Viggorli fic for tiary's birthday
Title: And If You Told Me All The Lies That I Deserve
Author: lostmyfish
Rating: R
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando
Summary: Orlando dreams of him.
For tiary, who's beautiful and caring and a precious friend. Happy belated birthday.
Disclaimer: It's not true.
No beta, all mistakes are mine.
Every night he dreams of dying. Sometimes it's peaceful. He's lying in a field with someone. With him. His lips move soundlessly and his eyes crinkle at the corners and the sky matches the blue smiling at down at Orlando. He takes Orlando's hand, and Orlando feels a huge weight lift from him as they shudder together, a final satisfied breath.
Then they lie there, content, as the worms wriggle up through the soil below them and into their prone bodies. Insects hum and crackle around them and birds call freedom as they sink down, become part of the earth around them.
He wakes from these dreams feeling rested and calm, only a small twinge of loss buried deep in his belly. He tucks it away with all the other good hurts that he will never regret.
Other dreams are not so peaceful. Sometimes he's falling all over again, and if he's lucky he'll bounce on the mattress and wake up. Sometimes he's running and something has stolen his voice so he can't cry for help. He knows better than to look back, he knows that whatever is chasing him is too terrible to contemplate. He also knows it's going to catch him and bring him down, and nobody will know that he is gone.
He can't die alone.
He wakes from the bad dreams soaked, tangled in sheets and breathing harshly. Sometimes the dog pads onto the bed and flops down, a soft lump on top of him, anchoring him to everything that's real. He cuddles Sidi close, strokes his ears softly as his heart slows and deep sleep calls him.
He comes to this place and dreams when he is awake. His eyes slide slightly out of focus, gazing at something no one else can see. Soft wing beats ruffle the air, and he dreams of soaring over the coast before him, of arms surrounding him and holding him close, of familiar laughter and a voice calling his name.
It's only when his name is followed by an expletive that he is dragged back to the present. He's right there, standing only a few yards away, with Henry and a woman Orlando doesn't recognise. He smiles at them uncertainly from his spot on the ground and Henry lopes over.
"Hey Orli. This must be the infamous Sidi," he says, rubbing the dog's belly. Orlando laughs at the mutt's attention-seeking antics.
"Yup, this is him. I would do formal introductions, but you two see, pretty well-acquainted..." Henry's sat down now and the dog's all over him, licking his face.
"Hey," Viggo says gently and Orlando looks up at his silhouette, blinded by the sun behind him.
"Hi," he says, sounding fucking shy, and he wants the world to swallow him up.
"This is Jane," Viggo introduces, motioning to the smitten woman beside him.
Orlando nods, genial smile in place. "Nice to meet you, Jane." He scrambles to stand up but she protests, and he sinks back down onto the grass.
"Jane's a journalist," Viggo continues.
"And she's doing a cover story on Dad for Vanity Fair!" Henry crows, arms full of wayward dog.
Viggo looks sheepish, and Orlando feels a shit-eating grin spread over his face. He grabs her arm. "Listen, Jane, if you want quotes or anecdotes, you know, stories to really make your toes curl and your stomach heave and your brain beg to be bleached, I've got 'em. He's not what he seems," he says, nodding in Viggo's direction. Viggo's grinning at him fondly and it feels good, this spark of familiarity and companionship and warmth.
She laughs and thanks him, her eyes twinkling.
"Have you taken her home yet?" he asks Viggo, who shakes his head, still grinning. "His house is a tip," he tells the woman. "It's unbelievable. You can't see the carpet. At all. It's just covered in books and papers and whiskey bottles. It is, isn't it?" he asks, wondering if Viggo's tidied up his act in the past couple of years.
Viggo smiles. "Same as it ever was," he affirms and Orlando feels something ease in his chest.
"I won't tell you what he sleeps in," he tells the journalist, eyebrows raised suggestively. She laughs again, thoroughly charmed.
"I thought you were in the Caribbean," she says casually.
"Yeah, well, I was, but then Johnny got sick," he grins. Johnny tends to get sick whenever the crew need a break. "So it's downtime at the moment."
"And you come here?"
"Sometimes." He shrugs. "Sidi likes it."
Sidi likes Henry too, they've rolled away and are wrestling in the grass like overzealous puppies.
"I'm only a few miles from here," Viggo says, as if Orlando didn't know. "Hey, if you're gonna be here for a while I'll give you a call. We'll go for a drink, catch up before you go back to the..." he waves an imaginary sword around.
"Yeah, we should do that," Orlando agrees easily, knowing that the call will never come.
