vigorli

Title: Rosso Luna

Author: Bwitched83uk (bwitched83uk@aol.com)

Rating: NC-17 overall.

Pairing: Viggo/Orli

Summary: AU. An artist who has lost his inspiration travels to Rome to find himself again, where he meets a young English man who will help him find his muse.

Disclaimer: This story is complete lies. This never happened. I do not know these men, nor claim to. This is a work of complete fiction for your enjoyment, I make no money from it.

Beta: The betalicious Soar38 *Kisses*

Archive: www.geocites.com/b_witched83uk

www.livejournal.com/users/bwitched83uk

Feedback: Makes Viggo and Orli horny.

Chapter 3

Viggo awoke the next morning to a persistent ringing coming from underneath his pillow. He opened his eyes and reached for the offending phone, briefly wondering why the hell the phone was under his pillow.

"Hello."

Viggo’s heart sank and he found himself instantly fully awake. "Chris. What’s up?"

He listened to his wife talk for a moment, looking over and stroking the snoring dog beside him. She was drunk already, he could tell that by the slight slurring of her speech. She was probably still drunk from last night.

"I really don’t care, Chris, it’s up to you." He got out of bed and walked over to the closed curtains, pulling them back to let the sunlight in. "No, no. I’m, uh, I’m actually going to drive up to Paris… Yeah, I know it’s a long drive, but I figured it would be nice to see the countryside." He went into the bathroom and pulled his toothbrush out of the holder. He stopped and smiled at it for a moment, thinking of Orlando brushing his teeth with this very brush.

"Yeah, I know. Did Henry call? He did, huh?" He chuckled at Henry’s description of ‘The Camp Too Evil For Satan Himself.'

"He always was an imaginative boy. He’ll love it, he’s only been there a week." Viggo suddenly remembered why the phone had been under his pillow. Orlando had called him and insisted on saying goodnight to Maude, he had even made Viggo give her a kiss for him.

"Alright, Chris, I’ll call you in a few days. I said I don’t care, you choose. It’s just a fucking carpet, not rocket science." He hung up the phone and tossed it onto the hamper. He cleaned his teeth and splashed some water on his face before going into the bedroom to get dressed.

~~~~~~~~~~

Viggo looked down at the notebook in his hand and frowned at the words he had just written. He took another sip of his strong espresso and looked out over the park. The morning sun was glittering on the lake and people, natives and tourists, were lazing about on the bank.

He looked back down at his notebook and made a few adjustments.

He looked through the looking glass,

And saw another him;

With the light of summer morning in his eyes.

He saw the man he might have been,

Had winter not come early.

Beside him was a river,

Flowing backwards,

Erasing all the travelled roads from his face.

Taking him back to a simple place where he could re-choose his path.

"Oh my God, you’re so cliché, man."

Viggo’s head whipped up to see Orlando standing behind him. The younger man had spotted him on his way to work, to pick up his pay check, and had snuck over to his friend, who was sat cross legged on the grass.

Viggo frowned at Orlando as the younger man sat beside him.

"The middle-aged American, wondering what the fuck he’s done with his life." Orlando held out his half-smoked cigarette to Viggo who took it and just held it between his fingers.

"The way I see it, you’re forty-one, you’ve maybe got another forty-one years left in you so don’t fucking waste them. Don’t sit in a park writing self-pitying poetry, take a pretty, young boy out to lunch and let him show you the sights." Orlando stood with a grin and held out his hand to Viggo, who couldn’t help but smile and take it. "You are, after all, in Rome, and there’s nowhere better for sightseeing than Rome."

~~~~~~~~

Viggo put down his espresso, his third of the day, and made a conscious decision not to drink anymore. It was late afternoon and they had stopped at a little café Orlando knew. Viggo couldn’t believe that someone so slender could put so much food away. Orlando had literally stopped at every chance he got, to fill his face.

They had been to all the typical sights, jam-packed with the usual tourists.

Orlando was currently licking the cream out of the centre of an éclair. Viggo watched, hypnotised, as the young man’s tongue dipped slowly into the creamy filling. Orlando looked like he was having sex, and really enjoying it too. He had never in his life seen someone enjoy food so much as Orlando, who looked like he was about to come in his pants from the sublime taste. The American was desperately trying to ignore the fact that his own pants were feeling distinctly tighter around the crotch.

"So," Orlando said, his tongue darting out to lick the corner of his mouth. "Are you inspired yet?"

Viggo looked into the melted chocolate that were Orlando’s eyes and smiled. "I’m getting there."

