#26 for zee113: Scar Night, Scar Bright (2/2)
DISCLAIMER: All the fics posted below are just that, FICTION. None of the authors claim to have any idea what's going on in Viggo and Orlando's life, it's all made up and no profit is made at all.
OVERALL RATING: NC-17 overall, not every single fic is, but just in case;)
NOTE/RULES REMINDER: Please remember I cut out any hints that could point to the author, like beta thanks, most notes etc. Writers, don't reveal your indentity yet! Readers, guess the author, list of participants is right here. Leave feedback, but play nice. No flaming.
26. For zee113, who asked for I'd love to read a sci-fi or fantasy AU in an exotic setting but with a Christmas-y subject.
Titel: Scar Night, Scar Bright
Warning: Mild violence
By the time the morning light had washed the sly clear of stars, Viggo had instructed the four survivors to gather what they needed; only what they could place into pockets to keep their hands free and to be ready to move out when the afternoon rolled round.
The illuminated timechip at the top corner of his vision had been knocked out by the electromagnetic pulse the Panther-Spec had thrown at him, so Viggo ignored it. He wasn’t taking the chance of being late and missing the pickup. Once the sun hit it’s zenith they would make tracks for the rendezvous point and be there with time to spare.
Orlando had spent most of the morning dividing his time between assisting the two other men to gather whatever specific data disks they deemed important and making sure the woman could at least walk and keep up if they ran into trouble. From what Viggo saw as they hobbled the length of the main service room, she could manage with her chest strapped tight. Bruising and the cuts would hurt like a bitch but if she was limbered up in the hours to come, she could safely take care of herself if need be.
Viggo left them to it and scouted back the way he had come with Orlando, checking the duct was clear of obstacles and good for a run if need be. It brought him to the large storage and development room with it’s eerily suspended broken pods. In the daylight hours the sunlight crashed through the opened ceiling, glinting off the metal and machinery that lay wrecked and discarded. Baubles dangled from each desk. Viggo worked his way around cracked computer screens that had once projected codestreams and whatever technical specs the scientists had been working on. He ignored the dried bloodstains that splattered the processors.
The pods swung gently in the faint airflow, cracked wide and no longer full of the foetal machines they once carried. Viggo walked the length of the room, rifle sweeping ahead of him until he was sure each corner didn’t harbor anything nasty lying in wait. Only then did he allow himself to look at the specifics on each pod; the scratched details of their contents like the one he had glimpsed the other night. Names and DNA codings swept past in their multitudes. Viggo spent time going from one to the other.
Tiger-Spec. Scorpion-Spec. Wolf-Spec. Panther. Lion. Python. Spider...
Jesus.
The edges of the creation and experimentation pods were a thick reinforced alloy, but the very tops of them showed severe heat damage to the point where the machinery had crystallised and become brittle as the computers controlling the environmental factors in these pseudo-wombs had overloaded and failed.
It was right above them that the ceiling had been shattered. The opened rooftop and bent, twisted beams Viggo had seen rising like arms from a distance when coming down the street. He let out a long breath. The sleeping monsters had been woken, fused with the dangerous half of the computer data that had previously held them complacent through high voltage currents and had gone ballistic. They’d brought the house down and escaped.
“It’s not a pretty sight.” Orlando said from the vent entrance.
Glancing to him, Viggo stepped down from the pod platform and crossed back over in crunching footfalls. “This is something I’d be happy never to see again, put it that way.”
Orlando turned with a rueful, sad smile. “If this is what self-important powerful people playing god looks like, I’m glad to be going home.”
Viggo nudged him as he fell into step. “For Christmas,”
Orlando dug him back a bump to the ribs with a rueful laugh. “Something like that.”
Viggo smiled and brought his rifle up, carefully cautious even though Orlando had obviously just crossed the passageway unharmed. Orlando saw it and looked at Viggo’s gun closely for the first time.
“You know, why come armed against something like this? What’ve you got in there anyway?”
Viggo glanced down at the ancient weapon he cradled. “Bullets,” he said, the old term sounding foreign out loud. “Explosive-tipped rounds. Several clips worth; a few minutes on automatic fire, longer on controlled bursts.”
Air whistled out from between Orlando’s teeth. “I didn’t think they had those sorts of things in circulation anymore.”
Breaking his training that screamed at him even though the passageway was clear, Viggo tamped it down with common sense for a moment and handed the rifle over. “Seems that they brought them out of retirement just for us.”
Orlando took the rifle in awkward hands and ran his fingers over the ridges. “Projectile weaponry,” he mused. “So simple... and yet something we never thought of. All the hotshot heads of production here would breathe down my neck to work up self-regenerating magnetic armour capable of laser-absorption.” A short bubble of laughter escaped him and Orlando handed the gun back. “Not one of them ever considered good ol’ fashioned sodding bullets. Hope they do the trick.”
Viggo lowered his voice as they approached the service rooms. “They can.”
Orlando ducked a singed wreath that dangled lopsided from a ledge and shot Viggo a sharp, hopeful look. “Really?”
Raising a hand Viggo pointed in the rough direction the way he had come from the main street. “You’re down one panther.”
“You took out the Panther-Spec?” Orlando blinked, astonished. Viggo smiled and shook his head hastily.
“Uh-uh. Before whatever you start to think, the bastard was missing,” he raised a hand and wiggled fingers behind his head. “Whatever passed for a central cortex. It made easy mistakes and didn’t take care of itself when it went down. It was far too easy a mark. For what it’s worth, it didn’t look...” Viggo searched for the word. “Finished.”
“No,” Orlando looked thoughtful. “No, it was fairly new. It hadn’t even been test-run yet. Anyway,” he ducked into the service room, Viggo following. “At least we know something can hit it and hurt.”
The three other occupants of the room were huddled together, their pockets stuffed with papers and disks, looking scared but apparently ready to leave when asked. Viggo expected the chance to get out of here was a damn big carrot, no matter how nervous the bunny.
One of the men had a backpack over his shoulder. Viggo eyed it. “No can do. You’ll have to leave that behind.”
The man looked affronted at the suggestion. “But I have documents! My research notes!”
Viggo walked over and lifted the pack off the man’s shoulder, yanking it when he was resisted. “I don’t care if you have the Queen of Sheba in there.” He dumped it on the dusty ground. “It isn’t coming.”
“Why the hell not?” The man spluttered, colour rising to his cheeks. Viggo opened his mouth to retort but Orlando stepped in.
“Because you can’t run with us if you have something heavy weighing you down, Mack. Be sensible about this.” Orlando waved a hand in the pack’s direction. “You want to get killed over pieces of paper, you might as well stay here with them. Then you can rot together.”
