A Touch of Orlando
May. 2nd, 2022 11:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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vigorliTitle: A Touch of Orlando. Part 7/7
Author: Artemis Allen
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Orlando/Viggo (mention of other partners)
Beta: And banner makersilvan_lady; Thank you, thank you, thank you; for everything you do. But I may have tampered a bit because I can’t leave well alone, so all mistakes are mine.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction.
Word Count: 4,785
Summary: It ain’t over till the fat lady sings.
Notes: I am sorry that it has taken me so long to post this final part but RL has been taking up far too much of my time recently. Many thanks to everyone who has stuck with it and been kind enough to leave comments.
Earlier Parts
Previously
Orlando’s pulse was thundering in his ears; was Viggo admitting that there was more to this than a passing attraction… and yet. “So, now you’re going to end this just because Cate says so?”
“I’m ending it because I should never have started it in the first place.”
Orlando sat for a few moments, upright, rigid, his fingers gripping his knees, trying to fight down the urge to scream at his lover. But Viggo was right they should never have started this; Orlando should have resisted, in the taxi, in the restaurant, in Northumberland, at every point when Viggo made a suggestion Orlando should have said no. But he hadn’t and now there were two options. He could leave, like he should have done all those other times or he could tell Viggo he loved him and beg him not to end this. Then he realised; Viggo had kept saying he was transparent, so presumably Viggo already knew how he felt; that’s why he was acting so fucking guilty. Viggo had just wanted sex and he’d exploited Orlando’s feelings for him to get it.
“You’re a bastard,” Orlando said finally, standing up.
“I’m an arrogant, fucking, American bastard,” Viggo said, “and you knew that all along.”
Grabbing his jacket off the peg Orlando moved towards the door and yanked it open. “Yes,” he said bitterly, “I just didn't realise how much of one.” Then he slammed the door behind him.
Chapter 7
After leaving Viggo’s flat Orlando clattered blindly down the stairs and then once he was outside he set off at run, wanting to get far, far away as quickly as he could. He got almost all the way to the nearest tube station before he had to stop; he was out of breath from running but also his chest was tight with emotion. He leant against a wall and took in huge gulps of air and couldn’t help looking back down the street, even though he was fairly sure that Viggo wouldn’t be following him. Why would he? This was what he’d wanted, what he’d engineered; a clean break. He was still trembling when he threw himself onto a seat on the tube home.
Although his body and his breathing settled down into a more normal rhythm as the train rattled towards Walthamstow his brain refused to stop spinning. He was mad at Viggo, at Cate, at the whole fucking world but mostly at himself. He’d supposedly gone into this with his eyes wide open; it was just sex. And in fairness to Viggo, the man had never presented the arrangement as anything other than that; occasional, no strings, casual sex. The fact that the sex now occurred two or three times a week and yes, had advanced into low-level companionship meant nothing really… did it? It certainly wasn’t a proper relationship so what had he thought would eventually happen? And although Viggo was reasonably considerate, occasionally affectionate, very amusing company and really, really good in bed, there had been no tender words, no ‘I love you’s’, no discussion of a possible future for them. He had given up pretending to himself that he wasn’t in love with Viggo, but he wondered exactly how much he could have put up with before even that turned to bitter resentment. This was better, he told himself, thanks to Cate the plaster had been brutally ripped away and he could now move on with his life.
As the days and then the weeks passed he struggled to put Viggo completely out of his thoughts. He tried to keep busy; easy enough when he was at work, but difficult on weekends when he met up with friends and their partners. He accepted more of the invitations for work-related nights out, half-heartedly looked at dating apps and tried to smile encouragingly when he was approached by good looking men. He had never cut down on seeing his friends and his only regret was that because he hadn’t confided to them the status of his relationship, wait, no, it had never been a relationship, his association, with Viggo, he felt he couldn’t now expect them to listen and sympathise as he endured the loss of it. So he suffered alone. It was still apparently Dom’s mission in life to find someone suitable for him, even if it was just for some meaningless sex. Over the summer Orlando had laughed it off when Dom had pointed out or introduced him to men he considered to have potential, but now he tried to appreciate Dom’s efforts and at least talk to the guys. But when it came to the crunch he couldn’t take it any further and although he had a decent social life his sex life was a solo affair. This was even worse than the split from Luke had been; he knew he should move on but something in him refused to let go of the last tiny shred of hope that Viggo might call.
It was a Thursday evening and Orlando had crossed Covent Garden and was approaching Bow Street on his way to meet Dom and some other friends at a pub near the Aldwych. The area was always busy but it was bustling tonight because there was a throng of people making their way up the street to the Royal Opera House. There was a variety of patrons; families, groups of young people in casual clothes and the serious, or at least the moneyed, contingent who were more formally attired in evening dress. Orlando was casting a critical, professional eye over some of the ladies' gowns when with a jolt of recognition he noticed that Viggo was one of the men in a knot of three couples, obviously friends, deep in conversation. He watched them as they progressed up the street. Viggo suited evening dress and Orlando couldn't help staring at him and appreciating the sight; he wasn’t so keen on the woman who had her arm through his and was tucked closely into his side but he immediately recognised her as Viggo’s wife.
He had known that Miranda would be visiting in the Autumn, apparently, she liked the London theatres and she had friends here, but while he was still seeing Viggo he had buried his head in the sand and continued to pretend to himself that she didn’t really exist. Given that most of the images he’d seen on Google were a few years old, he had also been hoping she wouldn’t still be quite so attractive. But the petite woman with her mane of strawberry blonde hair was every bit as glamorous as those pictures. Viggo turned his head laughing at something she had said and then laid an affectionate kiss on the side of her head and Miranda reached up and stroked Viggo’s cheek fondly.
