Fic: A Very Merry Christmas and A Happy New Year (VM/OB) 1/1
Title: A VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR
Author: laeglass
Pairing: VM/OB
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine, not true.
Summary: It's Christmas, and Orlando is where he belongs.
A/N: Written for zee113 as a part of viggorli_xmas Secret Santa fic exchange. Beta'd by the wonderful silvan_lady. This is AU.
"More wine, Orlando?"
Orlando, his train of thought interrupted, smiled and handed over his wineglass. "Yeah, sure."
He noticed Grace looking at him, and twitched a questioning eyebrow in her direction. She turned to say something to Sam and Orlando shrugged to himself. He wasn't getting drunk, and besides, he'd seen Grace sucking down the aperitifs at a much faster pace than this. If they were counting. Which they were not. Oh, all right, it was his third glass of wine for the evening, and he reckoned it would be the last.
"Enjoying yourself, babe?" Viggo asked from across the table, his voice lowered, and Orlando smiled.
"Absolutely," he said, and raised his glass in a toast.
The wine was settling in his belly, warm and rich, and he looked at the people around the table, suddenly giddy that they had somehow managed to wrestle conflicting schedules into some semblance of synchrony, at Christmas on top of everything else, and had all these wonderful people under their roof at the same time; Viggo's parents and brothers (plus Walter's wife), Hank, and Sam with her husband.
His mother hadn’t come, but Sam had hugged him hard at the door and whispered that she had said hello and merry Christmas, just give her time, please, she’ll come around.
Sam and Grace seemed to get along well, he noted, and not without a small pang of envy. He liked Viggo's mother, and they were always civil toward one another, but there wasn't much warmth between them. Orlando couldn't help feeling reserved around Grace even after all these years, and she had to be picking up on his discomfort They had further been alienated by the years that he and Viggo had spent apart, and he knew it was up to him to make things change, or at least instigate it.
Just maybe not tonight, he amended, and emptied his glass. Walter was immediately re-filling it and Orlando shook his head in mock-horror. Viggo was grinning at him from across the table, and did nothing to help.
All right, so he was getting drunk on Christmas Eve.
He deserved to get drunk once a year. Especially after a year like this.
* * *
Orlando took the dishes back to the kitchen while Viggo said goodbyes; Hank was going to spend the rest of the holidays, plus New Year at his grandparents in New York, and uncharacteristically for him, Viggo hadn't tried to persuade him to stay at the ranch instead. Orlando got a brief hug and a slap on the back before Hank headed out, leaving a non-plussed Orlando behind. Viggo mouthed a 'told you so' in his general direction before seeing his brothers out.
Finally the house was empty, save for the two of them, and Orlando very firmly forbade Viggo from doing anything more strenuous than the dishes; he was still limping from hurting his knee two weeks before - a slipping accident in the yard that had Orlando calling him a stupid, stubborn old man before sitting him down, getting his knee up and calling the doctor - and too much activity still tended to make the injured tissues swell.
"It's not that bad," Viggo tried to argue over the bowl of mashed potatoes he was scraping clean.
"Not bad? Your knee was the size of a watermelon for two days!"
And that was the end of that conversation.
Orlando picked up the bits and pieces of wrapping paper, making sure to save the cards and notes that had been attached to each present from ending up in the garbage bin, re-reading some and smiling to himself. They had asked people to stay, but none had taken them up on their offer; Viggo had whispered to him that they had all probably heard too much on their previous stay-overs, and Orlando had blushed and laughed, and then admitted that Viggo was probably right, even if Viggo’s knee had put a temporary dampener on their love life.
His love life. If there was one thing in the world that had been a literal rollercoaster ride during the past few years, that was it. Love and duty and responsibilities and somehow he had gotten things all mixed up.
If only his mum had come over. And if only his son wasn't literally half a world away.
"In the here and now, Lando," Viggo said from the kitchen doorway, and Orlando smiled wanly, aware that he'd been moping again.
"I know. I'm trying."
Viggo looked like he wanted to say something, but instead he just nodded and went back to the kitchen, and Orlando collected the scrunched up papers and got up from the floor. In the here and now. Easier said than done, but he had promised to try and so he would.
