The Value of Ten Seconds 1/1
Title: The Value of Ten Seconds
Author: jeyhawk
Rating: NC17, because I loath the term Hard R.
Pairing: VM/OB
Summary: To realize the value of ten seconds ask someone who almost said I’m sorry, but never did.
Disclaimer: Viggo and Orlando are gay sitting in a tree eating a Bana. I mean I don’t know them and don’t own them. I just write lies for fun.
Feedback: Pretty please.
Archive: List archive, jeyhawk_fic
Beta: mesnica
Warnings: ANGST, Character Death.
Notes: This bunny bit me this morning and refused to let go until I’d finished it. *sighs* If you decide to read it bring a box of tissues and if you beg prettily there might be a sequel… I have a bunny for that as well.
To realize the value of ten seconds ask someone who almost said I’m sorry, but never did.
Viggo woke with a scream from his troubled dreams, sat up straight in bed and looked around wildly. Slowly he got his bearings; he was at home, in his - their - bed; alone. The familiar room should have been soothing to his frazzled nerves but it wasn’t, not anymore. It hadn’t been for almost a year, not since that morning in Sicily when his life came crashing down around him.
“Bad dreams again, huh?” Orlando said from his favourite chair in the corner.
Viggo studiously ignored him, pretending he hadn’t heard.
“Did you dream of Sicily again?”
Viggo didn’t answer, but looked down on his trembling hands, the terror of the dream washing over him again.
The muffled sounds of coughing automatic weapons and people screaming had Viggo running out the door without a thought of personal safety. Orlando was down there. Nothing could prepare him for the sight that met him outside the luxurious hotel, the blood, the pure horror of it all. Bodies lay scattered on the sidewalk, broken and bleeding and Orlando was nowhere to be seen. He searched for what felt like hours, his very soul shying away from the death and destruction, until he found Orlando’s bag lying discarded at the side of the road.
“Don’t let it eat you up,” Orlando remarked.
Viggo glanced at him, a familiar intense longing plaguing him as he looked at Orlando’s almost transparent form. “You’re not real,” he said. “You’re a figment of my imagination.”
Orlando shrugged. “You keep saying that.”
Viggo rubbed his hands over his face. “You are lying in a hospital bed, kept alive by complicated and expensive machinery. You are not here.”
Orlando’s spectre or whatever it was got up from the chair and walked over to sit on the edge of the bed. Viggo imagined he could feel it dipping with his weight.
“Your love is keeping me alive,” Orlando said softly, looking at Viggo’s ashen face.
“My love is good for nothing.” Viggo sneered.
“Don’t say that,” Orlando admonished, but Viggo knew it to be true.
It had been three weeks before Orlando had been found, no claims for ransom had been made and the general consensus had been that he’d been killed elsewhere and the body dumped in the ocean. Viggo had clung to his hope the entire time, going over the last few words exchanged between them, hoping for a chance to say I’m sorry. The acid of his words were eating him up from inside; the petty jealousy that had started the argument was rotting his heart. It had been the first time they ever went to bed without being friends, the first time their argument carried over into a new day. His last words to Orlando played over and over in his head. 'Maybe I don’t need you anymore, maybe you should just leave.'
“I’m so sorry,” Viggo whispered. “So, so sorry.”
“Shhh,” Orlando said. “I know, baby. I know.”
~*~
Viggo looked at the pale lifeless form in the bed; it didn’t even look like Orlando anymore. His Orlando had been so vibrant, so full of life; this was nothing but a living ghost. He held one of the pale hands in his, trying to squeeze some life into it, but it was useless. This morning the doctor had approached him again, tried to talk to him about something, but Viggo could not bring himself to listen. He was still hoping for a miracle, something that seemed less likely with every passing day. The EEG screen next to the bed no longer showed any activity and Viggo knew that meant Orlando was dead, that his body was just an empty shell being kept alive by the miracle of modern medicine, but he could not let go, not yet.
“I really look like shit, you know,” Orlando remarked from the other side of the bed.
“Shut up,” Viggo growled.
“I do.”
Viggo refused to look up at the apparition standing next to the bed; the comparison pained him too greatly. The Orlando whose hand Viggo was holding was so pale the veins could be seen as blue streaks under the skin, dark smudges marked his eyes and his face was so sunken he resembled a skeleton more than a living, breathing human being. Ghost-Orlando looked like his Orlando had done the day he disappeared: tanned and beautiful. Viggo knew that if he lifted the edge of the blanket he would see Orlando’s chest marred by myriads of half-healed scars, a potent reminder of the terror he’d gone through at the hands of his capturers. Viggo never lifted the blanket anymore, he couldn’t bear the pain.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered brokenly, choking on tears that would not spill.
“I know,” Orlando answered, and this time Viggo did look up.
