Walk Away
Title: Walk Away
Author: Moraya (mesnica)
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando
Rating: NC17
Summary: Now I won't die if you walk away, but I may not live.
Warnings: *heavy angst, unhappy ending* (highlight between asterisks)
Disclaimer: I really sincerely hope this didn't happen. It's all lies.
Feedback: Please!
Beta: The amazing tularia
A/N: This was written as an exercise and because the bunny wouldn't let go. Partly inspired by Walk Away from The Crüxshadows.
Walk Away
there are lessons that sadness
can only teach
there are things that we must learn
now I won't die if you walk away
but I may not live
~ The Crüxshadows - Walk Away
The air was warm, humidity seeping through his clothes and dampening his skin underneath, but as he sat in the shadows of the down-let shutters, the young man hugged his knees and shivered. He could hear his teeth chatter, the only noise that broke the silence in the half-dark room. He rubbed his hands over his legs, willing the motion to create heat, but in his heart he knew that what he was feeling wasn't a cold from the outside.
Don't think about it. Don't.
Letting his head drop to his knees, he bit back the tears that threatened to well up. He wouldn't cry, he just wouldn't. His cell phone rang, the shrill sound startling him only for a split second. He wouldn't answer it. There was no one he wanted or needed to talk to anyway.
Orlando didn't know how long he had sat like this, crunched together on the couch. It must have been a while; he couldn't feel his legs anymore, and as he finally found the will to move, they felt like a million ants where stinging and biting him.
He dropped back, letting his head hit the backrest, and closed his eyes. Thoughts and images were racing through his head, flickering and changing constantly and gone before he could grasp onto a single one, but no emotions, no feelings.
It had started three days before, when the build up had at last reached its peak and there just wasn't any more; when hanging on to a love that once had made both of them giddy and enthusiastic with its intensity now just wasn't enough.
When did that happen anyway?
Orlando couldn't remember. Life happens when you're busy making other plans, and plans he had had a lot. Still had actually, but that was just one of the things he couldn't care less about at the moment.
"When did you stop loving me?"
"I never did."
"Then why?" he screamed. Anger was a better emotion than sadness.
"Love alone isn't enough. I'm sorry."
And then Viggo had looked at him, and Orlando had for the first time noticed the lines age had imprinted in his face over the years, had for the first time seen the bits of grey that started framing his face. He had looked so old in that moment, old and worn out, and Orlando realized that he was responsible for a lot of the lines and the grey.
"But we love each other," he whispered, shocked and disbelieving and clutching at straws that were out of his reach.
Viggo smiled sadly then, hugging Orlando and holding him in his embrace. He didn't say anything, just ran his hand over the younger man's back as if that motion could somehow stroke the love out of him.
Orlando remembered how he had desperately hung onto him, gripping the soft fabric of Viggo's battered t-shirt in his hands, inhaling the scent that he was always able to recall, no matter how long they'd been apart. Viggo's hands had been upon him and his had been on Viggo and they were clutching at the other one's clothes, ripping fabric and popping buttons, and for a short sweet moment it had felt as if everything would be okay again.
Familiar nearness and frantic need was common when they met after a long time of phone calls, letters and post cards; and all words of an end were forgotten as he once again felt his lover's hardness grinding against his own, heard the gasps and groans that were swallowed between lips and dueling tongues.
"Yes, yes, yes," Orlando chanted, pushing his hips against Viggo's groin, needing the friction, needing Viggo.
They tumbled to the floor, the carpet not doing anything to soften the impact, and Orlando groaned as he was pressed into it by the weight of Viggo's body. He struggled to get his jeans off, struggled to keep his lover's hands on him at the same time.
There had been more tearing and ripping before they were both naked, clinging to one another and letting the lust overrun anything that had been said and felt before.
Orlando had tears in his eyes as the first finger pressed into him, stinging and hurting. Still, he pushed down on it, forcing it deeper inside, the pain welcome.
