vigorli

Title: Everything (Interlude – “Nocturne”)
Author:

indecentexposed
Pairing: Vigorli
Rating: NC-17 (fluffy, smutty first-time sex.)
Warnings: Fluff, in spades. Side dish of angst. One major punch to the gut.
Disclaimer: I don’t own them, and this is fiction.
Beta: I’m entirely to blame for this one.
Summary: Scenes from a life together, beginning in New Zealand and spanning the next 30 years.
Author’s Note: Most of this fic is comprised of brief scenes, but I felt their first time deserved more attention to detail. Or, I just really like writing porn. Either way, this chapter is longer than most.

Cross-posted to

volaslash

Interlude. Nocturne.

“Orlando.”

He stopped a few paces from his car, but didn’t turn around.

“We should talk.” Viggo’s tone was low and gentle. “Do you want to come back inside?”

“I can’t.”

“Okay.”

A strangled laugh escaped him. “That’s it?”

“Of course not.”

“Then why...”

“Listen to me.” Viggo had stopped a few steps behind him. “We will need to talk at some point, but I understand if it can’t be tonight. If you need some time, it’s okay.”

Orlando was torn. The impulse to go was still there, but something in Viggo’s voice brought up an entirely conflicting desire, to turn and throw himself into the other man’s arms. But he couldn’t do that, not when the distinct possibility still existed that he would feel compelled to run again. And yet, he couldn’t seem to take the last few steps toward the car, either.

“Orlando?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m going inside. If you decide... well, I’m here.” He heard Viggo’s retreating footsteps.

The minutes passed. Still, he couldn’t seem to turn back or move forward.

What had happened? He’d wanted this-- or thought he wanted it. Still wanted it, in fact. The memory of the kiss made his heart race. The trouble was, he’d never expected to get it, and so he’d never really considered the larger implications. He was never going to be with Viggo, so he’d never had to think about what being with Viggo might mean.

You’re thinking too much.

More to the point, he wasn’t going to figure it out standing out here in the middle of the increasingly cold night. Orlando sighed and turned toward the house. The door was still open.

Viggo got quickly to his feet when Orlando walked in. “You came back,” he said, relief evident in his tone as he came toward the younger man—although he stopped before he got too close, Orlando noted.

“Yeah. Look, Vig, I--” Orlando began with every intention of explaining his abrupt exit, but the words lodged in his throat.

“Come on,” Viggo suggested, touching Orlando’s arm gently. “Sit down. Let’s talk.”

“I can’t.” He pulled away; the contact was too much.

“Then why--”

“Because I’m in love with you.”

The world stopped. Orlando froze; he had never meant to say those words out loud. He hadn’t even known with certainty that they were true until that moment-- and now he knew with a blinding clarity and searing rush of feeling made all the more painful by Viggo’s lack of response. Viggo was merely standing there, staring at him as if he’d completely lost his mind.

He turned for the door again. “I’m sorry. I’ll go.”

“Orlando.”

“It’s fine, I’ll just--”

“Orlando.”

“Really, it’s--”

“Listen to me,” Viggo interrupted. “I’m trying to tell you something.”

He sighed, but stopped.

“Turn around, please.”

Orlando did, and Viggo paced his words, watching the younger man’s face as he spoke. “When I met you, I thought you were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.”

Orlando blinked. It didn’t sound like the letdown he’d been expecting-- not yet, anyway.

“I couldn’t take my eyes off you for weeks,” Viggo continued, taking a few steps closer. “I couldn’t get you out of my mind. I found myself making up reasons to spend time with you away from the set, and the more I got to know you, the more I realized... that I was falling for you. That I had been falling for you since the moment we met.”

Orlando shook his head, trying to clear it. The world was moving again—spinning, in fact. “What, exactly, are you saying?”

“I’m saying I’m in love with you. And the only reason I never told you,” Viggo said softly, his gaze never leaving Orlando’s, “is that never, in my wildest dreams, did I imagine that you could return my feelings.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because I’m a man, Orlando,” Viggo pointed out gently. “And I’m twenty years older than you are.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“No.”

“Then why did you run out earlier?”

