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Nov. 11th, 2020 09:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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vigorliTitle: Tea for Two
Author: Artemis Allen
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Orlando/Viggo
Beta: Dearestgattodoro; but I have added to it, so all mistakes are mine.
Dedication:Forgattodoro and silvan_lady. Written back when we were laying low together in Derbyshire
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction; unfortunately.
Summary: Another day in the life of ‘The Conductor & The Concert Violinist’
Word Count: 2,660.
Viggo is a conductor and composer and Orlando is a concert violinist. They live in London and have been together for several years. Orlando is in his mid-thirties and Viggo, his early fifties.
As soon as Viggo opened the front door to the apartment, he could smell bacon frying, and possibly burning. Which was ridiculous; it was three in the afternoon, who cooked bacon at three in the afternoon? In fact why would anyone be cooking anything at this time of day? It was well past lunchtime and dinner wouldn’t be on the horizon for at least three hours. Maybe he was having a seizure; he was sure he’d read somewhere that smelling strange aromas was a sign of a brain tumour or something similar, especially if the smell was burnt food. On the other hand… his lover was at home and that could mean anything might be happening in their kitchen.
When he’d left that morning to attend rehearsals with the London Philharmonic, Orlando had still been asleep, even though it was already nine o’clock. Viggo had thought about rousing him, but that would have led to goodbye kisses and fondling and he might have ended up being later out of the door than he already was, and even this tardiness was down to Orlando because Viggo had been unable to resist a few more minutes spooned up against his slumbering lover’s warm, musky body. He’d considered phoning during the lunch break just to see if Orlando had managed to drag himself out of bed because Viggo suspected that if there were no inducement to get up, he might spend the day there and since Mrs Jones, their housekeeper, was on holiday, there was nothing to disturb the sleeping beauty; but Orlando was apt to get grouchy if he thought he was being checked on, so he’d refrained.
Mrs Jones usually tried to time her holidays to coincide with their own, mainly Viggo suspected because she dreaded the chaos she might encounter on her return if the two of them were home alone for a couple of weeks or in Orlando’s case just one week would probably do it. But they had had to rearrange their own vacation to accommodate Viggo’s late decision to tour with the Phil. Orlando had not been pleased about it. Viggo was conscious that his professional decisions often impacted unfairly on his partner and he did worry that one day Orlando’s tolerance threshold would be reached; but he loved his chosen career and although his partner grumbled about the inconveniences he knew Orlando shared his passion and completely understood why he made these choices, even if he didn’t always approve of them. Mrs Jones had been truly horrified by this rearrangement though, because when Viggo departed for Bergen on Saturday he would be leaving Orlando alone in their London apartment for nine whole days.
After some consideration of the issue Viggo had persuaded Liv, his assistant, to visit the apartment on the following Thursday on the pretence of recovering some business papers and then engage a cleaning company to come in over the weekend if she thought that Mrs Jones would find the state of the place somewhat beyond the pale. He had informed Mrs Jones of this plan because he wanted her to enjoy her two weeks in Scarborough with her sister, but he hadn’t yet plucked up enough courage to tell Orlando. His lover would have been the first to admit that he wasn’t the tidiest of people, but again, he was going to be irritated by the inference that he needed supervision. Viggo hoped that by the time he arrived home himself a week later, Orlando would have calmed down and with Mrs Jones in charge again, everything would be back to normal.
He dropped his music case, hung up his coat and proceeded quietly towards the kitchen; he could certainly hear Orlando’s voice, singing along to something he didn’t recognise, possibly on the radio. As he pushed open the kitchen door the singing reached a crescendo, Orlando was standing by the hob with his back to Viggo, swaying to the beat of the song as he chivvied the contents of the frying pan with a spatula. One swift glance around the room revealed to him that Orlando had managed to create carnage in just a few hours, Viggo began to visualise what he could achieve in the course of nine days. Fuck!
“What on earth are you doing?”