Ghost-Orlando was leaning against the wall and Viggo realized he could hardly see through him anymore.
“You’re becoming more solid,” he said.
“Yes.”
“What does that mean?”
“That I‘m dying.”
“No,” Viggo said quickly. “The machines will keep you alive.”
Orlando shook his head slightly. “Not for much longer. Look at my skin; can’t you see the yellowish tint? The internal organs are giving up. That is what the good doctor tried to tell you earlier. I only have a few more days at the most.”
Viggo clenched his jaw. “No,” he whispered. “I can’t lose you.”
“You lost me ten months ago and you know that. You have to let go.”
Viggo shook his head mutely, squeezing the cold hand in his harder. “I need you,” he whispered and for once the ghost seemed to have no answer.
~*~
As Viggo got ready for bed he studiously avoided looking at the ghost sitting on the bed. They had not spoken since they left the hospital and Viggo had no intention of doing so now. Orlando wanted him to let go and he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t stop loving the only person to ever capture his heart; he couldn’t just give up and watch him die. Deep inside he knew that Orlando had been dead since the day his broken body had been found in the Palermo harbour. He’d been treated for his more life-threatening wounds at a Sicilian hospital and then he’d been flown to the States and a private hospital for palliative care. Orlando’d almost died during the flight and Viggo had been so grateful when they were finally back home; a gratitude that soon disappeared when he realized that Orlando would never wake up again.
They had tried to tell him time to time again that Orlando wouldn’t wake up and that if he by some miracle did, Orlando would be brain damaged, but it had not sunken in until he first entered their house and realized how much of a tomb it was without the one person that gave it life; the one person who would never visit it again. It was shortly thereafter that Viggo begun to see Orlando’s spectre.
At first he’d been so see-through that Viggo wasn’t sure he was even there, but as the months passed he became more and more solid and started talking to him. Viggo knew the ghost was only a figment of his imagination, the final sign he was losing his mind without the love of his life to keep him grounded, but sometimes talking to him was the only thing that gave him some semblance of peace.
“You should eat more,” Orlando remarked as Viggo stripped off his clothes. “You’re getting too skinny.”
Viggo glanced at him but didn’t answer. It wasn’t like he cared about his appearance any more. He pushed his boxers down, stepping out of them. Sleeping naked was something Orlando had taught him and he could no longer bear to have clothes on as he crawled between the sheets. The ghost wolf-whistled from the corner and Viggo clenched his jaws. Orlando always used to do that, showing his appreciation of Viggo’s body; it hurt to hear it now.
He got into bed and turned off the light. “How much longer?” he asked, his voice shaking slightly.
“Not long,” the ghost answered, his voice coming closer.
This time the bed really did dip when he crawled onto it and Viggo turned the light on again to look at him. They spent the longest of times just staring at each other before Viggo reached out with a trembling hand to place it against Orlando’s cheek. The ghost was no longer see-through and the skin under Viggo’s fingers felt cool but solid.
“We don’t have long,” Orlando whispered, reaching a hand up to cup Viggo’s hand. He slowly bent forward and Viggo didn’t stop him when he pressed their lips together.
The kiss was so full of emotion that Viggo gave into it completely; he no longer doubted that the ghost was somehow the personification of Orlando’s dying mind; no one kissed like that but his Orlando. Viggo gently undressed the familiar body in his arms, bestowing kisses and licks to every patch of newly revealed skin. Returning to the tempting mouth as often as possible, he tried to bestow everything he felt into the kisses they shared.
Soon they were both naked, their bodies wrapped around each other as tightly as they could manage.
Viggo fumbled blindly for the lube left on the nightstand as a potent reminder of what had been and Orlando kept urging him on, running needy hands all over Viggo’s back and ass. Viggo slicked himself cursory, lube getting all over the place, but he didn’t mind. The only thing he could think about was the love shining in Orlando’s eyes and the legs spreading so willingly for him. He entered his lover in one swift thrust, the need to express their love one last time more urgent than the need for preparation.
“I love you,” Viggo repeated with every hard thrust and Orlando answered him in kind, wrapping arms and legs around him to keep him close.
The pleasure of their joining was shadowed by the deepest sorrow but there was no way to stop the inevitable.
“I love you,” Orlando gasped as he arched his back and came with long shuddering pulses.
“I love you,” Viggo repeated as he came buried deep inside his lover’s pliant body.
Afterwards they lay wrapped around each other, Orlando crying unashamedly and Viggo wishing that he could. Slowly Orlando became more transparent and no matter how hard Viggo tried to hold him his arms soon met only air.
Feeling empty inside, Viggo got up from the bed, went in the bathroom to clean up and got dressed. When the call came some fifteen minutes later, he was already in the car, speeding towards the hospital, the taste of Orlando’s kisses still on his tongue.
