Pygmalion 3/17

[zebraljb.livejournal.com]

Author: zebraljb
Rating: G to R
Disclaimer: I made all this up. I don't know anything about them.



“Hello?” Viggo again mentally cursed his phone. He was on the way out, tugging on his boots as he hopped towards the door.

“Vig!” Dominic said happily. “Guess where I am?”

“I don’t really care, Dom. I’m on my way out.”

“Downstairs in front of your building! With Billy Boyd.”

Viggo sat down hard on the first flat surface, which just happened to be an end table. He heard it groan under his weight. “What?”

“We’re downstairs. Can we come up?”

“WHY are you downstairs, Dom?” Viggo growled.

“What’s that? Come on up? Excellent. Bye.” Dominic hung up and Viggo looked around in horror. He quickly shoved clothing into drawers and into the closet. The loft looked halfway presentable by the time he heard the doorbell.

“Hello.” Viggo pasted on his politest smile, but his eyes shot swords and daggers at his manager.

“Mr. Mortensen.” Billy Boyd nodded, his Scottish accent thick. “I hope you don’t mind us stopping by.”

“Of course not. Call me Viggo, please,” Viggo said. He stepped aside and allowed the two men to enter.

“What a perfect place for an artist,” Billy said, walking around. He reminded Viggo of the way Orlando had surveyed his apartment. He gave himself a mental shake of the head. He had thought of Orlando way too often in the three days since he had seen him. “Great light, lots of space.” Billy inspected the photographs on the wall. “Not bad, though I’m a paint and canvas person, myself.” He picked up a paper from Viggo’s desk. “What’s this?”

Viggo actually blushed at the sketch of Orlando. “A friend,” he said quickly. “Just a casual chicken scratching.”

“Viggo, you’re good.” Billy put the drawing down and looked him in the eye. “Dominic has begged and begged for me to give you a show, and I agreed, mostly on his good word. But I’ve asked around, seen a bit of your work. I think this show could be beneficial to us both. Do you have any other work to show me?”
Dom gave Viggo a pleading glance over Billy’s shoulder.

“Not here, unfortunately,” Viggo said apologetically. “I sometimes work at a friend’s…he’s been keeping it for me. I get nervous, think it’s all crap, and then I toss it.”

“Understandable. Artists are such a strange lot,” Billy said with a laugh. Dom laughed with him and Viggo cracked a smile. “In two weeks I’d like to see what you want to use in the show, okay?” Viggo nodded. “All right, then.” Billy shook Viggo’s hand and headed for the door.

“This is gonna make or break me as well, Vig. Don’t let me down!” Dom hissed as he hurried after the gallery owner. The door closed behind them and Viggo collapsed onto a chair, head in his hands.


Viggo plopped down on a bench, sketchpad on his knee. He was going to get inspired if it killed him. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the warm sun on his face.


“See, that’s God smiling down on us,” Sean had said as they lay in Viggo’s bed, sunlight streaming through the windows. “Telling us how right we are.”

“Then why do we fight so much?” Viggo had said unhappily. Sean traced the worry lines on Viggo’s forehead.

“So we can make up just like this,” Sean had murmured, his tongue lapping at Viggo’s ear.


Viggo’s eyes flew open. He hated when memories flashed over him in that way. It always left him aching. He blinked a bit and began to look around. A hummingbird caught his eye, and he began to rapidly draw, trying to capture the agility and delicacy on paper. It didn’t work, and he angrily flipped to the next page. He looked around him, trying to find something that struck his fancy.

“Looking for someone?” A voice behind the bench said. He whirled around, his heart in his throat.

“Oh, Orlando. Hello.”

“And how is the great artist?” Orlando leaned on the back of the bench. Today he wore tight blue jeans and a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off.

“Not so great, I’m afraid. How are you?”

“Eh,” Orlando shrugged. Another young man approached. He looked years younger than Orlando, though age and unhappiness showed through his big blue eyes.

“Orli…I’m gonna go get some lunch. Coming?”

“No, ‘Lij, I’m good,” Orlando said. “You sure you wanna go alone?”

“Yeah. I’m gonna hit the food court down at the plaza. Lots of people there.”

“Okay. Be careful.” Orlando hugged the boy and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I mean it, Elijah.”

“Right.” Elijah nodded and walked off.

“Is he your, uh, boyfriend?” Viggo asked. Orlando laughed.

“Elijah? Hell, no! We don’t HAVE boyfriends, Viggo.”

“Oh.” Viggo blushed.

“He’s my best mate. Like my brother, really,” Orlando said, sighing. “He’s so pretty he always seems to attract the wrong sorts. The sort that hits.”

“God,” Viggo said, his heart going out to the boy.

“It’s not even the johns, really…just guys walking down the street. Think he’s a puppy they can kick.” Orlando’s dark eyes grew angry. “I look out for him.”

“Good,” Viggo said, and Orlando took a good look at him.

“You are a strange one, mate. Not too many people got sympathy for a street rat.” Orlando stretched, and Viggo stared at the tan expanse of stomach that teased his eyes. “So…sketching, huh?”

“Trying.”

Orlando came around to sit on the bench next to him. “Wanna sketch me again?”

“I don’t…” Viggo searched for the right thing to say. “Rent was due this week. I can’t.”

“I understand.” Orlando looked out at the river. “I’d have to charge for private time. I mean, it’s my living.”

“Right.” Viggo flipped his book back open, a duck on the water catching his eye.

“However…since I’m just sitting here and business is slow, you could, you know, if you wanted to.” Orlando tapped his fingers on the bench.

“Not quite the way I work, but thank you.” Viggo’s fingers quickly moved and Orlando watched almost eagerly.

“Wow…you got…and the shadow…bloody amazing.”

Viggo looked up at Orlando, who was still looking at the sketchpad. Viggo felt himself harden, and he shifted uncomfortably. He wondered if Orlando’s body would feel soft against him, or if he would be all hardened sinews. Viggo abruptly flipped the book shut. “I have to go. I really need to get working if I want to be ready for my show. It was nice talking to you.”

“I’m here if you want me,” Orlando called to him as he walked away. Viggo tried to ignore him.


“It’s not you, Vig, it’s me,” Sean had insisted.

“Really?” Viggo raised an eyebrow. “It’s not me that made you sleep with someone else?”

“A one-time deal, I swear,” Sean had said. “It’s not like you and I were…”

“What? Exclusive? What happened to God smiling down on us, Sean? Apparently God has a twisted sense of humor, Beanie.” Viggo had dropped to the bed, staring at the floor.

“I just need some space, Viggo. Baby, you’re so intense sometimes.”

“You knew who and what I was from Day One,” Viggo had almost whined.

“I’m sorry,” Sean had whispered, then went to pack up the few belongings he had kept at Viggo’s loft.


Viggo swore and swung his legs out of bed. Midnight and here he was, reliving awful memories instead of sleeping. He turned on some music, made some tea, and pulled his easel to the center of the room. He prepared his palette and stood before the blank canvas. When he closed his eyes, he saw a face full of laugh-lines and life-worn wrinkles. He shook his head and glared at the white canvas. When he closed his eyes again, curling brown locks, defiant brown eyes and a ready smile flew into his brain. He grunted, opened his eyes and dipped the brush onto the palette, hardly noticing what his hand was doing.