Pygmalion 4/17

[zebraljb.livejournal.com]

Author: zebraljb
Rating: G to NC17
Disclaimer: I wish I could watch them do this. But it's not real.



“Do you realize what you’re doing?” Dominic hissed into Viggo’s ear.

“Yes,” Viggo hissed back. He smiled and shook the woman’s hand. “Ma’am, thank you so very much.”

“You’re welcome. This will look wonderful in my study.” The woman signed the check, handed it to Viggo, and picked up the large canvas, which was wrapped in brown paper.

“Do you need me to get that for you, Ma’am?” Viggo asked.

“No, thank you. My driver is right outside.” The woman maneuvered through the door of Dom’s office.

Dom turned on Viggo. “Are you fucking CRAZY? You sold that for about half of what it was worth!”

“I need the money.” Viggo pocketed the check. “Don’t worry, you’ll get your share.”

“That’s not the point, Viggo. If you’re simply going to let these things go…”

“I needed the money for something, Dom. Let it lie.” Viggo clapped Dominic on the shoulder and left the office, heading for the bank.


Viggo nervously walked down the sidewalk, feeling like a fool. He couldn’t believe this. He had sold one of his paintings for practically nothing, just to get this money. Just to get Orlando. Maybe Orlando wouldn’t even be there. Maybe…

“Looking for someone?” An accented voice said behind him. He whirled around.

“Yes, actually,” Viggo said, and he was rewarded with the sunny grin.

“Skip the rent this week, did we?” Orlando asked. He shoved a hand into the back pocket of his baggy jeans.

“Nah…decided I didn’t need to eat,” Viggo said. Orlando laughed. “Actually, I sold a painting.”

“Good for you,” Orlando said.

“So, uh, are you free?”

“No. But I have some time for you, if that’s what you’re asking,” Orlando said.

They fell into step as they headed for Viggo’s loft, and once again, Viggo questioned his sanity. It wasn’t the sex so much, though Viggo knew it would be good. It was the fact that just being with Orlando seemed to set off a spark in the creative part of his brain. He could feel again when he was with the young man.
Viggo pulled the folded bills out of his wallet and laid them on a table in the hallway, making sure Orlando saw him do it. “I have enough here for about three hours,” Viggo said, blushing slightly.

“Not a problem.” Orlando picked up the guitar in the corner. “You play?”

“A little,” Viggo admitted. Orlando put the guitar back down.

“Come clean. What all can you do?”

“Paint…draw…sculpt…poetry…play the guitar…play the piano…I took saxophone lessons for about a year.”

“Fuck,” Orlando said, obviously impressed. “Even I can’t do that much with MY profession.”

“Guess I’m the musical prostitute, huh?” Viggo said, then wondered if it was an insult. Orlando smiled and he relaxed.

“Guess so.” Orlando kicked off his shoes and sat on the bed. “So…we gonna use this, then?”

Viggo stared at him for a long moment. Orlando slowly pulled off his shirt and leaned back on his elbows. He was long and lean and beautiful. He glanced up from under his eyelashes, and Viggo felt his knees buckle ever-so-slightly. “Yes,” Viggo said finally. “Do you have, uh…”

“I’m always prepared.” Orlando patted his pocket. “C’mere.”

Viggo obediently walked over. Orlando slowly stood, taking Viggo’s shirt with him. He didn’t kiss Viggo, but instead caressed his chest, tweaking his nipples and letting his fingers dance down Viggo’s stomach. Viggo closed his eyes, hissing in a breath. “Which do you prefer?” Viggo said, ashamed of the way his voice squeaked as Orlando undid his jeans and slid them down. The boxers soon followed.

“No one usually asks me,” Orlando said, his voice a breath against Viggo’s shoulder as Orlando leaned his head against Viggo, his hand slowly working Viggo’s cock. “What do you want to do?”

“God,” Viggo moaned, his brain slowly deteriorating. “Can I…on top?”

“Sure.” Orlando smiled as he pulled Viggo to the bed. “Just be gentle with me,” he said coyly, and Viggo couldn’t help himself. He snorted. Orlando really laughed then, a sound that seemed genuine. “You’re adorable, you know that?”