The journalist lady is looking at them curiously and Viggo moves to leave. Henry dusts himself off, deposits the dog in his rightful place, and with a series of "nice to meet you"'s, "good to see you"'s and "catch you later"'s, they're gone.
The phone rings while he's doing his stretches and he answers it absently.
"I've been thinking about the distance between us," the voice says in his ear. He smiles.
"Hi Viggo. Didn't think you'd call."
"Are you doing anything tonight?"
He's sitting at the bar, an unlit cigarette playing between his fingers. He's not hunched down, trying to stay out of sight. Nobody gives a fuck about Hollywood stars in this place. He orders a ginger ale from the barman, who calls him a wuss. He smiles, and says he's waiting for a friend.
"Aren't we all, son," the bartender says, setting the glass down in front of him.
Viggo walks in, looking somewhat dishevelled, and after a brief, awkward greeting, they slide into a booth.
"I didn't think you'd come."
"I didn't think you'd call."
They sit, drinking their beer, stealing glances at each other. This isn't how it's supposed to be. Viggo worries a torn cuticle on his finger, and blood wells up from the raw flesh.
"Stop that," Orlando snaps, grabbing his wrist. "You'll hurt yourself." Their eyes meet and Orlando wants a kiss, just one kiss...
Abruptly, he lets go of Viggo's arm. "I'm sorry," he says, making to stand.
"Don't go," Viggo says quietly and Orlando sinks down, defeated. "I've been wanting to spend some time with you for a while."
"Not here. Can we do this somewhere else?"
A pile of books topples over as they grab for each other, mouths devouring greedily as they fall onto the couch in a tangle of limbs.
"I've missed you so much," Viggo breathes against his lips as he wrestles him out of his shirt.
"Shut up," he hisses as he grabs Viggo's hips and unzips his jeans.
"So beautiful," Viggo murmurs as he strips Orlando bare, hands clutching and possessing every part of him.
"Shut up," he whispers harshly as a finger delves inside him.
"Still mine. Still the same boy." Fingers are twisting inside him now, turning him on, opening him up.
"Shut up, shut up, shut up," he chants through the haze of red.
Orlando sleeps deeply, and wakes to blue eyes looking down on him.
"Are you a dream?" he asks quietly, and Viggo laughs, snorting a little. Orlando smiles. "Now I know you're not."
"Go back to sleep," Viggo says, pulling him into his arms. And he does.
Author: lostmyfish
Rating: R
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando
Summary: Orlando dreams of him.
For tiary, who's beautiful and caring and a precious friend. Happy belated birthday.
Disclaimer: It's not true.
No beta, all mistakes are mine.
Every night he dreams of dying. Sometimes it's peaceful. He's lying in a field with someone. With him. His lips move soundlessly and his eyes crinkle at the corners and the sky matches the blue smiling at down at Orlando. He takes Orlando's hand, and Orlando feels a huge weight lift from him as they shudder together, a final satisfied breath.
Then they lie there, content, as the worms wriggle up through the soil below them and into their prone bodies. Insects hum and crackle around them and birds call freedom as they sink down, become part of the earth around them.
He wakes from these dreams feeling rested and calm, only a small twinge of loss buried deep in his belly. He tucks it away with all the other good hurts that he will never regret.
Other dreams are not so peaceful. Sometimes he's falling all over again, and if he's lucky he'll bounce on the mattress and wake up. Sometimes he's running and something has stolen his voice so he can't cry for help. He knows better than to look back, he knows that whatever is chasing him is too terrible to contemplate. He also knows it's going to catch him and bring him down, and nobody will know that he is gone.
He can't die alone.
He wakes from the bad dreams soaked, tangled in sheets and breathing harshly. Sometimes the dog pads onto the bed and flops down, a soft lump on top of him, anchoring him to everything that's real. He cuddles Sidi close, strokes his ears softly as his heart slows and deep sleep calls him.
He comes to this place and dreams when he is awake. His eyes slide slightly out of focus, gazing at something no one else can see. Soft wing beats ruffle the air, and he dreams of soaring over the coast before him, of arms surrounding him and holding him close, of familiar laughter and a voice calling his name.
It's only when his name is followed by an expletive that he is dragged back to the present. He's right there, standing only a few yards away, with Henry and a woman Orlando doesn't recognise. He smiles at them uncertainly from his spot on the ground and Henry lopes over.
"Hey Orli. This must be the infamous Sidi," he says, rubbing the dog's belly. Orlando laughs at the mutt's attention-seeking antics.
"Yup, this is him. I would do formal introductions, but you two see, pretty well-acquainted..." Henry's sat down now and the dog's all over him, licking his face.