He looked up as he heard the telltale sound of a condom being opened, the question on his lips dying at the look in Viggo's face. There hadn't been a reason for condoms before; was there now?
Then another finger joined the first in his arse, and Viggo was scissoring them, stretching and widening Orlando, and one of them brushed over the spot that made him see stars and forget unaccustomed protecting devices.
Orlando recalled the scream that had spilled out of his mouth as Viggo pushed into him, the thrust only bearable by the small amount of lubrication that came with the condom. It had hurt; the realization that this was the last time he'd feel his love in him had hurt even more.
There had been tears in Viggo's eyes as well, and he wasn't sure if Viggo was crying because of the physical or the emotional pain he was causing him.
Orlando had slung his legs around Viggo's waist, opening himself more, consciously willing himself to relax and loosen. He hadn't wanted the pain, he hadn't wanted the lump that constricted his throat and made simple breathing almost impossible.
He curled himself as much around the older man as humanly possible, needing to feel as much of Viggo's sweaty skin on his own, wanting to crawl under it. His legs held Viggo imprisoned, granting him barely the leverage to thrust, but every tiny shove and jerk was too much. He spiraled faster and faster to his release, sobbing in frustration at his traitorous body.
"So good," Viggo groaned, eyes clenched together, and Orlando wanted to yell 'why don't you want this forever then?' but all that came out of his mouth was a wail as the hot hard cock in him grazed his prostate and pushed him even closer to the edge.
The tears that had fallen from him that night were dried now, leaving only a restricting numbness behind. The ants in his legs were gone now, and Orlando pushed himself up from the couch, dragging a hand through his sweat soaked curls.
He still was freezing. He had been freezing since he left Viggo's house in the middle after the night, not ten minutes after both of them had come. His own come on his belly making the light t-shirt he'd worn stick to his skin and he had shivered terribly as he opened the door of his car.
The cold was all that was left, the cold and the numbness. There weren't any tears anymore, and Orlando was glad about it. The cold and the numbness weren't hurting.
THE END
Author: Moraya (mesnica)
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando
Rating: NC17
Summary: Now I won't die if you walk away, but I may not live.
Warnings: *heavy angst, unhappy ending* (highlight between asterisks)
Disclaimer: I really sincerely hope this didn't happen. It's all lies.
Feedback: Please!
Beta: The amazing tularia
A/N: This was written as an exercise and because the bunny wouldn't let go. Partly inspired by Walk Away from The Crüxshadows.
Walk Away
there are lessons that sadness
can only teach
there are things that we must learn
now I won't die if you walk away
but I may not live
~ The Crüxshadows - Walk Away
The air was warm, humidity seeping through his clothes and dampening his skin underneath, but as he sat in the shadows of the down-let shutters, the young man hugged his knees and shivered. He could hear his teeth chatter, the only noise that broke the silence in the half-dark room. He rubbed his hands over his legs, willing the motion to create heat, but in his heart he knew that what he was feeling wasn't a cold from the outside.
Don't think about it. Don't.
Letting his head drop to his knees, he bit back the tears that threatened to well up. He wouldn't cry, he just wouldn't. His cell phone rang, the shrill sound startling him only for a split second. He wouldn't answer it. There was no one he wanted or needed to talk to anyway.
Orlando didn't know how long he had sat like this, crunched together on the couch. It must have been a while; he couldn't feel his legs anymore, and as he finally found the will to move, they felt like a million ants where stinging and biting him.
He dropped back, letting his head hit the backrest, and closed his eyes. Thoughts and images were racing through his head, flickering and changing constantly and gone before he could grasp onto a single one, but no emotions, no feelings.
It had started three days before, when the build up had at last reached its peak and there just wasn't any more; when hanging on to a love that once had made both of them giddy and enthusiastic with its intensity now just wasn't enough.
When did that happen anyway?
Orlando couldn't remember. Life happens when you're busy making other plans, and plans he had had a lot. Still had actually, but that was just one of the things he couldn't care less about at the moment.
