Flying with Eagles 57 - I Want to Use What You Use
Title: Flying with Eagles
Author: Zar
Email: squishypiglet@hotmail.co.uk
LJ: http://www.livejournal.com/users/squishypiglet/
Warnings: This is slash. Don't like it? Don't read it!
Pairings: Viggorli with special guest Eric Bana.
Disclaimer: This is not true, despite all my wishes.
Summary: Orlando argues passionately about something he cares about…
Previous Chapters
Thanks for still reading! I know I am a little bit late, but this was originally planned to be uploaded for Viggo's birthday. I couldn't get it done on time, but here it is, only a little late! I hope you all enjoy it.
This is dedicated to all the wonderful wonderful gals who always make an effort to email me and make sure that I am not dead though I haven't written in this LJ for a while. You're the ones who make me want to keep going and encourage me both in RL and in my writing. This is definitely for you. And I just wanted to give an extra big hug to Deb....for always being there and thinking of me.
And this is a slightly more cheery chapter! Surprised, eh? I thought we deserved some fluff, though there is an ominous end. Damn, I'll just let you get to reading it for yourselves!
This is a pretty long chapter too! Enjoy!
Chapter 57
When you have a guest stay over at your house, do you find that you wake up at the slightest noise? Or when you have an exam/important meeting/plane to catch in the morning, the sleep you have the night before is always restless, and you’ll undoubtedly end up waking before your alarm?
That’s what happened to me that night I slept with Orlando in my arms, knowing that he had a serious medical condition.
It was suddenly like…he’s so fragile and delicate. That if I squeezed him too hard, he might crack and break. Or that if I rolled over I might squash and hurt him.
My god was obviously tired out from all the excitement of the past few days - the seizure, hospital visit, seeing Kurt again, fighting with me…
My bladder is complaining that it needs to go, and my stomach echoes the sentiment that there are things I need to do instead of lie here and breathe in the scent of my god.
Taking care not to nudge Orlando too much, I tried to slide noiselessly to the edge of the bed and make my way to the phone. My god scrunches his nose and breathes in deeply as I move away. Okay…slower.
His brow furrows, and the arm that he had wrapped around my waist tightens inexplicably. Taking his wrist, I try to ease his arm off, and when I’ve got it semi-raised, wriggle my butt along the bedspread until my legs reach the floor. My head is still at an angle beside his on the pillow and despite everything, I hold in a snicker at the ridiculous position I find myself in.
It takes finesse, but I manage to get away from the clingy snuggler and tuck him in as best as I can. He’s fussing a little, so I spend a few minutes sitting by his side brushing his curls away from his face, watching as he snuffles every time I poke his nose.
When I can finally pull myself away from him, I take care of my needs in the toilet, then make my way to the kitchen.
I yawn lazily and scratch my belly before strolling out to the living room, only to be met by the sight of Kurt on the phone - who raises an eyebrow at my semi-dressed, dishevelled state.
My open mouth is quickly smothered by my hand which I cover up by pretending to rub my jaw. Nice, eh? I can be smooth when I want to be. Who am I kidding?
“Who are you on the phone with?” I ask, and he quickly shushes me.
Hmm…this is interesting. Maybe it’s a girlfriend.
“Just calm down…you need to calm down!”
Ooh, this is good. His girlfriend is probably not happy that he stayed over with us last night and didn’t call her or something.
I leer suggestively at him, but he rolls his eyes.
‘Eric’ he mouths at me.
Oh god. My face drops. I can’t believe he totally slipped my mind.
That growly leopard must not be purring too happily after having received the message I left for him on his answering machine.
‘Does he want to talk to me?’ I mouth back, gesturing at myself.
He shakes his head curtly, all the while making soothing noises into the phone.
It’s like watching a train crash and not being able to look away, except with a train crash, there is a predictable path of the train. Here, I have no idea what’s happening, other than Eric must be ranting and Kurt is appeasing him.
“Eric, you’re not listening to me. Listen - no, listen - you know what? I am not talking to you. You’re just ranting and ranting! You know Orlando’s fine, and you know that Viggo and I can take care of him. There’s nothing more to tell! Let me talk to Sean again.”
