Shadowing My Dream 2/5 (Lotrips, Viggo/Orlando, PG)
Shadowing My Dreams 2/5
Author: padawanhilary and telesilla
Fandom/Pairing: Lotrips, Viggo/Orlando
Rating: overall NC-17, this chapter PG
Word Count: 2.036
Disclaimer: Not RL; didn't happen. If you think this has anything to do with the real actors involved, then you need to put down the crack pipe.
Summary: Orlando settles in and Viggo makes contact in his own way.
Notes: Because we love us a nice cliché, we've decided to try our hands at a Viggo/Orlando ghost fic. The title is from the song "Ghost" by the Indigo Girls.
As the days go by, Orlando settles into the place. He's making motions to put his place on the market, though he's never managed to get around to bringing in a cleaning crew for this new house. It seems a little much, anyway; all it needs is dusting.
A lot of dusting, he amends mentally, but the place has grown on him a bit. He's settled into the kitchen, moving in some groceries and putting out his tea tins near the stove. It's important, suddenly, to make this place home in spite of the odd sense that he really isn't alone here.
For the most part, Viggo's enjoying Orlando's presence in the house. There's the matter of the television, but Viggo's willing to disrupt the signal for as long as it takes Orlando to get tired of the game. Other than that, however, he's finding himself more and more interested in Orlando. It's not just that he's quite attractive, although Viggo is sometimes stunned at how good looking Orlando is, but that Orlando seems to have a gift for enjoying everything that comes along.
Orlando, Viggo has figured out, loves life, and that is a sentiment that Viggo can certainly relate to.
Settling into a routine is easy; Orlando's on a bit of leave from work and the house...well, he feels comfortable here. Embraced, like. So he dusts the rooms and makes his tea and mucks about with the telly and relaxes in the evenings, and over and over the sense of a presence in the house alternately makes itself felt and makes him think he's crazy.
The more time Viggo spends watching Orlando, the more he finds himself wondering about him. For all that Orlando occasionally talks to himself, he seems rather self-contained; he doesn't get much mail or many phone calls and Viggo isn't sure what he does for a living, if anything.
It's this curiosity that has him watching Orlando every night, and one night he decides he wants more. Carefully, he settles around the headboard and stares down at Orlando, hoping he remembers how to enter another person's dreams without them noticing. It's been a long time, some thirty years at least; hopefully he won't frighten Orlando or give him nightmares.
Orlando drifts off, oddly disappointed that he hasn't caught that strange glimpse of light he's seen now and then. He'd be convinced it's Dex, just floating around to try to get him to stay, but...
But you're mad, he thinks as he sinks into sleep, and there's nothing for long moments until the dream comes.
He's in the fog of the funeral, the deep sorrow of the other mourners, and he sighs, wishing as he did that day that the family would only remember what Dex would have wanted them to: the happiness. Still, you can't tell family that.
He turns and spots someone out of the corner of his eye, and in the dream, he doesn't remember that it's no use trying to turn and see properly before the image flits away. He does it, and there is standing a gorgeous man, rangy and unusual, with vivid eyes and clothing that doesn't suit the funeral at all. Not a bit.
Orlando stands, frowning, and turns toward the man, taking a step. It seems perfectly proper in the middle of Dex's funeral to engage in pursuit.
"Did any of these people actually know Dexter?" Viggo asks, knowing, as he does while in someone else's dreams, exactly where he is. "I think he would have found this whole thing tiresome."
"Not many," Orlando admits, shrugging. "I've never seen most of that bunch before, but it's...you know how funerals are. You pick up on the others' sorrow and then, well, you fit right in." He tilts his head, examining the stranger. "I can't recall having seen you before, either."
"I'm an old...acquaintance of Dexter's," Viggo says. "He didn't know me well but I liked him anyway." He tilts his head as if just figuring out who Orlando is. "You're his nephew, right?"
"Yes." Orlando notices the hesitation on "acquaintance" and assumes with the lack of filter that dreams provide that Viggo was Dexter's lover. "You're terribly young," he notes, grinning, trying to calculate when this might've been.
"That's what you think," Viggo says with a laugh. "I'm a lot older than I look, but thank you for the compliment. And no, we weren't lovers. More's the pity really; your uncle was quite a handsome man."
Surprised, Orlando cocks his head. "Well, then." He doesn't know what else to say, having been proved wrong. He doesn't mind looking the man over, though, that's pleasant enough. As to his age, it hardly matters. Hot is hot.
