A Touch of Orlando

[artemisallen]

Title: A Touch of Orlando. Part 1/4
Author: Artemis Allen
Rating: NC-17 (in later parts)
Pairing: Orlando/Viggo (mention of other partners)
Beta: And banner maker silvan_lady; Thank you. Obviously I have tampered with it because I can’t leave well alone, so all mistakes are mine.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction.
Dedication: A very Happy Birthday to gattodoro.
Word Count: 3,200
Summary: Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is enemy action.
Notes: I have shamelessly ‘borrowed’ the main plot from a film but I have reworked it so that it’s nowhere near as smart and funny as the original and Orlando probably won't get an Oscar for it. Anyway, apologies to anyone who is at all unhappy about this travesty.





This was definitely a good way to spend a Sunday morning, Orlando thought as he jogged through Hyde Park with Billy and Dom. It was a beautiful spring morning, sunny and warm but not too hot for exercise, although to be truthful, they were only moving at a gentle pace and were barely raising a sweat; this was more about spending time with friends and catching up on their lives than getting some serious exercise. They would spend an hour or so ambling through the park like this and then partake of some welcome liquid refreshment in a nearby pub before going home to enjoy their Sunday lunch. Not the same home, of course; Dom would be joining his current girlfriend, who had a flat somewhere south of the river and Billy would be returning to the house in the suburbs where he and his partner lived with their toddler daughter. The preparation for their dinners would no doubt already be underway; Orlando was going home to a microwave meal for one and an afternoon in front of the TV watching the football or maybe an old film. It sounded lame but he was more than happy that he could now spend his Sundays this way; the last few months before he and his ex-boyfriend had finally split up had usually included spectacular arguments on a Sunday over exactly how they should spend the day. Well, he didn’t have to do that anymore; he was a free man and he liked it. Although, after a pleasant morning like this, hanging out with friends, he knew he would be feeling irrationally lonely later this afternoon.


Hyde Park was always buzzing with activity, but even more so on a sunny Sunday; there were families of picnickers and even solo sunbathers braving the spring air, and of course many groups enjoying a variety of sports; youngsters playing an impromptu game of football with a pile of jackets for goalposts and a more serious, obviously very competitive given the level of screamed abuse, game of softball on a pitch to the right of them. As they drew nearer they heard the thwack of a clean hit and the ball arced into the air and sped in their direction, a fielder running backwards tracked its trajectory. Orlando and Billy stopped running as they both realised that the fielder would shortly be crossing their path but Dom was distracted by a group of young women who were jogging along one of the parallel routes to their left and he carried on, unaware of the danger until the fielder collided with him and they both tumbled to the ground. The ball descended and Orlando only had to move slightly and stretch out his arm to catch it neatly. Judging by the amount of cursing coming from the tangle of arms and legs in front of them neither man was seriously hurt, so, like the good friends they were, Orlando and Billy didn’t bother to offer any assistance, they just laughed and enjoyed the spectacle.


Finally the two men scrambled to their feet, brushing off the grass and the fielder looked round for the ball. He was an older man, probably late forties Orlando thought, and ruggedly good looking, although somewhat dishevelled. The blonde hair was unkempt and he definitely hadn’t shaved that morning but he seemed to have a lean body beneath the shapeless sweatshirt and jogging bottoms and Orlando had particularly noticed a nicely shaped arse as the fabric stretched across it when the guy had been bent over dusting off his knees.

He spied the object in Orlando’s fist. "My ball!" he demanded, holding out his hand and gesturing for Orlando to release it.

Typical, bloody, rude American, Orlando thought, hearing the guy's accent. He wanted to channel his mother and ask for the magic word but contented himself with a more passive aggressive, "Are you alright? My friend is a pretty solid object."


The man seemed taken aback and then belatedly displayed some modicum of polite behaviour. "What? Oh yeah." He turned towards Dom. "Are you okay buddy?"