Seething in Viggo’s direction the man gradually relented, toeing the pack aside and returning to the others. Viggo angled his head back to check the sky. Close enough.
“Everybody,” he called to the room. “Gather what you have. We move out in fifteen minutes.”
~*~
Orlando kept to Viggo’s shoulder as the little group left the alcove of service rooms. Viggo had donned his helmet for it’s communication capacity and took point, ushering his charges down the ventilation shaft and out through the pod room. As they filed past, Viggo held Orlando back for an instant.
“Here,” Viggo dug through his pack and produced a small cylinder. “Take this.”
Orlando obligingly lifted the little object. “What is it?”
“Incendiary grenade.” Viggo said quietly. “White phosphorous. It’ll ignite at nearly three thousand degrees on impact. Burn through just about anything.” He pressed Orlando’s fingers closed over the cylinder. “Just in case.”
Eyes wide, Orlando nodded and carefully added it to his pocket. Then with a searching look to Viggo’s black visor, he moved ahead to join the group. With a final check Viggo caught up and resumed leading them back the way he had come; down the corridors from the pod room to the wrecked security door he had used. They reached it without incident.
Viggo held them back before venturing onto the street itself, ducking out alone to a corner a few paces away and stopping near it, watching to make certain of a clear path. The sun had started to dip from it’s zenith, lowering almost imperceptibly. Viggo ignored the timechip that blinked in the corner of his vision proclaiming it to be just after eight o’clock and concentrated on the long road ahead.
The buildings still bore their Christmas decorations like bright banners. Viggo waited for a full minute, holding his breath to achieve absolute stillness as he scanned the street for any sign of movement. When he found none, he tried his com-link.
“Anyone copy? This is a Deniable broadcasting on the wide, over.”
Silence prevailed. Viggo hoped feverently that it was simply the ancient device’s limited range keeping him blocked and alone. Down the end of the long street lay the crossroad in which they had been dropped. It was there that they needed to be... Viggo glanced up again. Shortly.
He heard a soft exclamation borne on a swear word behind him and Viggo spun, seeing one of the men stepping out of the building’s cover to gape at the only flaw in the road; the downed bulk of the Panther-Spec. It left a mountain-like lump almost halfway between where they were positioned and where they needed to be. Viggo flicked an angry hand at the gawping man and beckoned him closer. He was the one who had insisted on the backpack earlier.
When he approached close enough, Viggo grabbed him by the scruff of his collar and hauled him roughly up to his visor. “You wait where I tell you to fucking wait, you hear me?”
The man in his grip nodded awkwardly; as best he could with Viggo’s gloved fist pressed up under his chin and Viggo released him sharply, letting him fall back a stumbling step before pointing out to the wreck. “Or else you could trip one of those bastards and get us all into shit. Understand?”
A hand to his throat, the man nodded begrudgingly. Viggo turned away, wondering how it was possible for human nature to rear it’s stubborn and stupid side even to it’s own detriment. There were always morons.
But there was nothing to be seen on the open road ahead so Viggo had to admit that even as safe as their spot was, they would have to leave it. He sighed and turned back to the broken entranceway, gathering the straggling bunch to him. Orlando shepherded the woman amongst them but with a smile she was showing she could manage herself if need be, so Orlando moved up to walk with Viggo.
When he reached Viggo’s shoulder he was met with a negative. “No,” Viggo shook his head and pointed to their flank. “I need you a little way back.” At Orlando’s hurt look, Viggo couldn’t smile behind his visor to help allay his worry and explain, so he softened his words. “Please. You’re the only other one with any kind of weapon on you. Just unpin, throw and tell us all to duck and cover if you see anything.”
Understanding dawned on Orlando’s face and he slipped wordlessly back to cover the back of the group. Viggo had the sobering thought unlike the datarats amongst them, Orlando with his hands-on experience would be the best person to recognise it if something bad came their way from behind where Viggo himself couldn’t watch.
They moved along under sunlight. Viggo had not felt this naked in a long time. Alongside them tiny gold holly bells began to tinkle over a window pane, brushed by the wind. Even that innocent sound was unnerving. Viggo pulled the rifle to his shoulder and doubled his pace, making the decision to keep them all in the centre of the road instead of to the sidewalks where he had made his own mistake the day before. It was exposure of the highest level but he had little choice.
They skirted a wide birth around the hull of the Panther-Spec, wary eyes trained on the dead eye less it should suddenly spark to life again. But it remained as still and silent as Viggo had left it. Unheard by the others, his sigh of relief fell only inside his own helmet.
It was when they reached halfway that Viggo saw deep gouges in the side of one of the smaller buildings. The metal was crumpled in on itself as if something large and very heavy had collided with it. That hadn’t been there when Viggo had last passed this way. He kept walking, slowing slightly. Whatever had been thrown into that building was no longer there, so it had to have picked itself up and kept moving.
Kept hunting one of the men it had found.
Viggo pulled his eyes away and glanced back to the straggling group who huddled behind him, clutching unconsciously at themselves in their shock and wary fear. All of them jumped when a shot cracked the air.
Viggo swung his rifle towards the sound, limbs braced, finger hovering over the trigger, when...
‘S--ir? Ide--tfy. Is th-- you approac--ing?’
Viggo tapped his helmet, walking closer a few paces to clarify the crackling voice. “Dean? S’that you? State your position. I’ve got a few civilians with me.”
‘Two men MIA, --ir. Other--ise all acco--ted for.’
A uniformed body stepped from the shadow of an overhang a short way away and raised a hand in signal. Right by the crossroads. Viggo lifted his own in acknowledgement and then dropped back to the group. “Over there. Make for that man, each of you and don’t look back. I’m coming right behind you where I can see you all. Quickly.”
That got them moving. Three left and made for Dean’s position immediately. One stayed; a determined set to his hips where he stood. Viggo said nothing, just fell in beside Orlando and caught his faint smile.
“Your voice sounds different in that thing.”
Viggo smiled, unseen. “It’s the amplification resonators; they’re designed for internal com-link, not speaking to anyone beside me who doesn’t have a helmet. Makes me sound like a newscast reader.” The very air seemed to have settled as Viggo watched the three stumble towards Dean’s position as if the safety of the shade and other soldiers were the shuttle itself. Suddenly they looked like actually accomplishing this.