Viggo couldn’t answer. He was too busy running his hands all over Orlando’s body. Orlando was a work of art in and of himself. He was slender and muscular, and Viggo could have spent hours just exploring his stomach. But Viggo didn’t have hours.

Orlando started to turn onto his hands and knees but Viggo stopped him. Silently Orlando fell onto his back, his eyes never leaving Viggo’s as Viggo prepared himself. He started to slide lubed fingers into Orlando, but the man shook his head. “Not necessary,” Orlando said softly. Viggo pushed Orlando’s hand away and did it anyway. He was surprised to see Orlando arch and whimper slightly. Orlando seemed surprised himself, but he didn’t say anything. When Viggo finally slid inside, Orlando was warm and ready and much tighter than Viggo expected. Orlando grabbed at Viggo’s shoulders, arching up to meet his thrusts again and again. He wrapped his long legs around Viggo’s waist, his eyes fixed on Viggo’s face. Viggo put an arm under Orlando’s back to pull him up to meet him.

Viggo had expected to feel some sort of guilt, to see Sean loitering in the corners of his mind. None of that happened, however. All he could see were the dark eyes that never left his face. “Orlando…God…” Viggo panted, thrusting harder. Orlando took every thrust, moaning slightly as he pulled his own cock quickly. He came onto his stomach as Viggo threw back his head and came with a short yell.

Viggo carefully pulled out and flopped onto his back. Orlando lay next to him, eyes closed. “You okay?” Orlando asked.

“Yes.” Viggo lay perfectly still, his mind a swirl of thoughts.

“Still missing the rat bastard?”

“Yes. No,” Viggo corrected quickly. Orlando smiled, eyes still closed.

“Lonely, are you?”

“Yes,” Viggo admitted softly.

“Using me, then?”

“Not in the way you think,” Viggo said. He wasn’t ready to admit to anyone that he needed a muse to be able to work.

“Who’s better in bed?” Orlando asked, turning and propping himself up on an elbow.

“You, of course,” Viggo said immediately, and Orlando laughed that infectious laugh.

“You’re a liar,” he said, and Viggo silently agreed. In a way, he was. The actual act was better with Orlando, but with Sean there was more. More attachment. “Ya know, you still have time. Wanna do something else?”

“I don’t think I could handle it,” Viggo said, glancing down at his body. “You wore me out.”

“You’re not that old,” Orlando teased.

Viggo went into the bathroom to clean himself up. He brought back a wet cloth for Orlando, who nodded his thanks. “Why do you do this during the day? I thought it was a nighttime profession,” Viggo said, blushing slightly.

Orlando shrugged. “Nicer people during the day, less police…and I can keep a better eye on Elijah this way. He prefers the day.”

“Oh.” Viggo desperately wanted to know what had driven this young, beautiful boy to a life of selling himself, but he knew it would be out of line. “Are you hungry?”

“I could eat,” Orlando said. “But I’m a vegetarian.”

Viggo jumped up and got dressed. He quickly whipped up an omelet, throwing in onions, green peppers and tomatoes. “Here.” He put the plate on his tiny kitchen table. Orlando put on his pants and sat down.

“This is good,” Orlando said with his mouth full. Viggo nodded, his fingers itching to grab his sketchbook. He finally settled for a pencil and a napkin. “What’re you drawing?”

“You,” Viggo said. He held up the napkin. Orlando saw the quick sketch of himself.

“Man, I eat like a pig,” he said, laughing.

“You’re gorgeous, you know that?” Viggo said, feeling like an idiot. Orlando put down his fork.

“You know this is just business, right, love?” Orlando asked gently. “You’re not courting me, or whatever.”

“Of course I know that,” Viggo snapped. “I sold a painting for about a quarter of its worth just to fuck you. Would I do that for someone I was ‘courting,’ as you say?”

“No, mate, I guess not.” Orlando finished his food. “So. I’ll be going, then.”

“Fine.” Viggo sat at the table. He didn’t look as Orlando got dressed and went out the door. “Dammit,” he said to himself, slapping the table. He put the dishes in the sink and headed for his art supplies.