Evidence (6)
Title: Evidence
Author: Moraya (mesnica)
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando
Rating: NC-17 (overall)
Warnings: angst
Summary: Orlando has done something incredibly stupid.
Disclaimer: If this would be true, this story wouldn't be the first place you read about it. In other words, it's pure fiction.
Feedback: Is loved very much!
A/N: Present/future time fic. Not sure when exactly, the boys didn't tell me so far, but it's either now or in a not so far future. Doesn't matter that much though.
Beta: tularia
Dedicated to bwitched83uk for helping me to flesh this bunny out and believing in me. I love you, hon *snuggles*
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Two days later, Orlando had gotten used to the quietness, to creaking hardwood floors and a TV that stayed black and cold. He even slept through the nights without waking once, even though the nightmares hadn't ceased and left him with fading images of what-could-be's lingering in his mind every morning.
Two days later also marked the half-time of his stay in the seclusion of Viggo's home in Idaho, and looking back, the days seemed to have gone by much too quickly. The remaining ones, Orlando knew, would race by even faster. Time never stood still; but why did the days you like seem to fly by and those you hate creep on?
The sunbeams hit his face directly, making him screw his eyes shut in an attempt to keep the day away and sleep a while longer. He didn't feel rested at all. Looking over at the alarm clock on the bedside drawer, he saw that it was almost noon.
Orlando sighed and swung his legs out of bed. He dragged a hand through his sleep-tousled curls and padded over to his still not unpacked travel bag sitting on a chair by the window. He rummaged through his clothes, trying to find a clean pair of boxers. There had to be some left; he couldn't have only brought two, right?
He only found t-shirts and socks though. Frustrated, he grabbed the bag and turned it around, spilling the contents on the floor. Orlando shook the bag once more, making sure that everything had fallen out, and a sudden sharp thud sounded as something other than fabric hit the wooden floor.
His eyes riveted on the object that had caused the noise. Orlando felt his heart stop beating.
The packet was lying on the floor; wrapping more torn than before, and a few pictures having fallen out.
As if on autopilot, Orlando dropped to his knees next to it, his hand going out to grip it, only to still just centimeters from it. He forcible reminded himself to just breathe, and lowered his fingers to the packet, feeling the cold material under his hand.
Why was it even here? Did he… fuck, yes. He had pushed it into the side pocket of his bag, not having any other place to hide it as the doorbell had rang and Sidi had been barking and Viggo had been standing on the other side of the door waiting for him to open it.
Orlando sat down on the cold hard floor, absentmindedly pushing the pictures back into the packet. He didn't look at them; he knew what they showed.
A mistake. A threat. A declension. An end. Him.
His end.
The packet hit the wall with a clank.
* * * * *
The sudden noise from Orlando's room, the guest room, Viggo reminded himself, resounded through the house and Viggo stopped cutting vegetables for their lunch. He listened attentively, trying to determine what that sound had been.
Only silence met his ears. Viggo was torn between checking on the younger man and leaving it up to Orlando to ask for help if he needed it. He took the knife up again, cutting into the carrot, then let it sink to the table again.
The chair screeched over the floor tiles as he stood up, breaking the silence momentarily.
Viggo went down the hallway, coming to stand before the closed door to the guest room. He still couldn't hear a sound and knocked tentatively.
When he got no answer, he knocked again. "Orlando?"
He pushed the handle down, opening the door just a gap and peaked inside the room. "Orlando?"
Opening the door further, Viggo finally saw the young man, still wearing his sleeping clothes, sitting on the floor amidst his strewn out clothing. He had his legs pulled close to his body, hugging them and resting his head on his knees. He didn't notice Viggo going up to him and crouching down in front of him.
He looked like a little lost child. Viggo wanted nothing more than take him into his arms.
"Orlando?" he asked softly, silently, and reached out with one hand to touch one of Orlando's arms.
The touch got a response. The younger man jerked slightly, then looked up and Viggo saw that he had tears in his eyes.
"What happened, Orlando?" Viggo asked concerned.
The younger man's eyes flickered to the bed on the other side of the room, and Viggo's followed. When he realized that it was the packet, contents spilled out all over the sheets, Viggo swallowed.
"The last days," Orlando began in a flat and detached voice, looking down at his knees, "I almost forgot why I was here." He bit his lower lip, then shook his head. "I should have known."