Orlando’s resounding chuckle seemed like a wash of cool water. Together they followed towards the temporary camp. Viggo found himself saddened at parting when they approached the others; he had to check in with the other men in unit and Orlando joined the rest of the survivors. The countdown was dipping below an hour and the air itself was almost thick with hope. But there was still checking to be done and debriefing amongst the unit; Viggo spoke to the other two men who had made it back to the rendezvous point with their own charges. It looked like they had managed around twenty survivors. Then he made a beeline for Dean.
He found the other man had retreated to the back of the overhang, now helmetless, to where a singed and dirty figure was propped against the wall, head down and obscured by a mop of dark hair. Dean stood up as Viggo approached.
“That him?” Viggo asked gently and Dean nodded jerkily. “He okay?”
“Will be. S’all that matters.” Dean looked past Viggo and lowered his voice. “Thanks, Vig. For letting me--”
Viggo cut him off. “For losing track of you like I did? Why, they’ll have my hide.”
Dean grinned then; a flash of white teeth in his smudged face. Then it was gone again, unspoken camaraderie between them as a slight rumble rattled the red and gold stars wrapped around the guttering. Dean resettled his footing and indicated the newcomers with a tired hand. “Well done, for what it’s worth. Good result.”
Viggo turned and his eyes found Orlando, crouched by a man with a gash to his temple, reassuring words falling from him as he carefully stemmed the bleeding. Viggo smiled. “Yeah, it is. It’s--”
“Incoming!”
Viggo whipped his head towards the shout, to follow the pointing hand of the man whose keen eyes had spotted the three figures tearing up the road from a corner several hundred meters away in the opposite direction. The floor rumbled harder. Two white coats and a third in black, rifle aimed as he stumbled to spin and meet and fire at what was behind them.
What was tearing up the cement road behind them in wide furrows as if it were sand.
Viggo sprang up to the edge of the alcove and leant out, watching in shock as the ground exploded and disgorged a twenty-foot tall mass of whirling blades. It shot over the heads of the running men and landed ahead of them, skidding around on numerous claws that shredded metal gouges, tail whipping through the air in a series of whirling, clicking plates.
“It’s a fucking scorpion.” Viggo heard someone breathe beside him.
The Scorpion-Spec whirled it’s long body, the sharp metal exoskeleton slicking into place for each move as fluidly as any biological entity. This wasn’t a half-formed machine; it was the real finished project. The Spec blocked the run of the men and all Viggo saw was a burst of rifle fire and corresponding sparks shearing off of the machine’s shielding before a pair of black-clad figures shot past his view, weapons loaded. But as Viggo moved to join them another blur who was not the same followed them.
“Orlando!”
Viggo pushed off, lunging after the body that sped away but Orlando was already sprinting after the soldiers, pulling the grenade from his pocket. Viggo yelled in vain and then spun to Dean, who looked about to follow with the rest, pointing him down. “No! Stay and watch the little ones.”
Gunfire. Viggo didn’t wait for a response, just whirled and took off, his boots pounding out a rhythm that thundered through his body with each heavy footfall. Pushing himself across the lesser gravity-impacted space, he found speed and closed the distance in time to see the Scorpion-Spec spin and round on the newcomers who had dared fire upon it.
“Orlando!” Viggo saw the plain-clothed figure dart up behind the men and skid to a stop as they all realised the sight before them. Writhing, the Scorpion-Spec flung back armoured plates along it’s ribs and rolled out wired nodules down it’s legs, clicking them into place on connection ports with whirling pistons that hissed fierce compression steam.
“Back!” Viggo yelled, seeing the other Deniables recognise the same thing he did. Viggo rushed to Orlando and flung an arm around his waist, dragging him back. Planting his feet, Viggo lifted Orlando fractionally off the ground and held him to his side, turning them both away. They didn’t make it far.
The electrical pulse that shot into the ground around the clawed appendages flashed a violent blue. The Scorpion-Spec plunged it’s legs into the ground, forcing the field out around itself; the unleashed power ran like a river though the cracks in the road. Shielded in his protective boots and holding Orlando up away from the direct current, Viggo still felt the impact like a sledgehammer. Together, the force picked them up like toys and threw them bodily to the pavement. Viggo landed hard, the weight of the other man pressing hard for an instant before he rolled away and it was Orlando who was dragging Viggo to his feet.
“Look out!”
Viggo forced himself up with his other arm, propelling them both out of the way as a clawed leg slammed into the ground, rupturing concrete where they had lain; the Scorpion trying to pin it’s stunned victims. They stumbled, still latched together and Viggo shook the dizziness from his eyes. He only remembered the rifle in his grip as he heard a scream and saw the body of one of the civilians yanked past, flipped up and...
Viggo turned Orlando away and pushed them both back enough to get in range-but where the machine had stood it then dove before their eyes, spinning it’s sharp claws at a hydraulic pace, pushing them into the ground and burrowing after them in a flurry of flung groundwork that nearly blinded them.
All around their feet the ground trembled. Coughing, Viggo reached for the last scientist and threw him in front. “Get the fuck out of here!”
The man tripped over his feet to get towards where Dean stood, arm outstretched to guide. Viggo looked around, rifle pointed down below them at the unseen target, and saw the somewhat comforting sight of the other black-clad figures around him with rifles to bear, sidestepping the tremors that rippled beneath their feet. They could take this.
Orlando’s continued presence hit Viggo like another bolt and he abruptly realised just how... He snatched Orlando’s sleeve. “Back with the others.”
Orlando shook his head, cautiously planting his legs against the shuddering ground and glancing around for the next eruption of metal. “No, I can help.”
“You can get killed.” Viggo hauled him to look directly in the eyes. “I don’t want that.”
The beginning of Orlando’s smile fell into shadow as the street exploded into rubble behind him and the whirling, screeching monster of armour plating and circuitry launched into the air. The soldiers closest fell back, thrown from their feet and Viggo pushed Orlando to the side, arching his rifle up and firing.
Sparks. Fire. The scream of dented metal and opened wiring. Clearing past just above his head, Viggo watched the Scorpion skid and piston itself back around, holding place with back legs as it’s claws raised and peeled back the outer grid plates, pistons spinning and reconnecting nozzles together to kickstart a pair of gatling guns. Revolving, they loaded small missiles with a deadly, repetitive clicking. Both claws zeroed in on Viggo and Orlando’s heat signatures, lowering to face them.
“Go! Move!” Viggo scrambled for the sidewalk as the Deniables behind raised cover fire. Orlando pelted towards the nearest building doorway as Viggo heard the telltale whoosh and whine of incoming fire. Running flat out, they dove behind the wall as the world disintegrated; fire and force ripped through the corner of the building in the explosion, opening it up like tin. With an arm over Orlando to hold him down, Viggo hunched close through the barrage of noise and pelting of shattered stonework. It rained down like hail, coating them in dust and ash.
