Uncovering
Title: Uncovering
Author: Moraya
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Genre: sci-fi-ish AU, angst
Disclaimer: This isn't reality. "The world of reality has its limits; the world of imagination is boundless." (Jean-Jacques Rousseau)
Feedback: Yes, please!
Beta: the wonderful ames1010
Notes: written for the darling nurseowens as part of early_theory
Summary: Orlando's is struggling with the secret he is keeping.
Uncovering
Big, cold raindrops fall, merging with the dust and sand corns on the street, turning it to a thin layer of sludge that clings to Orlando's boots. He drags on nevertheless, pushing through the crowd, keeping his head turned down so the rain doesn't blind him. The rain drenches his hair, slides over his sodden curls and seeps in fat drops under his collar. He shivers, buries his hands deeper into his pockets and pushes on.
It's no use to look for cover, as people are huddling for cover under the overhangs and awnings of the shops lining the streets by now, leaving no space for newcomers. He wouldn't be able to walk there anyway, and he has to be at work in half an hour - which is barely enough time to make it, even if it weren't raining cats and dogs.
At least the rain clears the smog somewhat, filtering dust and fumes from the air, and Orlando shudders, thinking how much worse the stench would be if it weren't for the daily rains. Another drop makes its way down his back, and Orlando reaches behind himself, drawing the collar of his coat up as far as it goes.
By the time he reaches his workplace, he's drenched to the skin, his clothes dripping, and he quivers with cold. The door slides open, admitting him in after he types in the entrance code in the panel and stands still to let it scan his iris.
A rush of cool sterilized air hits him, and he enters the building quickly, dragging his hand over his face to wipe away the rain. The desk clerk frowns at him at noticing his appearance, and points wordlessly at the changing room off the foyer. Orlando is too wet to bother with a cheeky reply, and a sarcastic remark will have him fired as soon as his boss hears about it. Considering there isn't a single room in the building that isn't under constant surveillance, Orlando doesn't take the chance, but makes his way into the changing room without any word.
Peeling the sodden clothes off his body makes him feel a hell of a lot better already. He gets a towel out of his locker, and starts drying off hastily, before slipping into the change of dry clothes he keeps at work. They all do; they all get caught in the rain all the time. There's a dryer in the changing room, and Orlando pushes his wet clothes in there, drags his company card through the slit and puts it on with automatic moves.
The blinking LCD numbers on the wall clock in the foyer read almost fifteen minutes after Orlando's shift begins, so he hurries up the steps, taking two at once, into the first floor of the office building where a dim lit central hallway leads to several open-plan offices. He drags a hand through his curls, tousling up in hope they'll look more styled than caught in the rain, and slows his steps as he enters the room. There's the sound of typing, and a few heads going up as Orlando makes his way through the maze of desks towards his own, trying to appear as if he'd just stepped out for a moment.
When he slides into the chair at his desk, Viggo looks up from his computer on the desk opposite, greeting Orlando quietly.
"You're late," he comments, "again."
"I know," Orlando says, stretching backwards in his chair until the backrest tips dangerously far back.
"It's the third time this week."
"Did he notice?" Orlando asks, sitting up straight again and risking a glance to the glass box that's the domain of their supervisor. The shutters are all closed; a good sign.
"Don't think so," Viggo says. "It's still risky what you're doing, Orlando."
Orlando smirks half-heartedly. Viggo doesn't even know just how risky his life is. He switches his computer on, immerging himself into unlocking the security that protects the files when no one is working. When he finally looks up and over to Viggo after a while, the older man has gone back to work at well.
*****
The rain has let up when work ends, though the streets are still slick and wet and there are drops from rainwater gutters and overhangs. Orlando has collected the change of clothing from the dryer, put it into the sports bag he keeps at work. He needs to remember to bring a fresh set tomorrow.
There's a cluster of people milling right in front of the exit, some smoking, most of them talking to their workmates. Everyone enjoys the little breaks of rain, spilling out into the open as if trying to soak up the few sun-rays whenever they break through the thick duvet of grey clouds.
Orlando meanders through the crowd, spying Viggo who sits on the low stone wall that runs around the length of the building, separating the two feet of greenery from the street. Viggo smiles at him when he goes over and Orlando smiles back as he sits down next to him. Viggo's got a half-smoked cigarette in his hands, and the air is clean enough that Orlando can smell the smoke, can see it curling up skywards in thin blue rivulets.
"Were you waiting for me?" he asks Viggo. They do that sometimes, go and have a beer or two together in a nearby bar after work. Usually though, they talk about it earlier in the day, and there's always others tagging along.
"It's a nice day," Viggo says, stubbing out his cigarette and titling his head. "Thought of going over to the Dubh Ghuin Quarter. Want to come along? We can have a drink at one of the stands there."
The Dubh Ghuin Quarter is in the heart of the city, with narrow streets that are lined by shops and delis, and little parks squeezing between the old houses. It's not the trendiest part of the town, but there isn't a time, day or night, when life isn't busy in Dubh Ghuin.
"Just you and me?" Orlando asks, because no one else is around and even though Viggo's voice is casual, it almost sounds as if it's an invitation to a date. But maybe that's just Orlando imagining things.
"Yeah," Viggo says, shrugging. He gets up from the wall and turns towards Orlando. "So, are you coming?"
"Yeah, why not?" Orlando answers. Viggo's right; the day is too nice to spend it inside.
They fall in step easily, walking down wide sidewalks along the office buildings towards the centre of the city. It's still early in the evening, and rush hour has just started, making Orlando glad for once that he's not confined in one of the tiny, cramped vehicles, carpooling back home.
There are more people milling the streets than usual, especially once they get in the Dubh Ghuin Quarter, and they have to stay close together or risk getting separated. A couple of times, Orlando finds himself reaching for Viggo's hand, just to make sure he won't lose the other man, but he draws back each time. He likes Viggo far too much to do anything to jeopardise their friendship.
They find a small pub wedged between shops selling trinkets and kitsch, and are lucky enough to arrive just as a couple leaves. Orlando slides onto one of the vacated chairs quickly, pushing glasses the couple left on the table a bit to the side.
"Think they got something to eat?" he asks. "I had to skip lunch today for the Stelldar report."
"If they don't, we can find some other place." Viggo smiles, looking around for a menu.
There's none on the table, but the blue-haired girl arriving at their table turns out to be the waitress, who confirms that they have some simple meals. They order their drinks, and the waitress lists some kinds of food. Orlando decides on a grilled sandwich, and then they're left alone again.
The waitress had taken the empty glasses with her, so Viggo has place to lean forward and speak with a normal voice, not having to raise it to be heard over the cacophony of sounds that's the steady background hum of different languages, laughter and several kinds of music from the shops.
"So, any specific thing you want to do around here?" Viggo asks. "I hadn't had anything planned, apart from enjoying a rain-free evening."
"How about we just browse?" Orlando says. "I haven't been here for some months, there ought to be new shops I don't know yet."
"Yeah," Viggo agrees easily. "I hardly take the time as well."
"What do you do when you're not working then?" Orlando asks him, genuinely interested. When they're out on other days with people from work, talk tends to stay carefully away from the personal, staying with safe topics as work, sports and some gossip about people not present. He has no clue what Viggo's hobbies are, though he does know that Viggo spends his holidays away from the city, fishing at some lake up in the mountains.
Viggo's eyes rake over the pub before he answers, "I paint mostly." There's a pause, and Orlando thinks that Viggo looks a bit nervous, or shy. "And I write poetry."
"I'd love to see something some time, if you want me to, that is," Orlando says. "Not that I know much about paintings or poetry, but yeah."
"Maybe I'll show you something then, some day." Viggo says.
Orlando still can't shake off the feeling that the other man sounds shy, and it lets him wonder again if this is supposed to be a date. He doesn't get a chance to ask as the waitress brings their drinks and his food, and he ravenously digs in.
Viggo turns the talk to another subject, telling him a story of the first time he can remember being to the Dubh Ghuin Quarter as a child with his grandmother while he nurses his beer. Orlando's done with the sandwich in record time, then turns to his own beer, listening to the other man's raspy voice, and laughing at the funny impression of his grandmother Viggo gives.
"She sounds like a fun woman," he says when Viggo has ended.
"She was," Viggo agrees. "She could scold you in a way that made you wish for the ground to open up and swallow you too, if you'd done something you weren't supposed to."
"Did you live with her?" Orlando asks, keen on learning more about Viggo.
"Since my parents died when I was nine."
"Oh… I…" Orlando isn't sure how to reply to that.
"Let's talk about something else," Viggo says with a smile. "Tell me something about you."
Orlando does, and after paying their bill, they throw themselves back into the fray that's the Dubh Ghuin Quarter, talking animatedly with one another. They stop every once in a while to look closer at the goods of one of the shops, or have another drink at one of the open stalls. Orlando's slowly starting to feel the alcohol, the slight buzz and the beginning of the cottony feeling in his head. From the looks of it, Viggo's the same.
It's fun, purely and simply, and Orlando can't remember the last time he laughed so much. He's browsing through the stone trinkets of a shop, beautiful, real stones, though not expensive, when there's a commotion on the street, a few shops down. Raised voices shouting and drunken laughter, and Viggo appears back at Orlando's side.
"What's going on there, you think?" Orlando asks, leaving the pendants be.
"No idea," Viggo says, frowning as he tries to catch sight of it. "A brawl or something from the sounds of it."
"Let's go the other way then, yeah?" Orlando proposes. He's always hated unjustified violence, drunken guys bashing each other's heads in just for some twisted idea of fun.
The shouts from the street get louder. Yells of "We want no fucking freaks here!" "Damn shifters!" intermix with vulgarity and cries.