There was a squawk and a clatter as Orlando juggled the frying pan in an attempt not to drop it on the floor. “Way to give a guy a heart attack!” he screeched. “What the hell are you doing here?” he continued, his voice still an octave too high. “You’re supposed to be at rehearsals. You know, because that’s the entire reason we are not in Italy right now!”
Viggo smiled at his lover’s outrage but also experienced a pang of guilt; firstly because they should have been sunning themselves on the balcony of a villa overlooking one of the Italian lakes with a glass of wine in their hands and secondly because he had closed the rehearsal unusually early. He’d seen Richard Armitage, the leader of the orchestra, blatantly smirking when he’d announced they were done for the day. There would be some wholly justified teasing tomorrow.
“Things were going really well, so I wrapped it up early.” He shrugged, running his gaze once more around the kitchen where every available surface seemed to be covered in dirty pots, discarded utensils and half empty packets of food. “Always best to finish the day on a high.”
A slow smile spread across Orlando’s face. “Oh, my, God, the great Viggo Mortensen has sacrificed the pursuit of musical perfection for a quick shag.”
“I wasn’t intending it to be quick,” Viggo replied smoothly.
Orlando burst into laughter and the pan wobbled dangerously on the hob. “Ow, shit! Now look what you did,” he exclaimed crossly, sucking on his hand where the hot fat had splashed it.
“You should really wait until you’ve been up for more than ten minutes and you’re fully awake before you attempt to cook breakfast,” Viggo said, unsympathetically.
“This isn’t breakfast.”
“Really? It looks like breakfast.”
“I’ve been up for ages and I had cereal for breakfast.” Orlando scowled and gestured to an empty bowl and the, still open, box of Crunchy Nut Cornflakes sitting on the counter.
“So what is this then?” As Orlando opened the oven door and deposited the cooked bacon on a dish inside to keep warm, Viggo could see the sausages and tomatoes already there and all the other usual ingredients for a hearty English breakfast were sitting on the table awaiting their turn in the frying pan.
“This...,” Orlando said with dramatic emphasis, “is afternoon tea.”
It was Viggo’s turn to burst out laughing. “I like your style,” he said.
Orlando grinned at him. “Well to be perfectly truthful, I call it, all day breakfast afternoon tea. It’s one of my favourite meals.”
Viggo frowned. “Is it? Why have I not encountered it before then? We’ve lived together for…” He paused and waved a vague hand in the air, trying to remember exactly how long they had lived together; he failed. “A long time,” he finished lamely.
Orlando tilted his head and smiled affectionately. “Yes, a long, long, time,” he agreed. “Your hair wasn’t even a little bit grey when I moved in here.”
Viggo narrowed his eyes. “Hmmph, I should really replace you with a boyfriend who is less trouble, then I would have fewer grey hairs.”
Orlando widened his eyes in an expression of mock horror and gasped dramatically. “You wouldn’t dare do that. Mrs Jones would never forgive you!”
It was one of those moments when even in the middle of a light-hearted exchange something that had just been said reverberated in Viggo’s chest and left him a little breathless; he couldn’t now imagine, didn't want to imagine, a life without Orlando. And Orlando was right, Mrs Jones probably wouldn’t forgive him; her own youngest son lived on the other side of the world and was a similar age to Orlando; Viggo thought she had adopted his partner as a substitute and indulged him accordingly. But it wasn’t just Mrs Jones who would be unhappy; Liv too, and Miranda, and Richard, in fact everyone who worked with him closely, they all claimed he was easier to be around since he and Orlando had been together. Even Sean, who wasn’t particularly perceptive about relationships, especially his own, had remarked upon it. Viggo had shrugged it off with a, ‘yes, well, I’m getting regular sex now’. And Sean had guffawed and said, ‘yeah, like that was a problem before,’ and his friend was right, casual sex was easy to come by; what he had with Orlando was much rarer.
“Viggo?”
Viggo was aware that he had been brooding silently for several seconds and Orlando was now regarding him with concern. He collected himself and grinned at his lover, “You’re right, I’d have to fire her.”