"What-"
"Do you know what that is? Do you, Viggo?" Orlando's voice rose, sounding nothing like his own at all.
"I… yes."
At this, Orlando looked up, staring at Viggo. His eyes were requesting an explanation and it was lying on Viggo's tongue, but for some reason the older man didn't know, it wouldn't come out.
Suddenly, Orlando pushed Viggo away and got up, then walked over to the bed. His back was turned to Viggo as he asked his next question silently. "Why?"
Why what? Why did he know? "What do you mean?" Viggo asked back.
Whirling around, Orlando looked at the older man as if he just now realized he had spoken aloud. "I… I don't know. I…" he trailed off and sat down on the bed.
Viggo closed the gap and squatted down before him. He could have sat on the bed too, but he needed to be able to see the younger man's eyes that were now looking at a point on the floor, unfocused.
"Why did I do it, Viggo? How can I be so fucking stupid? Such a brainless idiot. I didn't even think. I just went there and spread my legs like a whore." Orlando spat the words out.
"Orlando…" Viggo said helpless.
"I am, you know?" Orlando said, looking up and straight at Viggo. "Just look at the pictures." He leaned over and randomly grabbed some, thrusting them at Viggo. "That's me. That's all I am."
"That's not true, and you know it. Orlando," Viggo put the pictures back on the bed without looking and put his now free hand on Orlando's, "don't let this rule you. You're stronger than that."
Orlando looked down at where his hand was covered by Viggo's, and shook his head. "No," he said softly. "How can I fight this Viggo?" He looked up again, eyes wide and red-rimmed and pleading at the older man. "How can I be stronger than something that totally out of my control?" His voice that had started out silently and almost broken rose to an angry hiss.
Viggo stayed silent, contemplating Orlando's words that he desperately wished he knew an answer to.
When he got no answer, Orlando's shoulders slumped, and he withdrew his hand from under Viggo's, shifting around until he sat sideways on the bed. "I can't believe that's me," he said under his breath, talking to himself.
Viggo's eyes were drawn to the pictures Orlando was looking at, and for the first time, he actually saw them. Stills from a movie that displayed the younger man completely and merciless; naked and aroused and so obviously enjoying himself that Viggo knew he had to look away or embarrass himself.
"It's been a long time," Viggo said, both to reassure himself and to console Orlando.
Orlando looked up and turned his head towards the older man. "That doesn't really matter though, does it?" he said. "You know how the business is, Viggo, even if you don't play it. This is the image they'll have of me. This will be me."
"For the public you may be right, but," Viggo reached out and put his hands on Orlando's shoulders, ensuring that the younger man was looking at him, "you know that there's more to you, your family knows, your friends know, I know."
"Do you really?"
"Yes," Viggo said with vigor.
"How can you know when I don't even know myself?" Orlando questioned, his eyes staring challengingly at the older man. "And you don't know everything I've ever done."
Viggo shook his head. "That's right, I don't. But I still know you; this movie isn't going to change that."
"Really?" There was defiance in Orlando's voice, mingled with sarcasm and disbelief, as he rose of the bed and picked the tape up from it. He idly turned it over in his hands, looking at it for a moment.
Viggo watched him, confused. "Yes, really," he insisted.
Orlando didn't answer him as he crossed the room and went out of the door into the hallway. Viggo followed him into the living room. His questions about what Orlando was up to were ignored.
Going straight to the TV, Orlando crouched down before it and pushed the tape into the VCR on the rack below. He was about to press the play button when Viggo's hand on his arm stopped him.
"Let go," Orlando said angrily, turning his head to the other man.
"No."
"Let. Me. Go."
"Why are you doing that? What do you think you're going to achieve by playing the tape?"
"You don't understand, do you?" Orlando asked irately.
"No, I don't," Viggo said, getting more and more frustrated. "Explain to me why you want to watch something that's so obviously making you miserable."
Orlando snorted, still trying to twist his arm free from the other man's grip. "This has nothing to do with me. I would love if no one ever again saw it, but that's something that's not gonna happen, yeah?" He paused shortly and when he continued talking, his words were not as heated anymore, more carefully chosen. "You said you would know me, and that this movie wasn't going to change anything. I need to know if that's really the truth."