Viggo grips Orlando's elbow as Orlando struggles to see over the masses that are pulled to the tumult like fleas to honey. Someone in front of him steps aside, and Orlando suddenly sees the pretty blonde in the middle of the turmoil. She looks close to crying, trashing against the hold one man has on her. Her face is twisted with anger, and there are light blue and green specks on her cheekbones. Reptilian scales, Orlando realizes, and his heart freezes for a moment.
Police sirens startle him out of his daze, and he lets Viggo lead him away from the street, through another and yet another until they find a small park. He lets himself slump down on a bench, still hearing the sirens from far away, feeling the tension ease away slowly as the sirens die away after a while. Viggo takes his hand, rubbing his thumb in circles over it, and Orlando doesn't draw it away.
*****
His head is throbbing when he wakes up the next morning, and groggily gets out of bed. Images of the night before come back to his mind. The female shifter, Viggo wordlessly offering him comfort without even knowing why the bashing hit Orlando so. He didn't explain, and now he wonders why Viggo didn't ask.
Orlando showers cold, letting the icy water wake him up properly, wishing it could wash away more than just residue sleepiness. The horror of watching a woman getting harassed like that just because she's a shape shifter still clings to his bones. It's not as if the girl could change it, even if she wanted to. How was she to alter her very nature? All the hope she has is hiding it, and if she doesn't manage to…
Orlando shakes his head, runs his fingers through his cold wet curls, then kills the spray of water. Stepping out of the shower, he looks at himself in the mirror over the sink. Without really meaning to, one of his hands runs over his forearm, stroking the soft fur for a moment before he catches himself.
It's always worst in the mornings, as he can't control his feelings during sleep, has no idea what images he's exposed to in his dreams. Today, it's his arms; a soft layer of fur, which colour matches his hair and Orlando bites his lips, willing it away stubbornly. It will disappear shortly, not instantly, but after half an hour, or an hour at the most, as long as he concentrates and doesn't let his thoughts stray.
The shifter part of him wants to run away, he feels it clearly, but Orlando pushes the instinct down, tells himself there's no reason to. No one knows, and no one will know. And as long as he never fully gives in to his instincts, his animal instincts, he won't fully turn. He'll always have the upper hand.
He towels himself dry and returns to his bed/living room, going to the drawer that holds his clothes. He realized yesterday that Viggo wants him; there's no other explanation for his friend's behaviour towards him, it went way beyond friendship. Part of Orlando is elated at that, wants to give in and see if there's more between them, something real. The other part of him is deeply afraid, knows he's already well on his way to feel more than friendship, and letting their relationship grow could only end terribly.
Orlando doesn't know if Viggo would even want to be with him if he knew that he's a shifter. Even if he did, Orlando can't allow himself that. The bashing they had witnessed in the Dubh Ghuin Quarter wasn't the first he'd ever seen. He can't risk exposing himself to the world in a way that surely would drive him away from it, get him fired, then homeless and forsaken. There's no place for shape shifters to live in peace in this world that he knows of.
It doesn't matter that Viggo's presence next to him as they sat on the bench in the small park managed to sooth him better and quicker than anything else. It doesn't matter that he thinks he can still feel the tingles where Viggo's thumb caressed his skin. It doesn't matter that if Viggo were to kiss him, he wouldn't shrink back.
*****
On a normal day, Orlando stays in his flat until the fur slinks back into skin, and then hurries to get into work just on time. Cold seeps in through the tiny gaps at the bottom of the door and the two windows, but there's no rain when Orlando looks outside. He puts on a thick dark green sweater, covering his arms wholly, unlike his usual t-shirt, snags his bag with a new change of clothes and makes his way outside.
Strolling down the streets rather than hurrying, Orlando's mind is full of thoughts and questions. He doesn't want to lose a friendship that in the short months he's lived in the city has already become to mean a lot to him. But what's he going to do if Viggo wants more? He can't tell the other man the truth, can't tell him that Orlando's long ago decided not to chance any relationship at all. Shape shifters are bound more to their emotions than others, the change often drawing on them. It doesn't matter if it's anger or happiness, or arousal. Orlando constantly has to work on keeping his emotions in check, never letting himself feel too deeply unless he's safely alone.
He bites down the resentment that always curls up in him when he thinks of how his mother didn't even think to tell him about his nature until the signs became obvious for the first time as a teenager. Back then, the anger was red hot, and he knows he's scared her by letting himself be ruled by it as they argued, his body starting to take on another, new form.
The change didn't complete, though Orlando doesn't know why. He was scared of it, still is, and maybe that's why it didn't happen. After leaving home then, at sixteen, he's sworn himself to never give in that much again. Never chance having to find out everything about himself.
It has taken him long years to find a measurement of contentment with his life, but he's reached that place now. It's not perfect blissful happiness, he knows that, but it's all he can hope for and Orlando doesn't want it to change.
Wandering down the streets, Orlando wonders at the people he's passing, wonders if they feel the same kind of bitter acquiescence or if there are people truly happy out there. He buys himself a coffee at a street corner kiosk, sips the hot liquid carefully while walking. He has to stop at a red light, his eyes roaming over the blinking billboards on the houses surrounding the huge crossing.
One of the screens shows a TV channel, the morning news just having started, and the anchorman's voice bellows over the streets, audible even over the mixture of voices and sounds of cars.
The words NEW SHAPE SHIFTER LAW IN DISCUSSION scroll over the screen, disappearing on the left side just to run into display again from the right. Orlando's frozen on the spot, despite people bumping into him when the traffic lights turn to green and the crowd sets into motion again.
The news cut away from the studio to show a politician being interviewed in front of the government's palace, and Orlando strains to hear her words. "We are the ones forming the world our children and children's children will live in. It's time for us to ensure the future of a human race. While we embrace contact to other humanoid beings and think that exchange with alien life is what the Earth needs, this doesn't mean that the human race doesn't need protection. Newest analyses esteem the percentage of shape shifters to have risen to 5.4%, which is an increase of over 400 percent just in the last five years. It shows clearly that action has to be taken, or humankind soon will be faced with danger of extinction."
Someone jolts into Orlando and the traffic lights are green again. He makes himself walk over the crossing. He's freezing inside, and not because it's a really cold day. Just the night before, he'd seen how the popular opinion on shape shifters is, and it's hard to think that maybe politicians are different from the masses, not standing for laws that will make injustice against his kind in compliance with the laws.
Every step towards work seems heavy now, as if he's walking towards his execution, even though Orlando knows it's silly to think so. There's no one there who knows about him, and if they did, he would have been fired already, even if for another reason. Viggo was right to say that coming late as often as he did is a risky thing to do, but soon probably, it won't even matter if he was a poster boy of an employee.
Viggo's just arrived at work when Orlando gets in, his computer still black and cold, and he greets Orlando with a warm smile.
"You don't look that well," he comments then, and Orlando takes a deep breath and puts on a smile he doesn't feel.
"I'm fine, just… didn't sleep all that good," he says.
Viggo's chair creaks as he leans forward, getting his head closer to Orlando's so that he can speak without anyone being able to listen in. "Want to tell me what it was about?"
"No." Orlando shakes his head, and switches his computer on.
Viggo seems to be put off a bit, but after a few minutes, he asks, "Did you watch the news this morning?"
Orlando's head shoots up, and he presses his hands on the desk, stopping them from shaking. "What about it?" he asks slowly, as uninterested sounding as he can manage while the heart in his chest beats faster.
"They are talking about passing new ridiculous laws concerning shape shifters," Viggo says, "as if they hadn't learned how much damage segregation can do to people from history."
"I don't think it's the way they're thinking," Orlando says quietly. "You saw them last night."
"You seemed pretty shaken by that," Viggo comments, and Orlando's heart is somewhere in his throat.
"I don't like violence," he says, swallowing dryly. "She probably didn't do anything. What gave them the right… just because she looks… different?"
"I know," Viggo says, and his voice sounds sad.
There's something then, something that makes Orlando think that maybe, just maybe, he could tell Viggo about himself, but the moment's gone as soon as their boss' voice resonates through the room, yelling for someone to come to his office, and Orlando turns his eyes to the computer in front of him.
*****
Orlando stretches languidly, then rolls over to his side. There's a warm body next to his, shuffling as he gets comfortable again, before it presses against his back. Cocooned in warmth, Orlando drifts, half-asleep, half-awake. The person behind him nuzzles his neck, and Orlando sighs contentedly.
Sensations fill Orlando. The little touch of fingers splayed over his hipbone, the soft wetness of lips on his neck, the tantalizing hardness pushing against his arse.
He mewls when the hand leaves his back, caresses wandering downwards, inching down his leg, then upwards again, curling around the muscle and following up a path on the inside of his thigh. There's rightness in that touch, a world of need and desire, and Orlando doesn't think when he shifts, spreading his legs to allow the hand to reach its destination without being hindered.
A soft purr fills the room, amplifies and becomes deeper, less human. Orlando aches, but his mind can't form the words, and so he turns into the embrace, mouth seeking for his partner.
Then the pressure is gone. Orlando shakes with the loss, and tumbles into white. There's ice all around him, freezing and freezing, and the more he falls, the closer it gets, pushing against him, until it's surrounding him in its arctic grasp. There's no tears, no shouts coming out of his mouth, and he feels himself starting to fade at the same time as the ice closes in even more.
He's caught, sealed up, forgotten, and crying inwardly for the warmth, for everything he's lost.
Orlando's face is wet when he wakes up, trembling, and trapped in the white bed covers. He draws in shaky breath to calm himself, and fumbles to untangle himself from the bedding. He's bathed in sweat and there are thick hairs even on his hands now, the fur covering his whole arms, and Orlando doesn't dare to touch his face, terrified of what he might find.