Dom was flexing and stretching in an exaggerated manner, apparently testing all his limbs. Orlando knew it was just for show; If there had been any, even minor, damage, Dom would have been writhing on the ground, yelling for the physio and the magic sponge. "You should look where you're going mate!" Dom said crossly.

"Yeah, sorry, focused on the game you know." There was a lot of yelling coming from his teammates who were keen to continue the match and he again turned impatiently back to Orlando. "My ball?"

Orlando pursed his lips. Seriously? Did please even figure in this man's vocabulary? He was about to give extracting the word another try but he realised that he had already spent too much time running his gaze over the man’s form. And the man had noticed because he returned Orlando's perusal with a knowing half smile. “Sure." Orlando shrugged and tossed the ball in his general direction; the man caught it deftly and quickly spun around and pitched it towards the waiting base.

He turned back to Orlando. "Thanks." He grinned, then with a wink and a salute he added, “See you around," before he jogged back to his teammates.

Orlando watched him go and was embarrassingly still watching when the guy also turned around for a last look.

"Woo hoo!" Dom said, "I think Orlando made a conquest."

"Fuck off!" Orlando replied curtly. "And anyway he's married."

"How could you possibly know that?" Billy protested. "He was wearing a pitcher’s glove!"

"He looks married," Orlando said, "a single guy would be much better dressed."


Billy and Dom exchanged glances and both performed an exaggerated eye roll. Neither of them had made much of an effort this morning, but although similarly dressed in jogging bottoms and a t-shirt, Orlando's clothes were significantly less shapeless and far less faded.

"Maybe he's just the laid back type who doesn’t work for a high end fashion designer," Billy suggested.

"Married or not, he was definitely interested in Orlando," Dom chuckled.

“Shut up both of you and let’s get moving, I’m thirsty," Orlando said, realising that further debate was pointless.


They set off again at a steady pace along the track which circumscribed the area where the softball match was in progress and Orlando couldn’t help watching the American as he jumped and ran and yelled, enthusiastically engaged in the game. He knew his two friends had noticed this, he heard them snorting, he also knew they'd noticed every time the guy turned to look directly at them. He expected that his enjoyment of the much anticipated pint of beer was going to be spoiled by some friendly, so actually quite vicious, ribbing.



The following week Orlando and Dom were on a bus passing through central London on their way to meet up with other friends for their usual Friday night post work drinks. The bus stopped outside Charing Cross station and as he idly watched the commuters exiting onto the Strand Dom suddenly said, "Isn't that your guy?"

"What?" Orlando looked up from his phone.

"The guy from the park," Dom said, waving his hand in the direction of the station gates and the man who had just emerged from them.

Orlando, who was sitting by the window, followed where Dom was pointing. It was definitely the guy from the park but considerably better dressed this time in a smart, dark grey business suit; although his tie had been loosened and the hair was ruffled as if he'd been pushing his fingers through it. He had an expensive looking daypack over his right shoulder and he was concentrating on the phone in his left hand.

"Is it?" Orlando replied vaguely; he could clearly see the wedding ring on the man's finger. "No I don't think it is."

He should have known better than to try and brazen it out with his friend. "I'm sure it is," Dom persisted. "Knock on the window, wave at him."

As if he had sensed their observation the man suddenly looked up, there was a moment where he gazed back at Orlando clearly puzzled but then presumably recognised him and grinned; a predatory, lopsided grin. Formally attired the man looked more powerful and dangerous than the shaggy, rangy guy in the park; but Orlando couldn’t look away. The man raised his right hand in a half wave, half salute and Orlando automatically nodded and smiled in acknowledgement.

"Do you want to get off?" Dom chuckled over his shoulder.

"No! Of course I don't," Orlando snapped back but he continued to look at the man. Dammit, he was half tempted. The bus pulled away before he could be fully tempted but his inadvertent sigh did not escape Dom’s notice.

"Have you been getting any sex at all since you and Luke broke up?" Dom asked bluntly. "And I mean not counting your right hand."