When Viggo raised his head and shook it, the Spec’s clunking armour sounded dulled behind the empty guns as they whirred to a stop. The Scorpion skittered slowly closer; a silver-tipped harbinger of death. Exhausted, Viggo pulled his rifle from the dirt and sighted...
The whirring wasn’t just from the Scorpion. Viggo heard Orlando’s shout as the clouds parted overhead and the familiar bulk of the unmarked security transport dropped through. In a dead-fall it descended below building-level and overshot the Scorpion in a whirl of gunfire. Viggo dared to pull Orlando from the wreckage as the machine buckled and snapped under the bullets, sparks igniting the air around it.
The Scorpion-Spec writhed and spun it’s interlocking tail, arching. The joints reeled and shifted, making space for the stinger at the end to disgorge a fierce-looking fusion cannon. Skittering back slightly to aim in the new direction, the Scorpion sighted and locked on the transport as it banked and came back for another pass. Viggo’s heart fell and his mouth went dry. Shit. Shit.
The machine crouched and readied itself, still sparking in parts. One back leg twitched, partially severed at the lowest joint. Viggo’s mind flew, trying, hoping, thinking for some way to stop what was going to happen...
He brought his weapon to sight but Orlando’s hand on his wrist made him hesitate. “What?” The transport sped in. Closer, closer...
But instead of stopping him, Orlando pushed Viggo’s aim slightly lower, to the base of the machine; it’s flickering, constantly shifting, unarmoured ribs. Viggo saw Orlando’s palm flex and suddenly, suddenly...
“Go,” Orlando said.
The transport dropped altitude and opened fire. Bullets ripped the Scorpion-Spec’s stronger upper armour into larger and larger holes, but as it shuddered and wrenched about, it took the hits and kept aim, charging to optimal the single cannon. It’s most powerful weapon. Viggo closed one eye and sighted away from that armour, down lower, clicked on automatic-fire and squeezed the trigger.
The bullets tore into the underbelly of the machine and lanced it open. Wires spilled out amid fluid and Viggo was already moving as Orlando flicked the small cylinder he had palmed open. Together they pelted for the space between the multiple pounding legs that carved up the ground like drill-bits.
Viggo’s aim took out the bad leg, severing it and sending it spiralling and then it was all he could do to watch in fear as Orlando ducked under the stomach at a run, turned, flung the grenade high into the machine’s electronic insides and meet him on the other side. Neither looked back as they tore away.
The explosion was largely contained within the Scorpio-Spec’s body cage cavity, but Viggo felt the heat and force hit his back like a living entity as he ran. The temperature pooled and built; ravaging, consuming everything immediately around it to a molten death. The machine’s last screech poured in wave through the air and Viggo remembered to breathe again as the transport banked over their heads and fired, laying waste to the burning, thrashing remains.
It was then that Orlando started to tremble. He only stopped half an hour later when he finally fell into an exhausted sleep propped against Viggo, safely loaded aboard the transport and all in the air.
~*~
The soft Christmas music was coming from the embedded speakers in Viggo’s walls, the pre-designated order for the turkey and trimmings had been paid for and programmed for itomic-materialisation in the kitchen receptacle shortly, the tree remained decorated and rotated slowly, suspended near the mantelpiece on it’s antigrav projector and Viggo bared the odd looks from his neighbours as he hung a small green holo-wreath on the outside of his door that afternoon... two days post-Christmas.
The pincode card had glittered a hole in his pocket since he had watched Orlando being woken up upon touchdown, taken from his arms and deposited with the rest of the civilians at the hospital for preliminary checks. The shuttle doors had closed on Orlando’s walking form as he’d kept looking back over his shoulder for Viggo. In turn Viggo himself had to suffer lengthy debriefings, so it was more than a day later when he had actually been allowed to return home. It had seemed empty.
So it was with more butterflies in his stomach than a battle had ever produced that he found himself fidgeting with his glass of wine on the arm of his couch, glancing at the digital display crystal on his mantle every five minutes. He had cracked open his curtains to allow a news-beam through for distraction, but every channel had ill-informed coverage of further storms on Rodai, so he let the material drape closed.
Now he was...
The buzzing resonant of the door-tone filtered into the room. Viggo stood up.
Now he was nervous.
Opening the door proved to allay his fears however, as a flushed figure stood there, hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans, looking half curious-half terrified. Viggo took in the sight of those jeans and the thick bomber jacket that clashed so gleefully with the fluffy Christmas hat perched atop Orlando’s hair.
It nearly fell off when Orlando shook his head. “D’you know how many weird looks I got walking here with this on?” He grinned. “I had one elderly gentleman offer to reset my retinal date-display chip for free.”
Viggo felt the butterflies disappear into rolling warmth. He smiled and backed away from the door, watching the red and white fluff waltz past his nose. “Did you tell him that you missed out on Christmas itself and so were celebrating post-date?”
When he had locked the door and followed through to the lounge, he found Orlando perched on the arm of the couch he had just vacated, looking around in curiosity. When Viggo came level Orlando craned his head to look up at him. “Nah, I just thanked him politely, paid for an ito-material fruit mince pie from a nearby vendor for his troubles and left him happy.”
Viggo grinned, retrieved the second glass he’d filled a little earlier and handed the red contents to Orlando. Then he raised his own and stepped closer, watching Orlando’s cheeks begin to lose their pink, frostbitten look in the modified temperature of the house. Orlando accepted the wine and reached out with his other hand, snagging fingers into Viggo’s belt and tugging him to stand between his legs. Looking up, he guided his own glass to connect with Viggo’s, clinking softly.
“Merry Christmas, Vig.”
Viggo let himself give into the urge and threaded his free hand through Orlando’s hair, tracing his fingers along the base of his neck. Then with a gentle nudge, he pushed sideways so that with a surprised ‘oof’, Orlando slid down the arm and onto the couch itself. Viggo followed over the arm, settling himself down next to a tangled, squashed Orlando who wriggled until he was unfolded and comfy.
Viggo lifted an arm and settled it around Orlando’s shoulders, feeling the automould couch reading them both, adjusting to suit their positions. Warm and firm against his side, Orlando dropped his head slightly to rest against Viggo. The little white ball on the end of his hat tickled gently. Chapped lips found a patch of skin inside Viggo’s collar and pressed there. A long leg inched up and over Viggo’s own, tucking thigh to thigh.
And from the kitchen, the smell of turkey began to materialise.