Orlando chuckled in amusement. “Ha! I’m safe then. Accommodating boyfriends are ten a penny but you’ll never find another housekeeper who’ll put up with all your eccentric little ways.”
“Sad but true,” Viggo sighed. “The question remains though, why have I never encountered this before?” He swept an encompassing arm around the kitchen.
“Because I think there should be some mystery in every relationship.”
“Really?” Viggo said sceptically.
Orlando smiled sheepishly. “And because I knew you wouldn’t approve of it. You’d think it was just a ridiculously late brunch.”
“Ahhh, that sounds more likely.”
“So, I only usually have it when you’re away. But,” Orlando frowned meaningfully at Viggo, “since I’m on holiday but not in Italy I thought I would indulge myself. You weren’t supposed to be back till six, you would never have known.”
Viggo surveyed the kitchen again; he would have known. Another thought struck him. “Does Mrs Jones allow you to do this?”
“Well,” Orlando dragged out the word, and again looked sheepish, “she does it for me sometimes, but only if I’ve been very, very good.”
Viggo pursed his lips and tried not to laugh. “So, good how exactly? Do you have to clean your room and hang up the wet towels in the bathroom?”
Orlando also tried to control his mirth. “And I have to tuck my shirt in and comb my hair.”
They both dissolved into fits of laughter. Viggo figured that Orlando was only partly joking. It wasn’t that Orlando was a sloppy dresser but they both spent a lot of their working lives in evening dress and the younger man preferred a much more casual style when he was at home. However, when Orlando was dressed up smartly to go out Viggo had often seen a fond look of approval on Mrs Jones face; it was very like the one on his own.
“Anyway, do you want some of this?” Orlando asked when he finally managed to control himself and return to his pans.
“No thank you I had a proper breakfast and also lunch.” But the smell was tempting and he unconsciously licked his lips.
Orlando obviously noticed his inner debate. “How about a bacon sandwich?”
“Well, yes, alright then, please,” he conceded. He sat down at the breakfast bar and watched Orlando take more bacon out of the packet and put it in the pan. “And do we have the traditional pot of tea to drink with this?”
Orlando’s eyes flickered up from slicing bread. “We do if Mrs Jones is making it.”
“And if she isn’t?”
“We have bloody Marys.”
“Would you like me to make those?”
“There’s already a jug in the fridge. I do that first.”
“That was very nice, thank you,” Viggo said half an hour later as he wiped the grease from his fingers and then drained his glass.
“You should try the whole thing sometime,” Orlando advised, “it’s way better than the fancy stuff we had at Betty’s in Harrogate.”
“I’d fear for my arteries if I ate that much fat on a regular basis,” Viggo said nodding at Orlando’s grease smeared plate.
“I honestly don’t do it often.”
“Obviously not or you wouldn’t have remained so slim.”
“Still fancy me then?” Orlando winked at him. “Even though we’ve been together for years and years.”
“I definitely do.” Viggo nodded. “But the shag I was eagerly anticipating is going to have to wait until we’ve cleared up all this mess.” And he gazed ruefully around the kitchen.
“Erm, no, it’s fine, the Elves will clear it up,” Orlando said blithely, “but we will have to wait till they’ve gone before you fuck me.”
Viggo turned back and stared at him; his hearing was perfect, he couldn’t possibly have mistaken Orlando’s words, could he? “The Elves?”
“Er, yeah,” Orlando said, shifting a little guiltily in his chair. “Haldir’s Elves.”
“Who is Hilda and why does she have Elves?”
“It’s Haldir and she is a he, his first name is actually Craig and he’s from New Zealand, but his boyfriend is a guy I was at school with, and we’re still mates, and Craig has a cleaning business, you can rent his Elves by the hour.” Orlando shrugged. “I call him whenever I’ve made a bit of a mess in the apartment and he sends them over to fix it. I booked one today for four o’clock, they’ll be here in a few minutes. They’ll return the kitchen to its usual pristine condition while I take a shower and so if you’d got home at six like you were supposed to you’d have been none the wiser.”