My ears perk up. But of course, Beanie is with the Leopard in Australia!
I move forward and to Kurt’s disgust, start to grab for the phone. “Gimme! Let me talk to Bean!”
Then the phone is in my hand and my best friend’s comforting voice reaches my ears.
“What did you do to the young ‘un, old man?” he chuckles.
“Beanie!” It’s shameful to say, but I think I might might have, squealed his name.
Just a little bit.
“Hey, Vig…trust you to get into mischief the second I get on a plane. You just can’t do with out me, can you? I am your damn life line!” he laughs, and I know I am grinning like a fool.
“I miss you. And yes, things are already messing up.”
“I can gather the basics of what happened from the tirade that Eric went on, but you want to tell me your version? I don’t think your version would have you intentionally hurting Orlando now that his keeper is away, simply to piss Eric off.”
“Of course not!” I am almost insulted by the insinuation. Then something occurs to me. “Wait a second - did you know about Orlando’s epilepsy?” I ask suspiciously.
If he did and led me on…! He’s lucky he’s not standing right in front of me right now or I’d kick his fat Northern ass!
“If I knew, do you think I would have kept it from you? Come on, you know everything. This is as big a surprise to me. Though now that I realise he’s epileptic, a lot of things make more sense.” He suddenly bursts into laughter. “I can’t believe I told you that Kurt was Orlando’s bodyguard! But come on, it was a logical deduction, after the whole thing with Hristo on the Troy set…but man, Kurt as a nurse! I never figured that one!”
He’s making me chuckle helplessly along with him. It’s near impossible not to laugh or smile when he is. Damn contagious laughter.
“I believe you, Beanie. They both had us running in circles.” I give Kurt the evil eye, who just shrugs at me. He’s been smiling while watching me converse with Sean, but now, he indicates the bedroom, obviously worried about Orlando. I cover the receiver with one hand and mouth ‘sleeping’ at him, and he nods.
I tell Beanie my account of the incident, and as always, when I am with him, the words just come effortlessly. He’s such a great listener it’s near impossible to stop talking to him, and I blab about everything - including Orlando’s reaction to what happened and our fight.
I finally slow down when I notice that we’ve been on the phone for about two hours.
“Uh, Bean…” something suddenly dawns on me. “Did Kurt call you? Or did Eric call over?”
There is a short silence, then a hesitant, “I think Kurt called after receiving six million missed calls and messages from Eric?”
I let my head flop back against the cushion of the sofa. “Beanie! My damn phone bill!”
He just starts to laugh. “Hell, you know I am worth every damn penny of this call, Viggo! Serves you right for putting Orli into hospital!”
~~~
Orlando is awake when I venture back into the bedroom to check on him and he smiles lazily at me.
“Hey you,” he yawns. “Where’d you go?”
I sit down on the bed and run a hand through his curls.
“Eric and Beanie were on the phone. They’re really worried about you.”
My god frowns at me. “You told them about what happened? Ouch…Did you tell them that I am fine and there’s really no reason to worry? I know Eric would be going insane.”
“You’re right about that. But I think Beanie’s managed to keep him from flying back to London.”
Orlando’s closed his eyes, his face turned toward me as I tug at Johnson, unruly curl extraordinaire. I can’t seem to keep my hands off of him. After everything that happened, my mind is well aware that he probably couldn’t have died from the seizure, but my heart is still pounding from the experience, and I can’t help but feel that I could have lost him so easily.
Without even opening his eyes, his hand reaches up to clasp mine, and he brings our entwined hands to his lips in a soft kiss.
“I know you’re fretting again,” he murmurs. “I am fine, Vig. Honestly.”
I clutch at him and let my insecurities surface for once and we lie together just breathing in the moment.
~~~
I feel infinitely better after I make Orlando his favourite breakfast and serve it to him in bed. He has a sheepish puppy dog look as he downs the pills I sternly hand to him, and it takes effort, but I manage not to reprimand him once again for not taking them yesterday and getting himself into so much trouble. Damn right, he’s going to take those from now on. Even if I am going to have to sit on him every morning to make sure they go down his throat.