Against all his expectations he had gotten another chance with Viggo, yet another chance to make it right, and that in itself was a miracle; he could hardly ask for two miracles more. Next year, he promised himself. Next year he'd have his mother, and his son, at the table along with everyone else.
He deserved a miracle every once in a while. Once a year would be nice.
* * *
It was still snowing outside, and Orlando made a face as he spied the outside temperature in the thermometer. It was getting colder, and the pile of logs by the fireplace was meagre at best, pitiful at worst. Pulling on his boots and his outer wear, he shuddered in anticipation of the cold and pulled on his knitted cap down to his eyebrows.
“I’ll get some more firewood.”
“Not warm enough yet?” Viggo called out from the kitchen, and Orlando rolled his eyes even as he chuckled. The joke about him always being cold seemingly never got old, although he did get his payback every time he poked his cold toes between Viggo’s warm ones in bed.
He headed out, squinting his eyes against the cold that hit his face as soon as he opened the front door.
He rounded the house to the shack and nearly slipped on the freshly fallen snow. Being younger and having slightly quicker reflexes, he managed to avoid falling but just barely.
“Oh, bollocks!”
His arms loaded with firewood he felt his way back to the house, and paused at the porch. His breath was frosting, and the whole world was covered in snow, pristine white. A perfect moment in a seemingly perfect world.
Things had changed while he had been gone, but mostly just on the surface. Viggo had replaced the cabinets in the kitchen, remodelled the living room, and built a new patio on the back, but all in all, the house was still the same. Still home, after all these years.
They’d made a miracle happen. He had walked in with nothing, and somehow they had given themselves a second chance to make things right, the way they should be. Orlando couldn’t regret the detour he’d taken on his way to right here, but he did wish that it hadn’t been quite so painful for everyone involved.
Viggo had started the fire inside, and Orlando paused for a moment at the sight that greeted him. A blazing fire, two glasses of wine - he swallowed a quip about Viggo wanting to get him drunk to molest him - and a blanket and some cushions thrown on the floor, creating a cosy nest for relaxation, soft music playing in the background. Viggo was lounging on the floor with his injured knee straightened out in front of him, wearing nothing but his old sweat pants. Orlando knelt to put down the firewood and took off his cap, sending his curls tumbling. The frost in his eyelashes melted, and he blamed that for the sudden moisture in his eyes.
“Romance?” he asked, well aware of just how hard Viggo had worked to make the dinner happen, booking flights and hotel rooms, driving back and forth to the town to get all groceries; at best, he had expected a backrub and some snuggling before going to bed, but the tableau that was set in front of the fireplace suggested something much more strenuous, and intimate. He could have sworn he spied the familiar looking cap of the lube bottle peeking from somewhere amidst the cushions.
“You have something against romance?” Viggo asked, and the tone of his voice sent Orlando’s stomach tumbling.
“I can’t think of anything,” he said, his voice suddenly throaty, and he realized he was standing in the middle of the room in his outdoor clothes. “I’ll just get rid of -- these, and join you.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
It felt almost impossible that there would still be this attraction between them, after all these years, most of them spent as lovers, but the heat and the spark was still there, and Orlando almost ran to the mud room to get rid of his boots and his parka, running his hands through his hair to push the loosened curls back from his face.
He smiled wryly as he realized that he was half-hard already, and gave a mental thanks to their dinner guests who by now knew better than to stay over. The wine was making him warm and slightly giddy, and he sauntered over to the living room while shedding his sweater and t-shirt, leaving them where they landed. Viggo was lounging on the cushions, looking slightly out of place - he rarely took the time to simply lie about without at least a book in hand - but so very, very beloved.
“I missed that sight. You losing your clothes like a tree shedding its leaves,” he said, and Orlando’s mouth quirked. Viggo’s old habit of talking strangely while making love had never died.
“Well, watch all you like. ‘t’s just little old me getting comfortable,” he said, and settled down on the floor next to Viggo, their knees brushing. Viggo handed him the wineglass and Orlando settled down comfortably, placing a cushion behind his back. Viggo added a few logs to the fire and they watched the flames starting to lick around the wood.
Orlando started when Viggo ran a hand down his chest and curled slightly around the protruding lowest rib, and sighed at the gentle caress.
