FIC: Shadowing My Dreams 3/5 (Lotrips, Viggo/Orlando, PG)
Shadowing My Dreams 3/5
Author: padawanhilary and telesilla
Fandom/Pairing: Lotrips, Viggo/Orlando
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,999
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 continues to have interesting dreams and Viggo continues to interfere with household appliances.
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.
Previous Chapters
Orlando climbs into the bed, tired in spite of the fact that he can't account for what he's done to make himself so. He's become intimate with the house by now, fond of it, dusting every corner and discovering odd items in closets, unwanted by the rest of the family. He is outraged at the idea that they've picked the house over, but realistically that's probably what happened. "No one wanted the pictures," he groused when he found the albums, "but naturally, the gold candelabras are gone."
He pulls the blanket up to his stomach and reaches for his book. He doesn't bother with the telly; clearly the wiring of the house or the distance from town prevents decent, reliable reception, and there's no point in it anymore.
But he's not interested in his book. He's still stuck on that dream, how warm and good it felt, and so detailed. He stares at the footboard for a little while, trying to conjure that man in his mind again, though now it's hard to picture his face. Orlando remembers the kisses, though -- as simple as they were, as chaste, they felt fantastic.
"It was a dream," he insists to himself, and hunkers down in bed. The book ends up shoved under the pillow on the other side, and he turns out the light, bent on sleeping off his tiredness.
Watching Orlando settle into bed, Viggo smiles, glad Orlando's given up on the television. Once more he waits until Orlando's drifting off before he takes his place, perching on the headboard. As if to remind Viggo why he shouldn't touch Orlando outside of the dreams, Orlando shivers a little in his sleep and pulls his blankets up around his chin.
It doesn't take long; Orlando sinks into the dream effortlessly, sliding back to that place in the trees/field/hills, the changing landscape where the stranger first kissed him. He's looking around, wondering where he is and then he sees the man coming down the road.
"Hello," he greets, giving a little wave and a smile.
"Orlando," Viggo says, reaching for Orlando's hand. He raises it to his lips with a courtesy that had been considered old-fashioned even when he'd been alive. "I'm glad you wanted to see me."
Beaming, Orlando watches the man kiss his hand and then gives a low nod. "Of course I did," he says. "I enjoyed our..." It wasn't a date, but it felt like one, didn't it? "Our time together."
"So did I," Viggo says with a smile. "Would you like to walk again, or is there someplace else you would like to go?" He's not sure if this dream version of Orlando is aware of how much control he had over his own dreams.
Orlando thinks, for some reason, of a gazebo, and he smiles. "I have a place in mind," he says, and leads the man directly off of the road to a spot that perfectly fits what Orlando had in mind: fresh white, surrounded by grass with a nice breeze and a lot of sunshine flowing in.
"This is nice," Viggo says, looking around. The view from the gazebo is lovely, but Viggo doesn't really pay much attention to it, choosing to focus on Orlando.
It feels right for Orlando to twine his fingers through this stranger's, and he shifts a little closer as he does it. "You're very comfortable to be with," he murmurs, watching those blue eyes. "I like you."
"Thank you," Viggo says, moving closer to Orlando. "I want you to like me. It's important to me," he adds.
"Why?" Orlando asks, surprised. "You're very enjoyable to be with. Why would you concern yourself?"
"Doesn't everyone want to be liked?" Viggo asks, not ready to explain that he lives with Orlando and so hopes Orlando enjoys his company. "May I kiss you again?"
"Oh, yes," Orlando smiles, leaning close. "Please, kiss me."
Still careful not to push, Viggo kisses Orlando, enjoying the way Orlando's lips feel against his. It's good and although he wants more, he doesn't want to offend Orlando.
Thrilled, Orlando presses closer. He wants more too, and cups his hand at the back of Viggo's neck to prove it.
Encouraged, Viggo slides his hands down to grip Orlando's waist lightly and opens his mouth, letting his tongue move lightly over Orlando's lips. He'd been much more eager when he was alive, but here, in the timeless space of a dream, he's willing to take this as slowly as Orlando wants.