Orlando was welded to the spot, jealousy coursing through his body and curdling in his stomach, aware that if Viggo happened to look back he might notice him but unable to drag himself away. As Orlando watched them disappear into the opera house his phone pinged. It was a message from Dom asking where he was. Orlando stared at it; he was in no mood now to meet his friends, he needed to…, he wasn’t really sure what he needed to do, go home and sob his heart out possibly, because he had to finally accept that any lingering hope that he could reboot his ‘association’ with Viggo was dead. Viggo was clearly a lot closer to his wife than he had ever admitted, he could see it in their body language and now she existed for Orlando in glorious technicolour. Whatever he had claimed to Orlando, Viggo was a seriously married man.
There were a few things that he’d accumulated at the flat, and left behind on his abrupt departure; nothing he couldn’t live without, although one of the shirts was a favourite. Pride had kept him from contacting Viggo to ask for their return, pride and the lingering hope that Viggo would contact him first. Orlando also still had his key to the flat. Viggo and his wife would be safely confined at the Royal Opera House for a few hours; he could go to the flat, pick up his clothes and any other items and leave the key on the counter, with a note; no, not with a note, but attached to something so that Viggo couldn't miss seeing it; maybe his broken heart.
After sending Dom a message saying he’d been held up at work and couldn’t make the pub tonight his steps automatically led him to the apartment but he hovered on the pavement outside. He shouldn't be here, maybe it was an intrusion; he decided to at least let Viggo know his intentions, presumably his phone would be off so Orlando would have picked up his stuff and be long gone before Viggo was even aware. Almost of their own accord his fingers selected a contact and typed a message. ‘I’d like to collect my clothes from the flat. Is it OK with you if I do that tonight? I’ll leave my key when I'm done.’ He sent the message, then after an internal tussle he sent another, ‘Enjoy the Opera’.
The response was almost immediate. ‘Can we talk? I’ll meet you at the apartment. I’ll be there around eight.’
Orlando certainly hadn’t expected Viggo to reply so quickly; or at all, absolutely not to want to talk, he’d had six fucking weeks to ‘talk’, why now? He didn’t understand how Viggo was even going to manage to get away and he certainly wasn’t sure he wanted to see the man tonight. Eventually, his heart thumping painfully in his chest, he typed ‘OK’ and pressed send.
When he let himself into the apartment it looked exactly the same as it had when he’d stormed out nearly two months ago. He had wondered occasionally over the last few weeks if Viggo had immediately gone out and found himself another guy, presumably a less challenging one, for a ‘brief encounter’ - hell, who was he kidding, he’d wondered about it every sodding day - but if he had there was no sign of it in the apartment. But there wouldn’t be, would there? Viggo would use a hotel like he always had done before. He’d also half expected to find his belongings in a black bin liner somewhere or maybe even that they’d been thrown out but when he opened the closet his shirts and a pair of jeans were still hanging there beside Viggo’s much more expensive garments. He stood looking at them all lined up together then couldn’t resist reaching out and stroking the sleeve of one of Viggo’s fine lawn shirts. Then he pressed it to his nose but it was freshly laundered of course and there was no hint of his ex-lover’s scent. It was the same in the bathroom, his shower gel, shaving cream and cologne were still on the shelf. He collected all his abandoned items and looked under the bed for the small holdall he’d stashed there when he’d first brought some clothes and toiletries here; it too was still where he’d left it. Had Viggo not been using the apartment? Why hadn’t he at least gathered Orlando’s things together? He packed the bag and then wondered how the hell he was going to get through the next hour. Eventually he pulled a bottle of red wine from the well-stocked rack and opened it. It was undoubtedly expensive but he didn’t care, he thought it might calm his nerves.
Viggo arrived as promised shortly after eight. He let the door swing shut behind him but then just stood, looking at Orlando sitting on the sofa with the glass of red wine in front of him; he seemed nervous, unsure what to say. Orlando had had an hour and a half to practise what he wanted to say but seeing Viggo in his beautifully cut evening suit, his tie slightly askew - why couldn’t the man ever keep his ties straight, his fingers itched to correct it - he just wanted to rip his clothes off. It was ridiculous that that was the thought now running through his brain. Was it some weird kind of revenge, a reverse power response? I hate you and I never want to see you again but I’m going to let you fuck me before I go.
“I’ve missed you,“ Viggo said, finally.
Orlando struggled not to respond that he’d missed Viggo too; he’d missed him desperately.
“I assume you saw us, me, Miranda and our friends going into the Opera house,” Viggo said when Orlando remained silent.
Orlando nodded. He knew they should make this quick, the Opera House was only a few streets away and Viggo had obviously slipped out during the interval but on the other hand how dare he think that whatever they were going to say would only take five minutes; even though it would. Cate had been right, he had never wanted this behind the scenes relationship, he wanted to go to the Opera with Viggo, he wanted to see him every day, go to bed with him every night; he wanted a real life and an equal relationship and that was not and never had been a possibility so whatever Viggo said this time Orlando’s answer was going to be, ‘not in a million years’.
“You knew she was coming over?” Viggo said hesitantly.
Orlando nodded again.
“She’s leaving next week, and I thought perhaps we might….”
“No!” Orlando spat out.
“You don’t know what I was going to say.”
“I don’t care.”
“I’ve missed you, I’ve missed you very much and you were right, it’s none of Cate’s business what we do.”
“I can’t do this Viggo. Cate was right. I liked being with you, the sex was great, but it was not what I wanted, there was no future for us together and the longer it went on the more it would have hurt when it ended.”
“I see.” Viggo didn’t move, he just dropped his head and nodded. “And I understand.” He studied his immaculate patent leather dress shoes for a few moments. “And I agree with you.” He laughed mirthlessly. “You didn’t deserve what I was doing to you. But….”
“There’s no but, Viggo. I was mad with Cate for trying to make you ditch me. It almost had the opposite effect at the time. I thought screw her, this can work, maybe it’s not for keeps but what does she know anyway. But then I realised....”
“I love you,” Viggo blurted.
Orlando experienced an almost crushing pain in his chest.
“Cate knew that too. Damn her. When I got back here that night I made it sound as if she’d been heartless but she was actually sympathetic, although still adamant. Her exact words were, ‘if you love him as much as I think you do, then you need to let him go for both your sakes, the guilt will destroy you’.”