“I was... overwhelmed, you know?” Orlando paused, trying to form coherent thoughts. It was difficult, with Viggo’s words playing over and over again in his head: I’m saying I’m in love with you. “It was a lot, Vig, a lot at once. I wanted it, I’ve wanted you for months, but never in a million fucking years did I think this would happen. And then it did, but I didn’t know what it meant to you.”

“Now you know.” Viggo took another step, and there was only breathing space between them. “It meant everything.”

Where their first kiss had been filled with questions, the second seemed to answer them all in a single moment. Orlando relaxed in Viggo’s arms as if letting out a breath, and this time when Viggo’s tongue pressed against his lips he opened his mouth eagerly, wanting more-- needing more. But Viggo was setting the pace, and taking his time. Cupping Orlando’s face in his hands, he caressed the younger man’s cheek, his tongue parting Orlando’s lips only to withdraw almost at once... again, and again. It was torturous, and Orlando moaned softly, the sound escaping him before he could stop it.

The intensity of Viggo’s response caught him by surprise. His tongue sought Orlando’s in earnest now, and he deepened their kisses, claiming Orlando’s mouth with his own. There was heat between them now, and urgency, and as Viggo drew him closer, Orlando was suddenly conscious of their bodies pressed together for the first time.

He felt as if he were on fire. He couldn’t get close enough, but he tried desperately, lifting his hips and pressing his body to Viggo’s. He was rewarded with a gasp, an answering thrust, and Viggo’s mouth meeting his in such a fierce, searing kiss that he lost his breath. Viggo crushed Orlando’s body against his own, his tongue roaming the other man’s mouth in an attack of kisses so forceful and savage, Orlando began to feel light-headed.

“Vig,” he managed, raggedly.

Viggo’s hold relaxed at once. The kisses softened, and slowed. “Too much?” he murmured.

“A bit, yeah.” Orlando drew in a long breath, trying to slow his racing heart.

“We can stop there if you--”

“I don’t want to stop.” He didn’t, but Orlando wasn’t certain he was ready for what came after not stopping, either.

Viggo studied him for a long moment. “Orlando,” he said at last, quietly, “you should know that nothing will happen tonight unless you want it.”

“It’s not that I don’t want...” Orlando swallowed hard. His desire, momentarily quelled, was returning quickly. He wanted a hundred things he couldn’t name, which was exactly the trouble. “It’s just... I don’t... I haven’t a single fucking idea what I’m doing,” he admitted, finally, and looked away, fervently hoping Viggo wouldn’t require further explanation.

He didn’t. “You’ve never been with another man.”

“No.” The answer came out as a whisper, but the question caused Orlando to wonder. “Have you?”

“It’s been a while, but yes, I have. Does that upset you?”

Orlando shook his head. It was slightly, strangely comforting, in truth.

“We’ll take it slow. If there are things you’re not comfortable with doing, or things you’re not ready to do, that’s all right. Just say so.” Viggo met his eyes. “You can also tell me what you do want.”

Orlando didn’t dare think about that one too thoroughly. “Right now, I want you to kiss me.”

Viggo was already leaning in. “Try not to run for the door this time.”

“I won’t.” Their mouths tangled together easily this time, already with the beginnings of familiarity.

“Slow,” Viggo murmured against his lips.

Orlando acquiesced, fighting his desire. His senses, it seemed, were attuned to the most minute details: the light scrape of Viggo’s beard against his skin, the ripple of muscle as Viggo shuddered slightly against him, the strength of the hand that caught the back of his neck and drew him more fully into the kiss. And yet he was only vaguely aware of being guided down the hall, toward the bedroom.

On the bed, Viggo’s body draped lightly over his own, all thoughts of taking things slowly were abandoned. Orlando reached up and, one by one, began to unfasten the buttons of Viggo’s shirt. His fingers trembled, but only slightly, as he worked to reveal the smooth expanse of Viggo’s chest. The other man closed his eyes, and Orlando heard his sharp intake of breath followed by a long, deep sigh as the last button came free.

He sat up then, bringing Orlando up with him, and in one fluid motion pulled the younger man’s shirt over his head. Viggo kissed him, and their chests pressed together, skin on skin for the first time, a collision of muscle and sinew and heat. Their hands tentatively began to roam one another’s’ bodies, and the intensity might have overwhelmed Orlando all over again, but Viggo’s kisses were gentler now, and unhurried.