The images of the dream are still there, hazy and scattered, but nonetheless powerful. The deep sensation of rightness and love, and Orlando doesn't remember a time where he's felt that utterly content. There's never been a time he's lain in the arms of another man, or woman for that matter, yet still he just knows that it's not only been that.
Sitting up, Orlando swings his legs out of his bed and traipses into the kitchenette, opening the fridge to take out a bottle of water. His throat is parched, and his hands are still shaking a bit when he brings the bottle to his mouth.
His dream lover has had no face, but Orlando doesn't even have to think to know who he was supposed to be. His dreams always had a close connection to his waking life, and it's not hard to understand what they're trying to tell him now. He still feels as lost and forsaken as when the dream ended, cut off from the warmth of before. It hurts, as much as if there was an open would in his chest and someone had cut his heart out of him.
Orlando sinks down on the bed again, drawing his knees to himself as he leans back against the headboard, the bottle forgotten in his hands. He has fancied men before, thought himself in love once even, but never before has he had dreams as this one. It's as if something more than just he himself longs for Viggo, and Orlando suspects it's his shifter side intensifying feelings he wasn't even that consciously aware of.
For a moment, Orlando wishes he had ever known his dad, had ever had someone to tell him how being a shifter works. His mum, fully human, hadn't been able to tell him anything, and it's not as if there's a self-support group for shape shifters or anything else where he could go to and find out more. Information online is limited, either because there's not much known or because it's restricted, and Orlando always had to rely on himself to figure things out. He knows that being a shifter doesn't mean there are two beings, one human, one animal, that reside in the same body. It's much more as if the animal lies in hiding most of the time, and he can hold it back even if he needs to, but when it surfaces visibly, it's as if there's more to his thoughts, to his senses, and to his needs.
If it's the shifter part that wants to be close to Viggo, Orlando knows he can't risk it. He already feels as if he's losing control on himself, and that's just because of a dream. Going to work and actually seeing Viggo, talking to him, smelling him, would be too much. Orlando wouldn't be able to keep himself from reacting.
Orlando sighs, and rises from the bed again, pacing the small space of his flat as he thinks. Dawn is turning the sky in pink and purples by the time Orlando has reached at least one decision, and he reaches for his phone.
His fingers dial the numbers surely and quickly, and when the answering machine of his work picks up, his voice is clear and firm. He can't go back.
*****
The moon is a huge reddish ball hanging in a clear sky as Orlando walks down the street home. Autumn wind is chasing the rain clouds, and they run over the sky in banks of dark grey and black, but at the moment, there's only wind, tousling Orlando hair that's grown down to his shoulders. The wind, even when it's almost reaching storm speeds, is better than the rain. At least this way, he doesn't get drenched when walking back from his new work in the city centre.
It's not as well paid as his old job, but Orlando can't be picky. He needs a job to pay the bills, and with the new law being passed, companies are allowed to ask proof of humanity. There's probably people selling fake DNA analyses, but Orlando doesn't have the money anyway. The supermarket didn't ask, and as long as he turns up for his shift and doesn't shoplift, doesn't talk anymore to his co-workers than he absolutely needs to, he's left alone and gets his weekly pay-check.
The lift in the apartment tower Orlando lives in is broken, as so often, forcing Orlando to walk up the dimly lit stairs to the sixth floor. There's a shape in front of his door, sitting on the floor, and Orlando stops three steps below the end of the stairs.
"Orlando?"
Orlando watches as Viggo gets up from the ground. Automatically, he takes the last steps of the stairs, and fishes for his key-card in his pocket. Viggo moves away from the door to let him unlock it, and Orlando stops after drawing the card through the slit of the lock, turning to the older man.
"What are you doing here?" he asks, wondering that his voice can still be cool and composed, despite the storm brewing inside of him.
"Talking to you," Viggo says. "Asking why you just left without telling anyone anything about it!"
His voice raises somewhat, not loud enough to be called a shout, but Orlando can hear the anger in the words all the same.
"Get inside," he says, resigned. "If my neighbours…" He stops himself, and pushes the door open, sure that Viggo will follow him.
There's no couch in his flat, just his unmade bed, and a table with one chair wedged against the other wall. Orlando keeps standing, and gestures Viggo to the chair, not wanting either of them too close to the bed.
"Orlando," Viggo says, drawing his attention to him, when he turns towards the kitchenette, just so he can look somewhere else. "What made you leave just like that? Without even a single word!"
"How did you find me?" Orlando asks instead of answering. He's never given his address to Viggo, and just having the man in his flat makes his skin crawl. He can't concentrate on working against the feelings welling up in him, rising up somewhere deep inside, and Orlando knows that he'll give himself away if he doesn't get Viggo out of here fast.
"I sweet talked one of the accounting girls," Viggo says, getting up, and Orlando slinks back against the wall as Viggo takes a step towards him.
Straightening his shoulders, he then steels himself. "Just let me be, Viggo," he says. "I got my reasons, and really, I just want you to leave now."
"But why?" Viggo demands. "We were friends, and… Orlando, I just want to understand you. Even if you don't want anything from me, even if we never see each other again, but please explain me what happened that made you run."
"I can't tell you, yeah?" Orlando shouts, pressing his eyes shut as the emotions in him try to get his better. He's getting hot, feverish, and Viggo's boots click on the bare floor as he comes closer. "Just go," Orlando says again.
"No." Viggo's voice is a rasp close to Orlando, and Orlando thinks he can feel the heat from his body merging with his own. "Not until you tell me what the hell I did."
The moment Orlando's eyes fly open he knows it was the worst thing to do. He can't lie to Viggo when they're this close, and Viggo's eyes are staring into his, as if trying to search there for his answers.
"Nothing," Orlando sighs. "It's got nothing to do with you. I just… I couldn't… I needed to get away."
Viggo brings his hand up to Orlando's face, palms his cheek, and Orlando's going to jerk away when Viggo says, "Your eyes…"
He freezes still, wanting to pull back, but not able to make his limbs move. Viggo's touch cools the feverish feeling, even though his hand is warm where it touches him.
"You're a shape shifter," Viggo says quietly, not letting go of Orlando.
"I'm not." The response is automatic, years of not having the need to deny it not changing the instinctual retort.
"No, you are," Viggo says firmly, and he smiles slowly. "It's okay. It's all right, Orlando. There's no need to be afraid of me."
"I'm not afraid," Orlando replies, and this time, it's the truth. He's not scared at all of Viggo. He's scared of himself, but not of Viggo, and when Viggo's other hand comes up too, framing his face, Orlando feels the tension ebb away.
"Is that why you left?" Viggo asks him. "Because you're a shifter?"
"It's complicated," Orlando says. "You can't understand."
"I understand better than you think." Viggo smiles widely, and Orlando draws his brows together, confused. "You should have told me, we could have spared us these last three weeks."
Now Orlando manages to step back, away from Viggo. He doesn't look at Viggo, knows without seeing that there's hurt on Viggo's face, and confusion, almost as if he could feel those emotions for himself, even though that doesn't make any sense.
"It doesn't change anything, Viggo," he hears himself saying as he fights the urge to turn around and throw himself into Viggo's arms. "I can't be with you."
"Can't isn't don't want to," Viggo remarks and Orlando flinches. "And there's no one else," Viggo goes on while Orlando paces, keeping his face on the floor. "It's not me, is it? It's just that you are afraid of what happens when you let loose, when you give in to the shifter, let it rule your body, not only to enhance your emotions."
"How…?" Orlando's head snaps up and he stands still.
Viggo sits down on Orlando's bed before answering, and it takes all of Orlando's power to keep standing and not pounce on him. The urge is sharp and unexpected, and almost overwhelms him. His hands ball in fists as he fights it.
"Takes one to know one," Viggo says with a slight smirk, then his face turns serious. "You've never really learned how to deal with it, did you? You're fighting it right now."
Orlando nods in answer before the first part sinks in, and he understands at last. "You are?"
"Yes," Viggo says. "I am a shifter too, and there's no reason why you should hold it back. I won't be scared or put off. Get over here… please."
Orlando's feet lead him towards the back, but the rein on himself is too deeply ingrained for him to be able to just let go of it. He wants it though, wants to be fully himself, with no restrictions, no boundaries, and no fear. He remembers the dream three weeks ago, how he felt loved and complete, and in this moment, Orlando knows it's not only what he needs, but also what he wants.
Viggo's taking his hand when he sits down next to him, uncurling the fingers and lacing his own with Orlando's. It's too little, and too much, both at the same time.
"Viggo, I… if you do that," Orlando warns. He's already tethering on a fine line, every single molecule feeling as if about to burst. He doesn't even know if he could hurt Viggo if he's letting go.
"It's okay. I want it, too," Viggo says, and then he leans in and Orlando holds his breath.
The barest hint of pressure of Viggo's lips against his has him moaning, and the barrier is broken. He turns towards the other man, his free hand wrapping around Viggo, hauling him close. Viggo's tongue is inside his mouth, drawing around Orlando's, sliding and licking, and Orlando trembles as arousal hits him full force.
He's hard and aching, and too far away from Viggo, even though they're pressed up to one another. A shove pushes Viggo backwards on the bed, and Orlando's over him, grinding and needing, and Viggo's only pulling him closer still, slinging his arms around Orlando's waist.
There's acceptance, and a yearning that matches his own, Orlando can taste it in the kiss. Viggo's teeth nip at his tongue, and Orlando growls deeply, his rock hard erection jumping at the jolt that runs through him.