While this is Orlando's dream, Viggo doesn't feel any compunction about trying to move things along a little. Orlando, after all, is controlling the whole thing; if he doesn't like what happens, all he has to do is wake up.
"Would you like to take a walk?" he asks Orlando, suddenly aware that his own notions of courting are over 80 years out of date.
"Sure," Orlando nods; it seems perfectly rational to head right out of his favorite uncle's eulogy to walk with this man, and already he's resisting the urge to do something odd like link his arm through the stranger's.
They stroll off and Viggo notices that the landscape is fluid; as they walk down the lane, sometimes there's a meadow next to them and sometimes a lightly wooded forest. It's nice; Viggo learned early on that he can't leave the house and so other people's dreams have become his only way to spend time outdoors.
Orlando smiles; he likes the scenery, he likes the company. Words don't seem to suit, but that's fine. He has a quick, crazy idea that he could fall in love with this man, just like this, right now, and he stops walking, studying those beautiful eyes.
"What is it?" Viggo asks, reaching up to untangle a bit of Orlando's hair. He's become quite fond of that dark, curly hair; he likes the way it always seems a little unruly, as if it has a mind of its own.
Just the sound of his voice is enough to make Orlando want him. He leans closer without saying a word and kisses the man, just a feather-light brush of lips that seems to disappear as soon as he pulls back, watching the stranger's eyes.
"Thank you," Viggo says, smiling. Although he knows times have changed, he wonders if Orlando would be so bold outside of a dream. "May I return the favor?"
Charmed, Orlando nods. "Absolutely," he grins.
Leaning forward, Viggo gives Orlando a light kiss; although he lingers a little longer than Orlando did, he doesn't try to coax Orlando's lips open. Even in the dream state, his desire seems to be less urgent than it was when he was alive.
It's a sweet, warm kiss, and when Orlando draws back again he smiles more widely. "That was very nice," he murmurs. He reaches up to touch the stranger's arm, then slides his hand down to run his fingertips over the warm hand at the end of the jacket sleeve.
"It was," Viggo agrees, lacing his fingers together with Orlando's. "I'm glad we're here."
"So am I." Orlando has no idea who this man is, but he's...sweet. Sweet and sexy, in a very old-fashioned way. Orlando likes him a great deal.
Leaning in, Viggo gives Orlando another careful kiss; the last thing he wants to do is scare Orlando. He's more than content to take this slowly, and right now, holding hands and kissing like this is the best thing that's happened to Viggo in the past 80 plus years.
* * *
Orlando wakes with an odd regret -- that dream he had was so real, though naturally, in the light of day, there's no way he'd walk away from Maddie eulogizing Uncle Dex to hit on some strange man. He has no idea where he's seen that man before, either, though he looks vaguely familiar. Isn't that the way dreams work? You never invent people. They've got to come from somewhere.
He rolls out of bed with a grunt and pads down to the kitchen for his tea, then stands there with one hand braced on the counter, spooning leaves into the pot sleepily.
"It was a nice dream, at any rate," he mumbles, and shakes his head. "I swear," he says toward the ceiling, "Dex, this house makes me talk to myself."
It was a nice dream, Viggo thinks from his stop in the doorway to the kitchen. He's not all that fond of the kitchen, there are too many appliances which, like all machines, interfere with his resonance. But he's more than willing to brave the dreaded microwave in order to learn what Orlando thinks of the dream.
Sighing, Orlando carries his little carafe of water to the microwave and sets it. He folds his arms and leans his ass on the counter, rubbing at his eyes. "He was so gorgeous," he mutters. "And sweet. Why can't I meet someone like that in real life? Why do I always end up with the arses?"
Why don't you use the kettle? Viggo thinks, wincing as Orlando starts up the microwave. He wishes he could reassure Orlando about the dream, but he has a feeling that, if he shows himself now, Orlando will leave the house, never to return.
Orlando zones out as he stares at the microwave, watching it do its slow countdown to hot water. When it beeps at him, he takes his hot pad and pours over the leaves. "And such a good kisser."
Thank you, Viggo thinks with an ironic little smile. I can do better, I promise you. He looks at Orlando for a long moment and then, worried that he'll be tempted to do something to catch Orlando's attention, he retires to his own room.
Orlando glances toward the kitchen doorway for no reason he can figure, then mentally rolls his eyes at himself. Maybe the place is haunted, he snorts inwardly.