He eased Orlando back down to the bed, kissing him deeply, and Orlando closed his eyes and gave himself over to feeling. Viggo’s lips were cautious, almost reverent, as they explored his throat and shoulder. He moved downward impossibly slowly, lingering at each plane and hollow, attentive to every sound that escaped Orlando’s lips, to the slightest response of his body. As Viggo moved lower still, Orlando’s breath quickened, and he felt Viggo smile softly against his skin—then the other man caught one stiff nipple in his mouth, teasing it ever so lightly with his tongue. The sensation was incredible, and Orlando arched his back and cried out in pleasure, burying his fingers in Viggo’s hair.

Nothing existed outside of what happened between them in each moment. With maddening patience, Viggo teased and suckled one nipple, then the other, plying each one in his mouth until Orlando writhed beneath him. It was exquisite; Orlando found he could not hold back the keening sounds the older man’s attentions provoked.

He was losing himself, he thought, and at once his body tensed, fear and uncertainty still lingering, warring with desire.

Viggo paused. “Orlando?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re tense.” Coming up, Viggo covered Orlando’s mouth in a long kiss. “What’s wrong?”

Orlando closed his eyes, willing his body to relax. “I’m fine. Don’t stop.”

“There’s no rush.” Viggo stroked his cheek gently. “I’ve waited eight months,” he pointed out, when Orlando cast him a doubtful look.

“And now I’m behaving like a sodding virgin.”

“Well, technically speaking...”

Under Orlando’s glare, Viggo abruptly changed his mind. Instead, he pulled Orlando closer. “What I meant was that I never expected... even this much. And I could never be impatient with you.”

Orlando shook his head in frustration. “If I could just...”

“But that’s not what I want,” Viggo interrupted, knowing where the younger man’s train of thought was headed. “I don’t want you to close your eyes and push through. I don’t want you to be afraid, Orlando, even for a second.”

“I’m not sure that’s possible.”

“It is if we go slowly.” Viggo traced one fingertip down Orlando’s chest, and almost in spite of himself, Orlando trembled and lifted his hips slightly, seeking more contact. “It is if I don’t push you.”

“You’re not--”

“I am.” Viggo smiled wryly. “But I don’t mean to.”

He traversed Orlando’s chest with only the tips of his fingers, tracing slow lines and drawing circles, careful to avoid moving too low. This time Orlando kept his eyes trained on Viggo’s, and his breathing remained steady and deep. Finally, he laid a tentative hand on his Viggo’s chest, simply letting it rest there at first. Gradually, slowly, he began to mirror the older man’s touches and strokes.

They lay still for a long while, exploring one another slowly, unhurriedly, until Orlando felt certain he could sculpt every curve and plane of Viggo’s chest from memory. Its rise and fall were becoming intimately familiar to him, like a wordless language he knew by heart.

Almost without realizing it, he let out a soft sigh. Viggo leaned in and kissed him. “What is it?”

“Could we....” He couldn’t even imagine saying the words. Instead, Orlando caught Viggo’s hand and moved it downward, placing it just over the button of his jeans.

“We can do anything you want.” Viggo toyed with the button, watching Orlando’s face carefully.

The button came undone, and Orlando tried desperately to slow his own heart as Viggo took the zipper between his thumb and forefinger and pulled down, slowly. “What about what you want?”

“I want all the same things you do.” Viggo slid Orlando’s jeans down. “And probably a few things you haven’t thought of yet.”

Orlando actually laughed at that, then wriggled his hips when he realized Viggo only meant to remove his jeans. “Everything, please, Vig.”

“No rush, Orli, remember?”

He smiled at the nickname-- such a rarity to hear it on Viggo’s lips. “Maybe not for you,” he teased, but there was an edge in his voice. Viggo heard it, too, and looked up, questioning.

“Stop treating me like I might break.”

“Orlando, please don’t take this the wrong way, but--”

“I know what I want.”

“Then let me give you what you need.”

“Which is what, exactly?”

“Time.”

“I need you.”