For several seconds Viggo couldn’t even formulate a response. Then he started laughing, helplessly. “Do you have any other dirty little secrets I should know about?”
Orlando sighed in resignation. “Well, since I’ve told you about them… I sometimes get them in to clean the bathroom and kitchen and vacuum the carpets, when you’re due back from a trip.”
“Does Mrs Jones know about this?”
“Fuck no!” Orlando exclaimed. “Of course she doesn’t. It’s only if it happens on a weekend or the alternate Wednesdays that she doesn’t do.”
Viggo wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “Just how long have you been doing it?”
“Remember that Sunday morning a couple of years ago when you got back from Paris and I’d had friends over for dinner on the Friday evening and then been out most of Saturday, and ignored the dishes.”
“Oh, hell, yes.” Viggo shuddered at the memory. It had happened during an unbearably hot August and the smell had lingered even after the clean up. “There were flies hatching in the kitchen sink.”
“There were not! But I did feel guilty, especially as you were so good about it, even before I offered you the blowjob. Anyway I resolved never to let it happen again but I hate cleaning, and when I moaned about it to John, he’s Craig’s partner, he told me about the renting by the hour thing. It has covered up all my subsequent housekeeping indiscretions and if I’ve been here on my own over a weekend I occasionally get them in to clear up on a Sunday afternoon because if the place is nice and tidy on a Monday morning Mrs Jones will make me pancakes.”
Viggo shook his head, still laughing. Then he leant across the table and stroked Orlando’s cheek. “And even after all these years together you can still surprise me.”
“I like to think I can keep you on your toes.” Orlando grinned smugly.
“How about on my back?”
Orlando laughed and just then the doorbell rang. “So, wanna meet my Elf or will you hide out in the music room and then pretend you are coming home to a clean house and a pleasant smelling boyfriend?”
Viggo stood up and moved towards the hall. “I’ll hide in the music room, I want to call Liv anyway, there’s something I need to tell her not to do.”
Author: Artemis Allen
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Orlando/Viggo
Beta: Dearest
gattodoro; but I have added to it, so all mistakes are mine.Dedication:For
gattodoro and silvan_lady. Written back when we were laying low together in DerbyshireDisclaimer: This is a work of fiction; unfortunately.
Summary: Another day in the life of ‘The Conductor & The Concert Violinist’
Word Count: 2,660.
Viggo is a conductor and composer and Orlando is a concert violinist. They live in London and have been together for several years. Orlando is in his mid-thirties and Viggo, his early fifties.
As soon as Viggo opened the front door to the apartment, he could smell bacon frying, and possibly burning. Which was ridiculous; it was three in the afternoon, who cooked bacon at three in the afternoon? In fact why would anyone be cooking anything at this time of day? It was well past lunchtime and dinner wouldn’t be on the horizon for at least three hours. Maybe he was having a seizure; he was sure he’d read somewhere that smelling strange aromas was a sign of a brain tumour or something similar, especially if the smell was burnt food. On the other hand… his lover was at home and that could mean anything might be happening in their kitchen.
When he’d left that morning to attend rehearsals with the London Philharmonic, Orlando had still been asleep, even though it was already nine o’clock. Viggo had thought about rousing him, but that would have led to goodbye kisses and fondling and he might have ended up being later out of the door than he already was, and even this tardiness was down to Orlando because Viggo had been unable to resist a few more minutes spooned up against his slumbering lover’s warm, musky body. He’d considered phoning during the lunch break just to see if Orlando had managed to drag himself out of bed because Viggo suspected that if there were no inducement to get up, he might spend the day there and since Mrs Jones, their housekeeper, was on holiday, there was nothing to disturb the sleeping beauty; but Orlando was apt to get grouchy if he thought he was being checked on, so he’d refrained.