I am not too sure about him taking a shower, in case he has another seizure and might slip and hurt himself on the wet tiles, but he rolls his eyes at me. “This isn’t the first time! I know what I can and can’t do…come on, let me shower!”
After a brief consultation and examination by Kurt, it seems that he is indeed near good as new, and off he lopes into the bathroom.
Is it wrong and pathetic of me to admit that though he firmly shut the bathroom door, as if to make a point, I sat down on the floor, against the wooden barrier between us and just…listened. Just in case.
Which was just as well, because two minutes in, I heard him shout out my name.
“What’s wrong!”
I burst in, in full mother-hen mode, on the alert for anything that is out of the ordinary.
My god looks indescribably delicious, as naked as the day he was born, standing under the spray of the water. He’s lean, slightly muscular and beautifully olive all over. God, that’s a beautiful shade of olive. And it doesn’t help my situation that all I can focus on is a certain appendage around hip-level.
The steam, hot water and condensation everywhere makes him seem other-worldly. Well, if you ignore the fact that he’s watching me wide-eyed and laughing.
“Vig, nothing’s wrong!” he waves a bottle at me. “I’ve run out of shampoo and was wondering if you have anymore.”
I feel so stupid having dashed in here, but try to cover it up (‘it’ referring to both my embarrassment and also semi-arousal), by turning slightly away.
“Umm…” my tongue is sort of stuck down and I can’t move it properly. “Ahem.” Looking closer at what he’s waving at me, I realise it’s his special shampoo that he brought with him when he moved in. “I can take a look around…”
I think about it a moment, and suddenly remember that Beanie still has his box of stuff in the guest room. “Be right back.” I hate leaving that luscious vision, but my god wants shampoo, and shampoo he shall get.
Doesn’t take a second, and I am almost beaming as I locate bottles of the stuff that Beanie insists is nectar of the god, and triumphantly return to the bathroom.
“Look at what your intelligent boyfriend found you,” I smugly declare, handing over the goods.
Orlando is still under the spray and he rubs water out of his eyes before squinting at what I hand him.
It’s almost a surprise when he squeals and clutches at the elegant bottles, flipping them around and reading the tiny little words proclaiming how amazing it is for your hair…or something.
“You use this, Viggo?” he sounds impressed and I am almost tempted to tell him it’s mine, and I use it all the time.
“Umm….why?”
“This is near impossible to buy outside of France! And it’s over sixty pounds a bottle. I’ve always wanted to use this, but couldn’t get my hands on it. You’ve got the whole range!” He’s opened the cap on one of them and sniffing at it delightedly. “You just don’t strike me as the kind who even knows this kind of elite hair product exists!” He smiles widely at me. “You’re really a man of secrets, hiding this from me!”
I am just watching him, shell-shocked. “Sixty pounds a bottle?? Shit, is Bean completely daft?”
“What?”
“You would finish that tiny bottle in about two weeks! And Beanie’s hair definitely does not look great enough to justify shampoo that costs so much.”
“Wait a sec…this is Beanie’s?”
“Sixty pounds! And that bastard is always moaning about having no extra cash and making me pay for drinks. When he can afford to pay sixty - ”
“Viggo…” he cuts me off and the smile has slipped off of his face. “What is his shampoo doing here?”
“It was in a box of Beanie’s stuff. I have some of his things that he leaves in the guest room when he stays over. But sixty pounds? Are you sure?”
“Yes, I am sure. And you know what? I don’t think I want to use this anymore.” He deliberately snaps the cap back on and plonks it back with the others on the bathroom counter.
“Why not?” He was so enthusiastic a second ago about trying it.
“Don’t feel like it.”
He has an unusual look in his eyes, and though I don’t know what it is, I do know that I don’t want it to stay there. I edge closer and hand the bottle back to him. “You know you want to…” I tease, but he shakes his head.
“No, I don’t need his shampoo. I’ll use yours. But I can’t find it.”
He looks around at the shelves, and I take the chance to look at him. Well, his body. And what a nice body it is too. Nice doesn’t begin to cover it. Firm. Sleek. Slender. Mascul-
“Viggo.”
“Hmm?”
“Stop staring at me and listen to me,” he swats in my direction. “Where’s your shampoo?”
Isn’t it obvious? I look at him. “I don’t use shampoo.”