"When did you stop loving me?"
"I never did."
"Then why?" he screamed. Anger was a better emotion than sadness.
"Love alone isn't enough. I'm sorry."
And then Viggo had looked at him, and Orlando had for the first time noticed the lines age had imprinted in his face over the years, had for the first time seen the bits of grey that started framing his face. He had looked so old in that moment, old and worn out, and Orlando realized that he was responsible for a lot of the lines and the grey.
"But we love each other," he whispered, shocked and disbelieving and clutching at straws that were out of his reach.
Viggo smiled sadly then, hugging Orlando and holding him in his embrace. He didn't say anything, just ran his hand over the younger man's back as if that motion could somehow stroke the love out of him.
Orlando remembered how he had desperately hung onto him, gripping the soft fabric of Viggo's battered t-shirt in his hands, inhaling the scent that he was always able to recall, no matter how long they'd been apart. Viggo's hands had been upon him and his had been on Viggo and they were clutching at the other one's clothes, ripping fabric and popping buttons, and for a short sweet moment it had felt as if everything would be okay again.
Familiar nearness and frantic need was common when they met after a long time of phone calls, letters and post cards; and all words of an end were forgotten as he once again felt his lover's hardness grinding against his own, heard the gasps and groans that were swallowed between lips and dueling tongues.
"Yes, yes, yes," Orlando chanted, pushing his hips against Viggo's groin, needing the friction, needing Viggo.
They tumbled to the floor, the carpet not doing anything to soften the impact, and Orlando groaned as he was pressed into it by the weight of Viggo's body. He struggled to get his jeans off, struggled to keep his lover's hands on him at the same time.
There had been more tearing and ripping before they were both naked, clinging to one another and letting the lust overrun anything that had been said and felt before.
Orlando had tears in his eyes as the first finger pressed into him, stinging and hurting. Still, he pushed down on it, forcing it deeper inside, the pain welcome.
He looked up as he heard the telltale sound of a condom being opened, the question on his lips dying at the look in Viggo's face. There hadn't been a reason for condoms before; was there now?
Then another finger joined the first in his arse, and Viggo was scissoring them, stretching and widening Orlando, and one of them brushed over the spot that made him see stars and forget unaccustomed protecting devices.
Orlando recalled the scream that had spilled out of his mouth as Viggo pushed into him, the thrust only bearable by the small amount of lubrication that came with the condom. It had hurt; the realization that this was the last time he'd feel his love in him had hurt even more.
There had been tears in Viggo's eyes as well, and he wasn't sure if Viggo was crying because of the physical or the emotional pain he was causing him.
Orlando had slung his legs around Viggo's waist, opening himself more, consciously willing himself to relax and loosen. He hadn't wanted the pain, he hadn't wanted the lump that constricted his throat and made simple breathing almost impossible.
He curled himself as much around the older man as humanly possible, needing to feel as much of Viggo's sweaty skin on his own, wanting to crawl under it. His legs held Viggo imprisoned, granting him barely the leverage to thrust, but every tiny shove and jerk was too much. He spiraled faster and faster to his release, sobbing in frustration at his traitorous body.
"So good," Viggo groaned, eyes clenched together, and Orlando wanted to yell 'why don't you want this forever then?' but all that came out of his mouth was a wail as the hot hard cock in him grazed his prostate and pushed him even closer to the edge.
The tears that had fallen from him that night were dried now, leaving only a restricting numbness behind. The ants in his legs were gone now, and Orlando pushed himself up from the couch, dragging a hand through his sweat soaked curls.
He still was freezing. He had been freezing since he left Viggo's house in the middle after the night, not ten minutes after both of them had come. His own come on his belly making the light t-shirt he'd worn stick to his skin and he had shivered terribly as he opened the door of his car.
The cold was all that was left, the cold and the numbness. There weren't any tears anymore, and Orlando was glad about it. The cold and the numbness weren't hurting.
THE END