FIC: TLC (7/?)
Title: TLC
Rating: NC-17 eventually
Pairing: V/O and some others
Word Count: 2,417 chapter; 18,243 total
Disclaimer: I do not own any of these people and this is a work of fiction.
Summary: AU. Orlando never made LotR and never got a highway road to fame. Instead he's languished at the bottom rung and has finally gotten the break of his life. But as things come together, other things are falling apart. Still there's always hope and... a chance for love.
Notes: No one dies, there's only one more to go.
Previous Chapters: here
- 2000 -
“Fucking hell,” Sean said after Orlando had planted a slobbery kiss on both of his cheeks. “That’s a greeting all right.”
Orlando grinned and hugged Sean with a good deal of enthusiasm. “Welcome to L.A., mate.”
“Viggo put you up to this, didn’t he?” Sean asked good-naturedly, thumping Orlando on the back. “Bastard.”
Orlando pouted and lowered his eyes. “You didn’t like my kissies?’
“Reminded me of me dogs,” Sean remarked, running a hand through Orlando’s hair and mussing it up quite deliberately before Orlando pulled free.
“Bastard,” Orlando muttered, trying to get his curls under control without much success. “Mess with your own hair.” He frowned when he saw Sean’s closely cropped ‘do. “What happened to your hair?”
“The usual,” Sean said. “The director asked me to change it.”
“Did you tell me about this?” Orlando asked as they headed toward baggage claim. “’Cuz I don’t remember a role that would require you to…” his voice trailed off as he took another look at Sean’s head, “basically go bald.”
“I am not bald!” Sean exclaimed almost furiously, his eyes flashing but there was a definite smile on his face. “And at least I look like man, my pretty little princess.”
Orlando stuck his tongue out. “Well I’m pretty and you’re not!” Sean laughed and prodded Orlando in the side much to his consternation when a high pitched giggle escaped. “Northern bastard,” he muttered and swat Sean’s hand away.
“Better than a southern ponce,” Sean said, dancing away from Orlando’s hands then stopping and swinging an arm across the young man’s shoulders. “It’s good to see you, lad.”
Orlando smiled. “It’s good to see you too.”
- 2005 -
Oh my god, Orlando thought as he sat in his car outside of the hotel he was staying in. Eric had called and left him a message, saying that he’d gotten Viggo and dropped him off at his room. That’d been an hour ago. Now he had to go face Viggo and explain.
Well, he didn’t have to explain everything. He could make up an excuse, but Orlando had never really lied to Viggo-not to the level that he was considering. Little white lies about who he loved and such. After all, he couldn’t tell Viggo he was in love with him-had been for so long that he didn’t even really know when it had started.
Orlando ran a hand through his curly hair and took the elevator up to his floor. He got out and walked down the hallway to his room. It wasn’t long enough. Orlando stood in front of his door and took out his card key. He swiped it and watched the light blink green. Here went nothing.
He opened the door and swallowed hard when he saw Viggo lying on the bed, legs slightly spread and clearly sleeping. Viggo had often said that he was such a beautiful boy, but Orlando didn’t think so. To him, he wasn’t bad looking, but Viggo was his ideal. Where he was pretty, effeminate, Viggo was masculine and handsome. Orlando licked his lips and wondered if he could climb into bed with him, wrap his arms around Viggo, and just pretend the two of them were lovers.
He hesitated, almost climbing in with Viggo, but he stopped himself. That wasn’t right. He shouldn’t do it. It wasn’t his place. He wasn’t Viggo’s lover and it’d be really wrong if Viggo had a lover. Orlando plopped himself down on the chair and just watched Viggo sleeping. How people became bored of the ones they loved, Orlando didn’t understand. In all the years he had known Viggo, he had never once been tired.
Frustrated, even angry, but there’d never been a dull moment. If you really loved someone, it was impossible to ever exhaust getting to know them. It wasn’t even possible to know yourself fully.
Orlando sighed, watching and watching until his eyes closed and he fell asleep too.
- 2005 -
Whoever was poking him, please stop! Orlando growled and tried to slap the hand away, but the crawling fingers kept persisting. It was far too much and he was going to bloody laugh or choke or something if they didn’t stop. Orlando tried to squirm out of the way, but something kept blocking him. Oh yes, if he crawled over the impediment, then he’d be free but fuck something had blocked him and it was quite solid, and warm, and muscular.
