Dreaming in Real Life, 27/35
Author: melacita
Rating: NC-17
Beta: cynical_terror. Thanks so much!
Summary: Through interviews, clips, quotes, photos, cast diaries, poetry, and video, the story of ViggOrli tells itself.
Disclaimer: Fiction.
Previous Chapters HERE
Chapter 27
Orlando slept the entire flight, only opening his eyes when he felt the jolt of wheels hitting runway as they touched down in Wellington. Beside him, Dom was sprawled over against Billy’s shoulder, blinking away sleep from the overnight flight from Singapore. The oldest hobbit was attempting to both shove Dom away while trying to get a hold of his shoes that had tumbled out of arms’ reach with the bumpy landing.
Home at last. Not that Orlando hadn’t enjoyed his holiday. He had. But one could only take so many days of hobbits shoving cameras in his face while he flossed his teeth or when he came out of the shower.
Tonight, he would sleep in his own bed, without hobbits, and the only camera that might possibly be shoved in his face while he was taking care of personal grooming would be Viggo’s.
Funny how Viggo’s camera didn’t bother him nearly as much.
The plane finished its taxi then, the seat belt sign flicking off with a mechanical chime. Orlando stretched up, stepping into the aisle to retrieve his rucksack from the overhead. He grabbed Dom’s as well and passed it over to him. A moment later, the jetway connected and passengers moved toward the door.
The trio made small talk as they queued for immigration, picked up their bags, and cleared customs. Orlando heaved a sigh of relief that he wasn’t stopped this time. Every other stop during their trip, some eagle-eyed official had taken one look at his Mohawk and apparently decided he must be a drug smuggler or other lawbreaker and dug through his suitcases. More than one had cracked a smile upon rifling through his collection of bath products.
They strode through the arrival hall, Billy leading them to the exit closest to the taxi stand. Orlando hung back a little.
“You coming, Orlando?” Dom called out.
Orlando shrugged. “Viggo’s coming to get me,” he explained, affecting nonchalance.
Dom made an exaggerated show of rolling his eyes while Billy hurried him along. “We’ll see you and Viggo on Monday, then, Orli,” Billy said, smirking.
Orlando replied with a good natured two-fingered salute.
He watched the pair walk away before striding out of the arrivals exit. Once outside, he set his pack down so he could rifle through it, withdrawing his cigarettes. He lit one, inhaled deeply. It was good to be back home, even a temporary home.
Smoke streamed from his lips as he raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun’s glare and flicked his gaze over the rows of cars. Their flight had arrived a few minutes early. Maybe Viggo hadn’t arrived yet.
Orlando had just stubbed out his cigarette with the toe of his trainers when he heard his name being shouted. He looked up to see Viggo leaning out the window of his car, a small smile playing at his lips, his hair a tousled mess above the collar of his wash-worn plaid shirt.
Orlando strode lazily toward the car, barely able to stop himself from breaking into a childish run of glee. No, he would play it cool. Viggo’d been all weird and moody on him lately, and he was not going to play right into the older man’s insecurities by looking as if there were nothing more important in life than being in a car with him. Because lots of things were more important in life than being with the most amazing, weird, lovely person you had ever known, let alone loved.
Oddly, he couldn’t remember any of those more important things at the moment.
Viggo clearly wasn’t going to help jog his memory. He tapped his fingers restlessly against the steering wheel as Orlando heaved his rucksack into the boot of the car. Orlando had barely cracked open the car door before Viggo’s hand was on Orlando’s wrist, dragging him into the car, over the gear shift, until he sprawled awkwardly into Viggo’s lap with Viggo’s lips hard against his.
There was officially no remembering going on now.
They kissed for long minutes, until Orlando shifted against a familiar hardness at his hip, only to have it jammed into his inner thigh. He yelped at the bruising force of it, and reached down to adjust his position.
He couldn’t stop the snort of laughter when his hands encountered the very hard, very metal gear shift. He glanced up to see Viggo’s puzzled expression.