“What?” he’s looking at me as if I have two heads.
“I. Don’t. Use. Shampoo.”
“But, but…” he flounders and gestures vaguely at the wet curls plastered to his head. It’s such an adorable look on him. I must have the most sickeningly lovestruck expression on my face as I gaze at him. “What do you use to wash your hair?”
“Soap.”
“Soap?” He sounds so scandalised I want to burst out laughing.
“Yeah, you know.” I reach around him, and ‘accidentally’ graze a slick hip as I grab my regular bar of soap. “This.”
“You use this. On your hair.”
He has still not yet touched the soap in my hand, looking at me as if instead of the two heads I had earlier, have now sprouted a third. “On your hair,” he repeats again.
“Is there something wrong with that?”
That question snaps him out of his trance.
“You can’t use soap on your hair! It’ll feel all rough and it’s not moisturising enough! It’s terrible for the cuticles, and it must strip your hair out of all its nutrients, this is too harsh and - ”
I admit to blanking him out and simply oogling my god as he argued passionately (in the nude, of course) about a subject he feels very strongly and deeply about.
In the nude, I must reiterate.
Nude.
And wet.
“- we’ll get you some of the stuff I normally use. You can’t keep using this thing.” He wrinkles his nose disgustedly at the bar still in my hand. “Are you listening to me?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Viggo.”
“Mm-hmm.”
He turns away and it snaps me out of my daze.
“If you hate it so much, just use Beanie’s over-priced French stuff.” I suggest, trying to keep back on track with the conversation.
“You know what? We should probably throw that stuff away,” he nods his head towards it.
“The shampoo?” I say, shocked.
“Yeah. It’s been a while since Beanie last stayed here and it must have all gone off by then. Let’s get rid of it.”
“But…when Beanie comes back for holidays, he’s going to want his shampoo!” I am trying to work out where all of this is suddenly coming from.
“No. Let’s just throw it out. And maybe some of the other stuff he left here too.”
I am not quite sure what that ‘no’ is referring to, but after the whole episode yesterday, I don’t think it’s too healthy for him to get worked up and I am willing to oblige whatever he wants. Maybe he’s still suffering from after-effects…
“Okay, muffin…whatever you want. I’ll throw the shampoo out. But what are you going to use now?”
My beautiful boy looks longingly at the colourful bottles but adamantly and determinedly takes my wrist so that the bar of soap I was still clutching can slide into his hand.
“I’ll use this.”
“Are you sure?” I ask doubtfully at the look on his face as he looks at the soap.
“Yes,” he smiles tenderly at me. “I always want to use what you use.”
He seems rather bent on using it, and though I suppose something significant has just transpired, like the steam obscuring his body, I can’t get a clear glimpse of what it was.
“If you’re happy to use that, go ahead. Enjoy your shower.”
“Wait.” He pulls me closer and I get a kiss. Unexpected, but wholeheartedly appreciated and returned.
A playful smack on the butt and I find myself leaving the bathroom with my arms loaded once again with bottles.
It won’t hurt to return the bottles back to Beanie’s box. Despite what I agreed, I don’t think I am able to get rid of anything that belongs to Beanie. If it’s not mine, it’s not right that I throw it out. Having justified it in my own head, I felt comfortable in putting the bottles back where I found them.
I am not sure why it is, but when I was done, I covered the box with a spare blanket and stashed the whole thing under the guest bed out of sight.
And that was presumably the end of that incident, except that my vain god moaned for the next three days about the frizzy and uncontrollable condition my soap left his hair in. Along the lines of ‘How unmanageable and full of kinks, lack of glossiness and stripped of its natural oils…and how it’s never going to recover. How could you survive to use it for so long, Viggo? I am never doing that again to my poor hair. It’s never getting its volume back again! It’s going to stay limp forever. I better hope Eric never hears about this, because he’s the one who groomed me about proper hair maintenance and I explicitly ignored his wisdom…’ and so on and so on.
So much for always wanting to use what I use, eh?
TBC...
Well? What thinketh you? And yes, I have a friend who was forced to use her boyfriend's soap on her hair and she WHINED AND WHINED...though Orli did it to himself, refusing to use Beanie's nice stuff!