“Orlando--”

“Don’t make me beg, Vig.”

“You’re not helping your own case even slightly.” But Viggo closed his eyes, and Orlando could tell he was willing his own tenuous control to remain intact.

“At least take the rest of your clothes off? I want to see you.”

Viggo did as he asked, taking his time, and Orlando watched intently, wishing he didn’t need to blink. Somehow, the same plateaus and expanses of bare skin he’d seen --even brushed up against-- nearly every morning in the make-up trailer had become entirely new terrain under his eyes, and he didn’t want to miss a single moment. A light breeze through the open window cooled his bare skin, but did nothing to offset the heat that had left him aching with a nameless need.

Returning to the bed, Viggo’s fingers caught at the waistband of Orlando’s boxers, and Orlando met the older man’s eyes with mix of surprise and pleasure. “I’m not a saint,” was Viggo’s only explanation, and Orlando eagerly lifted his hips, allowing Viggo to strip away the last separation between them.

And then, maddeningly, Viggo simply sat back and gazed at him-- precisely as Orlando had been doing a few seconds before, only it was too much distance. “Vig. I hope you’re planning to do more than look.”

“I am. Much more.” Orlando watched as Viggo’s eyes swept across his body. “You’re the sort of beautiful people write poems about.”

“People like you?”

“People much like me. Though I’m not certain I could put together a coherent phrase at the moment.”

Orlando thought he might melt into the tenderness with which Viggo was studying him. “Come here,” he pleaded, and Viggo acquiesced, moving swiftly over him-- but not so swiftly that Orlando didn’t feel the momentary brush of hardness against his thigh in the instant before Viggo’s mouth found his.

“Viggo,” he entreated when they broke the kiss, meeting the older man’s eyes. “Please.”

Viggo didn’t even make a pretense of denying him. He kissed Orlando once more, deeply, then began to work his way down, more gently than the last time. His tongue teased but did not linger, circling Orlando’s nipples just enough to bring them taut before he continued downward. Further, and further yet-- until he stilled for a moment, looking up at Orlando. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, but...” Orlando hesitated, love and fear and need and a hundred other things colliding.

“But what?”

“I didn’t... I mean, you don’t have to... we could just...”

“Not yet.” Viggo kissed the inside of Orlando’s thigh, and the younger man trembled. It wasn’t the thought of the physical act, so much. It was the intimacy. The vulnerability. What it meant.

“Vig...”

“Relax,” Viggo crooned, caressing Orlando’s hip with his thumb, and waited until he heard Orlando’s breathing slow. Then he leaned down.

Viggo flicked his tongue down the top of his shaft, and Orlando’s breath hitched, then dissolved into a soft moan as Viggo took the very tip of his cock into his mouth for the first time.

Viggo took his time, pinning Orlando’s hips with his hands to prevent Orlando from thrusting upward, seeking more. He lapped and suckled and teased until every nerve in Orlando’s body was alive and on fire, his tongue dancing eagerly up and down Orlando’s cock, seeking response. He got it. Orlando writhed beneath his lover, only faintly aware that the cries filling the air were his own. His hands tangled in Viggo’s hair, and despite Viggo’s hold, his hips lifted of their own volition.

“More,” he gasped, and Viggo complied. The teasing at an end, he grasped the base of Orlando’s shaft with one loose fist and worked his mouth up and down in earnest, his tongue flicking and caressing the entirety of Orlando’s length. With the other hand, he reached down and tentatively began to stroke Orlando’s perineum with two fingers, and this was rewarded with a shuddering cry of pleasure.

Orlando was close. Impossibly close, but Viggo had slowed his pace ever so slightly, fluttering his tongue over the head of Orlando’s cock, and it wasn’t enough. Orlando’s eyes flickered open, and widened slightly as he watched Viggo bring his free hand momentarily to his lips. Then he felt the same hand easing down into the slight crevasse of warm, tightly-drawn skin-- and then, before he could react, one finger pressed lightly against his entrance.

Viggo didn’t try to go further, but he kept the finger there, pressing lightly, and redoubled his efforts with mouth and tongue. And this was enough. More than enough.