Mrs Jones usually tried to time her holidays to coincide with their own, mainly Viggo suspected because she dreaded the chaos she might encounter on her return if the two of them were home alone for a couple of weeks or in Orlando’s case just one week would probably do it. But they had had to rearrange their own vacation to accommodate Viggo’s late decision to tour with the Phil. Orlando had not been pleased about it. Viggo was conscious that his professional decisions often impacted unfairly on his partner and he did worry that one day Orlando’s tolerance threshold would be reached; but he loved his chosen career and although his partner grumbled about the inconveniences he knew Orlando shared his passion and completely understood why he made these choices, even if he didn’t always approve of them. Mrs Jones had been truly horrified by this rearrangement though, because when Viggo departed for Bergen on Saturday he would be leaving Orlando alone in their London apartment for nine whole days.
After some consideration of the issue Viggo had persuaded Liv, his assistant, to visit the apartment on the following Thursday on the pretence of recovering some business papers and then engage a cleaning company to come in over the weekend if she thought that Mrs Jones would find the state of the place somewhat beyond the pale. He had informed Mrs Jones of this plan because he wanted her to enjoy her two weeks in Scarborough with her sister, but he hadn’t yet plucked up enough courage to tell Orlando. His lover would have been the first to admit that he wasn’t the tidiest of people, but again, he was going to be irritated by the inference that he needed supervision. Viggo hoped that by the time he arrived home himself a week later, Orlando would have calmed down and with Mrs Jones in charge again, everything would be back to normal.
He dropped his music case, hung up his coat and proceeded quietly towards the kitchen; he could certainly hear Orlando’s voice, singing along to something he didn’t recognise, possibly on the radio. As he pushed open the kitchen door the singing reached a crescendo, Orlando was standing by the hob with his back to Viggo, swaying to the beat of the song as he chivvied the contents of the frying pan with a spatula. One swift glance around the room revealed to him that Orlando had managed to create carnage in just a few hours, Viggo began to visualise what he could achieve in the course of nine days. Fuck!
“What on earth are you doing?”
There was a squawk and a clatter as Orlando juggled the frying pan in an attempt not to drop it on the floor. “Way to give a guy a heart attack!” he screeched. “What the hell are you doing here?” he continued, his voice still an octave too high. “You’re supposed to be at rehearsals. You know, because that’s the entire reason we are not in Italy right now!”
Viggo smiled at his lover’s outrage but also experienced a pang of guilt; firstly because they should have been sunning themselves on the balcony of a villa overlooking one of the Italian lakes with a glass of wine in their hands and secondly because he had closed the rehearsal unusually early. He’d seen Richard Armitage, the leader of the orchestra, blatantly smirking when he’d announced they were done for the day. There would be some wholly justified teasing tomorrow.
“Things were going really well, so I wrapped it up early.” He shrugged, running his gaze once more around the kitchen where every available surface seemed to be covered in dirty pots, discarded utensils and half empty packets of food. “Always best to finish the day on a high.”
A slow smile spread across Orlando’s face. “Oh, my, God, the great Viggo Mortensen has sacrificed the pursuit of musical perfection for a quick shag.”
“I wasn’t intending it to be quick,” Viggo replied smoothly.
Orlando burst into laughter and the pan wobbled dangerously on the hob. “Ow, shit! Now look what you did,” he exclaimed crossly, sucking on his hand where the hot fat had splashed it.
“You should really wait until you’ve been up for more than ten minutes and you’re fully awake before you attempt to cook breakfast,” Viggo said, unsympathetically.
“This isn’t breakfast.”
“Really? It looks like breakfast.”
“I’ve been up for ages and I had cereal for breakfast.” Orlando scowled and gestured to an empty bowl and the, still open, box of Crunchy Nut Cornflakes sitting on the counter.
“So what is this then?” As Orlando opened the oven door and deposited the cooked bacon on a dish inside to keep warm, Viggo could see the sausages and tomatoes already there and all the other usual ingredients for a hearty English breakfast were sitting on the table awaiting their turn in the frying pan.
“This...,” Orlando said with dramatic emphasis, “is afternoon tea.”
It was Viggo’s turn to burst out laughing. “I like your style,” he said.
Orlando grinned at him. “Well to be perfectly truthful, I call it, all day breakfast afternoon tea. It’s one of my favourite meals.”