Author: Zar
Email: squishypiglet@hotmail.co.uk
LJ: http://www.livejournal.com/users/squishypiglet/
Warnings: This is slash. Don't like it? Don't read it!
Pairings: Viggorli with special guest Eric Bana.
Disclaimer: This is not true, despite all my wishes.
Summary: Orlando argues passionately about something he cares about…
Previous Chapters
Thanks for still reading! I know I am a little bit late, but this was originally planned to be uploaded for Viggo's birthday. I couldn't get it done on time, but here it is, only a little late! I hope you all enjoy it.
This is dedicated to all the wonderful wonderful gals who always make an effort to email me and make sure that I am not dead though I haven't written in this LJ for a while. You're the ones who make me want to keep going and encourage me both in RL and in my writing. This is definitely for you. And I just wanted to give an extra big hug to Deb....for always being there and thinking of me.
And this is a slightly more cheery chapter! Surprised, eh? I thought we deserved some fluff, though there is an ominous end. Damn, I'll just let you get to reading it for yourselves!
This is a pretty long chapter too! Enjoy!
Chapter 57
When you have a guest stay over at your house, do you find that you wake up at the slightest noise? Or when you have an exam/important meeting/plane to catch in the morning, the sleep you have the night before is always restless, and you’ll undoubtedly end up waking before your alarm?
That’s what happened to me that night I slept with Orlando in my arms, knowing that he had a serious medical condition.
It was suddenly like…he’s so fragile and delicate. That if I squeezed him too hard, he might crack and break. Or that if I rolled over I might squash and hurt him.
My god was obviously tired out from all the excitement of the past few days - the seizure, hospital visit, seeing Kurt again, fighting with me…
My bladder is complaining that it needs to go, and my stomach echoes the sentiment that there are things I need to do instead of lie here and breathe in the scent of my god.
Taking care not to nudge Orlando too much, I tried to slide noiselessly to the edge of the bed and make my way to the phone. My god scrunches his nose and breathes in deeply as I move away. Okay…slower.
His brow furrows, and the arm that he had wrapped around my waist tightens inexplicably. Taking his wrist, I try to ease his arm off, and when I’ve got it semi-raised, wriggle my butt along the bedspread until my legs reach the floor. My head is still at an angle beside his on the pillow and despite everything, I hold in a snicker at the ridiculous position I find myself in.
It takes finesse, but I manage to get away from the clingy snuggler and tuck him in as best as I can. He’s fussing a little, so I spend a few minutes sitting by his side brushing his curls away from his face, watching as he snuffles every time I poke his nose.
When I can finally pull myself away from him, I take care of my needs in the toilet, then make my way to the kitchen.
I yawn lazily and scratch my belly before strolling out to the living room, only to be met by the sight of Kurt on the phone - who raises an eyebrow at my semi-dressed, dishevelled state.
My open mouth is quickly smothered by my hand which I cover up by pretending to rub my jaw. Nice, eh? I can be smooth when I want to be. Who am I kidding?
“Who are you on the phone with?” I ask, and he quickly shushes me.
Hmm…this is interesting. Maybe it’s a girlfriend.
“Just calm down…you need to calm down!”
Ooh, this is good. His girlfriend is probably not happy that he stayed over with us last night and didn’t call her or something.
I leer suggestively at him, but he rolls his eyes.
‘Eric’ he mouths at me.
Oh god. My face drops. I can’t believe he totally slipped my mind.
That growly leopard must not be purring too happily after having received the message I left for him on his answering machine.
‘Does he want to talk to me?’ I mouth back, gesturing at myself.
He shakes his head curtly, all the while making soothing noises into the phone.
It’s like watching a train crash and not being able to look away, except with a train crash, there is a predictable path of the train. Here, I have no idea what’s happening, other than Eric must be ranting and Kurt is appeasing him.
“Eric, you’re not listening to me. Listen - no, listen - you know what? I am not talking to you. You’re just ranting and ranting! You know Orlando’s fine, and you know that Viggo and I can take care of him. There’s nothing more to tell! Let me talk to Sean again.”
My ears perk up. But of course, Beanie is with the Leopard in Australia!
