vigorli

This ficlet was inspired by the song "The One You Love" by my beloved Rufus Wainwright, in the album "Want Two".

Ficlet
Title: The One You Love
Author: Ana Gonzalez
Category: RPS
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I do not own these two men- they own themselves- so I am not making any claims on their sexuality.
This is only a product of my imagination.
Warning: I think I can say this ficlet is angsty, but it has a happy ending.
Feedback: Yes, please!

The one you love is sleeping on the floor tonight. Well, not just tonight, but every night since the bed became too cold and empty, without your body for him to wrap his arms in and lose himself in, in utter happiness.

No pretty boy, no beautiful man or woman, no fling, no other love shall ever lie on that bed; he promised you that would always be your bed, even if you didn’t hear it.
And he will keep his promise.
You should never question a man who rejoices with other people’s joy more than he pities himself when he’s about to lose everything.

He is a good man. The most deeply honourable man in all creation. You know that; you stir and you shift in your hotel bed- many lifeless beds all over the world- sometimes not alone but always lonely, just with the thought of it.
Is it too late to start over?
Is it too damn unwise to try anything at all?

The bed he is desperately trying to stay away from, still smells like you.
It still brings up the memory of sweaty limbs fiercely entangled in each other, and moans of pleasure that used to wake the distant neighbours in anger.

Jesus Christ! Whom is he kidding?
Everything in that house smells like you, tastes like you.
Every piece of furniture wants to be shaped like you.
He knows it, he knows it too well, and so he carries a silenced sharp cry imprisoned halfway to his throat.
He has been holding it in, trying to keep himself in control; some meditation does the trick for a certain period of time.
He sure won’t give up without a fight! He is a Scandinavian warrior.

You return there once in a while, but never go upstairs; your heart begs you to, but there is one part of your brain that orders you to stop being such a sentimental fool.
You keep paying attention to the wrong voice…

All the latest encounters ended up the same way: with a fearful kiss on his cheek, and your eyes avoiding his at all cost.
But this time he feels that he has to say something; he is going through hell, and you are part of it.

Curious, sad thing to realise- that you are part of his inner hell- when you were the one who made him feel more alive and loved than he had ever felt before.

Now everything is a mess; every painting is marred, every song has the wrong tone, and every poem is nothing but words giving birth to sentences bearing agony.

“I still miss you, very much. I do. But I am working on it.
I am too old to be in a state of eternal craving, and waiting.”, he said, with a sad smile upon his face.

That was the only thing that he was able to say to you, the last time you visited him- disturbed with the melancholy sparkle that he saw in your fugitive eyes- that was the only thing he dared to admit to himself.

As you looked down, looked up, and kept nervously fiddling with something in your jeans` pockets, he sensed your anxiety that told him you missed him terribly too; you didn’t look happy, and your acting skills were not enough to make him believe you were head over heels.

Still, he didn’t want to be enticed by the uncertainty of “maybe”, so he convinced himself that you missed him as a friend and nothing more.

A year and a half ago, you told him that the decision you had made hurt you so much that it almost felt like your heart was being ripped off, but you had no other choice.
You told him no one had ever touched you and read the lines of the somewhat complex book you were, the way that he had. Nevertheless, you had no other choice.
You told him you had feelings for him that you had never imagined you could have for someone, woman or man; you loved him so much it almost made you cry.
Finally, you told him the truth: you could not be seen together in public- laughing, whispering, with fingers intertwined and eyes lost in each other.
The world was not ready to accept you and him, together, as lovers. It was cruel but true.
You told him your life was too fucking complicated, and you were doing your best to stay on the surface.
You told him you would never ask him to live a permanent lie, when he had reached a point in his life where he was free.
You asked him not to hate you, because you loved him.
You had to say you wished for his happiness more than anything in the world!
You wish things weren’t so hard, but they were; you would keep your relationship with Kate, and you would try to make it work- although you didn’t love her as you should, and you felt like you were selling your soul, somehow- you had to.

You didn’t told him you feared that you were the one who still failed to accept the real you.
You were right when you felt like you were selling a part of your soul, because you did.
You know it now. God, the truth corrodes the pit of your stomach and doesn’t let you sleep at night!
But everything is not lost.

Today there is no girlfriend Kate in your life, anymore.
She is your friend; she loves your dogs and takes them for walks in the park when you can’t. She is sweet, and again, she is your friend.
She was always but your friend.

You feel like you have regained a little respect for yourself, and a bit of your identity; after all, your heart was never hers, so why should you be kissing her in the mouth and calling her “girlfriend” in the magazines?

Now that you reflect on it, it does not make any sense at all.

You are shooting movie after movie, in the most beautiful locations in the world; you can consider yourself one lucky boy.

There is an island in the Caribbean that has caught your heart; you plan to buy a house in that place where the glorious sun comes down to kiss the palm trees gently, and there is a blue lagoon one can only dream of bathing in. Everything there is pure – the water is so translucent that you can almost see your soul reflected in it.

Your life seems perfect, and in some way, it almost is. You are living your wildest dreams.

Who could imagine that all these things would make you feel emptier than empty?

The truth is that your closest friends have known all along.
They know how lost and hollow you feel for a year and a half.
They know how many sleepless nights you have been spending at the hotel rooms, staring at your bare hand; there used to be a ring there, a ring that he offered you when you were about to say goodbye to New Zealand.
You told the press that the make-up artist had offered you that ring, but it was him who slid it onto your finger while gazing at you, teary eyed.
“To whatever it may lead”, he whispered almost singing in your ear.

You kept the ring on your finger with pride and undying love, until Robin advised you to take it off for it might lead to more innuendos after the ROTK premiere.
And so you did.
You returned the ring to him, and he locked it in a little heart shaped chest.

You want to tell him that a house in the most beautiful island will always be lifeless, if he is not there with you.
You ache to tell him that you have been daydreaming about walks on the white sand, with his fingers safely intertwined with yours.
You have been dying to tell him… You need him as much as you need oxygen; your sun needs his moon as much as the sky needs the stars.

So many words have been begging to be released; you have been silencing your voice, and those words could have grown into tumours. But you survived.

You will put yourself back together again, and you will fly to LA.

You know he is back home for a few days; you also know that he is not enjoying the break from his Spanish experience.

Once you get there, you will hold his face in your hands and you will find yourself again in his eyes; grey or green or blue, his eyes are the most beautiful diamonds ever moulded.

You will enunciate, one by one, all the reasons why you cannot remain on the run any longer; you will tell him that if you can’t be free to love the one you love, you must be some kind of a living dead. You love him too much to be dead…

You know that he will not reject you. There is a voice in your head that tells you everything will be alright- this is the voice you should always pay attention to.

This time you will go upstairs, and you will let him lie on top of you, in your bed.
You will lose your breath and you will breathe life as he roams your body that reacts to his touch only.
You will promise him that no matter what happens in the future, you refuse to be apart from the one you love.

You will tell him: “Want you to make love to me and only to me in the dark.”

And so you and him will be one again, and you will cast off your fake skin.

When the sunbeams break through the white curtain, and a new day begins, you will ask him to give you back your ring. You shall never take it off again.

You will probably fly to Spain too, afterwards, and spend some more days with him.

You will walk hand in hand through the Plaza de España, and everyone will see you and him, together, as lovers.
Then you will realise that being loved by Viggo makes you the luckiest man alive, for that reason alone.

You will do anything to never, ever lose the grace of being loved by the one you love…

The End.

The line: “Want you to make love to me and only to me in the dark.”, is by Rufus Wainwright.