"My right hand is a thoughtful and generous lover," Orlando replied, aiming for lightness. He didn’t feel the need to disclose to Dom that the conjugation with his right hand the previous Sunday afternoon had included him imagining a blonde haired man in a baggy sweatshirt.

"I’ll take that as a no then. You need to get back out there. I’m not saying you have to move in with the guy but having a bit of fun wouldn’t hurt, and he looked decent enough."

"And what was I supposed to do? Jump off the bus and say, ‘Hi, my friend thinks you fancy me’?"
Dom shrugged. "Worth a try. And I thought you liked grand romantic gestures."


Orlando couldn’t suppress a smile; it was true, he was a bit of a sucker for the grand romantic gesture, but what had he expected? That the guy would pull a pristine white handkerchief from his pocket, scribble his number on it and hold it up for Orlando to read or perhaps run after the bus, jump on board and present him with a bunch of flowers impulsively grabbed from the nearby flower stall. Those certainly would be gestures, but very unlikely to happen. Maybe he should have taken the initiative and jumped off the bus. Married, Orlando reminded himself; he wasn’t yet so desperate for decent sex that he would have even a short liason with a married man, however good looking he was.


Orlando didn’t obsess about the park guy, as he'd taken to calling him, but he did think about him occasionally over the next couple of weeks. And of course Dom and Billy continued to joke about him. They had gone for a jog in the park on a couple of subsequent Sundays but sadly there had been no softball game in progress. There were several million people in London, the chances of coming across the guy ever again were infinitesimal, and anyway, as he kept telling himself, the guy was married; but that didn’t mean he couldn’t use him as his fantasy when he jerked off; the smart business suit and loosened tie had appealed to Orlando even more than the grass-stained sweats.



It was a Tuesday afternoon, and, being midsummer, it was raining heavily when Orlando left the restaurant where he'd been having a business lunch with a fabric supplier. He hovered under the awning watching for an available taxi but most sailed past already occupied. He was on the point of trying to call an Uber when he spotted a free black cab and dashed forward arm outstretched. He was vaguely aware of someone else emerging from the restaurant next door also waving but he was determined that this cab was his. It was only when another hand reached for the door handle and a low American voice said, "Perhaps we could share?" that he turned. He was momentarily too surprised to respond, but the sensation of rain dripping down his collar rebooted his brain. "I suppose we could," he said, sliding into the cab; the park guy followed, shaking the rain from his, only mildly dishevelled today, blonde hair. "But what if we're not going in the same direction?"

"Oh, I’m pretty sure we are," the man replied smoothly and for a moment Orlando wondered if he was being kidnapped, and also why he wasn’t more worried by that thought. “So where are you headed?" the man added.

"Oh, the V and A, please."

"OK." The man leant forward and addressed the driver, "The V and A first and then I’m going on to the Olympia Exhibition centre." Then turning back to Orlando, “So, that’s very convenient, not even a minor diversion required. I’m Viggo by the way." The man held out his hand and Orlando automatically shook it.

"Orlando," he responded.

"Orlando." Viggo seemed to roll the word around his tongue. "And what takes you to the V and A, Orlando?"

Orlando hesitated for a moment; up close the man looked even more appealing and also more predatory. He could tell that the suit and the cologne were both very expensive, the demeanour commanding; this was a man who exuded authority and expected compliance. But this was just a taxi ride, he reminded himself, not a date, he was overthinking it. "I work for a fashion house," he said, "we’ve lent them some of our signature costumes and I'm going to check that they are correctly displayed."

"You work in fashion? Are you a model?"

Orlando wanted to sigh and point out that this was a very cheesy line and he’d heard it before, far too many times. He’d studied hard at art college then beaten off some strong competition for an apprenticeship at the exclusive London fashion house where he’d worked his way up to become one of their senior designers; but he contented himself with, "No, I'm a designer."

Viggo's eyebrows arched in mild surprise. "A fashion designer! That's impressive."

"Well, I'm part of a design team really."

Viggo smiled. “Still impressive. I'm in aerospace engineering, which is a lot less sexy. And do you live in London, Orlando?"