“Would you like a backrub?” Viggo asked, and Orlando mmh’ed an affirmative, rolling over in sweet anticipation of Viggo’s warm, weathered hands working on his muscles, and rested his head on his hands.
“I love this,” he mumbled, and smiled when he heard Viggo chuckle. Next he moaned as Viggo’s strong fingers started to knead his back just the way he liked best.
“I know you love my hands.”
“More than love. Adore.” More a purr than actual words.
Finally Viggo’s hands moved lower and Orlando moaned in appreciation as his lower back was worked to total relaxation. Seemingly encouraged by the sound, Viggo’s fingers slipped beneath the waistband of Orlando's jeans, tracing the warm skin underneath. Orlando raised his hips to undo the buttons, and Viggo pulled the jeans off of him, throwing them away. The boxer shorts quickly followed, and Orlando was now naked, his legs slightly spread, and Viggo breathed out hard at the sight. He brushed lightly over Orlando's entrance with his thumb, drawing a shakily exhaled breath from his lover.
“I want to make love,” Orlando said and rolled over, tugging Viggo down to lie next to him. “And I’ll be on top. I’ll kill you if you strain your knee again.”
“Slave driver.”
“You know it. So roll back.”
Viggo turned over to lie on his back with his eyebrows raised, but kept obediently still while Orlando hunted for the lube bottle. Orlando uncapped the bottle and squirted some of the slick into his palm, coating his fingers liberally and then reaching behind himself. Viggo stopped breathing when Orlando wrapped his other hand around Viggo’s cock and did a downward slide and squeeze, coating the hard length in lube.
"I'll embarrass myself if you do that much longer," Viggo said, and Orlando grinned, giving one more tug before moving on.
He straddled Viggo’s hips and guided his cock against his entrance. Joining their hands on the floor near Viggo’s head, he bore down, taking Viggo inside himself. Viggo exhaled long and hard, his fingers flexing around Orlando’s.
“God, I love you.” Sounding slightly strained, and Orlando smiled.
“And I you.”
They moved together without hurry, Orlando raising and lowering himself at a nice, steady pace, and Viggo freeing one of his hands to stroke him. It was familiar, and it was new, their bodies knowing each other on a cellular level and yet still slightly clumsy together, as if they were new lovers, and not lovers of old.
Orlando smiled suddenly, and Viggo started to grin, and they kissed, knowing that neither would last much longer. Orlando moaned when Viggo ran the pad of his thumb over the head of his cock, and came with a deep shudder in long, slow pulses. Viggo’s hand moved to grip his hip and he moaned too when he came, his knees starting to raise and bend but Orlando had enough presence of mind to gently push them back down.
“Don’t. Move,” he said, his voice sounding slightly less authoritative than he would have liked, and started to laugh when Viggo groaned.
“I don’t think I could even if I wanted to.”
“I don’t think I’ll move anytime soon either,” Orlando said, but lifted himself up and arranged them more comfortably, wiping himself clean with Viggo’s t-shirt that was lying beside them and then settling against Viggo. His head found a natural resting spot just under Viggo's collarbone, and Viggo’s fingers started to draw patterns on his arm, like they always did when he was thinking about something. It didn't take a genius to know what he was thinking.
“I’m okay,” Orlando offered, and a smile ghosted on Viggo’s lips. "Better than okay. Very good, even."
“I know. You’re resilient. I just wish you sometimes took the easier road.”
“I have done things the hard way, haven’t I? And it’s taken us years to get over those decisions. But now I’m here. I can’t regret that.”
Viggo squeezed him closer, and Orlando sighed, suddenly drowsy. The fire was crackling away merrily, and he was cosy and warm, and safe. He had told himself that over and over during the past year; no regrets, everything has a meaning, but it hadn’t hit home until Christmas rolled around and he was surrounded again by people who loved him, until he was with Viggo who against all probability still loved him, and wanted him.
He deserved a miracle once a year, and he had received one this Christmas. And so he sent his wish well in advance for the coming year; his son in his arms, and Viggo by his side, dozing off with Yoko and John's voices playing in the background.
So this is Christmas
and what have you done
Another year over
a new one just begun
And so this is Christmas
I hope you have fun
The near and the dear ones
The old and the young
A very merry Christmas
And a happy New Year
Let's hope it's a good one
Without any fear
end.