“Viggo….”
“I know I’ve never given you any reason to think that I love you…, I didn’t really want to acknowledge it to myself, so I tried keeping it… out of sight. I know that’s selfish but I was sure that eventually you’d get bored with me and want to move on and I didn’t want you to stay out of pity, I just wanted to hold on to you for as long as I could.”
“Viggo….” Orlando stood up and walked towards the other man; he knew it was a bad idea, physical proximity could only lead to one thing. “Viggo… I love you,” he straightened Viggo’s tie and then stroked the wrinkles out of the front of his shirt, “but I still can’t do this.”
Viggo stared at him, confused, hurt and Orlando couldn’t stop himself, he reached up again, pulled the bow tie loose and used the ends to draw Viggo into a kiss. It was intoxicating for him, feeling the soft pressure of Viggo’s lips again, tasting him, being overwhelmed by the scent not just of his cologne but essentially of Viggo, he felt dizzy, his heart was racing and his cock filled. For a few moments Viggo just allowed himself to be kissed; then he took hold of Orlando’s shoulders and urged him towards the bedroom.
“We can’t!” Orlando spluttered, pulling away. “You don’t have time.”
“It’s Lohengrin,” Viggo said, “the second act goes on forever, we have time.”
Even given Viggo’s assurances Orlando had still assumed that it would be nothing more than a fast fuck and that was fine, it was what he wanted, what he needed; it was an accepted thing wasn’t it, closure sex? But as they progressed towards the bed they continued just kissing and touching and it was Orlando who finally slipped the jacket from Viggo’s shoulders. He would have hung it up at least on a chair, but as Viggo felt him try to move away with it, he hissed, “Don’t you fucking dare!” against Orlando’s lips and so he let the jacket fall to the floor. The rest of their clothes gradually followed. At one point Orlando wasn’t sure if they were even going to have sex; once they were on the bed Viggo seemed to want to kiss every inch of him, licking and sucking on all his sensitive spots. In a haze of spiralling arousal Orlando wondered if Viggo was trying to show him what a good lover he was; he really didn’t need to, Orlando hadn’t forgotten; when he jacked off in his lonely bed it was Viggo he thought of, just like this, his mouth, his hands. His own hands were alternately tangled in Viggo’s hair, or gripping his arms, trying to direct him, stop him, encourage him. Occasionally Viggo’s penis would drag wetly across his belly and brush against his own rock hard erection and it was delicious agony.
“Please,” he panted, “please, I want you inside me.”
Viggo rolled away and retrieved a condom and lube from the bedside drawer. Orlando grabbed at his bicep. “I don’t need the prep, just use lots of lube. Lohengrin might go on forever but I need to come. Soon!”
Viggo chuckled but obediently rolled on the condom and slathered it up. “Tell me if it’s too much though, right?” he said, parting Orlando’s already raised knees. “Right?” he repeated more forcefully when Orlando didn’t reply.
“No,” Orlando snapped back. “I want to really feel you.” He knew it would hurt, but he wanted the burn to take the edge off his teetering orgasm. He tried to breathe through it as Viggo pressed into him; he was too tight and Viggo was panting with the effort. “Don’t stop,” he gasped when Viggo paused. “Do not fucking stop!” With a determined grunt Viggo drove all the way into him, filling him, completely; Orlando cursed. And then Viggo was pulling out and sliding back in and Orlando was pushing against him and squeezing and fisting his own cock as Viggo’s powerful thrusts pinned him to the mattress.
Orlando climaxed with an ear splitting howl, convulsing against Viggo as the aftershocks ripped through him and the blood thundered in his ears. Viggo came a minute or so later, with a more muted, almost grateful groan and Orlando clung to him, probably leaving bruises on his arms, his legs tightly crossed behind Viggo’s back, keeping him there; wanting to hold on as long as he could; because he was determined that for him this was the finale, it was over, he would not be seeing Viggo again after tonight.
“I do have to go now,” Viggo said, just a few minutes later, his breathing still heavy, as they finally disengaged and stretched out on the bed. Orlando felt the mattress dip as he moved and heard the swish of clothes as they were recovered from the floor.
“I know,” Orlando replied, his face buried in the pillows. He had no intention of getting up and watching Viggo leave.
“Will you stay here tonight and I’ll come back in the morning?”
“What! No! I’m going home. This is over.” Orlando scrambled into a sitting position. “This hasn’t changed anything, I’m just weak and… well, I’m just weak.”
“Please,” Viggo said. He was pulling on his trousers. “I wanted to talk, we haven’t done that.”
“I’ve said what I needed to say.”
“I hadn’t finished though, please just wait for me and let me say some things. You owe me that….”
Orlando regarded him sceptically. “Do I? Do I really?”
“OK, no, you don’t owe me that. But I’m asking you to. Please.”
Orlando wasn’t sure what to say, he’d wanted to finish this tonight, closure sex was allowed, obviously, but no more talking. He was pretty sure that if Viggo came back in the morning there might be more sex. But, he’d never heard the man plead before.
“Please, Orlando,” Viggo said again as he buttoned his shirt.
“Oh fine, alright, I’ll stay,” Orlando conceded, “but my bag is already packed and I have to be at the studio by nine.”
Viggo nodded. “Thank you.” And then he was gone.
Orlando lay on the bed for a while, thinking things over. What was Viggo’s plan? That by morning Orlando would have had time to change his mind? That because he’d said he loved him Orlando would stay? Finally, he got up and put on Viggo’s bathrobe, he’d already packed his own, and returned to the bottle of red wine. His first intention had been to drink it all but then he reasoned he’d need a clear head when Viggo returned in the morning so he finished the glass he’d already poured and went back to bed. He slept fitfully so was semi-conscious when he heard the front door opening. His phone showed 3.30am and for a moment he wondered if Viggo had lied about bringing other men here and that maybe one of them still had a key. But then the bedroom light was turned on and Viggo loomed in the doorway. He looked exhausted. Orlando tried to bury his immediate concern for the man. “I thought you said you’d come back in the morning,” he said.