Orlando cracked his eyes open and saw Viggo grinning at him. He yelped and pushed backwards into the chair. “Oh my god, you bastard,” he cursed.
Viggo grinned and leaned forward to wrap his arms around Orlando, pulling him away from the chair. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”
“I think you mean…” Orlando glanced at the clock, “good night since it’s ten o’clock.”
“Cheeky,” Viggo said, still grinning. He buried his head into Orlando’s curls. “Is that how you Brits say it?”
Orlando rolled his eyes and drew back, kissing Viggo’s scruffy cheeks. “I suppose so.” He smiled and nuzzled his nose against Viggo’s, then slumped back on his chair. He turned his face away, the intensity in Viggo’s blue eyes a bit too much for him. “So how was it in Idaho?”
“Good,” Viggo said. “The usual. Did some painting, some photography, a little poetry.”
“Did you bring any of it with you, old man?” Orlando asked, already slipping back into the easy pattern of catching up. “Or were you lazy and left it all in Idaho?”
Viggo shrugged. “Why would I want to bring anything? So you can steal my art?”
Orlando tried to look offended, but he ended up failing. “I don’t steal it…” His voice trailed off when Viggo pointedly looked at the far wall where there was a huge black and white blown up picture of a dark horse against a startling white backdrop of mountain and snow. The horse, Orlando knew, was Brego and Viggo had gotten him when he’d been on Lord of the Rings. Orlando had even ridden Brego once, though the stallion had much preferred Viggo. He smiled, he was just glad Brego hadn’t dumped him.
“What are you smiling at?” Viggo asked, taking a seat on the arm of the chair. His thigh, oh fucking god, his jean-clad crotch was way too close to Orlando’s hand for his own comfort. If he just moved it a few inches, he could touch Viggo’s cock. “Is the wall really so interesting?”
“What?” Orlando asked, wondering what the hell Viggo was asking. What was interesting?
“Is the wall really so interesting?”
Orlando flushed and shook his head. “No, I was just remembering Brego and… how I was glad he didn’t throw me.”
“Brego doesn’t throw people,” Viggo remarked with a clear fondness in his tone. “He discourages certain people from riding him with his antics.”
“Yeah, he bucks them and refuses to go or when he does go, he runs too bloody fast!” Orlando exclaimed, but his eyes were flashing with good humor. “Your horse only likes to be ridden by you.”
“He’s loyal,” Viggo said. “Nothing wrong with that.”
“No,” Orlando agreed.
“And honest,” Viggo added. “He doesn’t fool around. He makes it clear what he doesn’t like or not.”
“Yeah,” Orlando said, feeling his throat tighten. Truth, loyalty, all those great qualities Viggo admired. Too bad he didn’t really have any of them, not really, unless he considered his love for Viggo. That’d been on for years, many years. That was loyalty, wasn’t it? But what then of honesty? When he didn’t even know how to begin to tell Viggo about that thing. Not that he really needed to, but Viggo would be royally pissed if he didn’t. They told each other everything, and that was kind of the problem. Orlando knew everything about Viggo’s various long-term relationships and sometimes he really wished he didn’t.
“So,” Viggo said, “how’s this film project of yours going?”
“All right, uh…” Orlando stumbled. “Yeah, it’s great. Eric’s great. You met him earlier. Isn’t he great?”
“Yeah, of course he is.” Viggo slid off the arm and half onto Orlando’s lap, much to Orlando’s horror, since he had a semi-erection. Orlando tried to wiggle away, but the friction of his pants rubbing against his cock didn’t do him any good. “He was a bit terse though.”
“Eric’s like that,” Orlando said, licking his lips.
“Though,” Viggo began, “I’m wondering why you didn’t pick me up.”
“Didn’t Eric tell you?” Orlando asked, trepidation in his voice because he’d fucking forgot to ask Eric what Eric had told Viggo. “Where I was?”
“He did,” Viggo confirmed. “The problem is that he didn’t believe himself and I didn’t believe him.”
“Oh.”
“So where were you?”
Orlando squirmed. “Doctor’s,” he finally muttered, looking down at the floor. It was easier this way, not looking at Viggo. If he did, he knew he’d end up blurting everything out or looking so guilty that all Viggo had to do was ask and he’d spill it. Either way, he’d tell, and well, fuck this, staring at the ground wasn’t helping either ‘cuz he still looked guilty.
“And?” Viggo asked in that void of his that said, tell me what’s wrong.