“Viggo,” Orlando cried, and his fingertips dug hard into Viggo’s scalp, his thighs tensed, his hips twisted, and his entire body lifted from the bed, suspended over the precipice for one tremulous instant. Then he came, hard, quaking with the strength of his release, his body shuddering from head to toe. Viggo stayed with him, working his cock increasingly gently until his orgasm finally subsided.

Then Viggo eased himself up to the head of the bed, and Orlando nestled into his arms as easily as if this had always been the way of things between them. Viggo held him close, and Orlando closed his eyes and drew long, slow breaths, waiting for the trembling to subside and his racing pulse to slow.

As his own body relaxed and he pressed closer to Viggo, he became suddenly, intensely conscious of his lover’s arousal-- ignored, at least until now, in favor of his own. Without stopping to think, he reached down, and closed a tentative fist around Viggo’s shaft. He heard Viggo’s breath quicken and, encouraged, he began to stroke slowly, lightly. Almost cautiously, at first. His fingers danced and fluttered, never grasping, but retreating and returning.

When he dared to look up, Viggo was watching him, a look of near-feral desire in his eyes.

“Christ,” he breathed, and their lips collided, tongues entangling.

“Vig,” Orlando whispered when they broke apart, withdrawing his hand.

“It’s all right,” Viggo assured him. “We can stop.”

“I don’t want to stop.”

“What do you--”

“I want you to fuck me.”

Viggo’s eyes flew open in time to catch Orlando’s slightly stunned expression—he couldn’t believe the words had come out of his own mouth. “I mean, if you... oh, fuck, I don’t even--”

“Shh.” Viggo silenced him with a kiss. “Of course I want that. I want you, Orlando. So much. But I need you to be sure.”

“I’m sure.” He was. Mostly.

“I want you to know what to expect.” Viggo was still holding him, his hands straying across Orlando’s back in slow, even circles. Half-consciously, Orlando arched into the touch. “There’s going to be some... some pain.”

“How bad?”

“As little as I can possibly manage. We’ll go very slowly.” He caressed Orlando’s cheek gently. “It will be worse if you’re nervous, and I don’t want to hurt you. If you want to wait--”

“Vig, I’ve broken practically every bone in my body.” Orlando cracked a weak smile, but there was no point-- he could tell from Viggo’s expression that the older man saw right through the attempted bravado.

“This is different.”

“I know. But I trust you.” Of that, he was certain.

“All right.”

Viggo shifted slightly, so that Orlando’s head was resting in the crook of his left arm. Then he allowed his right hand, which had been resting at the small of Orlando’s back, to wander lower. And lower, until slowly, languidly, it roamed across and over Orlando’s buttocks, causing him to shiver. Truth be told, he hadn’t been with anyone at all in nearly a year, and between that and the newness of this, and the sheer fact of actually being with Viggo at all after so many months, he could already feel arousal beginning to stir between his thighs again.

Viggo’s caresses were relaxed and even. Without warning, he traced one finger down Orlando’s cleft, and for a few seconds Orlando actually stopped breathing, but Viggo pulled back and returned to long, slow strokes again immediately after. He repeated the same motion several times, until Orlando felt himself beginning to relax into the touch. Viggo pressed just a bit deeper each time until he made contact, as before, and this time Orlando pushed back against him, needing more.

“I’ll be right back,” Viggo said in his ear, and turned away.

Orlando watched him fumble briefly in his nightstand drawer before he landed on the bottle he wanted. Viggo coated the index and middle fingers of his right hand thoroughly, then set the lubricant on top of the nightstand-- where it would be within easy reach later, Orlando thought.

He tried not to think too hard about later.

Viggo was beside him again, cradling Orlando with his left arm while his right hand moved back down. Orlando hitched his left leg over Viggo’s hip, allowing the other man better access. Viggo couldn’t possibly see what he was doing, he thought, but maybe he didn’t need to-- not for this, anyway. They soon regained their earlier momentum: light pressure, but nothing more. Yet.

“Ready?” Viggo kissed Orlando’s forehead.

“Yes.”