"Hey," Viggo says gently and Orlando looks up at his silhouette, blinded by the sun behind him.
"Hi," he says, sounding fucking shy, and he wants the world to swallow him up.
"This is Jane," Viggo introduces, motioning to the smitten woman beside him.
Orlando nods, genial smile in place. "Nice to meet you, Jane." He scrambles to stand up but she protests, and he sinks back down onto the grass.
"Jane's a journalist," Viggo continues.
"And she's doing a cover story on Dad for Vanity Fair!" Henry crows, arms full of wayward dog.
Viggo looks sheepish, and Orlando feels a shit-eating grin spread over his face. He grabs her arm. "Listen, Jane, if you want quotes or anecdotes, you know, stories to really make your toes curl and your stomach heave and your brain beg to be bleached, I've got 'em. He's not what he seems," he says, nodding in Viggo's direction. Viggo's grinning at him fondly and it feels good, this spark of familiarity and companionship and warmth.
She laughs and thanks him, her eyes twinkling.
"Have you taken her home yet?" he asks Viggo, who shakes his head, still grinning. "His house is a tip," he tells the woman. "It's unbelievable. You can't see the carpet. At all. It's just covered in books and papers and whiskey bottles. It is, isn't it?" he asks, wondering if Viggo's tidied up his act in the past couple of years.
Viggo smiles. "Same as it ever was," he affirms and Orlando feels something ease in his chest.
"I won't tell you what he sleeps in," he tells the journalist, eyebrows raised suggestively. She laughs again, thoroughly charmed.
"I thought you were in the Caribbean," she says casually.
"Yeah, well, I was, but then Johnny got sick," he grins. Johnny tends to get sick whenever the crew need a break. "So it's downtime at the moment."
"And you come here?"
"Sometimes." He shrugs. "Sidi likes it."
Sidi likes Henry too, they've rolled away and are wrestling in the grass like overzealous puppies.
"I'm only a few miles from here," Viggo says, as if Orlando didn't know. "Hey, if you're gonna be here for a while I'll give you a call. We'll go for a drink, catch up before you go back to the..." he waves an imaginary sword around.
"Yeah, we should do that," Orlando agrees easily, knowing that the call will never come.
The journalist lady is looking at them curiously and Viggo moves to leave. Henry dusts himself off, deposits the dog in his rightful place, and with a series of "nice to meet you"'s, "good to see you"'s and "catch you later"'s, they're gone.
The phone rings while he's doing his stretches and he answers it absently.
"I've been thinking about the distance between us," the voice says in his ear. He smiles.
"Hi Viggo. Didn't think you'd call."
"Are you doing anything tonight?"
He's sitting at the bar, an unlit cigarette playing between his fingers. He's not hunched down, trying to stay out of sight. Nobody gives a fuck about Hollywood stars in this place. He orders a ginger ale from the barman, who calls him a wuss. He smiles, and says he's waiting for a friend.
"Aren't we all, son," the bartender says, setting the glass down in front of him.
Viggo walks in, looking somewhat dishevelled, and after a brief, awkward greeting, they slide into a booth.
"I didn't think you'd come."
"I didn't think you'd call."
They sit, drinking their beer, stealing glances at each other. This isn't how it's supposed to be. Viggo worries a torn cuticle on his finger, and blood wells up from the raw flesh.
"Stop that," Orlando snaps, grabbing his wrist. "You'll hurt yourself." Their eyes meet and Orlando wants a kiss, just one kiss...
Abruptly, he lets go of Viggo's arm. "I'm sorry," he says, making to stand.
"Don't go," Viggo says quietly and Orlando sinks down, defeated. "I've been wanting to spend some time with you for a while."
"Not here. Can we do this somewhere else?"
A pile of books topples over as they grab for each other, mouths devouring greedily as they fall onto the couch in a tangle of limbs.
"I've missed you so much," Viggo breathes against his lips as he wrestles him out of his shirt.
"Shut up," he hisses as he grabs Viggo's hips and unzips his jeans.
"So beautiful," Viggo murmurs as he strips Orlando bare, hands clutching and possessing every part of him.
"Shut up," he whispers harshly as a finger delves inside him.
"Still mine. Still the same boy." Fingers are twisting inside him now, turning him on, opening him up.
"Shut up, shut up, shut up," he chants through the haze of red.
Orlando sleeps deeply, and wakes to blue eyes looking down on him.
"Are you a dream?" he asks quietly, and Viggo laughs, snorting a little. Orlando smiles. "Now I know you're not."
"Go back to sleep," Viggo says, pulling him into his arms. And he does.