The End
Author: jeyhawk
Rating: NC17, because I loath the term Hard R.
Pairing: VM/OB
Summary: To realize the value of ten seconds ask someone who almost said I’m sorry, but never did.
Disclaimer: Viggo and Orlando are gay sitting in a tree eating a Bana. I mean I don’t know them and don’t own them. I just write lies for fun.
Feedback: Pretty please.
Archive: List archive, jeyhawk_fic
Beta: mesnica
Warnings: ANGST, Character Death.
Notes: This bunny bit me this morning and refused to let go until I’d finished it. *sighs* If you decide to read it bring a box of tissues and if you beg prettily there might be a sequel… I have a bunny for that as well.
To realize the value of ten seconds ask someone who almost said I’m sorry, but never did.
Viggo woke with a scream from his troubled dreams, sat up straight in bed and looked around wildly. Slowly he got his bearings; he was at home, in his - their - bed; alone. The familiar room should have been soothing to his frazzled nerves but it wasn’t, not anymore. It hadn’t been for almost a year, not since that morning in Sicily when his life came crashing down around him.
“Bad dreams again, huh?” Orlando said from his favourite chair in the corner.
Viggo studiously ignored him, pretending he hadn’t heard.
“Did you dream of Sicily again?”
Viggo didn’t answer, but looked down on his trembling hands, the terror of the dream washing over him again.
The muffled sounds of coughing automatic weapons and people screaming had Viggo running out the door without a thought of personal safety. Orlando was down there. Nothing could prepare him for the sight that met him outside the luxurious hotel, the blood, the pure horror of it all. Bodies lay scattered on the sidewalk, broken and bleeding and Orlando was nowhere to be seen. He searched for what felt like hours, his very soul shying away from the death and destruction, until he found Orlando’s bag lying discarded at the side of the road.
“Don’t let it eat you up,” Orlando remarked.
Viggo glanced at him, a familiar intense longing plaguing him as he looked at Orlando’s almost transparent form. “You’re not real,” he said. “You’re a figment of my imagination.”
Orlando shrugged. “You keep saying that.”
Viggo rubbed his hands over his face. “You are lying in a hospital bed, kept alive by complicated and expensive machinery. You are not here.”
Orlando’s spectre or whatever it was got up from the chair and walked over to sit on the edge of the bed. Viggo imagined he could feel it dipping with his weight.
“Your love is keeping me alive,” Orlando said softly, looking at Viggo’s ashen face.
“My love is good for nothing.” Viggo sneered.
“Don’t say that,” Orlando admonished, but Viggo knew it to be true.
It had been three weeks before Orlando had been found, no claims for ransom had been made and the general consensus had been that he’d been killed elsewhere and the body dumped in the ocean. Viggo had clung to his hope the entire time, going over the last few words exchanged between them, hoping for a chance to say I’m sorry. The acid of his words were eating him up from inside; the petty jealousy that had started the argument was rotting his heart. It had been the first time they ever went to bed without being friends, the first time their argument carried over into a new day. His last words to Orlando played over and over in his head. 'Maybe I don’t need you anymore, maybe you should just leave.'
“I’m so sorry,” Viggo whispered. “So, so sorry.”
“Shhh,” Orlando said. “I know, baby. I know.”
~*~
Viggo looked at the pale lifeless form in the bed; it didn’t even look like Orlando anymore. His Orlando had been so vibrant, so full of life; this was nothing but a living ghost. He held one of the pale hands in his, trying to squeeze some life into it, but it was useless. This morning the doctor had approached him again, tried to talk to him about something, but Viggo could not bring himself to listen. He was still hoping for a miracle, something that seemed less likely with every passing day. The EEG screen next to the bed no longer showed any activity and Viggo knew that meant Orlando was dead, that his body was just an empty shell being kept alive by the miracle of modern medicine, but he could not let go, not yet.
“I really look like shit, you know,” Orlando remarked from the other side of the bed.
“Shut up,” Viggo growled.
“I do.”
Viggo refused to look up at the apparition standing next to the bed; the comparison pained him too greatly. The Orlando whose hand Viggo was holding was so pale the veins could be seen as blue streaks under the skin, dark smudges marked his eyes and his face was so sunken he resembled a skeleton more than a living, breathing human being. Ghost-Orlando looked like his Orlando had done the day he disappeared: tanned and beautiful. Viggo knew that if he lifted the edge of the blanket he would see Orlando’s chest marred by myriads of half-healed scars, a potent reminder of the terror he’d gone through at the hands of his capturers. Viggo never lifted the blanket anymore, he couldn’t bear the pain.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered brokenly, choking on tears that would not spill.
“I know,” Orlando answered, and this time Viggo did look up.