Viggo nudged the tip of one finger in, and Orlando’s body tensed instinctively, against his own will and in spite of his efforts. But Viggo’s eyes were still locked on his, filled with a combination of desire and tenderness, and he was waiting. When the muscles relaxed, he slid the finger in a tiny bit further. And further still. Orlando found it took him less and less time to adjust with each push. It wasn’t painful, exactly-- just entirely unfamiliar.

Finally, Viggo worked the digit all the way inside, and stilled. “How does that feel?”

“I’m not sure yet.” Orlando winced slightly as Viggo gently slid the finger out, and then back in. The second time was easier, though, and the next even easier than that-- already, he could feel himself relaxing, beginning to enjoy the new sensation.

“How about this?” Viggo kept up the slow, rhythmic strokes, but he crooked his finger slightly, and suddenly a thousand lights exploded behind Orlando’s eyes.

“Fuck,” he hissed, catching Viggo’s satisfied grin out of the corner of his eye. He kept going, and every few strokes he curled his finger over that spot again, causing progressively more intense reactions in the quivering body beside him. Soon Orlando found himself pushing back against Viggo, nearly thrusting, and when Viggo added a second finger, he hardly tensed at all. The other man’s touch was steady and certain-- at once pleasuring Orlando and relaxing him, opening him, preparing him for what would happen next.

He actually bit back a protest when Viggo withdrew his fingers.

“Orlando.” Viggo’s eyes were searching. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

His heart twisted at the concern in Viggo’s eye, the gentleness of his tone. “You keep asking me, Vig, and I might say no just to change things up.”

“I’m sorry.” Viggo kissed him softly. “It's just that I’m having trouble convincing myself that this is real.”

“Want me to pinch you?” Orlando tossed him a wicked grin. “Better be sure, yeah?”

The other man laughed aloud. “And now I know.”

“How’s that?”

“You’re better behaved in my dreams.”

“You wouldn’t find me half so attractive.”

“I can’t argue with that.”

“Viggo.” Orlando was serious again, though the moment’s humor had lightened the tension between them considerably. “I’m sure.”

Viggo simply nodded, and reached for the lubricant again. He poured out a generous amount, and warmed it briefly in his hands before reaching down to slick his cock. Orlando propped himself up on one arm and watched in fascination, intrigued by the intensity of the desire that this particular sight provoked.

Viggo glanced up and caught him staring. “What is it?”

“Nothing. Wondering if you’d be as turned on watching me touch myself, as I am watching you.”

“I don’t think we’d better find out right this second.” Viggo managed a tight-lipped smile. “I’m fairly sure I would be-- entirely sure, actually, and then we wouldn’t get much further.”

“Speaking of.” Orlando hesitated. “How do we... should I turn over, or...?”

“No.” Viggo eased himself back down beside the younger man. “Not this time. I want to be able to see you.” His lips brushed Orlando’s forehead. “On top you have more control, and you can go as slowly as you want, or stop if you need to. On the other hand, it’s physically easier to relax on your back. It’s up to you.”

“I think I’d feel better with you on top.” Relaxing, Orlando thought, was going to be difficult enough-- he could already feel his lower body going tight and taut. “If that’s all right.”

“Of course it’s all right.”

“Just... go slow.” Orlando closed his eyes and concentrated, trying hard to relax muscles he’d barely known he had until a few hours ago. He was only half aware of Viggo moving down the bed, hands on his knees, parting his legs, and then--

“Open your eyes.”

He did, reluctantly. Viggo was kneeling between his thighs and met his gaze, his expression calm and sure. “Keep them open. Look at me.”

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You can. But if you tell me you can’t, I’ll stop.”

Orlando was trembling, fear and need battling for control. “Don’t stop.”

Viggo didn’t, and Orlando sucked in a rapid breath as he felt his body beginning to open—what seemed like far, far beyond the stretching so newly familiar to him. Then there was burning pain, more than he’d expected, and Orlando screwed his eyes shut and fought the urge to pull away as Viggo pushed into him further, and further. How was it possible that anyone could enjoy this?

“Breathe,” Viggo was saying, his voice low and soothing.

“It hurts,” Orlando managed, through gritted teeth.

“I know, love. Try to relax.”