Viggo frowned. “Is it? Why have I not encountered it before then? We’ve lived together for…” He paused and waved a vague hand in the air, trying to remember exactly how long they had lived together; he failed. “A long time,” he finished lamely.
Orlando tilted his head and smiled affectionately. “Yes, a long, long, time,” he agreed. “Your hair wasn’t even a little bit grey when I moved in here.”
Viggo narrowed his eyes. “Hmmph, I should really replace you with a boyfriend who is less trouble, then I would have fewer grey hairs.”
Orlando widened his eyes in an expression of mock horror and gasped dramatically. “You wouldn’t dare do that. Mrs Jones would never forgive you!”
It was one of those moments when even in the middle of a light-hearted exchange something that had just been said reverberated in Viggo’s chest and left him a little breathless; he couldn’t now imagine, didn't want to imagine, a life without Orlando. And Orlando was right, Mrs Jones probably wouldn’t forgive him; her own youngest son lived on the other side of the world and was a similar age to Orlando; Viggo thought she had adopted his partner as a substitute and indulged him accordingly. But it wasn’t just Mrs Jones who would be unhappy; Liv too, and Miranda, and Richard, in fact everyone who worked with him closely, they all claimed he was easier to be around since he and Orlando had been together. Even Sean, who wasn’t particularly perceptive about relationships, especially his own, had remarked upon it. Viggo had shrugged it off with a, ‘yes, well, I’m getting regular sex now’. And Sean had guffawed and said, ‘yeah, like that was a problem before,’ and his friend was right, casual sex was easy to come by; what he had with Orlando was much rarer.
“Viggo?”
Viggo was aware that he had been brooding silently for several seconds and Orlando was now regarding him with concern. He collected himself and grinned at his lover, “You’re right, I’d have to fire her.”
Orlando chuckled in amusement. “Ha! I’m safe then. Accommodating boyfriends are ten a penny but you’ll never find another housekeeper who’ll put up with all your eccentric little ways.”
“Sad but true,” Viggo sighed. “The question remains though, why have I never encountered this before?” He swept an encompassing arm around the kitchen.
“Because I think there should be some mystery in every relationship.”
“Really?” Viggo said sceptically.
Orlando smiled sheepishly. “And because I knew you wouldn’t approve of it. You’d think it was just a ridiculously late brunch.”
“Ahhh, that sounds more likely.”
“So, I only usually have it when you’re away. But,” Orlando frowned meaningfully at Viggo, “since I’m on holiday but not in Italy I thought I would indulge myself. You weren’t supposed to be back till six, you would never have known.”
Viggo surveyed the kitchen again; he would have known. Another thought struck him. “Does Mrs Jones allow you to do this?”
“Well,” Orlando dragged out the word, and again looked sheepish, “she does it for me sometimes, but only if I’ve been very, very good.”
Viggo pursed his lips and tried not to laugh. “So, good how exactly? Do you have to clean your room and hang up the wet towels in the bathroom?”
Orlando also tried to control his mirth. “And I have to tuck my shirt in and comb my hair.”
They both dissolved into fits of laughter. Viggo figured that Orlando was only partly joking. It wasn’t that Orlando was a sloppy dresser but they both spent a lot of their working lives in evening dress and the younger man preferred a much more casual style when he was at home. However, when Orlando was dressed up smartly to go out Viggo had often seen a fond look of approval on Mrs Jones face; it was very like the one on his own.
“Anyway, do you want some of this?” Orlando asked when he finally managed to control himself and return to his pans.
“No thank you I had a proper breakfast and also lunch.” But the smell was tempting and he unconsciously licked his lips.
Orlando obviously noticed his inner debate. “How about a bacon sandwich?”
“Well, yes, alright then, please,” he conceded. He sat down at the breakfast bar and watched Orlando take more bacon out of the packet and put it in the pan. “And do we have the traditional pot of tea to drink with this?”
Orlando’s eyes flickered up from slicing bread. “We do if Mrs Jones is making it.”
“And if she isn’t?”
“We have bloody Marys.”
“Would you like me to make those?”