When Orlando comes up for breath, Viggo uses the momentum, and then Orlando's on his back, and Viggo's above him, his hands drawing Orlando's sweater up, uncovering smooth skin. Orlando lifts his arms, helping Viggo to get rid of the cloth.
The gaze to his arms is involuntarily; they're always the first place to check. There's a fine dusting of fur there, much less than Orlando expected, but Viggo's eyes follow his, then his fingers, caressing the visible signs of Orlando's nature.
"Soft," he says, fingertips trailing through the hairs. "What kind are you?"
"I don't know," Orlando admits quietly, and when Viggo lifts his eyes to look at him surprised, he sits up. "I never... I don't think I want to know."
Viggo follows him, drawing him back by laying a hand on his shoulder and forcing Orlando gently to turn back. "You must be very strong to go this long without turning fully."
"What are you?" Orlando asks.
Viggo unbuttons his shirt, and takes it of, then lifts the t-shirt beneath. It's less than the fur covering on Orlando's arms, but the stripes in the hair of his chest are still distinctive. Orlando reaches out, and trails his hand over Viggo's chest, letting his fingers run through them.
"They look like a tiger's stripes," he says, and Viggo nods.
"They are," he confirms. "It doesn't mean I will turn into a fully grown tiger on you. Not because I won't let myself, but because I simply can't," he explains. "Even when we fully shift, we're not becoming an animal; we just will show our animal's traits, like having fur covering our body instead of the human skin. So whatever you are, Orlando, you won't hurt me, and I won't hurt you."
"But I thought," Orlando starts, trying to wrap his head around Viggo's words that are so unlike everything he's heard of shape shifters before. There are so many stories, accounts of people changing into beasts.
"Yeah, I know," Viggo says sadly. "I can't say for certain that all those tales you probably heard are wrong, but I do know that you won't stop being you when you turn."
"Have you ever, with someone like me, like us?" Orlando asks. Even sitting like this, bare-chested on the bed with a man he desires, he still feels unsure. Viggo says he wants him, but neither of them knows what he will end up being like, looking like.
Viggo smiles, and reaches for him, drawing Orlando close again, and pressing their mouths together briefly. "Yes, I have, and I will tell you all about it at a later date if you really want me to," he says. Then his hand is in Orlando's lap, and Orlando groans as Viggo's finger curl around his length through the fabric of his trousers.
"Oh, god. Viggo." Orlando grips Viggo's bicep, halting him. "I don't, I mean, I never…"
"I figured," Viggo says, smiling. "It's okay. Just let go, let your body take over and lead you. Stop thinking so much." He smirks a bit, and presses down on Orlando's cock again.
It's too much. Viggo's words urging him to let go when it's all his body is screaming for him. Orlando pushes Viggo down, scrambling over him. "You need to tell me if I do anything wrong… if I hurt you. Promise me that," he gets out. "Promise you'll stop me then."
"I will," Viggo vows, and Orlando's lips close over his.
He toes his shoes off, fumbles to get out of his jeans, and it takes more scuffling to get Viggo undressed as well, in between frantic kisses and wandering hands, but finally, they're both blissfully naked. It's better than his dream even, Orlando thinks, because now he can really smell Viggo, taste him, and hear him.
His cock is leaking pre-come, dribbling on Viggo's belly as he grinds against him, and Viggo's as hard as he, moaning encouragements for Orlando, not letting a moment go without letting Orlando know how good he makes him feel.
Viggo's spreading his legs, letting Orlando slide in between, and then he's guiding Orlando's fingers, bringing them to his hole. There's resistance, and it's hot and tight, and Orlando knows he must be hurting Viggo, even though the other man leads his hand.
"Don't, please," Orlando says. "Not like this. You promised."
Viggo's panting as he lets Orlando's hand go. "Lube?" he asks. "You got any?"
Orlando nods and shifts, stretching to reach the night stand. There's lube in there, but now that his mind has cleared a bit, he's able to remember that while he owns lube, he doesn't have any condoms.
Viggo twists underneath him, making Orlando look down. "No condoms," Orlando says.
"My pants, back pocket, in my wallet," Viggo says, then winds his hand in Orlando's hair, pulling him down to kiss him again.
Orlando lets the lube fall on the bed as he dives for Viggo's pants. When he's found it and turns back, Viggo's got his fingers up his arse, his face a mixture of bliss and exertion. Viggo's eyes find his then, and Orlando smiles.
"C'mere," Viggo says, and reaches for Orlando's hand, smearing his fingers with lube. "Help me."
Orlando slides next to Viggo, presses against him, and Viggo brings their lube-covered fingers together. It's just one finger of Orlando and one of Viggo, and it's so hot and tight that Orlando thinks he could come just from imagining what it will feel like to sink into him.
Leaning in to press his lips to Viggo's, Orlando swallows the other man's moans, sucking on Viggo's tongue as it enters his mouth. He can feel Viggo's cock throbbing against his hip, hard and hot and drooling, and Orlando can't wait any longer.
Pulling back, he withdraws his finger as well, and fumbles to rip the wrapper of the condom open. Then Viggo's hands are on his again, and he takes the latex from Orlando, rolling it over his length, giving it a couple of strokes that leave Orlando shaking.
"Viggo," Orlando gasps, and the other man stops.
"I want you, Orlando," Viggo says, lying back again and drawing his knees up. "All of you."
"Oh, god," Orlando says, then moves in between Viggo's legs.
He's watched enough porn to know the mechanics, but his hands won't stop shaking and his heart is beating so loud he can hardly hear anything else. He inhales deeply, and does what Viggo told him, and lets his body take over.
Positioning himself, he pushes down, thrusting hard, and there's a give before he's squeezed in heat and one of Viggo's legs wraps around his hip, pulling him closer. Viggo's rocking against him, and his eyes are so full of love that Orlando's heart feels as if it's too big to be contained in his chest, threatening to burst through his ribcage. He hears even the tiniest sounds, their laboured breathing, the faint creaking of the bed, the neighbour one floor below walking around his flat, and he buries his face against Viggo's chest, inhaling the distinct scent of his lover deeply.
He whimpers as he pushes in deeper still, and Viggo groans, "move," at him.
Propelling himself up on his arms, Orlando drags back, then inches forwards again, throbbing and aching as Viggo's body is squeezing him so hard it borders on pain. The compression lessens gradually, and Orlando's thrusts lengthen, then Viggo's hand finds his nipple and pinches it, and Orlando cries out, his hips snapping forwards hard.
"Yes," Viggo shouts, and Orlando grunts as he hits bottom.
He's almost there, the need to come searing him, and Viggo wraps his lube slick hand around his own cock, jerking and squeezing, and Orlando's eyes are drawn to it, watching Viggo bringing himself closer and closer towards release while his thrusts turn ragged. Orlando slides into his orgasm, shuddering as it takes hold of him, and he shoves himself into Viggo deeply one last time, coming and coming. Viggo roars as he comes, his come splashing against his belly, and Orlando is squeezed tightly again, aftershocks rippling through him.
His arms give out then, and Orlando lets himself sink down on Viggo, spent and utterly satisfied. Viggo's arms encircle him tightly as they both catch their breath. When Orlando finally pulls out, he sighs at the loss of connection, and hurries back into Viggo's arms, quickly disposing of the condom, before snuggling up with the other man. It's a while before either of them talks, and it's only the questions racing through Orlando's mind that keep him from nodding off.
"Why didn't I change?" he asks, his face resting against Viggo's shoulder. "I always expected…"
"Because deep emotions let it begin?" Viggo adds, running his hands over Orlando's arms. They're still covered faintly in fur, Orlando realizes now, but it feels good to have Viggo touch them. "Shifting isn't always physically; sometimes it's just on your inside. And also anger is more likely to change your appearance."
"Then I have to be careful not get pissed off at something when I'm among people, but getting horny is fine?" Orlando says, grinning.
Viggo chuckles. "Something like that, yeah." He turns to his side, facing Orlando, his hand travelling up Orlando's arm until it reaches his jaw. "Come with me when I leave here," he says, pleads almost.
"Leave?"
"This town, maybe the country," Viggo explains. "I don't know where I'll go yet, but I can't just stand by and hide. Not anymore. It's already hardly bearable, and it won't be long until it becomes dangerous for us here if there's nothing done against it."
"They're not any different in the south," Orlando says. "Life's going to be just the same as here, just with drought instead of freezing rains."
"They have not yet the laws that are here. There's a chance to maybe making a difference there, a better chance than here," Viggo tells him. He leans in, kissing Orlando gently, and Orlando melts against him for the moment of the kiss, then Viggo's lips slide away from his. "I came here tonight because I couldn't leave without knowing for sure why you just disappeared. I didn't want to keep wondering if there had been a chance."
Orlando's quiet for a while, thinking of the best way to say what he's feeling, while he idly plays with the hairs on Viggo's chest, drawing circles through the stripes. "I don't know how to love, Viggo," he says at last, watching his fingers. He then lifts his eyes to Viggo's, and adds, "I never felt this safe before, and I want it to last. I don't want to go back to being alone."
Viggo smiles at him, understanding in his gaze. "I can teach you everything I know about being a shape shifter," he says. "I can't teach you how to love, but I'll gladly wait as long as it takes for you to figure it out on your own."
"I want to start that now," Orlando tells him. He can't put other names than safe and content to the feelings yet, but there's so much rightness in lying on his bed, his body tangled with Viggo's, enclosed by the sounds and scent of his lover. He wouldn't give it up for anything now, and he tilts his head, seeking Viggo's mouth.
The kiss is unhurried, a sharing of breaths more, and Orlando drowns in it, purrs when it goes on for long, long moments before finally ceasing just as gently.
"I've never seen an ocean," Orlando murmurs against Viggo's lips. "Show me the Southern one?"