Author: laeglass
Pairing: VM/OB
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine, not true.
Summary: It's Christmas, and Orlando is where he belongs.
A/N: Written for zee113 as a part of viggorli_xmas Secret Santa fic exchange. Beta'd by the wonderful silvan_lady. This is AU.
"More wine, Orlando?"
Orlando, his train of thought interrupted, smiled and handed over his wineglass. "Yeah, sure."
He noticed Grace looking at him, and twitched a questioning eyebrow in her direction. She turned to say something to Sam and Orlando shrugged to himself. He wasn't getting drunk, and besides, he'd seen Grace sucking down the aperitifs at a much faster pace than this. If they were counting. Which they were not. Oh, all right, it was his third glass of wine for the evening, and he reckoned it would be the last.
"Enjoying yourself, babe?" Viggo asked from across the table, his voice lowered, and Orlando smiled.
"Absolutely," he said, and raised his glass in a toast.
The wine was settling in his belly, warm and rich, and he looked at the people around the table, suddenly giddy that they had somehow managed to wrestle conflicting schedules into some semblance of synchrony, at Christmas on top of everything else, and had all these wonderful people under their roof at the same time; Viggo's parents and brothers (plus Walter's wife), Hank, and Sam with her husband.
His mother hadn’t come, but Sam had hugged him hard at the door and whispered that she had said hello and merry Christmas, just give her time, please, she’ll come around.
Sam and Grace seemed to get along well, he noted, and not without a small pang of envy. He liked Viggo's mother, and they were always civil toward one another, but there wasn't much warmth between them. Orlando couldn't help feeling reserved around Grace even after all these years, and she had to be picking up on his discomfort They had further been alienated by the years that he and Viggo had spent apart, and he knew it was up to him to make things change, or at least instigate it.
Just maybe not tonight, he amended, and emptied his glass. Walter was immediately re-filling it and Orlando shook his head in mock-horror. Viggo was grinning at him from across the table, and did nothing to help.
All right, so he was getting drunk on Christmas Eve.
He deserved to get drunk once a year. Especially after a year like this.
* * *
Orlando took the dishes back to the kitchen while Viggo said goodbyes; Hank was going to spend the rest of the holidays, plus New Year at his grandparents in New York, and uncharacteristically for him, Viggo hadn't tried to persuade him to stay at the ranch instead. Orlando got a brief hug and a slap on the back before Hank headed out, leaving a non-plussed Orlando behind. Viggo mouthed a 'told you so' in his general direction before seeing his brothers out.
Finally the house was empty, save for the two of them, and Orlando very firmly forbade Viggo from doing anything more strenuous than the dishes; he was still limping from hurting his knee two weeks before - a slipping accident in the yard that had Orlando calling him a stupid, stubborn old man before sitting him down, getting his knee up and calling the doctor - and too much activity still tended to make the injured tissues swell.
"It's not that bad," Viggo tried to argue over the bowl of mashed potatoes he was scraping clean.
"Not bad? Your knee was the size of a watermelon for two days!"
And that was the end of that conversation.
Orlando picked up the bits and pieces of wrapping paper, making sure to save the cards and notes that had been attached to each present from ending up in the garbage bin, re-reading some and smiling to himself. They had asked people to stay, but none had taken them up on their offer; Viggo had whispered to him that they had all probably heard too much on their previous stay-overs, and Orlando had blushed and laughed, and then admitted that Viggo was probably right, even if Viggo’s knee had put a temporary dampener on their love life.
His love life. If there was one thing in the world that had been a literal rollercoaster ride during the past few years, that was it. Love and duty and responsibilities and somehow he had gotten things all mixed up.
If only his mum had come over. And if only his son wasn't literally half a world away.
"In the here and now, Lando," Viggo said from the kitchen doorway, and Orlando smiled wanly, aware that he'd been moping again.
"I know. I'm trying."
Viggo looked like he wanted to say something, but instead he just nodded and went back to the kitchen, and Orlando collected the scrunched up papers and got up from the floor. In the here and now. Easier said than done, but he had promised to try and so he would.