Moaning softly in surprise, Orlando does more than allow the kiss -- he opens to it, pleased and thrilled, relaxed and easy all at once.
That little moan almost undoes Viggo; he responds to it by moving closer to Orlando. While he's shared dreams with people before, this degree of intimacy in dreams is new and it's almost overwhelming.
God, it's so good that Orlando has to cup his hand at the back of the stranger's neck, drawing him closer as they kiss. It's right. It's so right. Orlando moans again, snugging himself closer.
After a long time spent kissing Orlando's lovely mouth, Viggo kisses his way down to Orlando's neck, nibbling at it very lightly.
"Oh," Orlando sighs, leaning closer, surprised. He arches a bit as the man's teeth find a spot on his throat and moans again. "So nice."
Pleased, Viggo maps Orlando's neck with his lips and teeth, wanting to find each spot that makes Orlando squirm. He finds quite a few and allows his hands to get more bold as well, stroking Orlando's back and even sliding one palm down across Orlando's ass.
Hissing, moaning, Orlando will realize when he wakes that he acted a lot like a pleased cat in his dream. He arches toward the man and kisses harder when their mouths meet.
Although it's obvious that Orlando is enjoying everything that Viggo does, Viggo sees no reason to push things further. He's hard and wants Orlando almost desperately, but the sensation is so novel to him that it's almost worth prolonging his need. And so he's content, in a strangely eager way, to continue kissing and touching Orlando for as long as Orlando encourages him.
After what seems like a long while, Orlando begins to realize that they're just not going to go any further. In his waking hours, he'd wonder why it is this man isn't already trying to shag him silly, but here, now, it's beautiful just like this.
He finally pulls back, though, aware of the ache between his legs and his own shaky breathing. "I suppose we'd better stop," he smiles, brushing his fingertips over the stranger's face, "or I might not be able to."
"It's your decision," Viggo says, cupping Orlando's face in his hand. "In this place, it will always be your decision."
That doesn't make sense to Orlando, but he smiles. "I think I'd like to wait."
~ ~ ~
Orlando wakes more quickly than usual, his prevailing emotion being disappointed surprise. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he turns onto his back and stares at the ceiling in the early morning gloom.
"What the bloody hell was that about?" he wonders, recalling the dream and rolling over again, reaching for his notepad. He's started writing his dreams down as best he can; though he's no scribe, he wants to remember these vivid, incredible imaginings of a stranger wanting him badly enough to draw him right out of the funeral.
And I said I'd like to wait. What was I smoking last night?
Not sure what Orlando's talking about, Viggo watches as he writes in his notebook. I hope I didn't upset him in some way, he thinks, moving a little closer to the bed and Orlando.
Absently, Orlando draws the blanket up closer, feeling vaguely chilled as he writes. He squirms as he recalls the hunger of those kisses, the heat of them, and yet they also had an old-fashioned tenderness to them. "Why the hell would I rather wait?" he asks the empty room when he reaches a stopping place.
I certainly can't answer that, Viggo thinks. He's aware that times have changed a good deal since his own era, but he doesn't know how much they've changed. Should I have been more forceful? he wonders, remembering what it was like when he finally reached an age where it was expected that he would be the active lover of younger, more passive men.
Sighing, Orlando sets his notebook aside and slides down under the covers further to stare at the ceiling some more. Almost idly, he pushes his hand under the covers and into his pajama bottoms. He shivers once as his hand closes on his cock, still erect from the dream, and wonders briefly if he should have the furnace serviced.
As tempted as Viggo is to watch Orlando, he can tell from Orlando's shivers that he's already too close to the bed. Plus, it would be rude to watch an intimate, private moment like this, and so he leaves the room, heading reluctantly for the kitchen where he intends to do something about the microwave.