Orlando again hesitated, but what the hell? The man was more amiable now that he wasn’t playing softball, sexily attractive and very unlikely to be an axe murderer. He would have liked to reach out and stroke the fabric of Viggo's suit because he already knew it was high quality material and would be soft and supple under his touch; for him, expensive fabrics could be as seductive as the wearer, and being in such close proximity the cologne, although not overpowering, was also a sensual treat. If there had been the slightest chance that sex in the back of a London cab was at all feasible Orlando would have been more than halfway to agreeing to it. "I live in Walthamstow, which is well outside the city," he blurted at last.

"Ah yes, I know Walthamstow. And is there a significant other in your life?"

Orlando was slightly nonplussed; he was used to forthright Americans, his company had clients in the US, but this one was certainly pushing the boundaries of polite conversation and there was surely no mistaking where this was leading, or was he just projecting his own desires?

"Not at the moment, no," he confessed.

Viggo grinned and nodded, obviously pleased with this answer and Orlando decided that he’d been right, Viggo was a seducer, and why was he even surprised. He wasn’t unused to married men, or women having lovers on the side, his own industry was rife with infidelity, but it wasn’t for him, he would never do that, really he wouldn’t. He decided to try and divert the conversation away from himself. "And do you live in London or are you just here on business?"


"We have a house in Richmond, but also an apartment in New York, and a house on the Cape."

"We?" Orlando thought he might as well pursue it now, so that he could have his suspicions confirmed and any remaining hopes dashed.

"My wife and I," Viggo smiled. He seemed unperturbed by the question and he was still looking at Orlando as if he’d like to eat him. "But her work keeps her mostly in the States."

Orlando almost sniggered; of course the wife was absent, how very convenient, and, he couldn’t deny it, this man had charisma in spades and it would be very easy to succumb. Just a brief affair, just to exorcise any lingering cravings he had for Luke, just to have some really good, no strings attached sex to relieve his own frustration. Even as he could feel himself weakening under the dominant gaze of the cool, blue eyes the cab pulled over beside the Victoria and Albert museum.

"Your stop I think," Viggo said pleasantly.

"Umm. What?" Orlando was shaken out of his deliberations and turned his head to stare out at the rain soaked street and the imposing Victorian building. "Yes, this is me, I guess," he said. He waited for Viggo to say something else, to propose an assignation; but there was only silence in the cab. "Well, I, umm." He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out his card to pay the fare.

"No, it’s OK." Viggo put his hand on Orlando's outstretched arm. "I'll see to the cab."

"But I…."

"It's really not necessary, I've got this."

Orlando started to protest again but Viggo said, "If you want to thank me you could give me your number."

Orlando froze; finally, the proposition he’d been expecting; but he could resist this, really he could, despite the fact that only seconds ago he’d been faintly annoyed that it hadn’t been proffered.

"Or, you could have lunch with me tomorrow."

Lunch? Lunch wasn’t risky, was it? It wouldn’t hurt to find out more about the guy; maybe he was actually separated but he and his wife still shared the multiple houses; although in Orlando’s experience men were generally quick to lose their rings when that happened, but perhaps it helped in business to be apparently married; but no, Viggo had been clear about his circumstances. He realised Viggo was waiting for an answer, he also saw the mischievous glint in the man’s eye and decided that even though he was about to agree to lunch he needed to assert some independence. "Lunch would be… nice, but I'm paying, okay?"

Viggo was obviously taken aback by this but quickly recovered and said, “Sure, if you must, but in that case you can pick the restaurant." He pulled a card out of his top pocket and handed it to Orlando. "Text me, time and place, I'll see you there."

"What time is good for you?" Orlando asked, as he got out of the cab. He assumed Viggo worked in the city somewhere and might keep office hours.

Viggo grinned. "Anytime at all is good for me. I'll see you tomorrow." The last remark was said in a low voice full of promise and as the cab pulled away Orlando found himself standing on the museum steps in the rain, wondering if he’d really made a sensible decision.