I move forward and to Kurt’s disgust, start to grab for the phone. “Gimme! Let me talk to Bean!”
Then the phone is in my hand and my best friend’s comforting voice reaches my ears.
“What did you do to the young ‘un, old man?” he chuckles.
“Beanie!” It’s shameful to say, but I think I might might have, squealed his name.
Just a little bit.
“Hey, Vig…trust you to get into mischief the second I get on a plane. You just can’t do with out me, can you? I am your damn life line!” he laughs, and I know I am grinning like a fool.
“I miss you. And yes, things are already messing up.”
“I can gather the basics of what happened from the tirade that Eric went on, but you want to tell me your version? I don’t think your version would have you intentionally hurting Orlando now that his keeper is away, simply to piss Eric off.”
“Of course not!” I am almost insulted by the insinuation. Then something occurs to me. “Wait a second - did you know about Orlando’s epilepsy?” I ask suspiciously.
If he did and led me on…! He’s lucky he’s not standing right in front of me right now or I’d kick his fat Northern ass!
“If I knew, do you think I would have kept it from you? Come on, you know everything. This is as big a surprise to me. Though now that I realise he’s epileptic, a lot of things make more sense.” He suddenly bursts into laughter. “I can’t believe I told you that Kurt was Orlando’s bodyguard! But come on, it was a logical deduction, after the whole thing with Hristo on the Troy set…but man, Kurt as a nurse! I never figured that one!”
He’s making me chuckle helplessly along with him. It’s near impossible not to laugh or smile when he is. Damn contagious laughter.
“I believe you, Beanie. They both had us running in circles.” I give Kurt the evil eye, who just shrugs at me. He’s been smiling while watching me converse with Sean, but now, he indicates the bedroom, obviously worried about Orlando. I cover the receiver with one hand and mouth ‘sleeping’ at him, and he nods.
I tell Beanie my account of the incident, and as always, when I am with him, the words just come effortlessly. He’s such a great listener it’s near impossible to stop talking to him, and I blab about everything - including Orlando’s reaction to what happened and our fight.
I finally slow down when I notice that we’ve been on the phone for about two hours.
“Uh, Bean…” something suddenly dawns on me. “Did Kurt call you? Or did Eric call over?”
There is a short silence, then a hesitant, “I think Kurt called after receiving six million missed calls and messages from Eric?”
I let my head flop back against the cushion of the sofa. “Beanie! My damn phone bill!”
He just starts to laugh. “Hell, you know I am worth every damn penny of this call, Viggo! Serves you right for putting Orli into hospital!”
~~~
Orlando is awake when I venture back into the bedroom to check on him and he smiles lazily at me.
“Hey you,” he yawns. “Where’d you go?”
I sit down on the bed and run a hand through his curls.
“Eric and Beanie were on the phone. They’re really worried about you.”
My god frowns at me. “You told them about what happened? Ouch…Did you tell them that I am fine and there’s really no reason to worry? I know Eric would be going insane.”
“You’re right about that. But I think Beanie’s managed to keep him from flying back to London.”
Orlando’s closed his eyes, his face turned toward me as I tug at Johnson, unruly curl extraordinaire. I can’t seem to keep my hands off of him. After everything that happened, my mind is well aware that he probably couldn’t have died from the seizure, but my heart is still pounding from the experience, and I can’t help but feel that I could have lost him so easily.
Without even opening his eyes, his hand reaches up to clasp mine, and he brings our entwined hands to his lips in a soft kiss.
“I know you’re fretting again,” he murmurs. “I am fine, Vig. Honestly.”
I clutch at him and let my insecurities surface for once and we lie together just breathing in the moment.
~~~
I feel infinitely better after I make Orlando his favourite breakfast and serve it to him in bed. He has a sheepish puppy dog look as he downs the pills I sternly hand to him, and it takes effort, but I manage not to reprimand him once again for not taking them yesterday and getting himself into so much trouble. Damn right, he’s going to take those from now on. Even if I am going to have to sit on him every morning to make sure they go down his throat.
I am not too sure about him taking a shower, in case he has another seizure and might slip and hurt himself on the wet tiles, but he rolls his eyes at me. “This isn’t the first time! I know what I can and can’t do…come on, let me shower!”