“It is the morning,” Viggo replied.
“You look shattered.”
“I am.” Viggo slipped out of his jacket, kicked off his shoes and laid down on the bed, still wearing his dress shirt and trousers.
“Get undressed and get into bed, we’ll talk tomorrow, well later today,” Orlando said, pulling the covers over his head. If they did it now he’d feel sorry for Viggo, the man looked completely wrecked.
“I’ve asked Miranda for a divorce.”
“What!” Orlando sat up. “Why?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake Orlando! Why do you think?”
“I didn’t ask you to. I don’t want to break up a marriage.”
“You know damn well that you’re not doing that. I’ve been hiding behind the fiction of my marriage for years. Sure, being openly gay wasn’t as acceptable when I was first building my career, but even when that became irrelevant it was still easier to present myself as a married man, it warned my occasional lovers that I wasn’t going to get too serious.”
“Isn’t your wife a lawyer, won’t she take you to the cleaners? What about all the houses?”
Viggo raised himself off the bed on one elbow and glared at him. “I don’t care about the fucking houses!” he said, then he lay back down and added, “And anyway there was a prenup, she insisted; we both come out with plenty.”
“Fuck, Viggo, that’s not what I expected!”
“It wasn’t what I expected either, and even if you still decide not to take me on, and I can see why you might not, I feel a hellava lot better for having done it. We should have done it years ago.”
“Fuck!” Orlando felt dizzy, certainly disorientated. Did this make a difference? Would he be a total bastard if he walked out? Viggo was still a serial philanderer, he’d admitted as much. “I need to think about this.”
“Take all the time you need,” Viggo said, closing his eyes. “I’m going to sleep now.”
In the silence that followed Orlando couldn’t believe that Viggo had actually gone to sleep, he wondered if he could undress the man without waking him but in the end he just fetched a blanket from the cupboard and covered Viggo up, then he watched him sleep for a while and considered all the alternatives. Did he love Viggo enough, did Viggo really love him, could they seriously make a life together, could he trust Viggo not to be distracted by other men? He slept, but badly and woke before the alarm on his phone went off. He couldn’t bring himself to wake Viggo, the man had looked so exhausted but he didn’t want to just leave. In the end he messaged Stefan that he had a domestic situation and would try to get in as soon as he could. Stefan, who could be a screeching Diva when the mood took him, was nevertheless a caring boss and messaged back that Orlando should of course deal with whatever he needed to and not worry about work. He left Viggo to sleep on while he made coffee and he was on his second cup when a crumpled and woozy Viggo emerged from the bedroom.
“Coffee?” Orlando offered, filling another mug.
“You’re still here,” Viggo said. “I wasn’t sure you would be.”
“Neither was I,” Orlando admitted with a rueful smile.
Viggo took the mug of coffee. “Thank you, for staying.”
“I have to be at the studio soon,” Orlando warned him. He didn’t want Viggo to think that there was going to be a long discussion or that there might be more sex this morning. He had been thinking about the situation ever since he’d got up but the resolution was still no clearer to him.
Viggo nodded his understanding but didn’t speak. Orlando wondered if he was now regretting asking Miranda for a divorce; regretting everything he’d said last night. “You had things you wanted to say,” he prompted brusquely.
Viggo took a deep breath and nodded. “Like I already said, that first Sunday morning when we met in the park, I knew you were trouble. Far too much trouble to take a risk on. To risk myself on, I guess. So when we shared that taxi, I kept thinking don’t do it, don’t do it, but I couldn’t help myself and when you said lunch was on you, I knew that I’d been right; I’m not used to having someone else take control, but it was exciting. The week in Northumberland was a huge mistake, although I suspect even a weekend in your company would have had the same effect. It sounds ridiculous to say it, but you are the thing I didn’t know I wanted, the thing I didn’t want to admit that I needed, the thing I absolutely hadn't been looking for. Miranda wasn’t exactly surprised when I confessed everything, she knew that something had changed over the last few months.”
“But when I saw you together, you both looked so close,” Orlando blurted.
Viggo shrugged. “We are close, we’ve always been friends, we still will be friends. There was a lot of frank talking and some tough negotiating last night, but it will be a civilised and amicable divorce.”
“You’ll still need time to get over it,” Orlando said reasonably. “You will have more options now.”
Viggo nodded. “I know, but I’m not looking for other options. I didn’t suddenly realise you were important to me when you walked out, I already knew it, but it wasn’t something I was willing to acknowledge. I was still sure that I could get over you. And in case you were wondering and I can’t believe this myself but I haven’t had sex with anyone else since you left. I tried looking around. I even thought of calling a couple of my previous flings but I couldn’t.”
Orlando stared into his coffee. Viggo was saying all the right things but it hurt that he’d not had the courage to say them before.
“I want to be with you Orlando. Just you. And if you want to start from scratch I can do that.”
“What does that mean?” Orlando asked, puzzled.
Viggo shrugged and half smiled. “If you want to date properly, go to the movies, go to dinner but without the sex.”
Orlando spluttered, amused by this concept. “That would be interesting,” he sniggered.
“Orlando, I’ll do whatever you need me to but I want us to be a real couple. I want to wake up with you every morning, have dinner with you every night, introduce you to my friends and meet yours. I fantasised about doing those things when we were together but I wasn’t sure that was what you wanted.”
Orlando was shaken, he had fantasised about that too. He was desperately trying to hang on to the tail ends of his resolutions and he knew he should respond, put an end to this.
Viggo lifted a weary hand and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Am I making any kind of a case? I know I should have called you but you were so angry and I thought you’d done with me and I was just being a fool to think you’d want more.”
Orlando took several deep breaths and tried to martial his thoughts, his feelings, his defences.
“Will you at least try, Orlando, please? I really don’t think that this thing between us is over.”
Orlando stared at Viggo, all his resistance was seeping away, it might not work out, it might end brutally but then again, it might not. And, also, he was completely, hopelessly in love with this man; he didn't think it was over either.
“Yes, alright, we can give it a try.” he said, the words leaving his mouth without him having consciously said them. “I really want to give it a try.”