Orlando wanted to say nothing, he desperately wanted to say nothing, but Dr. Valentine’s words kept running over and over again in his head. “I got some blood tests… results back,” he began. “I… well, it’s bad.”
“How bad?” Viggo’s hand swept under his chin and pulled Orlando’s face up. “Tell me.”
“I… uh-” Orlando’s throat suddenly went dry. “I’ve got AIDs.”
Viggo didn’t say anything and Orlando looked up. What he saw made him realize just how bad everything was. Viggo’s face was absolutely white, like everything had been drained out of him. Orlando wanted to reach out and touch him, but he felt as boneless as Viggo looked bloodless.
When Viggo finally opened his mouth, Orlando had no idea what he would say. Maybe Viggo would joke, maybe Viggo would smile or something and they could pretend this had never happened. “Is your doctor absolutely sure?”
Orlando had asked after his panic attack, and Dr. Valentine had told him that it was a pretty sure thing. At least, he was professionally very certain. All Orlando could do was nod. “He recommended me to another doctor, a specialist. I’m, I’m suppose to go in on Monday.”
“Oh god,” Viggo said, his hands dropping from Orlando’s face. “Oh my god.”
And so Orlando watched the strongest man he knew, fall apart.
- 2000 -
“It’s the three of us again,” Orlando remarked, popping open another beer. “Isn’t that great? It’s just like the old times.”
Stretched out on Viggo’s couch, Sean crossed his arms under his head and leaned back. “Old times for you, lad, are only five years back when you were a wee whelp that couldn’t drink without turning pink.”
“Hey now!” Orlando exclaimed, nearly sputtering. “I did not turn pink!”
“I beg to differ,” Sean said, his eyes alit with mischief. He turned to Viggo. “Didn’t Orli turn pink?”
Viggo grinned and nodded.
Orlando grabbed a pillow from behind his fluffy, beige armchair and threw it at Viggo, who was sitting on the other side of the coffee table in an identical armchair. “Traitor!”
“And we have pictures,” Sean remarked, sipping on his beer. “Took them after you passed out, after what? Three beers. You were a total lightweight.” He glanced at the two empty beer cans in front of Orlando. “Still are for the matter.” He grinned when his gaze shifted to the four cans stacked before him.
“Drinking a gallon of alcohol isn’t something you should be proud of,” Orlando uttered in his admonishing voice. He even shook his finger for emphasis. But he knew that Sean wouldn’t take him seriously; after all, it was just the sort of ribbing the two of them did. His relationship with Sean was easy, too easy compared to the one he had with Viggo. If only he didn’t want Viggo, didn’t love Viggo-everything would be all right. “You miserable sod,” he said with obvious affection.
“But I’m a happy drunk with me belly full of beer,” Sean declared, rubbing his stomach for a gross accent. “And a happy drunk is a fun drunk!” He raised his beer up and took a large swallow.
Viggo laughed and to Orlando’s ears, it was like music. It took him a moment before he realized he ought to be laughing too, not just listening to Viggo. Sometimes it was hard to pretend that others mattered when Viggo was around, even if that someone was Sean. Orlando licked his lips and brought his beer up to his lips. He needed to get drunk and badly.
He grabbed his beer tightly and lifted up in a mock salute. “Cheers!” he said just to say something that wasn’t ‘I love you.’
- 2005 -
So this was what it looked like when someone was breaking into pieces. Orlando thought it would somehow be ugly, but he supposed since this was Viggo and he thought Viggo was the most beautiful he’d ever known-seen, even-it made sense that Viggo was beautiful when he was being shattered.
Orlando wanted to do something, to get down on his knees and hug Viggo. Tell Viggo that everything was going to be all right. But he didn’t know and actually he knew that it wasn’t. Hadn’t he read somewhere that AIDs was very fatal? Yeah, yeah he had. He was going to die, but it wasn’t going to be soon. He had to believe that Dr. Valentine was right and that the AIDs specialist was going to take real good care of him.
He ought to say something, say anything, but he just didn’t know what to say. He could say that he wasn’t scare, but that wasn’t true. He could say that Viggo didn’t need to worry, but that was lie. He could say so many things, but that’s not really what he wanted to say. There was one thing he desperately wanted to say and had never said because he was afraid and if there was anything to be afraid of that wasn’t it because it was beautiful and what was killing him wasn’t.
“Viggo?”
Viggo somehow looked up and his blue eyes were red and dry. He opened his mouth, but he had no words.