Orlando makes quick work of it; just the memory of those fluid, real dream-kisses are enough, and by the time he replays the dream to the point that this strange man draws his mouth over Orlando's throat, that's it. He comes with a soft moan, heating up the inside of his pajamas briefly before he has to get up and get the congealing come off of himself and address his need for tea.
He wipes off quickly and discards his damp pajamas, tossing the top as well and opting for a pair of drawstring flannel trousers instead. He's alone in the house and there's no reason he shouldn't go shirtless. That decided, he washes up and cleans his teeth and pads down to the kitchen to brew himself a pot.
Having been good and allowed Orlando his privacy in the shower and while dressing, Viggo's never seen Orlando without some kind of shirt on and he now he stares, taking in the fine, lean lines of Orlando's torso. The tattoo comes as a total surprise; it's unlike anything Viggo's ever seen and it takes real willpower to keep himself from moving to look at it closely.
Orlando regrets his lack of shirt now that he's in the lower story. "Damn, I do have to have that furnace done," he grouses, going through his tea preparations and then taking his little carafe to the microwave -- and stopping abruptly as he realizes the clock isn't shining at him.
"Oh fucking hell," he growls. "Whole place is buggy." He falters, then goes to the cabinet for a little pot to pour the water into it for the stove.
Oh good. Now you need to buy yourself a kettle and I won't even mind too much if it's an electric one.
Viggo wants to laugh at the way he's mentally laying down the law. Sorry, he thinks, looking at Orlando. The urge to actually talk to the young man returns and for a moment, Viggo almost gives in.
There's something in the corner of Orlando's eye, almost the kind of pale blur that heralds a car pulling into the drive on a dark night, headlamps flashing. It's faint, though, and by the time Orlando turns his head, it's gone.
Rubbing his eyes, he sighs at himself. "Boil faster, damn you," he orders the pot, "I need my tea."
A little startled by his near lapse, Viggo retreats. He hasn't been this unsure of anything since shortly after he died, and he doesn't like the feeling. What am I doing with this boy? Should I just force him out and go back to living in an empty house?
But no, the thought of doing that is almost unbearable and Viggo wonders where he ever got the idea that all of his strong emotions died along with his body.
-tbc-
Author: padawanhilary and telesilla
Fandom/Pairing: Lotrips, Viggo/Orlando
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,999
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 continues to have interesting dreams and Viggo continues to interfere with household appliances.
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.
Previous Chapters
Orlando climbs into the bed, tired in spite of the fact that he can't account for what he's done to make himself so. He's become intimate with the house by now, fond of it, dusting every corner and discovering odd items in closets, unwanted by the rest of the family. He is outraged at the idea that they've picked the house over, but realistically that's probably what happened. "No one wanted the pictures," he groused when he found the albums, "but naturally, the gold candelabras are gone."
He pulls the blanket up to his stomach and reaches for his book. He doesn't bother with the telly; clearly the wiring of the house or the distance from town prevents decent, reliable reception, and there's no point in it anymore.
But he's not interested in his book. He's still stuck on that dream, how warm and good it felt, and so detailed. He stares at the footboard for a little while, trying to conjure that man in his mind again, though now it's hard to picture his face. Orlando remembers the kisses, though -- as simple as they were, as chaste, they felt fantastic.
"It was a dream," he insists to himself, and hunkers down in bed. The book ends up shoved under the pillow on the other side, and he turns out the light, bent on sleeping off his tiredness.
Watching Orlando settle into bed, Viggo smiles, glad Orlando's given up on the television. Once more he waits until Orlando's drifting off before he takes his place, perching on the headboard. As if to remind Viggo why he shouldn't touch Orlando outside of the dreams, Orlando shivers a little in his sleep and pulls his blankets up around his chin.
It doesn't take long; Orlando sinks into the dream effortlessly, sliding back to that place in the trees/field/hills, the changing landscape where the stranger first kissed him. He's looking around, wondering where he is and then he sees the man coming down the road.
"Hello," he greets, giving a little wave and a smile.
"Orlando," Viggo says, reaching for Orlando's hand. He raises it to his lips with a courtesy that had been considered old-fashioned even when he'd been alive. "I'm glad you wanted to see me."