The End
Author: Artemis Allen
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Orlando/Viggo (mention of other partners)
Beta: And banner maker
silvan_lady; Thank you, thank you, thank you; for everything you do. But I may have tampered a bit because I can’t leave well alone, so all mistakes are mine.Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction.
Word Count: 4,785
Summary: It ain’t over till the fat lady sings.
Notes: I am sorry that it has taken me so long to post this final part but RL has been taking up far too much of my time recently. Many thanks to everyone who has stuck with it and been kind enough to leave comments.
Earlier Parts
Previously
Orlando’s pulse was thundering in his ears; was Viggo admitting that there was more to this than a passing attraction… and yet. “So, now you’re going to end this just because Cate says so?”
“I’m ending it because I should never have started it in the first place.”
Orlando sat for a few moments, upright, rigid, his fingers gripping his knees, trying to fight down the urge to scream at his lover. But Viggo was right they should never have started this; Orlando should have resisted, in the taxi, in the restaurant, in Northumberland, at every point when Viggo made a suggestion Orlando should have said no. But he hadn’t and now there were two options. He could leave, like he should have done all those other times or he could tell Viggo he loved him and beg him not to end this. Then he realised; Viggo had kept saying he was transparent, so presumably Viggo already knew how he felt; that’s why he was acting so fucking guilty. Viggo had just wanted sex and he’d exploited Orlando’s feelings for him to get it.
“You’re a bastard,” Orlando said finally, standing up.
“I’m an arrogant, fucking, American bastard,” Viggo said, “and you knew that all along.”
Grabbing his jacket off the peg Orlando moved towards the door and yanked it open. “Yes,” he said bitterly, “I just didn't realise how much of one.” Then he slammed the door behind him.
Chapter 7
After leaving Viggo’s flat Orlando clattered blindly down the stairs and then once he was outside he set off at run, wanting to get far, far away as quickly as he could. He got almost all the way to the nearest tube station before he had to stop; he was out of breath from running but also his chest was tight with emotion. He leant against a wall and took in huge gulps of air and couldn’t help looking back down the street, even though he was fairly sure that Viggo wouldn’t be following him. Why would he? This was what he’d wanted, what he’d engineered; a clean break. He was still trembling when he threw himself onto a seat on the tube home.
Although his body and his breathing settled down into a more normal rhythm as the train rattled towards Walthamstow his brain refused to stop spinning. He was mad at Viggo, at Cate, at the whole fucking world but mostly at himself. He’d supposedly gone into this with his eyes wide open; it was just sex. And in fairness to Viggo, the man had never presented the arrangement as anything other than that; occasional, no strings, casual sex. The fact that the sex now occurred two or three times a week and yes, had advanced into low-level companionship meant nothing really… did it? It certainly wasn’t a proper relationship so what had he thought would eventually happen? And although Viggo was reasonably considerate, occasionally affectionate, very amusing company and really, really good in bed, there had been no tender words, no ‘I love you’s’, no discussion of a possible future for them. He had given up pretending to himself that he wasn’t in love with Viggo, but he wondered exactly how much he could have put up with before even that turned to bitter resentment. This was better, he told himself, thanks to Cate the plaster had been brutally ripped away and he could now move on with his life.
As the days and then the weeks passed he struggled to put Viggo completely out of his thoughts. He tried to keep busy; easy enough when he was at work, but difficult on weekends when he met up with friends and their partners. He accepted more of the invitations for work-related nights out, half-heartedly looked at dating apps and tried to smile encouragingly when he was approached by good looking men. He had never cut down on seeing his friends and his only regret was that because he hadn’t confided to them the status of his relationship, wait, no, it had never been a relationship, his association, with Viggo, he felt he couldn’t now expect them to listen and sympathise as he endured the loss of it. So he suffered alone. It was still apparently Dom’s mission in life to find someone suitable for him, even if it was just for some meaningless sex. Over the summer Orlando had laughed it off when Dom had pointed out or introduced him to men he considered to have potential, but now he tried to appreciate Dom’s efforts and at least talk to the guys. But when it came to the crunch he couldn’t take it any further and although he had a decent social life his sex life was a solo affair. This was even worse than the split from Luke had been; he knew he should move on but something in him refused to let go of the last tiny shred of hope that Viggo might call.
It was a Thursday evening and Orlando had crossed Covent Garden and was approaching Bow Street on his way to meet Dom and some other friends at a pub near the Aldwych. The area was always busy but it was bustling tonight because there was a throng of people making their way up the street to the Royal Opera House. There was a variety of patrons; families, groups of young people in casual clothes and the serious, or at least the moneyed, contingent who were more formally attired in evening dress. Orlando was casting a critical, professional eye over some of the ladies' gowns when with a jolt of recognition he noticed that Viggo was one of the men in a knot of three couples, obviously friends, deep in conversation. He watched them as they progressed up the street. Viggo suited evening dress and Orlando couldn't help staring at him and appreciating the sight; he wasn’t so keen on the woman who had her arm through his and was tucked closely into his side but he immediately recognised her as Viggo’s wife.
He had known that Miranda would be visiting in the Autumn, apparently, she liked the London theatres and she had friends here, but while he was still seeing Viggo he had buried his head in the sand and continued to pretend to himself that she didn’t really exist. Given that most of the images he’d seen on Google were a few years old, he had also been hoping she wouldn’t still be quite so attractive. But the petite woman with her mane of strawberry blonde hair was every bit as glamorous as those pictures. Viggo turned his head laughing at something she had said and then laid an affectionate kiss on the side of her head and Miranda reached up and stroked Viggo’s cheek fondly.
Orlando was welded to the spot, jealousy coursing through his body and curdling in his stomach, aware that if Viggo happened to look back he might notice him but unable to drag himself away. As Orlando watched them disappear into the opera house his phone pinged. It was a message from Dom asking where he was. Orlando stared at it; he was in no mood now to meet his friends, he needed to…, he wasn’t really sure what he needed to do, go home and sob his heart out possibly, because he had to finally accept that any lingering hope that he could reboot his ‘association’ with Viggo was dead. Viggo was clearly a lot closer to his wife than he had ever admitted, he could see it in their body language and now she existed for Orlando in glorious technicolour. Whatever he had claimed to Orlando, Viggo was a seriously married man.