Ghost-Orlando was leaning against the wall and Viggo realized he could hardly see through him anymore.
“You’re becoming more solid,” he said.
“Yes.”
“What does that mean?”
“That I‘m dying.”
“No,” Viggo said quickly. “The machines will keep you alive.”
Orlando shook his head slightly. “Not for much longer. Look at my skin; can’t you see the yellowish tint? The internal organs are giving up. That is what the good doctor tried to tell you earlier. I only have a few more days at the most.”
Viggo clenched his jaw. “No,” he whispered. “I can’t lose you.”
“You lost me ten months ago and you know that. You have to let go.”
Viggo shook his head mutely, squeezing the cold hand in his harder. “I need you,” he whispered and for once the ghost seemed to have no answer.
~*~
As Viggo got ready for bed he studiously avoided looking at the ghost sitting on the bed. They had not spoken since they left the hospital and Viggo had no intention of doing so now. Orlando wanted him to let go and he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t stop loving the only person to ever capture his heart; he couldn’t just give up and watch him die. Deep inside he knew that Orlando had been dead since the day his broken body had been found in the Palermo harbour. He’d been treated for his more life-threatening wounds at a Sicilian hospital and then he’d been flown to the States and a private hospital for palliative care. Orlando’d almost died during the flight and Viggo had been so grateful when they were finally back home; a gratitude that soon disappeared when he realized that Orlando would never wake up again.
They had tried to tell him time to time again that Orlando wouldn’t wake up and that if he by some miracle did, Orlando would be brain damaged, but it had not sunken in until he first entered their house and realized how much of a tomb it was without the one person that gave it life; the one person who would never visit it again. It was shortly thereafter that Viggo begun to see Orlando’s spectre.
At first he’d been so see-through that Viggo wasn’t sure he was even there, but as the months passed he became more and more solid and started talking to him. Viggo knew the ghost was only a figment of his imagination, the final sign he was losing his mind without the love of his life to keep him grounded, but sometimes talking to him was the only thing that gave him some semblance of peace.
“You should eat more,” Orlando remarked as Viggo stripped off his clothes. “You’re getting too skinny.”
Viggo glanced at him but didn’t answer. It wasn’t like he cared about his appearance any more. He pushed his boxers down, stepping out of them. Sleeping naked was something Orlando had taught him and he could no longer bear to have clothes on as he crawled between the sheets. The ghost wolf-whistled from the corner and Viggo clenched his jaws. Orlando always used to do that, showing his appreciation of Viggo’s body; it hurt to hear it now.
He got into bed and turned off the light. “How much longer?” he asked, his voice shaking slightly.
“Not long,” the ghost answered, his voice coming closer.
This time the bed really did dip when he crawled onto it and Viggo turned the light on again to look at him. They spent the longest of times just staring at each other before Viggo reached out with a trembling hand to place it against Orlando’s cheek. The ghost was no longer see-through and the skin under Viggo’s fingers felt cool but solid.
“We don’t have long,” Orlando whispered, reaching a hand up to cup Viggo’s hand. He slowly bent forward and Viggo didn’t stop him when he pressed their lips together.
The kiss was so full of emotion that Viggo gave into it completely; he no longer doubted that the ghost was somehow the personification of Orlando’s dying mind; no one kissed like that but his Orlando. Viggo gently undressed the familiar body in his arms, bestowing kisses and licks to every patch of newly revealed skin. Returning to the tempting mouth as often as possible, he tried to bestow everything he felt into the kisses they shared.
Soon they were both naked, their bodies wrapped around each other as tightly as they could manage.
Viggo fumbled blindly for the lube left on the nightstand as a potent reminder of what had been and Orlando kept urging him on, running needy hands all over Viggo’s back and ass. Viggo slicked himself cursory, lube getting all over the place, but he didn’t mind. The only thing he could think about was the love shining in Orlando’s eyes and the legs spreading so willingly for him. He entered his lover in one swift thrust, the need to express their love one last time more urgent than the need for preparation.
“I love you,” Viggo repeated with every hard thrust and Orlando answered him in kind, wrapping arms and legs around him to keep him close.
The pleasure of their joining was shadowed by the deepest sorrow but there was no way to stop the inevitable.
“I love you,” Orlando gasped as he arched his back and came with long shuddering pulses.
“I love you,” Viggo repeated as he came buried deep inside his lover’s pliant body.
Afterwards they lay wrapped around each other, Orlando crying unashamedly and Viggo wishing that he could. Slowly Orlando became more transparent and no matter how hard Viggo tried to hold him his arms soon met only air.
Feeling empty inside, Viggo got up from the bed, went in the bathroom to clean up and got dressed. When the call came some fifteen minutes later, he was already in the car, speeding towards the hospital, the taste of Orlando’s kisses still on his tongue.
The End