He tried, breathing deeply, and the burning lessened slightly. Viggo leaned over him, covering Orlando’s mouth with a kiss, the motion of his hips slow and even. Orlando couldn’t believe his patience, but the achingly steady tempo was doing its work: with each successive thrust, the pain dissipated a tiny bit more. Orlando clung to his lover, and finally a low moan escaped his throat as tension gave way to the first rush of pleasure.

“Better?” Viggo whispered.

“Christ, yes.”

“You feel unbelievable.”

You too, Orlando wanted to tell him, but the combination of emotion and sensation were overwhelming, and his lips wouldn’t form the words. Instead, he arched his body upward and wrapped his arms around Viggo, pulling him down for a kiss, trying to tell him without speech. The gentle, rocking strokes became faster by way of response, but his own desire had begun to return and swell as soon as the pain subsided, and it wasn’t enough. He didn’t need slow or gentle anymore; he needed Viggo to stop holding back. Orlando pressed his hips against Viggo’s and thrust back, trying to communicate his desire through his body: more, now, harder.

“Tell me.” Viggo nipped at his throat and Orlando moaned, his entire body shuddering. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Fuck me.”

A single thrust. Sudden, quick, deep. Hard. Orlando cried out, nails raking into his lover’s back

“Like that?”

“Harder.”

Viggo shifted slightly and thrust again, and this time, Orlando saw white light and stars. “Jesus fucking Christ,” was all he could manage before Viggo pushed in again, and again. He clung to Viggo’s arms with a bruising grip, bracing himself as their hips collided, bodies crushing together, Viggo attacking that place inside him with an onslaught of firm, deep strokes that brought him toward the edge faster than he would have believed possible.

Orlando couldn’t take his eyes off Viggo as the other man moved above him, moved inside of him, muscles rippling, skin bright with exertion and shining with sweat. He caught Viggo’s eye and saw the heady mix of desire and love and need there, and then Viggo reached between them and took Orlando’s cock in his hand, and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer.

“I’m close,” he breathed, and in the half second it took Viggo to lean down and catch his mouth in a heated kiss, breathing “Me too” against his lips, Orlando went from close to nearly there. He managed to stay in the moment just long enough to feel it—- the way Viggo’s body shuddered, buried in his own, coming together so hard there were almost definitely going to be bruises, the relentless heat rising between them, higher, and higher still, he could swear he felt Viggo coming, and then he was there, too, Viggo’s name on his lips, milky liquid spilling between their bodies.

It was several minutes before Orlando opened his eyes, the world coming slowly back into focus. He was still keenly aware of both his own pulse and Viggo’s, racing, though it was hard to say which was whose. He felt Viggo start to shift and pressed his hands gently into the small of his lover’s back, a silent plea. Not yet.

Viggo lifted his head from Orlando’s shoulder, his expression one of such tenderness that Orlando’s throat tightened dangerously. He stayed still, allowing their bodies to remain tangled together for a little longer at least, but he lifted one hand to caress Orlando’s face.

Orlando wanted to speak, say something, but the right words couldn’t possibly exist for a moment as intimate as this. If they did, he thought, they were beyond his reach.

Viggo kissed him, long and lingering. “Happy?” he asked softly, when they parted.

“Doesn’t even begin to cover it.” Orlando blinked, surprised to realize he was rapidly getting sleepy.

“For me, either.” Viggo kissed him again. “Stay here. I’ll get us a couple of towels.”

Orlando’s sigh as Viggo rolled carefully off him was immediately followed by a yawn he didn’t even try to stifle. The exhaustion was setting in quickly. He had no idea what time it was, but thought it had to be near morning.

Viggo was back a moment later, towels in hand. “Do you want a shower?”

“In the morning.” Orlando managed a half-hearted effort at cleaning himself up, but he had to work to keep his eyes open. “Too tired.”

“My pristine Elf is too tired to bathe?” Viggo teased, settling back in beside him and pulling the blankets over them both. “You are worn out.”

“Sod off,” Orlando mumbled, even as he snuggled against Viggo’s chest. “Filthy human.”

He felt Viggo’s lips brush the top of his head. “I love you.”

“Love you.” The words enveloped Orlando with all the warmth and strength of Viggo’s arms around him, and sleep came as soon as he closed his eyes.