“Ah, gear shift,” Orlando offered by way of explanation. “Thought you were, uh, showing me how much you missed me.”
Viggo giggled in response and ran a hand over Orlando’s Mohawk. “I didn’t miss you so much my cock turned into steel, sorry.”
Orlando settled back against the passenger seat and pretended to pout. “But you did miss me, right?” he said after a moment, with a bat of sooty eyelashes.
Viggo rolled his eyes. “Hmm. Lemme think about that for a moment.”
Orlando swatted at the older man and muttered, “prick.”
Viggo caught the hand coming at him and brought it to his lips. “I always miss you. I missed you every instant before we met.”
Orlando blinked for a moment. “Fuck,” he muttered with a slight smile. “How do you do that?”
“What?”
“You know. Take a perfectly unoriginal conversation and turn it into a moment I’ll never be able to forget.” Orlando shivered at the feeling of calloused fingertips tracing the nape of his neck. “Besides, I’m supposed to be angry with you, I think.”
“Are you, now?”
Orlando shrugged. “I thought so, what with the whole confusion and weirdness and stuff before we left.”
Viggo started the car, removing his hand from Orlando’s neck to put the car in reverse and maneuver out of his parking spot. “Confusion and weirdness,” he repeated.
“Mmm,” Orlando affirmed.
“I’m a confusing and weird guy, Orlando. ‘Fraid that hasn’t changed while I was in LA.”
“So what did change when you were in LA, Vig?”
Viggo drew his scarred upper lip between his teeth. It was something he did when he was insecure , Orlando had noticed. Which wasn’t very often, but when he was, it seemed to involve him, somehow. Huh.
“Changed my clothes a few times,” Viggo replied.
“Wow, that is a change for you.”
“Cunt.”
“Dumbass.”
“Prissy elf.”
“Filthy Human.”
Viggo paused. “I seem to have run out of insults.”
“Another change, wow.”
Viggo’s huff ended in a laugh. “You’re a regular comedian, Orli.”
Orlando preened in response before wrapping an arm around Viggo’s shoulders as the older man navigating the streets of Wellington.
“We going to my place?”
“Yeah, I figured you want to get back in your own bed, rest up, unpack.”
“I slept on the plane, and you know full well I never unpack. The bed part sounds promising, though,” Orlando nuzzled Viggo’s ear, causing him to tighten his grip on the gearshift until his knuckles began turning white. “How does that sound to you?”
“Brilliant,” Viggo choked out. “Does this mean we’re done talking about changes and feelings and whatnot?”
Orlando snickered. “Nope. Just means I have enough testosterone to make sex a higher priority than difficult and possibly mushy discussions of emotion, you know what I mean?”
“I know exactly what you mean.”
Fifteen minutes later the two men were indulging in a repeat performance of the scene they started in the front seat of Viggo’s car. Minus the gearshift jamming his arse, Orlando mused, which was decidedly a good thing. The press of Viggo’s length against him through two layers of denim was all the hardness he could take at the moment.
Viggo had Orlando pressed up against the back of the door, his hands framing the younger man’s face in a show of possession that was blatant for all it was tender. Orlando’s hands were working in aimless patterns up and down Viggo’s spine, toying with the hem of the untucked shirt before slipping under to graze warm, bare skin. He sighed into Viggo’s forceful kiss, enjoying the flavor of tobacco and tea that was unique to Viggo, and pushed himself forward so that Viggo stumbled backwards to the staircase. The pair shifted until Orlando was seated on the stairs, Viggo kneeling on the step below him with a predatory gleam in his eye.
“Now this seems promising,” Orlando joked. Viggo’s didn’t laugh or smile in return, just lifted Orlando’s pullover to reveal his smooth, tanned chest and dark nipples. Fingertips toyed with one, then the other. Orlando’s head fell back on a groan.
“Fuck, yeah,” he whimpered.