- the end -
Author: Moraya
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Genre: sci-fi-ish AU, angst
Disclaimer: This isn't reality. "The world of reality has its limits; the world of imagination is boundless." (Jean-Jacques Rousseau)
Feedback: Yes, please!
Beta: the wonderful ames1010
Notes: written for the darling nurseowens as part of early_theory
Summary: Orlando's is struggling with the secret he is keeping.
Uncovering
Big, cold raindrops fall, merging with the dust and sand corns on the street, turning it to a thin layer of sludge that clings to Orlando's boots. He drags on nevertheless, pushing through the crowd, keeping his head turned down so the rain doesn't blind him. The rain drenches his hair, slides over his sodden curls and seeps in fat drops under his collar. He shivers, buries his hands deeper into his pockets and pushes on.
It's no use to look for cover, as people are huddling for cover under the overhangs and awnings of the shops lining the streets by now, leaving no space for newcomers. He wouldn't be able to walk there anyway, and he has to be at work in half an hour - which is barely enough time to make it, even if it weren't raining cats and dogs.
At least the rain clears the smog somewhat, filtering dust and fumes from the air, and Orlando shudders, thinking how much worse the stench would be if it weren't for the daily rains. Another drop makes its way down his back, and Orlando reaches behind himself, drawing the collar of his coat up as far as it goes.
By the time he reaches his workplace, he's drenched to the skin, his clothes dripping, and he quivers with cold. The door slides open, admitting him in after he types in the entrance code in the panel and stands still to let it scan his iris.
A rush of cool sterilized air hits him, and he enters the building quickly, dragging his hand over his face to wipe away the rain. The desk clerk frowns at him at noticing his appearance, and points wordlessly at the changing room off the foyer. Orlando is too wet to bother with a cheeky reply, and a sarcastic remark will have him fired as soon as his boss hears about it. Considering there isn't a single room in the building that isn't under constant surveillance, Orlando doesn't take the chance, but makes his way into the changing room without any word.
Peeling the sodden clothes off his body makes him feel a hell of a lot better already. He gets a towel out of his locker, and starts drying off hastily, before slipping into the change of dry clothes he keeps at work. They all do; they all get caught in the rain all the time. There's a dryer in the changing room, and Orlando pushes his wet clothes in there, drags his company card through the slit and puts it on with automatic moves.
The blinking LCD numbers on the wall clock in the foyer read almost fifteen minutes after Orlando's shift begins, so he hurries up the steps, taking two at once, into the first floor of the office building where a dim lit central hallway leads to several open-plan offices. He drags a hand through his curls, tousling up in hope they'll look more styled than caught in the rain, and slows his steps as he enters the room. There's the sound of typing, and a few heads going up as Orlando makes his way through the maze of desks towards his own, trying to appear as if he'd just stepped out for a moment.
When he slides into the chair at his desk, Viggo looks up from his computer on the desk opposite, greeting Orlando quietly.
"You're late," he comments, "again."
"I know," Orlando says, stretching backwards in his chair until the backrest tips dangerously far back.
"It's the third time this week."
"Did he notice?" Orlando asks, sitting up straight again and risking a glance to the glass box that's the domain of their supervisor. The shutters are all closed; a good sign.
"Don't think so," Viggo says. "It's still risky what you're doing, Orlando."
Orlando smirks half-heartedly. Viggo doesn't even know just how risky his life is. He switches his computer on, immerging himself into unlocking the security that protects the files when no one is working. When he finally looks up and over to Viggo after a while, the older man has gone back to work at well.
*****
The rain has let up when work ends, though the streets are still slick and wet and there are drops from rainwater gutters and overhangs. Orlando has collected the change of clothing from the dryer, put it into the sports bag he keeps at work. He needs to remember to bring a fresh set tomorrow.
There's a cluster of people milling right in front of the exit, some smoking, most of them talking to their workmates. Everyone enjoys the little breaks of rain, spilling out into the open as if trying to soak up the few sun-rays whenever they break through the thick duvet of grey clouds.
Orlando meanders through the crowd, spying Viggo who sits on the low stone wall that runs around the length of the building, separating the two feet of greenery from the street. Viggo smiles at him when he goes over and Orlando smiles back as he sits down next to him. Viggo's got a half-smoked cigarette in his hands, and the air is clean enough that Orlando can smell the smoke, can see it curling up skywards in thin blue rivulets.
"Were you waiting for me?" he asks Viggo. They do that sometimes, go and have a beer or two together in a nearby bar after work. Usually though, they talk about it earlier in the day, and there's always others tagging along.
"It's a nice day," Viggo says, stubbing out his cigarette and titling his head. "Thought of going over to the Dubh Ghuin Quarter. Want to come along? We can have a drink at one of the stands there."
The Dubh Ghuin Quarter is in the heart of the city, with narrow streets that are lined by shops and delis, and little parks squeezing between the old houses. It's not the trendiest part of the town, but there isn't a time, day or night, when life isn't busy in Dubh Ghuin.
"Just you and me?" Orlando asks, because no one else is around and even though Viggo's voice is casual, it almost sounds as if it's an invitation to a date. But maybe that's just Orlando imagining things.
"Yeah," Viggo says, shrugging. He gets up from the wall and turns towards Orlando. "So, are you coming?"
"Yeah, why not?" Orlando answers. Viggo's right; the day is too nice to spend it inside.
They fall in step easily, walking down wide sidewalks along the office buildings towards the centre of the city. It's still early in the evening, and rush hour has just started, making Orlando glad for once that he's not confined in one of the tiny, cramped vehicles, carpooling back home.
There are more people milling the streets than usual, especially once they get in the Dubh Ghuin Quarter, and they have to stay close together or risk getting separated. A couple of times, Orlando finds himself reaching for Viggo's hand, just to make sure he won't lose the other man, but he draws back each time. He likes Viggo far too much to do anything to jeopardise their friendship.
They find a small pub wedged between shops selling trinkets and kitsch, and are lucky enough to arrive just as a couple leaves. Orlando slides onto one of the vacated chairs quickly, pushing glasses the couple left on the table a bit to the side.
"Think they got something to eat?" he asks. "I had to skip lunch today for the Stelldar report."
"If they don't, we can find some other place." Viggo smiles, looking around for a menu.
There's none on the table, but the blue-haired girl arriving at their table turns out to be the waitress, who confirms that they have some simple meals. They order their drinks, and the waitress lists some kinds of food. Orlando decides on a grilled sandwich, and then they're left alone again.
The waitress had taken the empty glasses with her, so Viggo has place to lean forward and speak with a normal voice, not having to raise it to be heard over the cacophony of sounds that's the steady background hum of different languages, laughter and several kinds of music from the shops.
"So, any specific thing you want to do around here?" Viggo asks. "I hadn't had anything planned, apart from enjoying a rain-free evening."
"How about we just browse?" Orlando says. "I haven't been here for some months, there ought to be new shops I don't know yet."
"Yeah," Viggo agrees easily. "I hardly take the time as well."
"What do you do when you're not working then?" Orlando asks him, genuinely interested. When they're out on other days with people from work, talk tends to stay carefully away from the personal, staying with safe topics as work, sports and some gossip about people not present. He has no clue what Viggo's hobbies are, though he does know that Viggo spends his holidays away from the city, fishing at some lake up in the mountains.
Viggo's eyes rake over the pub before he answers, "I paint mostly." There's a pause, and Orlando thinks that Viggo looks a bit nervous, or shy. "And I write poetry."
"I'd love to see something some time, if you want me to, that is," Orlando says. "Not that I know much about paintings or poetry, but yeah."
"Maybe I'll show you something then, some day." Viggo says.
Orlando still can't shake off the feeling that the other man sounds shy, and it lets him wonder again if this is supposed to be a date. He doesn't get a chance to ask as the waitress brings their drinks and his food, and he ravenously digs in.
Viggo turns the talk to another subject, telling him a story of the first time he can remember being to the Dubh Ghuin Quarter as a child with his grandmother while he nurses his beer. Orlando's done with the sandwich in record time, then turns to his own beer, listening to the other man's raspy voice, and laughing at the funny impression of his grandmother Viggo gives.
"She sounds like a fun woman," he says when Viggo has ended.
"She was," Viggo agrees. "She could scold you in a way that made you wish for the ground to open up and swallow you too, if you'd done something you weren't supposed to."
"Did you live with her?" Orlando asks, keen on learning more about Viggo.
"Since my parents died when I was nine."
"Oh… I…" Orlando isn't sure how to reply to that.
"Let's talk about something else," Viggo says with a smile. "Tell me something about you."
Orlando does, and after paying their bill, they throw themselves back into the fray that's the Dubh Ghuin Quarter, talking animatedly with one another. They stop every once in a while to look closer at the goods of one of the shops, or have another drink at one of the open stalls. Orlando's slowly starting to feel the alcohol, the slight buzz and the beginning of the cottony feeling in his head. From the looks of it, Viggo's the same.
It's fun, purely and simply, and Orlando can't remember the last time he laughed so much. He's browsing through the stone trinkets of a shop, beautiful, real stones, though not expensive, when there's a commotion on the street, a few shops down. Raised voices shouting and drunken laughter, and Viggo appears back at Orlando's side.
"What's going on there, you think?" Orlando asks, leaving the pendants be.
"No idea," Viggo says, frowning as he tries to catch sight of it. "A brawl or something from the sounds of it."
"Let's go the other way then, yeah?" Orlando proposes. He's always hated unjustified violence, drunken guys bashing each other's heads in just for some twisted idea of fun.
The shouts from the street get louder. Yells of "We want no fucking freaks here!" "Damn shifters!" intermix with vulgarity and cries.