Against all his expectations he had gotten another chance with Viggo, yet another chance to make it right, and that in itself was a miracle; he could hardly ask for two miracles more. Next year, he promised himself. Next year he'd have his mother, and his son, at the table along with everyone else.
He deserved a miracle every once in a while. Once a year would be nice.
* * *
It was still snowing outside, and Orlando made a face as he spied the outside temperature in the thermometer. It was getting colder, and the pile of logs by the fireplace was meagre at best, pitiful at worst. Pulling on his boots and his outer wear, he shuddered in anticipation of the cold and pulled on his knitted cap down to his eyebrows.
“I’ll get some more firewood.”
“Not warm enough yet?” Viggo called out from the kitchen, and Orlando rolled his eyes even as he chuckled. The joke about him always being cold seemingly never got old, although he did get his payback every time he poked his cold toes between Viggo’s warm ones in bed.
He headed out, squinting his eyes against the cold that hit his face as soon as he opened the front door.
He rounded the house to the shack and nearly slipped on the freshly fallen snow. Being younger and having slightly quicker reflexes, he managed to avoid falling but just barely.
“Oh, bollocks!”
His arms loaded with firewood he felt his way back to the house, and paused at the porch. His breath was frosting, and the whole world was covered in snow, pristine white. A perfect moment in a seemingly perfect world.
Things had changed while he had been gone, but mostly just on the surface. Viggo had replaced the cabinets in the kitchen, remodelled the living room, and built a new patio on the back, but all in all, the house was still the same. Still home, after all these years.
They’d made a miracle happen. He had walked in with nothing, and somehow they had given themselves a second chance to make things right, the way they should be. Orlando couldn’t regret the detour he’d taken on his way to right here, but he did wish that it hadn’t been quite so painful for everyone involved.
Viggo had started the fire inside, and Orlando paused for a moment at the sight that greeted him. A blazing fire, two glasses of wine - he swallowed a quip about Viggo wanting to get him drunk to molest him - and a blanket and some cushions thrown on the floor, creating a cosy nest for relaxation, soft music playing in the background. Viggo was lounging on the floor with his injured knee straightened out in front of him, wearing nothing but his old sweat pants. Orlando knelt to put down the firewood and took off his cap, sending his curls tumbling. The frost in his eyelashes melted, and he blamed that for the sudden moisture in his eyes.
“Romance?” he asked, well aware of just how hard Viggo had worked to make the dinner happen, booking flights and hotel rooms, driving back and forth to the town to get all groceries; at best, he had expected a backrub and some snuggling before going to bed, but the tableau that was set in front of the fireplace suggested something much more strenuous, and intimate. He could have sworn he spied the familiar looking cap of the lube bottle peeking from somewhere amidst the cushions.
“You have something against romance?” Viggo asked, and the tone of his voice sent Orlando’s stomach tumbling.
“I can’t think of anything,” he said, his voice suddenly throaty, and he realized he was standing in the middle of the room in his outdoor clothes. “I’ll just get rid of -- these, and join you.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
It felt almost impossible that there would still be this attraction between them, after all these years, most of them spent as lovers, but the heat and the spark was still there, and Orlando almost ran to the mud room to get rid of his boots and his parka, running his hands through his hair to push the loosened curls back from his face.
He smiled wryly as he realized that he was half-hard already, and gave a mental thanks to their dinner guests who by now knew better than to stay over. The wine was making him warm and slightly giddy, and he sauntered over to the living room while shedding his sweater and t-shirt, leaving them where they landed. Viggo was lounging on the cushions, looking slightly out of place - he rarely took the time to simply lie about without at least a book in hand - but so very, very beloved.
“I missed that sight. You losing your clothes like a tree shedding its leaves,” he said, and Orlando’s mouth quirked. Viggo’s old habit of talking strangely while making love had never died.
“Well, watch all you like. ‘t’s just little old me getting comfortable,” he said, and settled down on the floor next to Viggo, their knees brushing. Viggo handed him the wineglass and Orlando settled down comfortably, placing a cushion behind his back. Viggo added a few logs to the fire and they watched the flames starting to lick around the wood.
Orlando started when Viggo ran a hand down his chest and curled slightly around the protruding lowest rib, and sighed at the gentle caress.