Viggo tightened his arm around the bundled body wrapped close to him. “Merry Christmas to you too.”
~*~
The End.
OVERALL RATING: NC-17 overall, not every single fic is, but just in case;)
NOTE/RULES REMINDER: Please remember I cut out any hints that could point to the author, like beta thanks, most notes etc. Writers, don't reveal your indentity yet! Readers, guess the author, list of participants is right here. Leave feedback, but play nice. No flaming.
26. For zee113, who asked for I'd love to read a sci-fi or fantasy AU in an exotic setting but with a Christmas-y subject.
Titel: Scar Night, Scar Bright
Warning: Mild violence
By the time the morning light had washed the sly clear of stars, Viggo had instructed the four survivors to gather what they needed; only what they could place into pockets to keep their hands free and to be ready to move out when the afternoon rolled round.
The illuminated timechip at the top corner of his vision had been knocked out by the electromagnetic pulse the Panther-Spec had thrown at him, so Viggo ignored it. He wasn’t taking the chance of being late and missing the pickup. Once the sun hit it’s zenith they would make tracks for the rendezvous point and be there with time to spare.
Orlando had spent most of the morning dividing his time between assisting the two other men to gather whatever specific data disks they deemed important and making sure the woman could at least walk and keep up if they ran into trouble. From what Viggo saw as they hobbled the length of the main service room, she could manage with her chest strapped tight. Bruising and the cuts would hurt like a bitch but if she was limbered up in the hours to come, she could safely take care of herself if need be.
Viggo left them to it and scouted back the way he had come with Orlando, checking the duct was clear of obstacles and good for a run if need be. It brought him to the large storage and development room with it’s eerily suspended broken pods. In the daylight hours the sunlight crashed through the opened ceiling, glinting off the metal and machinery that lay wrecked and discarded. Baubles dangled from each desk. Viggo worked his way around cracked computer screens that had once projected codestreams and whatever technical specs the scientists had been working on. He ignored the dried bloodstains that splattered the processors.
The pods swung gently in the faint airflow, cracked wide and no longer full of the foetal machines they once carried. Viggo walked the length of the room, rifle sweeping ahead of him until he was sure each corner didn’t harbor anything nasty lying in wait. Only then did he allow himself to look at the specifics on each pod; the scratched details of their contents like the one he had glimpsed the other night. Names and DNA codings swept past in their multitudes. Viggo spent time going from one to the other.
Tiger-Spec. Scorpion-Spec. Wolf-Spec. Panther. Lion. Python. Spider...
Jesus.
The edges of the creation and experimentation pods were a thick reinforced alloy, but the very tops of them showed severe heat damage to the point where the machinery had crystallised and become brittle as the computers controlling the environmental factors in these pseudo-wombs had overloaded and failed.
It was right above them that the ceiling had been shattered. The opened rooftop and bent, twisted beams Viggo had seen rising like arms from a distance when coming down the street. He let out a long breath. The sleeping monsters had been woken, fused with the dangerous half of the computer data that had previously held them complacent through high voltage currents and had gone ballistic. They’d brought the house down and escaped.
“It’s not a pretty sight.” Orlando said from the vent entrance.
Glancing to him, Viggo stepped down from the pod platform and crossed back over in crunching footfalls. “This is something I’d be happy never to see again, put it that way.”
Orlando turned with a rueful, sad smile. “If this is what self-important powerful people playing god looks like, I’m glad to be going home.”
Viggo nudged him as he fell into step. “For Christmas,”
Orlando dug him back a bump to the ribs with a rueful laugh. “Something like that.”
Viggo smiled and brought his rifle up, carefully cautious even though Orlando had obviously just crossed the passageway unharmed. Orlando saw it and looked at Viggo’s gun closely for the first time.
“You know, why come armed against something like this? What’ve you got in there anyway?”
Viggo glanced down at the ancient weapon he cradled. “Bullets,” he said, the old term sounding foreign out loud. “Explosive-tipped rounds. Several clips worth; a few minutes on automatic fire, longer on controlled bursts.”
Air whistled out from between Orlando’s teeth. “I didn’t think they had those sorts of things in circulation anymore.”
Breaking his training that screamed at him even though the passageway was clear, Viggo tamped it down with common sense for a moment and handed the rifle over. “Seems that they brought them out of retirement just for us.”
Orlando took the rifle in awkward hands and ran his fingers over the ridges. “Projectile weaponry,” he mused. “So simple... and yet something we never thought of. All the hotshot heads of production here would breathe down my neck to work up self-regenerating magnetic armour capable of laser-absorption.” A short bubble of laughter escaped him and Orlando handed the gun back. “Not one of them ever considered good ol’ fashioned sodding bullets. Hope they do the trick.”
Viggo lowered his voice as they approached the service rooms. “They can.”
Orlando ducked a singed wreath that dangled lopsided from a ledge and shot Viggo a sharp, hopeful look. “Really?”
Raising a hand Viggo pointed in the rough direction the way he had come from the main street. “You’re down one panther.”
“You took out the Panther-Spec?” Orlando blinked, astonished. Viggo smiled and shook his head hastily.
“Uh-uh. Before whatever you start to think, the bastard was missing,” he raised a hand and wiggled fingers behind his head. “Whatever passed for a central cortex. It made easy mistakes and didn’t take care of itself when it went down. It was far too easy a mark. For what it’s worth, it didn’t look...” Viggo searched for the word. “Finished.”
“No,” Orlando looked thoughtful. “No, it was fairly new. It hadn’t even been test-run yet. Anyway,” he ducked into the service room, Viggo following. “At least we know something can hit it and hurt.”
The three other occupants of the room were huddled together, their pockets stuffed with papers and disks, looking scared but apparently ready to leave when asked. Viggo expected the chance to get out of here was a damn big carrot, no matter how nervous the bunny.
One of the men had a backpack over his shoulder. Viggo eyed it. “No can do. You’ll have to leave that behind.”
The man looked affronted at the suggestion. “But I have documents! My research notes!”
Viggo walked over and lifted the pack off the man’s shoulder, yanking it when he was resisted. “I don’t care if you have the Queen of Sheba in there.” He dumped it on the dusty ground. “It isn’t coming.”
“Why the hell not?” The man spluttered, colour rising to his cheeks. Viggo opened his mouth to retort but Orlando stepped in.
“Because you can’t run with us if you have something heavy weighing you down, Mack. Be sensible about this.” Orlando waved a hand in the pack’s direction. “You want to get killed over pieces of paper, you might as well stay here with them. Then you can rot together.”