Viggo grips Orlando's elbow as Orlando struggles to see over the masses that are pulled to the tumult like fleas to honey. Someone in front of him steps aside, and Orlando suddenly sees the pretty blonde in the middle of the turmoil. She looks close to crying, trashing against the hold one man has on her. Her face is twisted with anger, and there are light blue and green specks on her cheekbones. Reptilian scales, Orlando realizes, and his heart freezes for a moment.
Police sirens startle him out of his daze, and he lets Viggo lead him away from the street, through another and yet another until they find a small park. He lets himself slump down on a bench, still hearing the sirens from far away, feeling the tension ease away slowly as the sirens die away after a while. Viggo takes his hand, rubbing his thumb in circles over it, and Orlando doesn't draw it away.
*****
His head is throbbing when he wakes up the next morning, and groggily gets out of bed. Images of the night before come back to his mind. The female shifter, Viggo wordlessly offering him comfort without even knowing why the bashing hit Orlando so. He didn't explain, and now he wonders why Viggo didn't ask.
Orlando showers cold, letting the icy water wake him up properly, wishing it could wash away more than just residue sleepiness. The horror of watching a woman getting harassed like that just because she's a shape shifter still clings to his bones. It's not as if the girl could change it, even if she wanted to. How was she to alter her very nature? All the hope she has is hiding it, and if she doesn't manage to…
Orlando shakes his head, runs his fingers through his cold wet curls, then kills the spray of water. Stepping out of the shower, he looks at himself in the mirror over the sink. Without really meaning to, one of his hands runs over his forearm, stroking the soft fur for a moment before he catches himself.
It's always worst in the mornings, as he can't control his feelings during sleep, has no idea what images he's exposed to in his dreams. Today, it's his arms; a soft layer of fur, which colour matches his hair and Orlando bites his lips, willing it away stubbornly. It will disappear shortly, not instantly, but after half an hour, or an hour at the most, as long as he concentrates and doesn't let his thoughts stray.
The shifter part of him wants to run away, he feels it clearly, but Orlando pushes the instinct down, tells himself there's no reason to. No one knows, and no one will know. And as long as he never fully gives in to his instincts, his animal instincts, he won't fully turn. He'll always have the upper hand.
He towels himself dry and returns to his bed/living room, going to the drawer that holds his clothes. He realized yesterday that Viggo wants him; there's no other explanation for his friend's behaviour towards him, it went way beyond friendship. Part of Orlando is elated at that, wants to give in and see if there's more between them, something real. The other part of him is deeply afraid, knows he's already well on his way to feel more than friendship, and letting their relationship grow could only end terribly.
Orlando doesn't know if Viggo would even want to be with him if he knew that he's a shifter. Even if he did, Orlando can't allow himself that. The bashing they had witnessed in the Dubh Ghuin Quarter wasn't the first he'd ever seen. He can't risk exposing himself to the world in a way that surely would drive him away from it, get him fired, then homeless and forsaken. There's no place for shape shifters to live in peace in this world that he knows of.
It doesn't matter that Viggo's presence next to him as they sat on the bench in the small park managed to sooth him better and quicker than anything else. It doesn't matter that he thinks he can still feel the tingles where Viggo's thumb caressed his skin. It doesn't matter that if Viggo were to kiss him, he wouldn't shrink back.
*****
On a normal day, Orlando stays in his flat until the fur slinks back into skin, and then hurries to get into work just on time. Cold seeps in through the tiny gaps at the bottom of the door and the two windows, but there's no rain when Orlando looks outside. He puts on a thick dark green sweater, covering his arms wholly, unlike his usual t-shirt, snags his bag with a new change of clothes and makes his way outside.
Strolling down the streets rather than hurrying, Orlando's mind is full of thoughts and questions. He doesn't want to lose a friendship that in the short months he's lived in the city has already become to mean a lot to him. But what's he going to do if Viggo wants more? He can't tell the other man the truth, can't tell him that Orlando's long ago decided not to chance any relationship at all. Shape shifters are bound more to their emotions than others, the change often drawing on them. It doesn't matter if it's anger or happiness, or arousal. Orlando constantly has to work on keeping his emotions in check, never letting himself feel too deeply unless he's safely alone.
He bites down the resentment that always curls up in him when he thinks of how his mother didn't even think to tell him about his nature until the signs became obvious for the first time as a teenager. Back then, the anger was red hot, and he knows he's scared her by letting himself be ruled by it as they argued, his body starting to take on another, new form.
The change didn't complete, though Orlando doesn't know why. He was scared of it, still is, and maybe that's why it didn't happen. After leaving home then, at sixteen, he's sworn himself to never give in that much again. Never chance having to find out everything about himself.
It has taken him long years to find a measurement of contentment with his life, but he's reached that place now. It's not perfect blissful happiness, he knows that, but it's all he can hope for and Orlando doesn't want it to change.
Wandering down the streets, Orlando wonders at the people he's passing, wonders if they feel the same kind of bitter acquiescence or if there are people truly happy out there. He buys himself a coffee at a street corner kiosk, sips the hot liquid carefully while walking. He has to stop at a red light, his eyes roaming over the blinking billboards on the houses surrounding the huge crossing.
One of the screens shows a TV channel, the morning news just having started, and the anchorman's voice bellows over the streets, audible even over the mixture of voices and sounds of cars.
The words NEW SHAPE SHIFTER LAW IN DISCUSSION scroll over the screen, disappearing on the left side just to run into display again from the right. Orlando's frozen on the spot, despite people bumping into him when the traffic lights turn to green and the crowd sets into motion again.
The news cut away from the studio to show a politician being interviewed in front of the government's palace, and Orlando strains to hear her words. "We are the ones forming the world our children and children's children will live in. It's time for us to ensure the future of a human race. While we embrace contact to other humanoid beings and think that exchange with alien life is what the Earth needs, this doesn't mean that the human race doesn't need protection. Newest analyses esteem the percentage of shape shifters to have risen to 5.4%, which is an increase of over 400 percent just in the last five years. It shows clearly that action has to be taken, or humankind soon will be faced with danger of extinction."
Someone jolts into Orlando and the traffic lights are green again. He makes himself walk over the crossing. He's freezing inside, and not because it's a really cold day. Just the night before, he'd seen how the popular opinion on shape shifters is, and it's hard to think that maybe politicians are different from the masses, not standing for laws that will make injustice against his kind in compliance with the laws.
Every step towards work seems heavy now, as if he's walking towards his execution, even though Orlando knows it's silly to think so. There's no one there who knows about him, and if they did, he would have been fired already, even if for another reason. Viggo was right to say that coming late as often as he did is a risky thing to do, but soon probably, it won't even matter if he was a poster boy of an employee.
Viggo's just arrived at work when Orlando gets in, his computer still black and cold, and he greets Orlando with a warm smile.
"You don't look that well," he comments then, and Orlando takes a deep breath and puts on a smile he doesn't feel.
"I'm fine, just… didn't sleep all that good," he says.
Viggo's chair creaks as he leans forward, getting his head closer to Orlando's so that he can speak without anyone being able to listen in. "Want to tell me what it was about?"
"No." Orlando shakes his head, and switches his computer on.
Viggo seems to be put off a bit, but after a few minutes, he asks, "Did you watch the news this morning?"
Orlando's head shoots up, and he presses his hands on the desk, stopping them from shaking. "What about it?" he asks slowly, as uninterested sounding as he can manage while the heart in his chest beats faster.
"They are talking about passing new ridiculous laws concerning shape shifters," Viggo says, "as if they hadn't learned how much damage segregation can do to people from history."
"I don't think it's the way they're thinking," Orlando says quietly. "You saw them last night."
"You seemed pretty shaken by that," Viggo comments, and Orlando's heart is somewhere in his throat.
"I don't like violence," he says, swallowing dryly. "She probably didn't do anything. What gave them the right… just because she looks… different?"
"I know," Viggo says, and his voice sounds sad.
There's something then, something that makes Orlando think that maybe, just maybe, he could tell Viggo about himself, but the moment's gone as soon as their boss' voice resonates through the room, yelling for someone to come to his office, and Orlando turns his eyes to the computer in front of him.
*****
Orlando stretches languidly, then rolls over to his side. There's a warm body next to his, shuffling as he gets comfortable again, before it presses against his back. Cocooned in warmth, Orlando drifts, half-asleep, half-awake. The person behind him nuzzles his neck, and Orlando sighs contentedly.
Sensations fill Orlando. The little touch of fingers splayed over his hipbone, the soft wetness of lips on his neck, the tantalizing hardness pushing against his arse.
He mewls when the hand leaves his back, caresses wandering downwards, inching down his leg, then upwards again, curling around the muscle and following up a path on the inside of his thigh. There's rightness in that touch, a world of need and desire, and Orlando doesn't think when he shifts, spreading his legs to allow the hand to reach its destination without being hindered.
A soft purr fills the room, amplifies and becomes deeper, less human. Orlando aches, but his mind can't form the words, and so he turns into the embrace, mouth seeking for his partner.
Then the pressure is gone. Orlando shakes with the loss, and tumbles into white. There's ice all around him, freezing and freezing, and the more he falls, the closer it gets, pushing against him, until it's surrounding him in its arctic grasp. There's no tears, no shouts coming out of his mouth, and he feels himself starting to fade at the same time as the ice closes in even more.
He's caught, sealed up, forgotten, and crying inwardly for the warmth, for everything he's lost.
Orlando's face is wet when he wakes up, trembling, and trapped in the white bed covers. He draws in shaky breath to calm himself, and fumbles to untangle himself from the bedding. He's bathed in sweat and there are thick hairs even on his hands now, the fur covering his whole arms, and Orlando doesn't dare to touch his face, terrified of what he might find.