“Would you like a backrub?” Viggo asked, and Orlando mmh’ed an affirmative, rolling over in sweet anticipation of Viggo’s warm, weathered hands working on his muscles, and rested his head on his hands.
“I love this,” he mumbled, and smiled when he heard Viggo chuckle. Next he moaned as Viggo’s strong fingers started to knead his back just the way he liked best.
“I know you love my hands.”
“More than love. Adore.” More a purr than actual words.
Finally Viggo’s hands moved lower and Orlando moaned in appreciation as his lower back was worked to total relaxation. Seemingly encouraged by the sound, Viggo’s fingers slipped beneath the waistband of Orlando's jeans, tracing the warm skin underneath. Orlando raised his hips to undo the buttons, and Viggo pulled the jeans off of him, throwing them away. The boxer shorts quickly followed, and Orlando was now naked, his legs slightly spread, and Viggo breathed out hard at the sight. He brushed lightly over Orlando's entrance with his thumb, drawing a shakily exhaled breath from his lover.
“I want to make love,” Orlando said and rolled over, tugging Viggo down to lie next to him. “And I’ll be on top. I’ll kill you if you strain your knee again.”
“Slave driver.”
“You know it. So roll back.”
Viggo turned over to lie on his back with his eyebrows raised, but kept obediently still while Orlando hunted for the lube bottle. Orlando uncapped the bottle and squirted some of the slick into his palm, coating his fingers liberally and then reaching behind himself. Viggo stopped breathing when Orlando wrapped his other hand around Viggo’s cock and did a downward slide and squeeze, coating the hard length in lube.
"I'll embarrass myself if you do that much longer," Viggo said, and Orlando grinned, giving one more tug before moving on.
He straddled Viggo’s hips and guided his cock against his entrance. Joining their hands on the floor near Viggo’s head, he bore down, taking Viggo inside himself. Viggo exhaled long and hard, his fingers flexing around Orlando’s.
“God, I love you.” Sounding slightly strained, and Orlando smiled.
“And I you.”
They moved together without hurry, Orlando raising and lowering himself at a nice, steady pace, and Viggo freeing one of his hands to stroke him. It was familiar, and it was new, their bodies knowing each other on a cellular level and yet still slightly clumsy together, as if they were new lovers, and not lovers of old.
Orlando smiled suddenly, and Viggo started to grin, and they kissed, knowing that neither would last much longer. Orlando moaned when Viggo ran the pad of his thumb over the head of his cock, and came with a deep shudder in long, slow pulses. Viggo’s hand moved to grip his hip and he moaned too when he came, his knees starting to raise and bend but Orlando had enough presence of mind to gently push them back down.
“Don’t. Move,” he said, his voice sounding slightly less authoritative than he would have liked, and started to laugh when Viggo groaned.
“I don’t think I could even if I wanted to.”
“I don’t think I’ll move anytime soon either,” Orlando said, but lifted himself up and arranged them more comfortably, wiping himself clean with Viggo’s t-shirt that was lying beside them and then settling against Viggo. His head found a natural resting spot just under Viggo's collarbone, and Viggo’s fingers started to draw patterns on his arm, like they always did when he was thinking about something. It didn't take a genius to know what he was thinking.
“I’m okay,” Orlando offered, and a smile ghosted on Viggo’s lips. "Better than okay. Very good, even."
“I know. You’re resilient. I just wish you sometimes took the easier road.”
“I have done things the hard way, haven’t I? And it’s taken us years to get over those decisions. But now I’m here. I can’t regret that.”
Viggo squeezed him closer, and Orlando sighed, suddenly drowsy. The fire was crackling away merrily, and he was cosy and warm, and safe. He had told himself that over and over during the past year; no regrets, everything has a meaning, but it hadn’t hit home until Christmas rolled around and he was surrounded again by people who loved him, until he was with Viggo who against all probability still loved him, and wanted him.
He deserved a miracle once a year, and he had received one this Christmas. And so he sent his wish well in advance for the coming year; his son in his arms, and Viggo by his side, dozing off with Yoko and John's voices playing in the background.
So this is Christmas
and what have you done
Another year over
a new one just begun
And so this is Christmas
I hope you have fun
The near and the dear ones
The old and the young
A very merry Christmas
And a happy New Year
Let's hope it's a good one
Without any fear
end.