“I love you.”
TBC
Rating: NC-17 eventually
Pairing: V/O and some others
Word Count: 2,417 chapter; 18,243 total
Disclaimer: I do not own any of these people and this is a work of fiction.
Summary: AU. Orlando never made LotR and never got a highway road to fame. Instead he's languished at the bottom rung and has finally gotten the break of his life. But as things come together, other things are falling apart. Still there's always hope and... a chance for love.
Notes: No one dies, there's only one more to go.
Previous Chapters: here
- 2000 -
“Fucking hell,” Sean said after Orlando had planted a slobbery kiss on both of his cheeks. “That’s a greeting all right.”
Orlando grinned and hugged Sean with a good deal of enthusiasm. “Welcome to L.A., mate.”
“Viggo put you up to this, didn’t he?” Sean asked good-naturedly, thumping Orlando on the back. “Bastard.”
Orlando pouted and lowered his eyes. “You didn’t like my kissies?’
“Reminded me of me dogs,” Sean remarked, running a hand through Orlando’s hair and mussing it up quite deliberately before Orlando pulled free.
“Bastard,” Orlando muttered, trying to get his curls under control without much success. “Mess with your own hair.” He frowned when he saw Sean’s closely cropped ‘do. “What happened to your hair?”
“The usual,” Sean said. “The director asked me to change it.”
“Did you tell me about this?” Orlando asked as they headed toward baggage claim. “’Cuz I don’t remember a role that would require you to…” his voice trailed off as he took another look at Sean’s head, “basically go bald.”
“I am not bald!” Sean exclaimed almost furiously, his eyes flashing but there was a definite smile on his face. “And at least I look like man, my pretty little princess.”
Orlando stuck his tongue out. “Well I’m pretty and you’re not!” Sean laughed and prodded Orlando in the side much to his consternation when a high pitched giggle escaped. “Northern bastard,” he muttered and swat Sean’s hand away.
“Better than a southern ponce,” Sean said, dancing away from Orlando’s hands then stopping and swinging an arm across the young man’s shoulders. “It’s good to see you, lad.”
Orlando smiled. “It’s good to see you too.”
- 2005 -
Oh my god, Orlando thought as he sat in his car outside of the hotel he was staying in. Eric had called and left him a message, saying that he’d gotten Viggo and dropped him off at his room. That’d been an hour ago. Now he had to go face Viggo and explain.
Well, he didn’t have to explain everything. He could make up an excuse, but Orlando had never really lied to Viggo-not to the level that he was considering. Little white lies about who he loved and such. After all, he couldn’t tell Viggo he was in love with him-had been for so long that he didn’t even really know when it had started.
Orlando ran a hand through his curly hair and took the elevator up to his floor. He got out and walked down the hallway to his room. It wasn’t long enough. Orlando stood in front of his door and took out his card key. He swiped it and watched the light blink green. Here went nothing.
He opened the door and swallowed hard when he saw Viggo lying on the bed, legs slightly spread and clearly sleeping. Viggo had often said that he was such a beautiful boy, but Orlando didn’t think so. To him, he wasn’t bad looking, but Viggo was his ideal. Where he was pretty, effeminate, Viggo was masculine and handsome. Orlando licked his lips and wondered if he could climb into bed with him, wrap his arms around Viggo, and just pretend the two of them were lovers.
He hesitated, almost climbing in with Viggo, but he stopped himself. That wasn’t right. He shouldn’t do it. It wasn’t his place. He wasn’t Viggo’s lover and it’d be really wrong if Viggo had a lover. Orlando plopped himself down on the chair and just watched Viggo sleeping. How people became bored of the ones they loved, Orlando didn’t understand. In all the years he had known Viggo, he had never once been tired.
Frustrated, even angry, but there’d never been a dull moment. If you really loved someone, it was impossible to ever exhaust getting to know them. It wasn’t even possible to know yourself fully.
Orlando sighed, watching and watching until his eyes closed and he fell asleep too.
- 2005 -
Whoever was poking him, please stop! Orlando growled and tried to slap the hand away, but the crawling fingers kept persisting. It was far too much and he was going to bloody laugh or choke or something if they didn’t stop. Orlando tried to squirm out of the way, but something kept blocking him. Oh yes, if he crawled over the impediment, then he’d be free but fuck something had blocked him and it was quite solid, and warm, and muscular.
Orlando cracked his eyes open and saw Viggo grinning at him. He yelped and pushed backwards into the chair. “Oh my god, you bastard,” he cursed.