The images of the dream are still there, hazy and scattered, but nonetheless powerful. The deep sensation of rightness and love, and Orlando doesn't remember a time where he's felt that utterly content. There's never been a time he's lain in the arms of another man, or woman for that matter, yet still he just knows that it's not only been that.
Sitting up, Orlando swings his legs out of his bed and traipses into the kitchenette, opening the fridge to take out a bottle of water. His throat is parched, and his hands are still shaking a bit when he brings the bottle to his mouth.
His dream lover has had no face, but Orlando doesn't even have to think to know who he was supposed to be. His dreams always had a close connection to his waking life, and it's not hard to understand what they're trying to tell him now. He still feels as lost and forsaken as when the dream ended, cut off from the warmth of before. It hurts, as much as if there was an open would in his chest and someone had cut his heart out of him.
Orlando sinks down on the bed again, drawing his knees to himself as he leans back against the headboard, the bottle forgotten in his hands. He has fancied men before, thought himself in love once even, but never before has he had dreams as this one. It's as if something more than just he himself longs for Viggo, and Orlando suspects it's his shifter side intensifying feelings he wasn't even that consciously aware of.
For a moment, Orlando wishes he had ever known his dad, had ever had someone to tell him how being a shifter works. His mum, fully human, hadn't been able to tell him anything, and it's not as if there's a self-support group for shape shifters or anything else where he could go to and find out more. Information online is limited, either because there's not much known or because it's restricted, and Orlando always had to rely on himself to figure things out. He knows that being a shifter doesn't mean there are two beings, one human, one animal, that reside in the same body. It's much more as if the animal lies in hiding most of the time, and he can hold it back even if he needs to, but when it surfaces visibly, it's as if there's more to his thoughts, to his senses, and to his needs.
If it's the shifter part that wants to be close to Viggo, Orlando knows he can't risk it. He already feels as if he's losing control on himself, and that's just because of a dream. Going to work and actually seeing Viggo, talking to him, smelling him, would be too much. Orlando wouldn't be able to keep himself from reacting.
Orlando sighs, and rises from the bed again, pacing the small space of his flat as he thinks. Dawn is turning the sky in pink and purples by the time Orlando has reached at least one decision, and he reaches for his phone.
His fingers dial the numbers surely and quickly, and when the answering machine of his work picks up, his voice is clear and firm. He can't go back.
*****
The moon is a huge reddish ball hanging in a clear sky as Orlando walks down the street home. Autumn wind is chasing the rain clouds, and they run over the sky in banks of dark grey and black, but at the moment, there's only wind, tousling Orlando hair that's grown down to his shoulders. The wind, even when it's almost reaching storm speeds, is better than the rain. At least this way, he doesn't get drenched when walking back from his new work in the city centre.
It's not as well paid as his old job, but Orlando can't be picky. He needs a job to pay the bills, and with the new law being passed, companies are allowed to ask proof of humanity. There's probably people selling fake DNA analyses, but Orlando doesn't have the money anyway. The supermarket didn't ask, and as long as he turns up for his shift and doesn't shoplift, doesn't talk anymore to his co-workers than he absolutely needs to, he's left alone and gets his weekly pay-check.
The lift in the apartment tower Orlando lives in is broken, as so often, forcing Orlando to walk up the dimly lit stairs to the sixth floor. There's a shape in front of his door, sitting on the floor, and Orlando stops three steps below the end of the stairs.
"Orlando?"
Orlando watches as Viggo gets up from the ground. Automatically, he takes the last steps of the stairs, and fishes for his key-card in his pocket. Viggo moves away from the door to let him unlock it, and Orlando stops after drawing the card through the slit of the lock, turning to the older man.
"What are you doing here?" he asks, wondering that his voice can still be cool and composed, despite the storm brewing inside of him.
"Talking to you," Viggo says. "Asking why you just left without telling anyone anything about it!"
His voice raises somewhat, not loud enough to be called a shout, but Orlando can hear the anger in the words all the same.
"Get inside," he says, resigned. "If my neighbours…" He stops himself, and pushes the door open, sure that Viggo will follow him.
There's no couch in his flat, just his unmade bed, and a table with one chair wedged against the other wall. Orlando keeps standing, and gestures Viggo to the chair, not wanting either of them too close to the bed.
"Orlando," Viggo says, drawing his attention to him, when he turns towards the kitchenette, just so he can look somewhere else. "What made you leave just like that? Without even a single word!"
"How did you find me?" Orlando asks instead of answering. He's never given his address to Viggo, and just having the man in his flat makes his skin crawl. He can't concentrate on working against the feelings welling up in him, rising up somewhere deep inside, and Orlando knows that he'll give himself away if he doesn't get Viggo out of here fast.
"I sweet talked one of the accounting girls," Viggo says, getting up, and Orlando slinks back against the wall as Viggo takes a step towards him.
Straightening his shoulders, he then steels himself. "Just let me be, Viggo," he says. "I got my reasons, and really, I just want you to leave now."
"But why?" Viggo demands. "We were friends, and… Orlando, I just want to understand you. Even if you don't want anything from me, even if we never see each other again, but please explain me what happened that made you run."
"I can't tell you, yeah?" Orlando shouts, pressing his eyes shut as the emotions in him try to get his better. He's getting hot, feverish, and Viggo's boots click on the bare floor as he comes closer. "Just go," Orlando says again.
"No." Viggo's voice is a rasp close to Orlando, and Orlando thinks he can feel the heat from his body merging with his own. "Not until you tell me what the hell I did."
The moment Orlando's eyes fly open he knows it was the worst thing to do. He can't lie to Viggo when they're this close, and Viggo's eyes are staring into his, as if trying to search there for his answers.
"Nothing," Orlando sighs. "It's got nothing to do with you. I just… I couldn't… I needed to get away."
Viggo brings his hand up to Orlando's face, palms his cheek, and Orlando's going to jerk away when Viggo says, "Your eyes…"
He freezes still, wanting to pull back, but not able to make his limbs move. Viggo's touch cools the feverish feeling, even though his hand is warm where it touches him.
"You're a shape shifter," Viggo says quietly, not letting go of Orlando.
"I'm not." The response is automatic, years of not having the need to deny it not changing the instinctual retort.
"No, you are," Viggo says firmly, and he smiles slowly. "It's okay. It's all right, Orlando. There's no need to be afraid of me."
"I'm not afraid," Orlando replies, and this time, it's the truth. He's not scared at all of Viggo. He's scared of himself, but not of Viggo, and when Viggo's other hand comes up too, framing his face, Orlando feels the tension ebb away.
"Is that why you left?" Viggo asks him. "Because you're a shifter?"
"It's complicated," Orlando says. "You can't understand."
"I understand better than you think." Viggo smiles widely, and Orlando draws his brows together, confused. "You should have told me, we could have spared us these last three weeks."
Now Orlando manages to step back, away from Viggo. He doesn't look at Viggo, knows without seeing that there's hurt on Viggo's face, and confusion, almost as if he could feel those emotions for himself, even though that doesn't make any sense.
"It doesn't change anything, Viggo," he hears himself saying as he fights the urge to turn around and throw himself into Viggo's arms. "I can't be with you."
"Can't isn't don't want to," Viggo remarks and Orlando flinches. "And there's no one else," Viggo goes on while Orlando paces, keeping his face on the floor. "It's not me, is it? It's just that you are afraid of what happens when you let loose, when you give in to the shifter, let it rule your body, not only to enhance your emotions."
"How…?" Orlando's head snaps up and he stands still.
Viggo sits down on Orlando's bed before answering, and it takes all of Orlando's power to keep standing and not pounce on him. The urge is sharp and unexpected, and almost overwhelms him. His hands ball in fists as he fights it.
"Takes one to know one," Viggo says with a slight smirk, then his face turns serious. "You've never really learned how to deal with it, did you? You're fighting it right now."
Orlando nods in answer before the first part sinks in, and he understands at last. "You are?"
"Yes," Viggo says. "I am a shifter too, and there's no reason why you should hold it back. I won't be scared or put off. Get over here… please."
Orlando's feet lead him towards the back, but the rein on himself is too deeply ingrained for him to be able to just let go of it. He wants it though, wants to be fully himself, with no restrictions, no boundaries, and no fear. He remembers the dream three weeks ago, how he felt loved and complete, and in this moment, Orlando knows it's not only what he needs, but also what he wants.
Viggo's taking his hand when he sits down next to him, uncurling the fingers and lacing his own with Orlando's. It's too little, and too much, both at the same time.
"Viggo, I… if you do that," Orlando warns. He's already tethering on a fine line, every single molecule feeling as if about to burst. He doesn't even know if he could hurt Viggo if he's letting go.
"It's okay. I want it, too," Viggo says, and then he leans in and Orlando holds his breath.
The barest hint of pressure of Viggo's lips against his has him moaning, and the barrier is broken. He turns towards the other man, his free hand wrapping around Viggo, hauling him close. Viggo's tongue is inside his mouth, drawing around Orlando's, sliding and licking, and Orlando trembles as arousal hits him full force.
He's hard and aching, and too far away from Viggo, even though they're pressed up to one another. A shove pushes Viggo backwards on the bed, and Orlando's over him, grinding and needing, and Viggo's only pulling him closer still, slinging his arms around Orlando's waist.
There's acceptance, and a yearning that matches his own, Orlando can taste it in the kiss. Viggo's teeth nip at his tongue, and Orlando growls deeply, his rock hard erection jumping at the jolt that runs through him.
When Orlando comes up for breath, Viggo uses the momentum, and then Orlando's on his back, and Viggo's above him, his hands drawing Orlando's sweater up, uncovering smooth skin. Orlando lifts his arms, helping Viggo to get rid of the cloth.