“There’s already a jug in the fridge. I do that first.”
“That was very nice, thank you,” Viggo said half an hour later as he wiped the grease from his fingers and then drained his glass.
“You should try the whole thing sometime,” Orlando advised, “it’s way better than the fancy stuff we had at Betty’s in Harrogate.”
“I’d fear for my arteries if I ate that much fat on a regular basis,” Viggo said nodding at Orlando’s grease smeared plate.
“I honestly don’t do it often.”
“Obviously not or you wouldn’t have remained so slim.”
“Still fancy me then?” Orlando winked at him. “Even though we’ve been together for years and years.”
“I definitely do.” Viggo nodded. “But the shag I was eagerly anticipating is going to have to wait until we’ve cleared up all this mess.” And he gazed ruefully around the kitchen.
“Erm, no, it’s fine, the Elves will clear it up,” Orlando said blithely, “but we will have to wait till they’ve gone before you fuck me.”
Viggo turned back and stared at him; his hearing was perfect, he couldn’t possibly have mistaken Orlando’s words, could he? “The Elves?”
“Er, yeah,” Orlando said, shifting a little guiltily in his chair. “Haldir’s Elves.”
“Who is Hilda and why does she have Elves?”
“It’s Haldir and she is a he, his first name is actually Craig and he’s from New Zealand, but his boyfriend is a guy I was at school with, and we’re still mates, and Craig has a cleaning business, you can rent his Elves by the hour.” Orlando shrugged. “I call him whenever I’ve made a bit of a mess in the apartment and he sends them over to fix it. I booked one today for four o’clock, they’ll be here in a few minutes. They’ll return the kitchen to its usual pristine condition while I take a shower and so if you’d got home at six like you were supposed to you’d have been none the wiser.”
For several seconds Viggo couldn’t even formulate a response. Then he started laughing, helplessly. “Do you have any other dirty little secrets I should know about?”
Orlando sighed in resignation. “Well, since I’ve told you about them… I sometimes get them in to clean the bathroom and kitchen and vacuum the carpets, when you’re due back from a trip.”
“Does Mrs Jones know about this?”
“Fuck no!” Orlando exclaimed. “Of course she doesn’t. It’s only if it happens on a weekend or the alternate Wednesdays that she doesn’t do.”
Viggo wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “Just how long have you been doing it?”
“Remember that Sunday morning a couple of years ago when you got back from Paris and I’d had friends over for dinner on the Friday evening and then been out most of Saturday, and ignored the dishes.”
“Oh, hell, yes.” Viggo shuddered at the memory. It had happened during an unbearably hot August and the smell had lingered even after the clean up. “There were flies hatching in the kitchen sink.”
“There were not! But I did feel guilty, especially as you were so good about it, even before I offered you the blowjob. Anyway I resolved never to let it happen again but I hate cleaning, and when I moaned about it to John, he’s Craig’s partner, he told me about the renting by the hour thing. It has covered up all my subsequent housekeeping indiscretions and if I’ve been here on my own over a weekend I occasionally get them in to clear up on a Sunday afternoon because if the place is nice and tidy on a Monday morning Mrs Jones will make me pancakes.”
Viggo shook his head, still laughing. Then he leant across the table and stroked Orlando’s cheek. “And even after all these years together you can still surprise me.”
“I like to think I can keep you on your toes.” Orlando grinned smugly.
“How about on my back?”
Orlando laughed and just then the doorbell rang. “So, wanna meet my Elf or will you hide out in the music room and then pretend you are coming home to a clean house and a pleasant smelling boyfriend?”
Viggo stood up and moved towards the hall. “I’ll hide in the music room, I want to call Liv anyway, there’s something I need to tell her not to do.”
no subject
Date: 2020-11-11 09:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-11-26 11:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-11-13 12:25 pm (UTC)ok now I'm envious both of their afternoon tea (so hungry right now!) and of the cleaning by the hour company!
lovely story, I0'm really fond of this verse..
no subject
Date: 2020-11-26 11:41 pm (UTC)