Viggo grinned and leaned forward to wrap his arms around Orlando, pulling him away from the chair. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”
“I think you mean…” Orlando glanced at the clock, “good night since it’s ten o’clock.”
“Cheeky,” Viggo said, still grinning. He buried his head into Orlando’s curls. “Is that how you Brits say it?”
Orlando rolled his eyes and drew back, kissing Viggo’s scruffy cheeks. “I suppose so.” He smiled and nuzzled his nose against Viggo’s, then slumped back on his chair. He turned his face away, the intensity in Viggo’s blue eyes a bit too much for him. “So how was it in Idaho?”
“Good,” Viggo said. “The usual. Did some painting, some photography, a little poetry.”
“Did you bring any of it with you, old man?” Orlando asked, already slipping back into the easy pattern of catching up. “Or were you lazy and left it all in Idaho?”
Viggo shrugged. “Why would I want to bring anything? So you can steal my art?”
Orlando tried to look offended, but he ended up failing. “I don’t steal it…” His voice trailed off when Viggo pointedly looked at the far wall where there was a huge black and white blown up picture of a dark horse against a startling white backdrop of mountain and snow. The horse, Orlando knew, was Brego and Viggo had gotten him when he’d been on Lord of the Rings. Orlando had even ridden Brego once, though the stallion had much preferred Viggo. He smiled, he was just glad Brego hadn’t dumped him.
“What are you smiling at?” Viggo asked, taking a seat on the arm of the chair. His thigh, oh fucking god, his jean-clad crotch was way too close to Orlando’s hand for his own comfort. If he just moved it a few inches, he could touch Viggo’s cock. “Is the wall really so interesting?”
“What?” Orlando asked, wondering what the hell Viggo was asking. What was interesting?
“Is the wall really so interesting?”
Orlando flushed and shook his head. “No, I was just remembering Brego and… how I was glad he didn’t throw me.”
“Brego doesn’t throw people,” Viggo remarked with a clear fondness in his tone. “He discourages certain people from riding him with his antics.”
“Yeah, he bucks them and refuses to go or when he does go, he runs too bloody fast!” Orlando exclaimed, but his eyes were flashing with good humor. “Your horse only likes to be ridden by you.”
“He’s loyal,” Viggo said. “Nothing wrong with that.”
“No,” Orlando agreed.
“And honest,” Viggo added. “He doesn’t fool around. He makes it clear what he doesn’t like or not.”
“Yeah,” Orlando said, feeling his throat tighten. Truth, loyalty, all those great qualities Viggo admired. Too bad he didn’t really have any of them, not really, unless he considered his love for Viggo. That’d been on for years, many years. That was loyalty, wasn’t it? But what then of honesty? When he didn’t even know how to begin to tell Viggo about that thing. Not that he really needed to, but Viggo would be royally pissed if he didn’t. They told each other everything, and that was kind of the problem. Orlando knew everything about Viggo’s various long-term relationships and sometimes he really wished he didn’t.
“So,” Viggo said, “how’s this film project of yours going?”
“All right, uh…” Orlando stumbled. “Yeah, it’s great. Eric’s great. You met him earlier. Isn’t he great?”
“Yeah, of course he is.” Viggo slid off the arm and half onto Orlando’s lap, much to Orlando’s horror, since he had a semi-erection. Orlando tried to wiggle away, but the friction of his pants rubbing against his cock didn’t do him any good. “He was a bit terse though.”
“Eric’s like that,” Orlando said, licking his lips.
“Though,” Viggo began, “I’m wondering why you didn’t pick me up.”
“Didn’t Eric tell you?” Orlando asked, trepidation in his voice because he’d fucking forgot to ask Eric what Eric had told Viggo. “Where I was?”
“He did,” Viggo confirmed. “The problem is that he didn’t believe himself and I didn’t believe him.”
“Oh.”
“So where were you?”
Orlando squirmed. “Doctor’s,” he finally muttered, looking down at the floor. It was easier this way, not looking at Viggo. If he did, he knew he’d end up blurting everything out or looking so guilty that all Viggo had to do was ask and he’d spill it. Either way, he’d tell, and well, fuck this, staring at the ground wasn’t helping either ‘cuz he still looked guilty.
“And?” Viggo asked in that void of his that said, tell me what’s wrong.