After a brief consultation and examination by Kurt, it seems that he is indeed near good as new, and off he lopes into the bathroom.
Is it wrong and pathetic of me to admit that though he firmly shut the bathroom door, as if to make a point, I sat down on the floor, against the wooden barrier between us and just…listened. Just in case.
Which was just as well, because two minutes in, I heard him shout out my name.
“What’s wrong!”
I burst in, in full mother-hen mode, on the alert for anything that is out of the ordinary.
My god looks indescribably delicious, as naked as the day he was born, standing under the spray of the water. He’s lean, slightly muscular and beautifully olive all over. God, that’s a beautiful shade of olive. And it doesn’t help my situation that all I can focus on is a certain appendage around hip-level.
The steam, hot water and condensation everywhere makes him seem other-worldly. Well, if you ignore the fact that he’s watching me wide-eyed and laughing.
“Vig, nothing’s wrong!” he waves a bottle at me. “I’ve run out of shampoo and was wondering if you have anymore.”
I feel so stupid having dashed in here, but try to cover it up (‘it’ referring to both my embarrassment and also semi-arousal), by turning slightly away.
“Umm…” my tongue is sort of stuck down and I can’t move it properly. “Ahem.” Looking closer at what he’s waving at me, I realise it’s his special shampoo that he brought with him when he moved in. “I can take a look around…”
I think about it a moment, and suddenly remember that Beanie still has his box of stuff in the guest room. “Be right back.” I hate leaving that luscious vision, but my god wants shampoo, and shampoo he shall get.
Doesn’t take a second, and I am almost beaming as I locate bottles of the stuff that Beanie insists is nectar of the god, and triumphantly return to the bathroom.
“Look at what your intelligent boyfriend found you,” I smugly declare, handing over the goods.
Orlando is still under the spray and he rubs water out of his eyes before squinting at what I hand him.
It’s almost a surprise when he squeals and clutches at the elegant bottles, flipping them around and reading the tiny little words proclaiming how amazing it is for your hair…or something.
“You use this, Viggo?” he sounds impressed and I am almost tempted to tell him it’s mine, and I use it all the time.
“Umm….why?”
“This is near impossible to buy outside of France! And it’s over sixty pounds a bottle. I’ve always wanted to use this, but couldn’t get my hands on it. You’ve got the whole range!” He’s opened the cap on one of them and sniffing at it delightedly. “You just don’t strike me as the kind who even knows this kind of elite hair product exists!” He smiles widely at me. “You’re really a man of secrets, hiding this from me!”
I am just watching him, shell-shocked. “Sixty pounds a bottle?? Shit, is Bean completely daft?”
“What?”
“You would finish that tiny bottle in about two weeks! And Beanie’s hair definitely does not look great enough to justify shampoo that costs so much.”
“Wait a sec…this is Beanie’s?”
“Sixty pounds! And that bastard is always moaning about having no extra cash and making me pay for drinks. When he can afford to pay sixty - ”
“Viggo…” he cuts me off and the smile has slipped off of his face. “What is his shampoo doing here?”
“It was in a box of Beanie’s stuff. I have some of his things that he leaves in the guest room when he stays over. But sixty pounds? Are you sure?”
“Yes, I am sure. And you know what? I don’t think I want to use this anymore.” He deliberately snaps the cap back on and plonks it back with the others on the bathroom counter.
“Why not?” He was so enthusiastic a second ago about trying it.
“Don’t feel like it.”
He has an unusual look in his eyes, and though I don’t know what it is, I do know that I don’t want it to stay there. I edge closer and hand the bottle back to him. “You know you want to…” I tease, but he shakes his head.
“No, I don’t need his shampoo. I’ll use yours. But I can’t find it.”
He looks around at the shelves, and I take the chance to look at him. Well, his body. And what a nice body it is too. Nice doesn’t begin to cover it. Firm. Sleek. Slender. Mascul-
“Viggo.”
“Hmm?”
“Stop staring at me and listen to me,” he swats in my direction. “Where’s your shampoo?”
Isn’t it obvious? I look at him. “I don’t use shampoo.”