There were a few things that he’d accumulated at the flat, and left behind on his abrupt departure; nothing he couldn’t live without, although one of the shirts was a favourite. Pride had kept him from contacting Viggo to ask for their return, pride and the lingering hope that Viggo would contact him first. Orlando also still had his key to the flat. Viggo and his wife would be safely confined at the Royal Opera House for a few hours; he could go to the flat, pick up his clothes and any other items and leave the key on the counter, with a note; no, not with a note, but attached to something so that Viggo couldn't miss seeing it; maybe his broken heart.
After sending Dom a message saying he’d been held up at work and couldn’t make the pub tonight his steps automatically led him to the apartment but he hovered on the pavement outside. He shouldn't be here, maybe it was an intrusion; he decided to at least let Viggo know his intentions, presumably his phone would be off so Orlando would have picked up his stuff and be long gone before Viggo was even aware. Almost of their own accord his fingers selected a contact and typed a message. ‘I’d like to collect my clothes from the flat. Is it OK with you if I do that tonight? I’ll leave my key when I'm done.’ He sent the message, then after an internal tussle he sent another, ‘Enjoy the Opera’.
The response was almost immediate. ‘Can we talk? I’ll meet you at the apartment. I’ll be there around eight.’
Orlando certainly hadn’t expected Viggo to reply so quickly; or at all, absolutely not to want to talk, he’d had six fucking weeks to ‘talk’, why now? He didn’t understand how Viggo was even going to manage to get away and he certainly wasn’t sure he wanted to see the man tonight. Eventually, his heart thumping painfully in his chest, he typed ‘OK’ and pressed send.
When he let himself into the apartment it looked exactly the same as it had when he’d stormed out nearly two months ago. He had wondered occasionally over the last few weeks if Viggo had immediately gone out and found himself another guy, presumably a less challenging one, for a ‘brief encounter’ - hell, who was he kidding, he’d wondered about it every sodding day - but if he had there was no sign of it in the apartment. But there wouldn’t be, would there? Viggo would use a hotel like he always had done before. He’d also half expected to find his belongings in a black bin liner somewhere or maybe even that they’d been thrown out but when he opened the closet his shirts and a pair of jeans were still hanging there beside Viggo’s much more expensive garments. He stood looking at them all lined up together then couldn’t resist reaching out and stroking the sleeve of one of Viggo’s fine lawn shirts. Then he pressed it to his nose but it was freshly laundered of course and there was no hint of his ex-lover’s scent. It was the same in the bathroom, his shower gel, shaving cream and cologne were still on the shelf. He collected all his abandoned items and looked under the bed for the small holdall he’d stashed there when he’d first brought some clothes and toiletries here; it too was still where he’d left it. Had Viggo not been using the apartment? Why hadn’t he at least gathered Orlando’s things together? He packed the bag and then wondered how the hell he was going to get through the next hour. Eventually he pulled a bottle of red wine from the well-stocked rack and opened it. It was undoubtedly expensive but he didn’t care, he thought it might calm his nerves.
Viggo arrived as promised shortly after eight. He let the door swing shut behind him but then just stood, looking at Orlando sitting on the sofa with the glass of red wine in front of him; he seemed nervous, unsure what to say. Orlando had had an hour and a half to practise what he wanted to say but seeing Viggo in his beautifully cut evening suit, his tie slightly askew - why couldn’t the man ever keep his ties straight, his fingers itched to correct it - he just wanted to rip his clothes off. It was ridiculous that that was the thought now running through his brain. Was it some weird kind of revenge, a reverse power response? I hate you and I never want to see you again but I’m going to let you fuck me before I go.
“I’ve missed you,“ Viggo said, finally.
Orlando struggled not to respond that he’d missed Viggo too; he’d missed him desperately.
“I assume you saw us, me, Miranda and our friends going into the Opera house,” Viggo said when Orlando remained silent.
Orlando nodded. He knew they should make this quick, the Opera House was only a few streets away and Viggo had obviously slipped out during the interval but on the other hand how dare he think that whatever they were going to say would only take five minutes; even though it would. Cate had been right, he had never wanted this behind the scenes relationship, he wanted to go to the Opera with Viggo, he wanted to see him every day, go to bed with him every night; he wanted a real life and an equal relationship and that was not and never had been a possibility so whatever Viggo said this time Orlando’s answer was going to be, ‘not in a million years’.
“You knew she was coming over?” Viggo said hesitantly.
Orlando nodded again.
“She’s leaving next week, and I thought perhaps we might….”
“No!” Orlando spat out.
“You don’t know what I was going to say.”
“I don’t care.”
“I’ve missed you, I’ve missed you very much and you were right, it’s none of Cate’s business what we do.”
“I can’t do this Viggo. Cate was right. I liked being with you, the sex was great, but it was not what I wanted, there was no future for us together and the longer it went on the more it would have hurt when it ended.”
“I see.” Viggo didn’t move, he just dropped his head and nodded. “And I understand.” He studied his immaculate patent leather dress shoes for a few moments. “And I agree with you.” He laughed mirthlessly. “You didn’t deserve what I was doing to you. But….”
“There’s no but, Viggo. I was mad with Cate for trying to make you ditch me. It almost had the opposite effect at the time. I thought screw her, this can work, maybe it’s not for keeps but what does she know anyway. But then I realised....”
“I love you,” Viggo blurted.
Orlando experienced an almost crushing pain in his chest.
“Cate knew that too. Damn her. When I got back here that night I made it sound as if she’d been heartless but she was actually sympathetic, although still adamant. Her exact words were, ‘if you love him as much as I think you do, then you need to let him go for both your sakes, the guilt will destroy you’.”
“Viggo….”