Orlando wanted to say nothing, he desperately wanted to say nothing, but Dr. Valentine’s words kept running over and over again in his head. “I got some blood tests… results back,” he began. “I… well, it’s bad.”
“How bad?” Viggo’s hand swept under his chin and pulled Orlando’s face up. “Tell me.”
“I… uh-” Orlando’s throat suddenly went dry. “I’ve got AIDs.”
Viggo didn’t say anything and Orlando looked up. What he saw made him realize just how bad everything was. Viggo’s face was absolutely white, like everything had been drained out of him. Orlando wanted to reach out and touch him, but he felt as boneless as Viggo looked bloodless.
When Viggo finally opened his mouth, Orlando had no idea what he would say. Maybe Viggo would joke, maybe Viggo would smile or something and they could pretend this had never happened. “Is your doctor absolutely sure?”
Orlando had asked after his panic attack, and Dr. Valentine had told him that it was a pretty sure thing. At least, he was professionally very certain. All Orlando could do was nod. “He recommended me to another doctor, a specialist. I’m, I’m suppose to go in on Monday.”
“Oh god,” Viggo said, his hands dropping from Orlando’s face. “Oh my god.”
And so Orlando watched the strongest man he knew, fall apart.
- 2000 -
“It’s the three of us again,” Orlando remarked, popping open another beer. “Isn’t that great? It’s just like the old times.”
Stretched out on Viggo’s couch, Sean crossed his arms under his head and leaned back. “Old times for you, lad, are only five years back when you were a wee whelp that couldn’t drink without turning pink.”
“Hey now!” Orlando exclaimed, nearly sputtering. “I did not turn pink!”
“I beg to differ,” Sean said, his eyes alit with mischief. He turned to Viggo. “Didn’t Orli turn pink?”
Viggo grinned and nodded.
Orlando grabbed a pillow from behind his fluffy, beige armchair and threw it at Viggo, who was sitting on the other side of the coffee table in an identical armchair. “Traitor!”
“And we have pictures,” Sean remarked, sipping on his beer. “Took them after you passed out, after what? Three beers. You were a total lightweight.” He glanced at the two empty beer cans in front of Orlando. “Still are for the matter.” He grinned when his gaze shifted to the four cans stacked before him.
“Drinking a gallon of alcohol isn’t something you should be proud of,” Orlando uttered in his admonishing voice. He even shook his finger for emphasis. But he knew that Sean wouldn’t take him seriously; after all, it was just the sort of ribbing the two of them did. His relationship with Sean was easy, too easy compared to the one he had with Viggo. If only he didn’t want Viggo, didn’t love Viggo-everything would be all right. “You miserable sod,” he said with obvious affection.
“But I’m a happy drunk with me belly full of beer,” Sean declared, rubbing his stomach for a gross accent. “And a happy drunk is a fun drunk!” He raised his beer up and took a large swallow.
Viggo laughed and to Orlando’s ears, it was like music. It took him a moment before he realized he ought to be laughing too, not just listening to Viggo. Sometimes it was hard to pretend that others mattered when Viggo was around, even if that someone was Sean. Orlando licked his lips and brought his beer up to his lips. He needed to get drunk and badly.
He grabbed his beer tightly and lifted up in a mock salute. “Cheers!” he said just to say something that wasn’t ‘I love you.’
- 2005 -
So this was what it looked like when someone was breaking into pieces. Orlando thought it would somehow be ugly, but he supposed since this was Viggo and he thought Viggo was the most beautiful he’d ever known-seen, even-it made sense that Viggo was beautiful when he was being shattered.
Orlando wanted to do something, to get down on his knees and hug Viggo. Tell Viggo that everything was going to be all right. But he didn’t know and actually he knew that it wasn’t. Hadn’t he read somewhere that AIDs was very fatal? Yeah, yeah he had. He was going to die, but it wasn’t going to be soon. He had to believe that Dr. Valentine was right and that the AIDs specialist was going to take real good care of him.
He ought to say something, say anything, but he just didn’t know what to say. He could say that he wasn’t scare, but that wasn’t true. He could say that Viggo didn’t need to worry, but that was lie. He could say so many things, but that’s not really what he wanted to say. There was one thing he desperately wanted to say and had never said because he was afraid and if there was anything to be afraid of that wasn’t it because it was beautiful and what was killing him wasn’t.
“Viggo?”
Viggo somehow looked up and his blue eyes were red and dry. He opened his mouth, but he had no words.
“I love you.”
TBC