-tbc-
Author: padawanhilary and telesilla
Fandom/Pairing: Lotrips, Viggo/Orlando
Rating: overall NC-17, this chapter PG
Word Count: 2.036
Disclaimer: Not RL; didn't happen. If you think this has anything to do with the real actors involved, then you need to put down the crack pipe.
Summary: Orlando settles in and Viggo makes contact in his own way.
Notes: Because we love us a nice cliché, we've decided to try our hands at a Viggo/Orlando ghost fic. The title is from the song "Ghost" by the Indigo Girls.
As the days go by, Orlando settles into the place. He's making motions to put his place on the market, though he's never managed to get around to bringing in a cleaning crew for this new house. It seems a little much, anyway; all it needs is dusting.
A lot of dusting, he amends mentally, but the place has grown on him a bit. He's settled into the kitchen, moving in some groceries and putting out his tea tins near the stove. It's important, suddenly, to make this place home in spite of the odd sense that he really isn't alone here.
For the most part, Viggo's enjoying Orlando's presence in the house. There's the matter of the television, but Viggo's willing to disrupt the signal for as long as it takes Orlando to get tired of the game. Other than that, however, he's finding himself more and more interested in Orlando. It's not just that he's quite attractive, although Viggo is sometimes stunned at how good looking Orlando is, but that Orlando seems to have a gift for enjoying everything that comes along.
Orlando, Viggo has figured out, loves life, and that is a sentiment that Viggo can certainly relate to.
Settling into a routine is easy; Orlando's on a bit of leave from work and the house...well, he feels comfortable here. Embraced, like. So he dusts the rooms and makes his tea and mucks about with the telly and relaxes in the evenings, and over and over the sense of a presence in the house alternately makes itself felt and makes him think he's crazy.
The more time Viggo spends watching Orlando, the more he finds himself wondering about him. For all that Orlando occasionally talks to himself, he seems rather self-contained; he doesn't get much mail or many phone calls and Viggo isn't sure what he does for a living, if anything.
It's this curiosity that has him watching Orlando every night, and one night he decides he wants more. Carefully, he settles around the headboard and stares down at Orlando, hoping he remembers how to enter another person's dreams without them noticing. It's been a long time, some thirty years at least; hopefully he won't frighten Orlando or give him nightmares.
Orlando drifts off, oddly disappointed that he hasn't caught that strange glimpse of light he's seen now and then. He'd be convinced it's Dex, just floating around to try to get him to stay, but...
But you're mad, he thinks as he sinks into sleep, and there's nothing for long moments until the dream comes.
He's in the fog of the funeral, the deep sorrow of the other mourners, and he sighs, wishing as he did that day that the family would only remember what Dex would have wanted them to: the happiness. Still, you can't tell family that.
He turns and spots someone out of the corner of his eye, and in the dream, he doesn't remember that it's no use trying to turn and see properly before the image flits away. He does it, and there is standing a gorgeous man, rangy and unusual, with vivid eyes and clothing that doesn't suit the funeral at all. Not a bit.
Orlando stands, frowning, and turns toward the man, taking a step. It seems perfectly proper in the middle of Dex's funeral to engage in pursuit.
"Did any of these people actually know Dexter?" Viggo asks, knowing, as he does while in someone else's dreams, exactly where he is. "I think he would have found this whole thing tiresome."
"Not many," Orlando admits, shrugging. "I've never seen most of that bunch before, but it's...you know how funerals are. You pick up on the others' sorrow and then, well, you fit right in." He tilts his head, examining the stranger. "I can't recall having seen you before, either."
"I'm an old...acquaintance of Dexter's," Viggo says. "He didn't know me well but I liked him anyway." He tilts his head as if just figuring out who Orlando is. "You're his nephew, right?"
"Yes." Orlando notices the hesitation on "acquaintance" and assumes with the lack of filter that dreams provide that Viggo was Dexter's lover. "You're terribly young," he notes, grinning, trying to calculate when this might've been.
"That's what you think," Viggo says with a laugh. "I'm a lot older than I look, but thank you for the compliment. And no, we weren't lovers. More's the pity really; your uncle was quite a handsome man."
Surprised, Orlando cocks his head. "Well, then." He doesn't know what else to say, having been proved wrong. He doesn't mind looking the man over, though, that's pleasant enough. As to his age, it hardly matters. Hot is hot.