“I know I’ve never given you any reason to think that I love you…, I didn’t really want to acknowledge it to myself, so I tried keeping it… out of sight. I know that’s selfish but I was sure that eventually you’d get bored with me and want to move on and I didn’t want you to stay out of pity, I just wanted to hold on to you for as long as I could.”
“Viggo….” Orlando stood up and walked towards the other man; he knew it was a bad idea, physical proximity could only lead to one thing. “Viggo… I love you,” he straightened Viggo’s tie and then stroked the wrinkles out of the front of his shirt, “but I still can’t do this.”
Viggo stared at him, confused, hurt and Orlando couldn’t stop himself, he reached up again, pulled the bow tie loose and used the ends to draw Viggo into a kiss. It was intoxicating for him, feeling the soft pressure of Viggo’s lips again, tasting him, being overwhelmed by the scent not just of his cologne but essentially of Viggo, he felt dizzy, his heart was racing and his cock filled. For a few moments Viggo just allowed himself to be kissed; then he took hold of Orlando’s shoulders and urged him towards the bedroom.
“We can’t!” Orlando spluttered, pulling away. “You don’t have time.”
“It’s Lohengrin,” Viggo said, “the second act goes on forever, we have time.”
Even given Viggo’s assurances Orlando had still assumed that it would be nothing more than a fast fuck and that was fine, it was what he wanted, what he needed; it was an accepted thing wasn’t it, closure sex? But as they progressed towards the bed they continued just kissing and touching and it was Orlando who finally slipped the jacket from Viggo’s shoulders. He would have hung it up at least on a chair, but as Viggo felt him try to move away with it, he hissed, “Don’t you fucking dare!” against Orlando’s lips and so he let the jacket fall to the floor. The rest of their clothes gradually followed. At one point Orlando wasn’t sure if they were even going to have sex; once they were on the bed Viggo seemed to want to kiss every inch of him, licking and sucking on all his sensitive spots. In a haze of spiralling arousal Orlando wondered if Viggo was trying to show him what a good lover he was; he really didn’t need to, Orlando hadn’t forgotten; when he jacked off in his lonely bed it was Viggo he thought of, just like this, his mouth, his hands. His own hands were alternately tangled in Viggo’s hair, or gripping his arms, trying to direct him, stop him, encourage him. Occasionally Viggo’s penis would drag wetly across his belly and brush against his own rock hard erection and it was delicious agony.
“Please,” he panted, “please, I want you inside me.”
Viggo rolled away and retrieved a condom and lube from the bedside drawer. Orlando grabbed at his bicep. “I don’t need the prep, just use lots of lube. Lohengrin might go on forever but I need to come. Soon!”
Viggo chuckled but obediently rolled on the condom and slathered it up. “Tell me if it’s too much though, right?” he said, parting Orlando’s already raised knees. “Right?” he repeated more forcefully when Orlando didn’t reply.
“No,” Orlando snapped back. “I want to really feel you.” He knew it would hurt, but he wanted the burn to take the edge off his teetering orgasm. He tried to breathe through it as Viggo pressed into him; he was too tight and Viggo was panting with the effort. “Don’t stop,” he gasped when Viggo paused. “Do not fucking stop!” With a determined grunt Viggo drove all the way into him, filling him, completely; Orlando cursed. And then Viggo was pulling out and sliding back in and Orlando was pushing against him and squeezing and fisting his own cock as Viggo’s powerful thrusts pinned him to the mattress.
Orlando climaxed with an ear splitting howl, convulsing against Viggo as the aftershocks ripped through him and the blood thundered in his ears. Viggo came a minute or so later, with a more muted, almost grateful groan and Orlando clung to him, probably leaving bruises on his arms, his legs tightly crossed behind Viggo’s back, keeping him there; wanting to hold on as long as he could; because he was determined that for him this was the finale, it was over, he would not be seeing Viggo again after tonight.
“I do have to go now,” Viggo said, just a few minutes later, his breathing still heavy, as they finally disengaged and stretched out on the bed. Orlando felt the mattress dip as he moved and heard the swish of clothes as they were recovered from the floor.
“I know,” Orlando replied, his face buried in the pillows. He had no intention of getting up and watching Viggo leave.
“Will you stay here tonight and I’ll come back in the morning?”
“What! No! I’m going home. This is over.” Orlando scrambled into a sitting position. “This hasn’t changed anything, I’m just weak and… well, I’m just weak.”
“Please,” Viggo said. He was pulling on his trousers. “I wanted to talk, we haven’t done that.”
“I’ve said what I needed to say.”
“I hadn’t finished though, please just wait for me and let me say some things. You owe me that….”
Orlando regarded him sceptically. “Do I? Do I really?”
“OK, no, you don’t owe me that. But I’m asking you to. Please.”
Orlando wasn’t sure what to say, he’d wanted to finish this tonight, closure sex was allowed, obviously, but no more talking. He was pretty sure that if Viggo came back in the morning there might be more sex. But, he’d never heard the man plead before.
“Please, Orlando,” Viggo said again as he buttoned his shirt.
“Oh fine, alright, I’ll stay,” Orlando conceded, “but my bag is already packed and I have to be at the studio by nine.”
Viggo nodded. “Thank you.” And then he was gone.
Orlando lay on the bed for a while, thinking things over. What was Viggo’s plan? That by morning Orlando would have had time to change his mind? That because he’d said he loved him Orlando would stay? Finally, he got up and put on Viggo’s bathrobe, he’d already packed his own, and returned to the bottle of red wine. His first intention had been to drink it all but then he reasoned he’d need a clear head when Viggo returned in the morning so he finished the glass he’d already poured and went back to bed. He slept fitfully so was semi-conscious when he heard the front door opening. His phone showed 3.30am and for a moment he wondered if Viggo had lied about bringing other men here and that maybe one of them still had a key. But then the bedroom light was turned on and Viggo loomed in the doorway. He looked exhausted. Orlando tried to bury his immediate concern for the man. “I thought you said you’d come back in the morning,” he said.
“It is the morning,” Viggo replied.
“You look shattered.”