Beaming, Orlando watches the man kiss his hand and then gives a low nod. "Of course I did," he says. "I enjoyed our..." It wasn't a date, but it felt like one, didn't it? "Our time together."
"So did I," Viggo says with a smile. "Would you like to walk again, or is there someplace else you would like to go?" He's not sure if this dream version of Orlando is aware of how much control he had over his own dreams.
Orlando thinks, for some reason, of a gazebo, and he smiles. "I have a place in mind," he says, and leads the man directly off of the road to a spot that perfectly fits what Orlando had in mind: fresh white, surrounded by grass with a nice breeze and a lot of sunshine flowing in.
"This is nice," Viggo says, looking around. The view from the gazebo is lovely, but Viggo doesn't really pay much attention to it, choosing to focus on Orlando.
It feels right for Orlando to twine his fingers through this stranger's, and he shifts a little closer as he does it. "You're very comfortable to be with," he murmurs, watching those blue eyes. "I like you."
"Thank you," Viggo says, moving closer to Orlando. "I want you to like me. It's important to me," he adds.
"Why?" Orlando asks, surprised. "You're very enjoyable to be with. Why would you concern yourself?"
"Doesn't everyone want to be liked?" Viggo asks, not ready to explain that he lives with Orlando and so hopes Orlando enjoys his company. "May I kiss you again?"
"Oh, yes," Orlando smiles, leaning close. "Please, kiss me."
Still careful not to push, Viggo kisses Orlando, enjoying the way Orlando's lips feel against his. It's good and although he wants more, he doesn't want to offend Orlando.
Thrilled, Orlando presses closer. He wants more too, and cups his hand at the back of Viggo's neck to prove it.
Encouraged, Viggo slides his hands down to grip Orlando's waist lightly and opens his mouth, letting his tongue move lightly over Orlando's lips. He'd been much more eager when he was alive, but here, in the timeless space of a dream, he's willing to take this as slowly as Orlando wants.
Moaning softly in surprise, Orlando does more than allow the kiss -- he opens to it, pleased and thrilled, relaxed and easy all at once.
That little moan almost undoes Viggo; he responds to it by moving closer to Orlando. While he's shared dreams with people before, this degree of intimacy in dreams is new and it's almost overwhelming.
God, it's so good that Orlando has to cup his hand at the back of the stranger's neck, drawing him closer as they kiss. It's right. It's so right. Orlando moans again, snugging himself closer.
After a long time spent kissing Orlando's lovely mouth, Viggo kisses his way down to Orlando's neck, nibbling at it very lightly.
"Oh," Orlando sighs, leaning closer, surprised. He arches a bit as the man's teeth find a spot on his throat and moans again. "So nice."
Pleased, Viggo maps Orlando's neck with his lips and teeth, wanting to find each spot that makes Orlando squirm. He finds quite a few and allows his hands to get more bold as well, stroking Orlando's back and even sliding one palm down across Orlando's ass.
Hissing, moaning, Orlando will realize when he wakes that he acted a lot like a pleased cat in his dream. He arches toward the man and kisses harder when their mouths meet.
Although it's obvious that Orlando is enjoying everything that Viggo does, Viggo sees no reason to push things further. He's hard and wants Orlando almost desperately, but the sensation is so novel to him that it's almost worth prolonging his need. And so he's content, in a strangely eager way, to continue kissing and touching Orlando for as long as Orlando encourages him.
After what seems like a long while, Orlando begins to realize that they're just not going to go any further. In his waking hours, he'd wonder why it is this man isn't already trying to shag him silly, but here, now, it's beautiful just like this.
He finally pulls back, though, aware of the ache between his legs and his own shaky breathing. "I suppose we'd better stop," he smiles, brushing his fingertips over the stranger's face, "or I might not be able to."
"It's your decision," Viggo says, cupping Orlando's face in his hand. "In this place, it will always be your decision."