Chapter 7
Author: Moraya (mesnica)
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando
Rating: NC-17 (overall)
Warnings: angst
Summary: Orlando has done something incredibly stupid.
Disclaimer: If this would be true, this story wouldn't be the first place you read about it. In other words, it's pure fiction.
Feedback: Is loved very much!
A/N: Present/future time fic. Not sure when exactly, the boys didn't tell me so far, but it's either now or in a not so far future. Doesn't matter that much though.
Beta: tularia
Dedicated to bwitched83uk for helping me to flesh this bunny out and believing in me. I love you, hon *snuggles*
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Two days later, Orlando had gotten used to the quietness, to creaking hardwood floors and a TV that stayed black and cold. He even slept through the nights without waking once, even though the nightmares hadn't ceased and left him with fading images of what-could-be's lingering in his mind every morning.
Two days later also marked the half-time of his stay in the seclusion of Viggo's home in Idaho, and looking back, the days seemed to have gone by much too quickly. The remaining ones, Orlando knew, would race by even faster. Time never stood still; but why did the days you like seem to fly by and those you hate creep on?
The sunbeams hit his face directly, making him screw his eyes shut in an attempt to keep the day away and sleep a while longer. He didn't feel rested at all. Looking over at the alarm clock on the bedside drawer, he saw that it was almost noon.
Orlando sighed and swung his legs out of bed. He dragged a hand through his sleep-tousled curls and padded over to his still not unpacked travel bag sitting on a chair by the window. He rummaged through his clothes, trying to find a clean pair of boxers. There had to be some left; he couldn't have only brought two, right?
He only found t-shirts and socks though. Frustrated, he grabbed the bag and turned it around, spilling the contents on the floor. Orlando shook the bag once more, making sure that everything had fallen out, and a sudden sharp thud sounded as something other than fabric hit the wooden floor.
His eyes riveted on the object that had caused the noise. Orlando felt his heart stop beating.
The packet was lying on the floor; wrapping more torn than before, and a few pictures having fallen out.
As if on autopilot, Orlando dropped to his knees next to it, his hand going out to grip it, only to still just centimeters from it. He forcible reminded himself to just breathe, and lowered his fingers to the packet, feeling the cold material under his hand.
Why was it even here? Did he… fuck, yes. He had pushed it into the side pocket of his bag, not having any other place to hide it as the doorbell had rang and Sidi had been barking and Viggo had been standing on the other side of the door waiting for him to open it.
Orlando sat down on the cold hard floor, absentmindedly pushing the pictures back into the packet. He didn't look at them; he knew what they showed.
A mistake. A threat. A declension. An end. Him.
His end.
The packet hit the wall with a clank.
* * * * *
The sudden noise from Orlando's room, the guest room, Viggo reminded himself, resounded through the house and Viggo stopped cutting vegetables for their lunch. He listened attentively, trying to determine what that sound had been.
Only silence met his ears. Viggo was torn between checking on the younger man and leaving it up to Orlando to ask for help if he needed it. He took the knife up again, cutting into the carrot, then let it sink to the table again.
The chair screeched over the floor tiles as he stood up, breaking the silence momentarily.
Viggo went down the hallway, coming to stand before the closed door to the guest room. He still couldn't hear a sound and knocked tentatively.
When he got no answer, he knocked again. "Orlando?"
He pushed the handle down, opening the door just a gap and peaked inside the room. "Orlando?"
Opening the door further, Viggo finally saw the young man, still wearing his sleeping clothes, sitting on the floor amidst his strewn out clothing. He had his legs pulled close to his body, hugging them and resting his head on his knees. He didn't notice Viggo going up to him and crouching down in front of him.
He looked like a little lost child. Viggo wanted nothing more than take him into his arms.
"Orlando?" he asked softly, silently, and reached out with one hand to touch one of Orlando's arms.
The touch got a response. The younger man jerked slightly, then looked up and Viggo saw that he had tears in his eyes.
"What happened, Orlando?" Viggo asked concerned.
The younger man's eyes flickered to the bed on the other side of the room, and Viggo's followed. When he realized that it was the packet, contents spilled out all over the sheets, Viggo swallowed.
"The last days," Orlando began in a flat and detached voice, looking down at his knees, "I almost forgot why I was here." He bit his lower lip, then shook his head. "I should have known."