While this is Orlando's dream, Viggo doesn't feel any compunction about trying to move things along a little. Orlando, after all, is controlling the whole thing; if he doesn't like what happens, all he has to do is wake up.
"Would you like to take a walk?" he asks Orlando, suddenly aware that his own notions of courting are over 80 years out of date.
"Sure," Orlando nods; it seems perfectly rational to head right out of his favorite uncle's eulogy to walk with this man, and already he's resisting the urge to do something odd like link his arm through the stranger's.
They stroll off and Viggo notices that the landscape is fluid; as they walk down the lane, sometimes there's a meadow next to them and sometimes a lightly wooded forest. It's nice; Viggo learned early on that he can't leave the house and so other people's dreams have become his only way to spend time outdoors.
Orlando smiles; he likes the scenery, he likes the company. Words don't seem to suit, but that's fine. He has a quick, crazy idea that he could fall in love with this man, just like this, right now, and he stops walking, studying those beautiful eyes.
"What is it?" Viggo asks, reaching up to untangle a bit of Orlando's hair. He's become quite fond of that dark, curly hair; he likes the way it always seems a little unruly, as if it has a mind of its own.
Just the sound of his voice is enough to make Orlando want him. He leans closer without saying a word and kisses the man, just a feather-light brush of lips that seems to disappear as soon as he pulls back, watching the stranger's eyes.
"Thank you," Viggo says, smiling. Although he knows times have changed, he wonders if Orlando would be so bold outside of a dream. "May I return the favor?"
Charmed, Orlando nods. "Absolutely," he grins.
Leaning forward, Viggo gives Orlando a light kiss; although he lingers a little longer than Orlando did, he doesn't try to coax Orlando's lips open. Even in the dream state, his desire seems to be less urgent than it was when he was alive.
It's a sweet, warm kiss, and when Orlando draws back again he smiles more widely. "That was very nice," he murmurs. He reaches up to touch the stranger's arm, then slides his hand down to run his fingertips over the warm hand at the end of the jacket sleeve.
"It was," Viggo agrees, lacing his fingers together with Orlando's. "I'm glad we're here."
"So am I." Orlando has no idea who this man is, but he's...sweet. Sweet and sexy, in a very old-fashioned way. Orlando likes him a great deal.
Leaning in, Viggo gives Orlando another careful kiss; the last thing he wants to do is scare Orlando. He's more than content to take this slowly, and right now, holding hands and kissing like this is the best thing that's happened to Viggo in the past 80 plus years.
* * *
Orlando wakes with an odd regret -- that dream he had was so real, though naturally, in the light of day, there's no way he'd walk away from Maddie eulogizing Uncle Dex to hit on some strange man. He has no idea where he's seen that man before, either, though he looks vaguely familiar. Isn't that the way dreams work? You never invent people. They've got to come from somewhere.
He rolls out of bed with a grunt and pads down to the kitchen for his tea, then stands there with one hand braced on the counter, spooning leaves into the pot sleepily.
"It was a nice dream, at any rate," he mumbles, and shakes his head. "I swear," he says toward the ceiling, "Dex, this house makes me talk to myself."
It was a nice dream, Viggo thinks from his stop in the doorway to the kitchen. He's not all that fond of the kitchen, there are too many appliances which, like all machines, interfere with his resonance. But he's more than willing to brave the dreaded microwave in order to learn what Orlando thinks of the dream.
Sighing, Orlando carries his little carafe of water to the microwave and sets it. He folds his arms and leans his ass on the counter, rubbing at his eyes. "He was so gorgeous," he mutters. "And sweet. Why can't I meet someone like that in real life? Why do I always end up with the arses?"
Why don't you use the kettle? Viggo thinks, wincing as Orlando starts up the microwave. He wishes he could reassure Orlando about the dream, but he has a feeling that, if he shows himself now, Orlando will leave the house, never to return.
Orlando zones out as he stares at the microwave, watching it do its slow countdown to hot water. When it beeps at him, he takes his hot pad and pours over the leaves. "And such a good kisser."
Thank you, Viggo thinks with an ironic little smile. I can do better, I promise you. He looks at Orlando for a long moment and then, worried that he'll be tempted to do something to catch Orlando's attention, he retires to his own room.
Orlando glances toward the kitchen doorway for no reason he can figure, then mentally rolls his eyes at himself. Maybe the place is haunted, he snorts inwardly.
-tbc-