but rain. Viggo had been sitting on the edge of the fountain for seemed like forever. He felt foolish sitting there, wearing his worn leather coat and his riding boots, he thought he probably looked a lot like a misplaced Indiana Jones. But he was who he was and his clothes were part of that.
It was late. Sighing, Viggo rose from his spot and walked a few steps towards the exit from the park. He stumbled a little when a black dog ran straight into him and happily began chewing on the edge of his coat. Viggo smiled and crouched down, petting the dog in an attempt to get him to relinquish his prey.
“Sidi!!” Viggo froze when he heard the voice. He’s imagined it so many times during the past year, even dreamed about it, but never truly allowed himself to hope he would hear it again.
Someone ran up to him and into him, much like the dog had earlier and they spilled onto the grass, the assailant firmly on top.
Orlando breathed hard and ran his hand through his curls, trying to get his unruly hair under control. Viggo thought he looked lovely.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” Orlando panted, “Sidi got loose and chased a squirrel through half the goddamn park.”
“I thought you wouldn’t come,” Viggo said softly, hands coming up to touch Orlando, as if making sure he was real, while the overgrown puppy did his best to eat both of their faces.
Orlando grinned: “Of course I came… I didn’t want to lose my deposit,” he added cheekily, swooping down to steal back the kiss he had given Viggo a year before.
Viggo let himself be devoured by both boy and dog and thought he would never be happier than in that one moment.
THE END.