“I am.” Viggo slipped out of his jacket, kicked off his shoes and laid down on the bed, still wearing his dress shirt and trousers.
“Get undressed and get into bed, we’ll talk tomorrow, well later today,” Orlando said, pulling the covers over his head. If they did it now he’d feel sorry for Viggo, the man looked completely wrecked.
“I’ve asked Miranda for a divorce.”
“What!” Orlando sat up. “Why?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake Orlando! Why do you think?”
“I didn’t ask you to. I don’t want to break up a marriage.”
“You know damn well that you’re not doing that. I’ve been hiding behind the fiction of my marriage for years. Sure, being openly gay wasn’t as acceptable when I was first building my career, but even when that became irrelevant it was still easier to present myself as a married man, it warned my occasional lovers that I wasn’t going to get too serious.”
“Isn’t your wife a lawyer, won’t she take you to the cleaners? What about all the houses?”
Viggo raised himself off the bed on one elbow and glared at him. “I don’t care about the fucking houses!” he said, then he lay back down and added, “And anyway there was a prenup, she insisted; we both come out with plenty.”
“Fuck, Viggo, that’s not what I expected!”
“It wasn’t what I expected either, and even if you still decide not to take me on, and I can see why you might not, I feel a hellava lot better for having done it. We should have done it years ago.”
“Fuck!” Orlando felt dizzy, certainly disorientated. Did this make a difference? Would he be a total bastard if he walked out? Viggo was still a serial philanderer, he’d admitted as much. “I need to think about this.”
“Take all the time you need,” Viggo said, closing his eyes. “I’m going to sleep now.”
In the silence that followed Orlando couldn’t believe that Viggo had actually gone to sleep, he wondered if he could undress the man without waking him but in the end he just fetched a blanket from the cupboard and covered Viggo up, then he watched him sleep for a while and considered all the alternatives. Did he love Viggo enough, did Viggo really love him, could they seriously make a life together, could he trust Viggo not to be distracted by other men? He slept, but badly and woke before the alarm on his phone went off. He couldn’t bring himself to wake Viggo, the man had looked so exhausted but he didn’t want to just leave. In the end he messaged Stefan that he had a domestic situation and would try to get in as soon as he could. Stefan, who could be a screeching Diva when the mood took him, was nevertheless a caring boss and messaged back that Orlando should of course deal with whatever he needed to and not worry about work. He left Viggo to sleep on while he made coffee and he was on his second cup when a crumpled and woozy Viggo emerged from the bedroom.
“Coffee?” Orlando offered, filling another mug.
“You’re still here,” Viggo said. “I wasn’t sure you would be.”
“Neither was I,” Orlando admitted with a rueful smile.
Viggo took the mug of coffee. “Thank you, for staying.”
“I have to be at the studio soon,” Orlando warned him. He didn’t want Viggo to think that there was going to be a long discussion or that there might be more sex this morning. He had been thinking about the situation ever since he’d got up but the resolution was still no clearer to him.
Viggo nodded his understanding but didn’t speak. Orlando wondered if he was now regretting asking Miranda for a divorce; regretting everything he’d said last night. “You had things you wanted to say,” he prompted brusquely.
Viggo took a deep breath and nodded. “Like I already said, that first Sunday morning when we met in the park, I knew you were trouble. Far too much trouble to take a risk on. To risk myself on, I guess. So when we shared that taxi, I kept thinking don’t do it, don’t do it, but I couldn’t help myself and when you said lunch was on you, I knew that I’d been right; I’m not used to having someone else take control, but it was exciting. The week in Northumberland was a huge mistake, although I suspect even a weekend in your company would have had the same effect. It sounds ridiculous to say it, but you are the thing I didn’t know I wanted, the thing I didn’t want to admit that I needed, the thing I absolutely hadn't been looking for. Miranda wasn’t exactly surprised when I confessed everything, she knew that something had changed over the last few months.”
“But when I saw you together, you both looked so close,” Orlando blurted.
Viggo shrugged. “We are close, we’ve always been friends, we still will be friends. There was a lot of frank talking and some tough negotiating last night, but it will be a civilised and amicable divorce.”
“You’ll still need time to get over it,” Orlando said reasonably. “You will have more options now.”
Viggo nodded. “I know, but I’m not looking for other options. I didn’t suddenly realise you were important to me when you walked out, I already knew it, but it wasn’t something I was willing to acknowledge. I was still sure that I could get over you. And in case you were wondering and I can’t believe this myself but I haven’t had sex with anyone else since you left. I tried looking around. I even thought of calling a couple of my previous flings but I couldn’t.”
Orlando stared into his coffee. Viggo was saying all the right things but it hurt that he’d not had the courage to say them before.
“I want to be with you Orlando. Just you. And if you want to start from scratch I can do that.”
“What does that mean?” Orlando asked, puzzled.
Viggo shrugged and half smiled. “If you want to date properly, go to the movies, go to dinner but without the sex.”
Orlando spluttered, amused by this concept. “That would be interesting,” he sniggered.
“Orlando, I’ll do whatever you need me to but I want us to be a real couple. I want to wake up with you every morning, have dinner with you every night, introduce you to my friends and meet yours. I fantasised about doing those things when we were together but I wasn’t sure that was what you wanted.”
Orlando was shaken, he had fantasised about that too. He was desperately trying to hang on to the tail ends of his resolutions and he knew he should respond, put an end to this.
Viggo lifted a weary hand and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Am I making any kind of a case? I know I should have called you but you were so angry and I thought you’d done with me and I was just being a fool to think you’d want more.”
Orlando took several deep breaths and tried to martial his thoughts, his feelings, his defences.
“Will you at least try, Orlando, please? I really don’t think that this thing between us is over.”
Orlando stared at Viggo, all his resistance was seeping away, it might not work out, it might end brutally but then again, it might not. And, also, he was completely, hopelessly in love with this man; he didn't think it was over either.
“Yes, alright, we can give it a try.” he said, the words leaving his mouth without him having consciously said them. “I really want to give it a try.”
The End