Seething in Viggo’s direction the man gradually relented, toeing the pack aside and returning to the others. Viggo angled his head back to check the sky. Close enough.
“Everybody,” he called to the room. “Gather what you have. We move out in fifteen minutes.”
~*~
Orlando kept to Viggo’s shoulder as the little group left the alcove of service rooms. Viggo had donned his helmet for it’s communication capacity and took point, ushering his charges down the ventilation shaft and out through the pod room. As they filed past, Viggo held Orlando back for an instant.
“Here,” Viggo dug through his pack and produced a small cylinder. “Take this.”
Orlando obligingly lifted the little object. “What is it?”
“Incendiary grenade.” Viggo said quietly. “White phosphorous. It’ll ignite at nearly three thousand degrees on impact. Burn through just about anything.” He pressed Orlando’s fingers closed over the cylinder. “Just in case.”
Eyes wide, Orlando nodded and carefully added it to his pocket. Then with a searching look to Viggo’s black visor, he moved ahead to join the group. With a final check Viggo caught up and resumed leading them back the way he had come; down the corridors from the pod room to the wrecked security door he had used. They reached it without incident.
Viggo held them back before venturing onto the street itself, ducking out alone to a corner a few paces away and stopping near it, watching to make certain of a clear path. The sun had started to dip from it’s zenith, lowering almost imperceptibly. Viggo ignored the timechip that blinked in the corner of his vision proclaiming it to be just after eight o’clock and concentrated on the long road ahead.
The buildings still bore their Christmas decorations like bright banners. Viggo waited for a full minute, holding his breath to achieve absolute stillness as he scanned the street for any sign of movement. When he found none, he tried his com-link.
“Anyone copy? This is a Deniable broadcasting on the wide, over.”
Silence prevailed. Viggo hoped feverently that it was simply the ancient device’s limited range keeping him blocked and alone. Down the end of the long street lay the crossroad in which they had been dropped. It was there that they needed to be... Viggo glanced up again. Shortly.
He heard a soft exclamation borne on a swear word behind him and Viggo spun, seeing one of the men stepping out of the building’s cover to gape at the only flaw in the road; the downed bulk of the Panther-Spec. It left a mountain-like lump almost halfway between where they were positioned and where they needed to be. Viggo flicked an angry hand at the gawping man and beckoned him closer. He was the one who had insisted on the backpack earlier.
When he approached close enough, Viggo grabbed him by the scruff of his collar and hauled him roughly up to his visor. “You wait where I tell you to fucking wait, you hear me?”
The man in his grip nodded awkwardly; as best he could with Viggo’s gloved fist pressed up under his chin and Viggo released him sharply, letting him fall back a stumbling step before pointing out to the wreck. “Or else you could trip one of those bastards and get us all into shit. Understand?”
A hand to his throat, the man nodded begrudgingly. Viggo turned away, wondering how it was possible for human nature to rear it’s stubborn and stupid side even to it’s own detriment. There were always morons.
But there was nothing to be seen on the open road ahead so Viggo had to admit that even as safe as their spot was, they would have to leave it. He sighed and turned back to the broken entranceway, gathering the straggling bunch to him. Orlando shepherded the woman amongst them but with a smile she was showing she could manage herself if need be, so Orlando moved up to walk with Viggo.
When he reached Viggo’s shoulder he was met with a negative. “No,” Viggo shook his head and pointed to their flank. “I need you a little way back.” At Orlando’s hurt look, Viggo couldn’t smile behind his visor to help allay his worry and explain, so he softened his words. “Please. You’re the only other one with any kind of weapon on you. Just unpin, throw and tell us all to duck and cover if you see anything.”
Understanding dawned on Orlando’s face and he slipped wordlessly back to cover the back of the group. Viggo had the sobering thought unlike the datarats amongst them, Orlando with his hands-on experience would be the best person to recognise it if something bad came their way from behind where Viggo himself couldn’t watch.
They moved along under sunlight. Viggo had not felt this naked in a long time. Alongside them tiny gold holly bells began to tinkle over a window pane, brushed by the wind. Even that innocent sound was unnerving. Viggo pulled the rifle to his shoulder and doubled his pace, making the decision to keep them all in the centre of the road instead of to the sidewalks where he had made his own mistake the day before. It was exposure of the highest level but he had little choice.
They skirted a wide birth around the hull of the Panther-Spec, wary eyes trained on the dead eye less it should suddenly spark to life again. But it remained as still and silent as Viggo had left it. Unheard by the others, his sigh of relief fell only inside his own helmet.
It was when they reached halfway that Viggo saw deep gouges in the side of one of the smaller buildings. The metal was crumpled in on itself as if something large and very heavy had collided with it. That hadn’t been there when Viggo had last passed this way. He kept walking, slowing slightly. Whatever had been thrown into that building was no longer there, so it had to have picked itself up and kept moving.
Kept hunting one of the men it had found.
Viggo pulled his eyes away and glanced back to the straggling group who huddled behind him, clutching unconsciously at themselves in their shock and wary fear. All of them jumped when a shot cracked the air.
Viggo swung his rifle towards the sound, limbs braced, finger hovering over the trigger, when...
‘S--ir? Ide--tfy. Is th-- you approac--ing?’
Viggo tapped his helmet, walking closer a few paces to clarify the crackling voice. “Dean? S’that you? State your position. I’ve got a few civilians with me.”
‘Two men MIA, --ir. Other--ise all acco--ted for.’
A uniformed body stepped from the shadow of an overhang a short way away and raised a hand in signal. Right by the crossroads. Viggo lifted his own in acknowledgement and then dropped back to the group. “Over there. Make for that man, each of you and don’t look back. I’m coming right behind you where I can see you all. Quickly.”
That got them moving. Three left and made for Dean’s position immediately. One stayed; a determined set to his hips where he stood. Viggo said nothing, just fell in beside Orlando and caught his faint smile.
“Your voice sounds different in that thing.”
Viggo smiled, unseen. “It’s the amplification resonators; they’re designed for internal com-link, not speaking to anyone beside me who doesn’t have a helmet. Makes me sound like a newscast reader.” The very air seemed to have settled as Viggo watched the three stumble towards Dean’s position as if the safety of the shade and other soldiers were the shuttle itself. Suddenly they looked like actually accomplishing this.
Orlando’s resounding chuckle seemed like a wash of cool water. Together they followed towards the temporary camp. Viggo found himself saddened at parting when they approached the others; he had to check in with the other men in unit and Orlando joined the rest of the survivors. The countdown was dipping below an hour and the air itself was almost thick with hope. But there was still checking to be done and debriefing amongst the unit; Viggo spoke to the other two men who had made it back to the rendezvous point with their own charges. It looked like they had managed around twenty survivors. Then he made a beeline for Dean.