That doesn't make sense to Orlando, but he smiles. "I think I'd like to wait."
~ ~ ~
Orlando wakes more quickly than usual, his prevailing emotion being disappointed surprise. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he turns onto his back and stares at the ceiling in the early morning gloom.
"What the bloody hell was that about?" he wonders, recalling the dream and rolling over again, reaching for his notepad. He's started writing his dreams down as best he can; though he's no scribe, he wants to remember these vivid, incredible imaginings of a stranger wanting him badly enough to draw him right out of the funeral.
And I said I'd like to wait. What was I smoking last night?
Not sure what Orlando's talking about, Viggo watches as he writes in his notebook. I hope I didn't upset him in some way, he thinks, moving a little closer to the bed and Orlando.
Absently, Orlando draws the blanket up closer, feeling vaguely chilled as he writes. He squirms as he recalls the hunger of those kisses, the heat of them, and yet they also had an old-fashioned tenderness to them. "Why the hell would I rather wait?" he asks the empty room when he reaches a stopping place.
I certainly can't answer that, Viggo thinks. He's aware that times have changed a good deal since his own era, but he doesn't know how much they've changed. Should I have been more forceful? he wonders, remembering what it was like when he finally reached an age where it was expected that he would be the active lover of younger, more passive men.
Sighing, Orlando sets his notebook aside and slides down under the covers further to stare at the ceiling some more. Almost idly, he pushes his hand under the covers and into his pajama bottoms. He shivers once as his hand closes on his cock, still erect from the dream, and wonders briefly if he should have the furnace serviced.
As tempted as Viggo is to watch Orlando, he can tell from Orlando's shivers that he's already too close to the bed. Plus, it would be rude to watch an intimate, private moment like this, and so he leaves the room, heading reluctantly for the kitchen where he intends to do something about the microwave.
Orlando makes quick work of it; just the memory of those fluid, real dream-kisses are enough, and by the time he replays the dream to the point that this strange man draws his mouth over Orlando's throat, that's it. He comes with a soft moan, heating up the inside of his pajamas briefly before he has to get up and get the congealing come off of himself and address his need for tea.
He wipes off quickly and discards his damp pajamas, tossing the top as well and opting for a pair of drawstring flannel trousers instead. He's alone in the house and there's no reason he shouldn't go shirtless. That decided, he washes up and cleans his teeth and pads down to the kitchen to brew himself a pot.
Having been good and allowed Orlando his privacy in the shower and while dressing, Viggo's never seen Orlando without some kind of shirt on and he now he stares, taking in the fine, lean lines of Orlando's torso. The tattoo comes as a total surprise; it's unlike anything Viggo's ever seen and it takes real willpower to keep himself from moving to look at it closely.
Orlando regrets his lack of shirt now that he's in the lower story. "Damn, I do have to have that furnace done," he grouses, going through his tea preparations and then taking his little carafe to the microwave -- and stopping abruptly as he realizes the clock isn't shining at him.
"Oh fucking hell," he growls. "Whole place is buggy." He falters, then goes to the cabinet for a little pot to pour the water into it for the stove.
Oh good. Now you need to buy yourself a kettle and I won't even mind too much if it's an electric one.
Viggo wants to laugh at the way he's mentally laying down the law. Sorry, he thinks, looking at Orlando. The urge to actually talk to the young man returns and for a moment, Viggo almost gives in.
There's something in the corner of Orlando's eye, almost the kind of pale blur that heralds a car pulling into the drive on a dark night, headlamps flashing. It's faint, though, and by the time Orlando turns his head, it's gone.
Rubbing his eyes, he sighs at himself. "Boil faster, damn you," he orders the pot, "I need my tea."
A little startled by his near lapse, Viggo retreats. He hasn't been this unsure of anything since shortly after he died, and he doesn't like the feeling. What am I doing with this boy? Should I just force him out and go back to living in an empty house?
But no, the thought of doing that is almost unbearable and Viggo wonders where he ever got the idea that all of his strong emotions died along with his body.
-tbc-