“What?” he’s looking at me as if I have two heads.
“I. Don’t. Use. Shampoo.”
“But, but…” he flounders and gestures vaguely at the wet curls plastered to his head. It’s such an adorable look on him. I must have the most sickeningly lovestruck expression on my face as I gaze at him. “What do you use to wash your hair?”
“Soap.”
“Soap?” He sounds so scandalised I want to burst out laughing.
“Yeah, you know.” I reach around him, and ‘accidentally’ graze a slick hip as I grab my regular bar of soap. “This.”
“You use this. On your hair.”
He has still not yet touched the soap in my hand, looking at me as if instead of the two heads I had earlier, have now sprouted a third. “On your hair,” he repeats again.
“Is there something wrong with that?”
That question snaps him out of his trance.
“You can’t use soap on your hair! It’ll feel all rough and it’s not moisturising enough! It’s terrible for the cuticles, and it must strip your hair out of all its nutrients, this is too harsh and - ”
I admit to blanking him out and simply oogling my god as he argued passionately (in the nude, of course) about a subject he feels very strongly and deeply about.
In the nude, I must reiterate.
Nude.
And wet.
“- we’ll get you some of the stuff I normally use. You can’t keep using this thing.” He wrinkles his nose disgustedly at the bar still in my hand. “Are you listening to me?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Viggo.”
“Mm-hmm.”
He turns away and it snaps me out of my daze.
“If you hate it so much, just use Beanie’s over-priced French stuff.” I suggest, trying to keep back on track with the conversation.
“You know what? We should probably throw that stuff away,” he nods his head towards it.
“The shampoo?” I say, shocked.
“Yeah. It’s been a while since Beanie last stayed here and it must have all gone off by then. Let’s get rid of it.”
“But…when Beanie comes back for holidays, he’s going to want his shampoo!” I am trying to work out where all of this is suddenly coming from.
“No. Let’s just throw it out. And maybe some of the other stuff he left here too.”
I am not quite sure what that ‘no’ is referring to, but after the whole episode yesterday, I don’t think it’s too healthy for him to get worked up and I am willing to oblige whatever he wants. Maybe he’s still suffering from after-effects…
“Okay, muffin…whatever you want. I’ll throw the shampoo out. But what are you going to use now?”
My beautiful boy looks longingly at the colourful bottles but adamantly and determinedly takes my wrist so that the bar of soap I was still clutching can slide into his hand.
“I’ll use this.”
“Are you sure?” I ask doubtfully at the look on his face as he looks at the soap.
“Yes,” he smiles tenderly at me. “I always want to use what you use.”
He seems rather bent on using it, and though I suppose something significant has just transpired, like the steam obscuring his body, I can’t get a clear glimpse of what it was.
“If you’re happy to use that, go ahead. Enjoy your shower.”
“Wait.” He pulls me closer and I get a kiss. Unexpected, but wholeheartedly appreciated and returned.
A playful smack on the butt and I find myself leaving the bathroom with my arms loaded once again with bottles.
It won’t hurt to return the bottles back to Beanie’s box. Despite what I agreed, I don’t think I am able to get rid of anything that belongs to Beanie. If it’s not mine, it’s not right that I throw it out. Having justified it in my own head, I felt comfortable in putting the bottles back where I found them.
I am not sure why it is, but when I was done, I covered the box with a spare blanket and stashed the whole thing under the guest bed out of sight.
And that was presumably the end of that incident, except that my vain god moaned for the next three days about the frizzy and uncontrollable condition my soap left his hair in. Along the lines of ‘How unmanageable and full of kinks, lack of glossiness and stripped of its natural oils…and how it’s never going to recover. How could you survive to use it for so long, Viggo? I am never doing that again to my poor hair. It’s never getting its volume back again! It’s going to stay limp forever. I better hope Eric never hears about this, because he’s the one who groomed me about proper hair maintenance and I explicitly ignored his wisdom…’ and so on and so on.
So much for always wanting to use what I use, eh?
TBC...
Well? What thinketh you? And yes, I have a friend who was forced to use her boyfriend's soap on her hair and she WHINED AND WHINED...though Orli did it to himself, refusing to use Beanie's nice stuff!