He found the other man had retreated to the back of the overhang, now helmetless, to where a singed and dirty figure was propped against the wall, head down and obscured by a mop of dark hair. Dean stood up as Viggo approached.
“That him?” Viggo asked gently and Dean nodded jerkily. “He okay?”
“Will be. S’all that matters.” Dean looked past Viggo and lowered his voice. “Thanks, Vig. For letting me--”
Viggo cut him off. “For losing track of you like I did? Why, they’ll have my hide.”
Dean grinned then; a flash of white teeth in his smudged face. Then it was gone again, unspoken camaraderie between them as a slight rumble rattled the red and gold stars wrapped around the guttering. Dean resettled his footing and indicated the newcomers with a tired hand. “Well done, for what it’s worth. Good result.”
Viggo turned and his eyes found Orlando, crouched by a man with a gash to his temple, reassuring words falling from him as he carefully stemmed the bleeding. Viggo smiled. “Yeah, it is. It’s--”
“Incoming!”
Viggo whipped his head towards the shout, to follow the pointing hand of the man whose keen eyes had spotted the three figures tearing up the road from a corner several hundred meters away in the opposite direction. The floor rumbled harder. Two white coats and a third in black, rifle aimed as he stumbled to spin and meet and fire at what was behind them.
What was tearing up the cement road behind them in wide furrows as if it were sand.
Viggo sprang up to the edge of the alcove and leant out, watching in shock as the ground exploded and disgorged a twenty-foot tall mass of whirling blades. It shot over the heads of the running men and landed ahead of them, skidding around on numerous claws that shredded metal gouges, tail whipping through the air in a series of whirling, clicking plates.
“It’s a fucking scorpion.” Viggo heard someone breathe beside him.
The Scorpion-Spec whirled it’s long body, the sharp metal exoskeleton slicking into place for each move as fluidly as any biological entity. This wasn’t a half-formed machine; it was the real finished project. The Spec blocked the run of the men and all Viggo saw was a burst of rifle fire and corresponding sparks shearing off of the machine’s shielding before a pair of black-clad figures shot past his view, weapons loaded. But as Viggo moved to join them another blur who was not the same followed them.
“Orlando!”
Viggo pushed off, lunging after the body that sped away but Orlando was already sprinting after the soldiers, pulling the grenade from his pocket. Viggo yelled in vain and then spun to Dean, who looked about to follow with the rest, pointing him down. “No! Stay and watch the little ones.”
Gunfire. Viggo didn’t wait for a response, just whirled and took off, his boots pounding out a rhythm that thundered through his body with each heavy footfall. Pushing himself across the lesser gravity-impacted space, he found speed and closed the distance in time to see the Scorpion-Spec spin and round on the newcomers who had dared fire upon it.
“Orlando!” Viggo saw the plain-clothed figure dart up behind the men and skid to a stop as they all realised the sight before them. Writhing, the Scorpion-Spec flung back armoured plates along it’s ribs and rolled out wired nodules down it’s legs, clicking them into place on connection ports with whirling pistons that hissed fierce compression steam.
“Back!” Viggo yelled, seeing the other Deniables recognise the same thing he did. Viggo rushed to Orlando and flung an arm around his waist, dragging him back. Planting his feet, Viggo lifted Orlando fractionally off the ground and held him to his side, turning them both away. They didn’t make it far.
The electrical pulse that shot into the ground around the clawed appendages flashed a violent blue. The Scorpion-Spec plunged it’s legs into the ground, forcing the field out around itself; the unleashed power ran like a river though the cracks in the road. Shielded in his protective boots and holding Orlando up away from the direct current, Viggo still felt the impact like a sledgehammer. Together, the force picked them up like toys and threw them bodily to the pavement. Viggo landed hard, the weight of the other man pressing hard for an instant before he rolled away and it was Orlando who was dragging Viggo to his feet.
“Look out!”
Viggo forced himself up with his other arm, propelling them both out of the way as a clawed leg slammed into the ground, rupturing concrete where they had lain; the Scorpion trying to pin it’s stunned victims. They stumbled, still latched together and Viggo shook the dizziness from his eyes. He only remembered the rifle in his grip as he heard a scream and saw the body of one of the civilians yanked past, flipped up and...
Viggo turned Orlando away and pushed them both back enough to get in range-but where the machine had stood it then dove before their eyes, spinning it’s sharp claws at a hydraulic pace, pushing them into the ground and burrowing after them in a flurry of flung groundwork that nearly blinded them.
All around their feet the ground trembled. Coughing, Viggo reached for the last scientist and threw him in front. “Get the fuck out of here!”
The man tripped over his feet to get towards where Dean stood, arm outstretched to guide. Viggo looked around, rifle pointed down below them at the unseen target, and saw the somewhat comforting sight of the other black-clad figures around him with rifles to bear, sidestepping the tremors that rippled beneath their feet. They could take this.
Orlando’s continued presence hit Viggo like another bolt and he abruptly realised just how... He snatched Orlando’s sleeve. “Back with the others.”
Orlando shook his head, cautiously planting his legs against the shuddering ground and glancing around for the next eruption of metal. “No, I can help.”
“You can get killed.” Viggo hauled him to look directly in the eyes. “I don’t want that.”
The beginning of Orlando’s smile fell into shadow as the street exploded into rubble behind him and the whirling, screeching monster of armour plating and circuitry launched into the air. The soldiers closest fell back, thrown from their feet and Viggo pushed Orlando to the side, arching his rifle up and firing.
Sparks. Fire. The scream of dented metal and opened wiring. Clearing past just above his head, Viggo watched the Scorpion skid and piston itself back around, holding place with back legs as it’s claws raised and peeled back the outer grid plates, pistons spinning and reconnecting nozzles together to kickstart a pair of gatling guns. Revolving, they loaded small missiles with a deadly, repetitive clicking. Both claws zeroed in on Viggo and Orlando’s heat signatures, lowering to face them.
“Go! Move!” Viggo scrambled for the sidewalk as the Deniables behind raised cover fire. Orlando pelted towards the nearest building doorway as Viggo heard the telltale whoosh and whine of incoming fire. Running flat out, they dove behind the wall as the world disintegrated; fire and force ripped through the corner of the building in the explosion, opening it up like tin. With an arm over Orlando to hold him down, Viggo hunched close through the barrage of noise and pelting of shattered stonework. It rained down like hail, coating them in dust and ash.