The gaze to his arms is involuntarily; they're always the first place to check. There's a fine dusting of fur there, much less than Orlando expected, but Viggo's eyes follow his, then his fingers, caressing the visible signs of Orlando's nature.
"Soft," he says, fingertips trailing through the hairs. "What kind are you?"
"I don't know," Orlando admits quietly, and when Viggo lifts his eyes to look at him surprised, he sits up. "I never... I don't think I want to know."
Viggo follows him, drawing him back by laying a hand on his shoulder and forcing Orlando gently to turn back. "You must be very strong to go this long without turning fully."
"What are you?" Orlando asks.
Viggo unbuttons his shirt, and takes it of, then lifts the t-shirt beneath. It's less than the fur covering on Orlando's arms, but the stripes in the hair of his chest are still distinctive. Orlando reaches out, and trails his hand over Viggo's chest, letting his fingers run through them.
"They look like a tiger's stripes," he says, and Viggo nods.
"They are," he confirms. "It doesn't mean I will turn into a fully grown tiger on you. Not because I won't let myself, but because I simply can't," he explains. "Even when we fully shift, we're not becoming an animal; we just will show our animal's traits, like having fur covering our body instead of the human skin. So whatever you are, Orlando, you won't hurt me, and I won't hurt you."
"But I thought," Orlando starts, trying to wrap his head around Viggo's words that are so unlike everything he's heard of shape shifters before. There are so many stories, accounts of people changing into beasts.
"Yeah, I know," Viggo says sadly. "I can't say for certain that all those tales you probably heard are wrong, but I do know that you won't stop being you when you turn."
"Have you ever, with someone like me, like us?" Orlando asks. Even sitting like this, bare-chested on the bed with a man he desires, he still feels unsure. Viggo says he wants him, but neither of them knows what he will end up being like, looking like.
Viggo smiles, and reaches for him, drawing Orlando close again, and pressing their mouths together briefly. "Yes, I have, and I will tell you all about it at a later date if you really want me to," he says. Then his hand is in Orlando's lap, and Orlando groans as Viggo's finger curl around his length through the fabric of his trousers.
"Oh, god. Viggo." Orlando grips Viggo's bicep, halting him. "I don't, I mean, I never…"
"I figured," Viggo says, smiling. "It's okay. Just let go, let your body take over and lead you. Stop thinking so much." He smirks a bit, and presses down on Orlando's cock again.
It's too much. Viggo's words urging him to let go when it's all his body is screaming for him. Orlando pushes Viggo down, scrambling over him. "You need to tell me if I do anything wrong… if I hurt you. Promise me that," he gets out. "Promise you'll stop me then."
"I will," Viggo vows, and Orlando's lips close over his.
He toes his shoes off, fumbles to get out of his jeans, and it takes more scuffling to get Viggo undressed as well, in between frantic kisses and wandering hands, but finally, they're both blissfully naked. It's better than his dream even, Orlando thinks, because now he can really smell Viggo, taste him, and hear him.
His cock is leaking pre-come, dribbling on Viggo's belly as he grinds against him, and Viggo's as hard as he, moaning encouragements for Orlando, not letting a moment go without letting Orlando know how good he makes him feel.
Viggo's spreading his legs, letting Orlando slide in between, and then he's guiding Orlando's fingers, bringing them to his hole. There's resistance, and it's hot and tight, and Orlando knows he must be hurting Viggo, even though the other man leads his hand.
"Don't, please," Orlando says. "Not like this. You promised."
Viggo's panting as he lets Orlando's hand go. "Lube?" he asks. "You got any?"
Orlando nods and shifts, stretching to reach the night stand. There's lube in there, but now that his mind has cleared a bit, he's able to remember that while he owns lube, he doesn't have any condoms.
Viggo twists underneath him, making Orlando look down. "No condoms," Orlando says.
"My pants, back pocket, in my wallet," Viggo says, then winds his hand in Orlando's hair, pulling him down to kiss him again.
Orlando lets the lube fall on the bed as he dives for Viggo's pants. When he's found it and turns back, Viggo's got his fingers up his arse, his face a mixture of bliss and exertion. Viggo's eyes find his then, and Orlando smiles.
"C'mere," Viggo says, and reaches for Orlando's hand, smearing his fingers with lube. "Help me."
Orlando slides next to Viggo, presses against him, and Viggo brings their lube-covered fingers together. It's just one finger of Orlando and one of Viggo, and it's so hot and tight that Orlando thinks he could come just from imagining what it will feel like to sink into him.
Leaning in to press his lips to Viggo's, Orlando swallows the other man's moans, sucking on Viggo's tongue as it enters his mouth. He can feel Viggo's cock throbbing against his hip, hard and hot and drooling, and Orlando can't wait any longer.
Pulling back, he withdraws his finger as well, and fumbles to rip the wrapper of the condom open. Then Viggo's hands are on his again, and he takes the latex from Orlando, rolling it over his length, giving it a couple of strokes that leave Orlando shaking.
"Viggo," Orlando gasps, and the other man stops.
"I want you, Orlando," Viggo says, lying back again and drawing his knees up. "All of you."
"Oh, god," Orlando says, then moves in between Viggo's legs.
He's watched enough porn to know the mechanics, but his hands won't stop shaking and his heart is beating so loud he can hardly hear anything else. He inhales deeply, and does what Viggo told him, and lets his body take over.
Positioning himself, he pushes down, thrusting hard, and there's a give before he's squeezed in heat and one of Viggo's legs wraps around his hip, pulling him closer. Viggo's rocking against him, and his eyes are so full of love that Orlando's heart feels as if it's too big to be contained in his chest, threatening to burst through his ribcage. He hears even the tiniest sounds, their laboured breathing, the faint creaking of the bed, the neighbour one floor below walking around his flat, and he buries his face against Viggo's chest, inhaling the distinct scent of his lover deeply.
He whimpers as he pushes in deeper still, and Viggo groans, "move," at him.
Propelling himself up on his arms, Orlando drags back, then inches forwards again, throbbing and aching as Viggo's body is squeezing him so hard it borders on pain. The compression lessens gradually, and Orlando's thrusts lengthen, then Viggo's hand finds his nipple and pinches it, and Orlando cries out, his hips snapping forwards hard.
"Yes," Viggo shouts, and Orlando grunts as he hits bottom.
He's almost there, the need to come searing him, and Viggo wraps his lube slick hand around his own cock, jerking and squeezing, and Orlando's eyes are drawn to it, watching Viggo bringing himself closer and closer towards release while his thrusts turn ragged. Orlando slides into his orgasm, shuddering as it takes hold of him, and he shoves himself into Viggo deeply one last time, coming and coming. Viggo roars as he comes, his come splashing against his belly, and Orlando is squeezed tightly again, aftershocks rippling through him.
His arms give out then, and Orlando lets himself sink down on Viggo, spent and utterly satisfied. Viggo's arms encircle him tightly as they both catch their breath. When Orlando finally pulls out, he sighs at the loss of connection, and hurries back into Viggo's arms, quickly disposing of the condom, before snuggling up with the other man. It's a while before either of them talks, and it's only the questions racing through Orlando's mind that keep him from nodding off.
"Why didn't I change?" he asks, his face resting against Viggo's shoulder. "I always expected…"
"Because deep emotions let it begin?" Viggo adds, running his hands over Orlando's arms. They're still covered faintly in fur, Orlando realizes now, but it feels good to have Viggo touch them. "Shifting isn't always physically; sometimes it's just on your inside. And also anger is more likely to change your appearance."
"Then I have to be careful not get pissed off at something when I'm among people, but getting horny is fine?" Orlando says, grinning.
Viggo chuckles. "Something like that, yeah." He turns to his side, facing Orlando, his hand travelling up Orlando's arm until it reaches his jaw. "Come with me when I leave here," he says, pleads almost.
"Leave?"
"This town, maybe the country," Viggo explains. "I don't know where I'll go yet, but I can't just stand by and hide. Not anymore. It's already hardly bearable, and it won't be long until it becomes dangerous for us here if there's nothing done against it."
"They're not any different in the south," Orlando says. "Life's going to be just the same as here, just with drought instead of freezing rains."
"They have not yet the laws that are here. There's a chance to maybe making a difference there, a better chance than here," Viggo tells him. He leans in, kissing Orlando gently, and Orlando melts against him for the moment of the kiss, then Viggo's lips slide away from his. "I came here tonight because I couldn't leave without knowing for sure why you just disappeared. I didn't want to keep wondering if there had been a chance."
Orlando's quiet for a while, thinking of the best way to say what he's feeling, while he idly plays with the hairs on Viggo's chest, drawing circles through the stripes. "I don't know how to love, Viggo," he says at last, watching his fingers. He then lifts his eyes to Viggo's, and adds, "I never felt this safe before, and I want it to last. I don't want to go back to being alone."
Viggo smiles at him, understanding in his gaze. "I can teach you everything I know about being a shape shifter," he says. "I can't teach you how to love, but I'll gladly wait as long as it takes for you to figure it out on your own."
"I want to start that now," Orlando tells him. He can't put other names than safe and content to the feelings yet, but there's so much rightness in lying on his bed, his body tangled with Viggo's, enclosed by the sounds and scent of his lover. He wouldn't give it up for anything now, and he tilts his head, seeking Viggo's mouth.
The kiss is unhurried, a sharing of breaths more, and Orlando drowns in it, purrs when it goes on for long, long moments before finally ceasing just as gently.
"I've never seen an ocean," Orlando murmurs against Viggo's lips. "Show me the Southern one?"
- the end -