"What-"
"Do you know what that is? Do you, Viggo?" Orlando's voice rose, sounding nothing like his own at all.
"I… yes."
At this, Orlando looked up, staring at Viggo. His eyes were requesting an explanation and it was lying on Viggo's tongue, but for some reason the older man didn't know, it wouldn't come out.
Suddenly, Orlando pushed Viggo away and got up, then walked over to the bed. His back was turned to Viggo as he asked his next question silently. "Why?"
Why what? Why did he know? "What do you mean?" Viggo asked back.
Whirling around, Orlando looked at the older man as if he just now realized he had spoken aloud. "I… I don't know. I…" he trailed off and sat down on the bed.
Viggo closed the gap and squatted down before him. He could have sat on the bed too, but he needed to be able to see the younger man's eyes that were now looking at a point on the floor, unfocused.
"Why did I do it, Viggo? How can I be so fucking stupid? Such a brainless idiot. I didn't even think. I just went there and spread my legs like a whore." Orlando spat the words out.
"Orlando…" Viggo said helpless.
"I am, you know?" Orlando said, looking up and straight at Viggo. "Just look at the pictures." He leaned over and randomly grabbed some, thrusting them at Viggo. "That's me. That's all I am."
"That's not true, and you know it. Orlando," Viggo put the pictures back on the bed without looking and put his now free hand on Orlando's, "don't let this rule you. You're stronger than that."
Orlando looked down at where his hand was covered by Viggo's, and shook his head. "No," he said softly. "How can I fight this Viggo?" He looked up again, eyes wide and red-rimmed and pleading at the older man. "How can I be stronger than something that totally out of my control?" His voice that had started out silently and almost broken rose to an angry hiss.
Viggo stayed silent, contemplating Orlando's words that he desperately wished he knew an answer to.
When he got no answer, Orlando's shoulders slumped, and he withdrew his hand from under Viggo's, shifting around until he sat sideways on the bed. "I can't believe that's me," he said under his breath, talking to himself.
Viggo's eyes were drawn to the pictures Orlando was looking at, and for the first time, he actually saw them. Stills from a movie that displayed the younger man completely and merciless; naked and aroused and so obviously enjoying himself that Viggo knew he had to look away or embarrass himself.
"It's been a long time," Viggo said, both to reassure himself and to console Orlando.
Orlando looked up and turned his head towards the older man. "That doesn't really matter though, does it?" he said. "You know how the business is, Viggo, even if you don't play it. This is the image they'll have of me. This will be me."
"For the public you may be right, but," Viggo reached out and put his hands on Orlando's shoulders, ensuring that the younger man was looking at him, "you know that there's more to you, your family knows, your friends know, I know."
"Do you really?"
"Yes," Viggo said with vigor.
"How can you know when I don't even know myself?" Orlando questioned, his eyes staring challengingly at the older man. "And you don't know everything I've ever done."
Viggo shook his head. "That's right, I don't. But I still know you; this movie isn't going to change that."
"Really?" There was defiance in Orlando's voice, mingled with sarcasm and disbelief, as he rose of the bed and picked the tape up from it. He idly turned it over in his hands, looking at it for a moment.
Viggo watched him, confused. "Yes, really," he insisted.
Orlando didn't answer him as he crossed the room and went out of the door into the hallway. Viggo followed him into the living room. His questions about what Orlando was up to were ignored.
Going straight to the TV, Orlando crouched down before it and pushed the tape into the VCR on the rack below. He was about to press the play button when Viggo's hand on his arm stopped him.
"Let go," Orlando said angrily, turning his head to the other man.
"No."
"Let. Me. Go."
"Why are you doing that? What do you think you're going to achieve by playing the tape?"
"You don't understand, do you?" Orlando asked irately.
"No, I don't," Viggo said, getting more and more frustrated. "Explain to me why you want to watch something that's so obviously making you miserable."
Orlando snorted, still trying to twist his arm free from the other man's grip. "This has nothing to do with me. I would love if no one ever again saw it, but that's something that's not gonna happen, yeah?" He paused shortly and when he continued talking, his words were not as heated anymore, more carefully chosen. "You said you would know me, and that this movie wasn't going to change anything. I need to know if that's really the truth."
Chapter 7