When Viggo raised his head and shook it, the Spec’s clunking armour sounded dulled behind the empty guns as they whirred to a stop. The Scorpion skittered slowly closer; a silver-tipped harbinger of death. Exhausted, Viggo pulled his rifle from the dirt and sighted...
The whirring wasn’t just from the Scorpion. Viggo heard Orlando’s shout as the clouds parted overhead and the familiar bulk of the unmarked security transport dropped through. In a dead-fall it descended below building-level and overshot the Scorpion in a whirl of gunfire. Viggo dared to pull Orlando from the wreckage as the machine buckled and snapped under the bullets, sparks igniting the air around it.
The Scorpion-Spec writhed and spun it’s interlocking tail, arching. The joints reeled and shifted, making space for the stinger at the end to disgorge a fierce-looking fusion cannon. Skittering back slightly to aim in the new direction, the Scorpion sighted and locked on the transport as it banked and came back for another pass. Viggo’s heart fell and his mouth went dry. Shit. Shit.
The machine crouched and readied itself, still sparking in parts. One back leg twitched, partially severed at the lowest joint. Viggo’s mind flew, trying, hoping, thinking for some way to stop what was going to happen...
He brought his weapon to sight but Orlando’s hand on his wrist made him hesitate. “What?” The transport sped in. Closer, closer...
But instead of stopping him, Orlando pushed Viggo’s aim slightly lower, to the base of the machine; it’s flickering, constantly shifting, unarmoured ribs. Viggo saw Orlando’s palm flex and suddenly, suddenly...
“Go,” Orlando said.
The transport dropped altitude and opened fire. Bullets ripped the Scorpion-Spec’s stronger upper armour into larger and larger holes, but as it shuddered and wrenched about, it took the hits and kept aim, charging to optimal the single cannon. It’s most powerful weapon. Viggo closed one eye and sighted away from that armour, down lower, clicked on automatic-fire and squeezed the trigger.
The bullets tore into the underbelly of the machine and lanced it open. Wires spilled out amid fluid and Viggo was already moving as Orlando flicked the small cylinder he had palmed open. Together they pelted for the space between the multiple pounding legs that carved up the ground like drill-bits.
Viggo’s aim took out the bad leg, severing it and sending it spiralling and then it was all he could do to watch in fear as Orlando ducked under the stomach at a run, turned, flung the grenade high into the machine’s electronic insides and meet him on the other side. Neither looked back as they tore away.
The explosion was largely contained within the Scorpio-Spec’s body cage cavity, but Viggo felt the heat and force hit his back like a living entity as he ran. The temperature pooled and built; ravaging, consuming everything immediately around it to a molten death. The machine’s last screech poured in wave through the air and Viggo remembered to breathe again as the transport banked over their heads and fired, laying waste to the burning, thrashing remains.
It was then that Orlando started to tremble. He only stopped half an hour later when he finally fell into an exhausted sleep propped against Viggo, safely loaded aboard the transport and all in the air.
~*~
The soft Christmas music was coming from the embedded speakers in Viggo’s walls, the pre-designated order for the turkey and trimmings had been paid for and programmed for itomic-materialisation in the kitchen receptacle shortly, the tree remained decorated and rotated slowly, suspended near the mantelpiece on it’s antigrav projector and Viggo bared the odd looks from his neighbours as he hung a small green holo-wreath on the outside of his door that afternoon... two days post-Christmas.
The pincode card had glittered a hole in his pocket since he had watched Orlando being woken up upon touchdown, taken from his arms and deposited with the rest of the civilians at the hospital for preliminary checks. The shuttle doors had closed on Orlando’s walking form as he’d kept looking back over his shoulder for Viggo. In turn Viggo himself had to suffer lengthy debriefings, so it was more than a day later when he had actually been allowed to return home. It had seemed empty.
So it was with more butterflies in his stomach than a battle had ever produced that he found himself fidgeting with his glass of wine on the arm of his couch, glancing at the digital display crystal on his mantle every five minutes. He had cracked open his curtains to allow a news-beam through for distraction, but every channel had ill-informed coverage of further storms on Rodai, so he let the material drape closed.
Now he was...
The buzzing resonant of the door-tone filtered into the room. Viggo stood up.
Now he was nervous.
Opening the door proved to allay his fears however, as a flushed figure stood there, hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans, looking half curious-half terrified. Viggo took in the sight of those jeans and the thick bomber jacket that clashed so gleefully with the fluffy Christmas hat perched atop Orlando’s hair.
It nearly fell off when Orlando shook his head. “D’you know how many weird looks I got walking here with this on?” He grinned. “I had one elderly gentleman offer to reset my retinal date-display chip for free.”
Viggo felt the butterflies disappear into rolling warmth. He smiled and backed away from the door, watching the red and white fluff waltz past his nose. “Did you tell him that you missed out on Christmas itself and so were celebrating post-date?”
When he had locked the door and followed through to the lounge, he found Orlando perched on the arm of the couch he had just vacated, looking around in curiosity. When Viggo came level Orlando craned his head to look up at him. “Nah, I just thanked him politely, paid for an ito-material fruit mince pie from a nearby vendor for his troubles and left him happy.”
Viggo grinned, retrieved the second glass he’d filled a little earlier and handed the red contents to Orlando. Then he raised his own and stepped closer, watching Orlando’s cheeks begin to lose their pink, frostbitten look in the modified temperature of the house. Orlando accepted the wine and reached out with his other hand, snagging fingers into Viggo’s belt and tugging him to stand between his legs. Looking up, he guided his own glass to connect with Viggo’s, clinking softly.
“Merry Christmas, Vig.”
Viggo let himself give into the urge and threaded his free hand through Orlando’s hair, tracing his fingers along the base of his neck. Then with a gentle nudge, he pushed sideways so that with a surprised ‘oof’, Orlando slid down the arm and onto the couch itself. Viggo followed over the arm, settling himself down next to a tangled, squashed Orlando who wriggled until he was unfolded and comfy.
Viggo lifted an arm and settled it around Orlando’s shoulders, feeling the automould couch reading them both, adjusting to suit their positions. Warm and firm against his side, Orlando dropped his head slightly to rest against Viggo. The little white ball on the end of his hat tickled gently. Chapped lips found a patch of skin inside Viggo’s collar and pressed there. A long leg inched up and over Viggo’s own, tucking thigh to thigh.
And from the kitchen, the smell of turkey began to materialise.
Viggo tightened his arm around the bundled body wrapped close to him. “Merry Christmas to you too.”
~*~
The End.