“Makeup’s not going to be too happy with this holiday tan, Orlando,” Viggo rasped as he continued to play with the hardened disks.
Orlando fisted his hands in Viggo’s hair. “Won’t matter. Not like Leggy’s ever shirtless.”
Viggo hummed in agreement. “I’ve been meaning to talk to Philippa about that.”
“That’s nice. Worry about it later,” Orlando breathed.
Viggo’s hands traced the smooth expanse of skin and muscle, pausing at the waistband of Orlando’s jeans a moment before deftly undoing the snap and sliding down the zipper to release Orlando’s erection.
“You still wanna know what changed in LA?” Viggo prompted, causing Orlando’s eyelids to open a fraction.
“Uh, later?” Orlando’s voice rose in desperation. “I’m kind of enjoying the moment, here.”
Viggo grinned, and laved a long stripe from the head of Orlando’s cock to the base. He gripped Orlando’s hips to keep them from bucking.
“Right. So, there I was, in LA, back in my house, alone in my bed,” Viggo started, his mouth so close to Orlando that the younger man could feel the words against his sensitized skin. “And I was with Henry, and my dog, and my manager and my accountant and that was supposed to be a good thing. Familiarity, loved ones, taking care of business. Good, solid stuff, right?”
Orlando blinked back at Viggo, not knowing how to respond. Viggo was a strange man, but this new approach to foreplay was odd even for him.
“At the weirdest times I found myself wondering. ‘What would Orlando think of this?’ or ‘I wonder if Bridget would like Orlando?’ or ‘If Orlando were here, I would have to be more careful separating my whites and colors for the wash.’”
“Uh…” Orlando frowned. There wasn’t enough blood in his brain to try and figure out what the hell the other man was trying to say. Maybe if he just nodded and smiled, Viggo would shut up and go back to sucking his cock. It was worth a try, anyway.
The fellatio gods must have been smiling on him, because after this statement Viggo bent back down to his task, teasing the head of Orlando’s erection before slipping it into his mouth with a practiced movement. Orlando moaned appreciatively, arching his back off the staircase and stretching his body from shoulders to toes like a big cat lounging on its back in the sunlight.
All too soon, the wonderful heat and pressure ceased, and Orlando lifted his head to look down his torso at Viggo, who was wearing another thoughtful expression.
“And then I got to thinking.”
“Does this thinking involve me coming anytime soon?” Orlando muttered through gritted teeth. He was rewarded with a gentle slap to his flank.
“So I was thinking,” Viggo continued, tracing a fingertip over Orlando’s cheekbone. “That I never tell you how important you are.”
Orlando shook his head slightly. “I know how you feel, Vig.”
“Do you? You know I love you, but do you know I’m such an ass when you’re not around that even my kid can see what’s wrong? Do you know I learn something from you every day, even when I pretending to be the adult in this relationship? Do you know I make decisions for you without your even knowing they are being made? That I decided you were going to be a star and that it was my obligation to make sure you weren’t gossiped about?”
Orlando sat up on his elbows, forgetting about his throbbing cock for a moment to gaze at Viggo through narrowed eyes. His stare was returned by pleading clear blue eyes, held for long moments, until Orlando started to laugh quietly.
Viggo looked up in alarm. “What? I’m sitting here pouring out my heart to you, and you laugh?”
“I was just thinking this is possibly the most romantic moment I’ve ever been in and I won’t be able to tell anyone about it, what with it happening while my trousers are around my knees and you’re kneeling below me on a staircase blowing on my cock.”
Viggo nodded solemnly. “That is a shame.”
Orlando slid his hands through Viggo’s hair, tightening his grasp on the long, messy locks. “I know a way you can make that up to me, though,” he murmured. “And after that, I’ll make it up to you. And maybe after that, we’ll talk about these flashes of insight you’ve been torturing me with, okay?”
Viggo didn’t answer, only bent to the task before him. Orlando relaxed back against the stairs, one hand on Viggo’s head, the other limply at his side.
Things were definitely looking up.