"Well," Orlando said as he licked his fingers clean before tossing some notes onto the table and standing up. "Let’s see if I can’t help get you all the way there."

~~~~~~~~~~

Two hours later, Viggo found himself trying to control his breathing as Orlando stripped in front of him, in his small bedroom. Orlando had decided that if Viggo had come to Italy to be inspired, then he should start by channelling the late greats of Italy, such as Botticelli or Michelangelo, and that had somehow led to Orlando being naked on his bed, draped provocatively with red silk that they had bought from a market stall.

"Think Venus Di Milo, as Aphrodite comes up out of the sea on that oyster shell," Orlando told him as he lay back and raised one of his arms above his head.

Viggo couldn’t help but have flashbacks to Titanic, if Orlando had been playing Rose he would have liked the movie a whole lot more.

Walking over to the bed, Viggo smoothed out the red silk and rearranged it to his liking. He took Orlando’s other hand and felt a searing heat shoot through his belly when the boy looked up at him through smouldering eyes and smiled at him.

"Um, put your other hand like this, yeah, rest it by your hip." He took some of the red silk and pulled it down slightly, so that the sensuous material just pooled loosely around his waist and hung off his hips. "And now stick one of your legs out and bend it at the knee a little… Beautiful."

Orlando smirked at Viggo. "So, what’s my story. This boy you’re painting, what’s your relationship with him?"

Viggo walked over to the canvas and licked his lips at the scene on his bed. How the fuck would he ever be able to sleep on that again?

"What do you mean?"

"Well, pretend we are in Venice, during the renaissance period. You’re the artist and I’m your… what? Subject? Lover? Boy toy? Rent boy?" Orlando grinned, loving the fact that he was able to make Viggo blush so easily.

Viggo coughed and looked down. "Well, um, lover... I guess. You’re still asleep after…" Viggo picked up his paintbrush and dipped it in to the sumptuous red paint.

"After what? You spent the entire night fucking me?" Orlando smirked again and closed his eyes.

"Fuck," Viggo whispered under his breath. Oh this was going to be one hell of a long evening.

At some point, Orlando had fallen asleep and moved his legs slightly, causing the silk to move lower, giving Viggo a glimpse of the dark curls between his legs. Viggo felt like crying, he felt such a weight in his chest. Was it his heart? Had it begun beating again?

He looked down at the God-like being on his bed. Not Aphrodite, but Adonis. It was cruel to tempt a man with such a gift only to have it snatched away so soon. Viggo wanted Orlando, he wanted him like he wanted to be able to breathe again, but he had made his choices a long time ago and there was no going back.

The ringing of the phone woke Orlando with a start, and abruptly he sat up. Viggo tore his eyes away from the adorable expression of confusion on Orlando’s face and reached over to answer the phone.

"Hello," he answered, his eyes instantly going back to Orlando. "Hey, Kiddo." Viggo’s face brightened and his tone changed as he spoke to his son.

"Yeah, your mum told me. It’ll get better. You’ll love it once you give it a go. Come on, it’s your last chance to be a kid before college starts. Give it another week, then we’ll see. Yeah, she’s okay," he lied. "She called this morning."

Orlando looked at Viggo and realised he was talking to his son. He certainly hadn’t expected Viggo to have a son. He caught Viggo’s attention and gestured to the door, asking Viggo if he wanted him to go and give him some privacy.

Viggo shook his head and smiled at him. "Yeah, I love you too, Henry. I’ll check in on her tomorrow, I promise. Bye."

He put the phone down and looked over at Orlando sheepishly. "My son," he explained unnecessarily.

Orlando nodded, an amused smile on his face. "Wow, you have a son, that’s cool."

Viggo smiled back at him and nodded. "Yeah, he’s great."

"Any other kids?" Orlando asked.

"No, just Henry."

"How old was he when you and his mum got divorced? How did he handle everything?" Orlando asked, meaning ‘how did he handle the fact that you’re gay.’

Viggo just looked at him, alarmed, unsure of what to say. He wasn’t going to lie to Orlando, and it wasn’t like he had ever actually said he was single, or that there was anything going on between the two of them anyway. So, then why did he feel so bad when he told him the truth. "We didn’t, we’re still married."

Orlando stared at him, his face expressionless. "You mean you’re just separated?"

Viggo looked at him and felt his heart sink. He shook his head. "No, we’re still together."

After another long stare from Orlando, the young man slid out of the bed and started to dress himself. "Right."

"Where are you going? We haven’t finished-"

"We’ll finish another time. I’m such a twat, I completely forgot I have to work tonight." Orlando pulled on his jeans and shrugged his T-shirt on before walking over to the door. "Sorry. We’ll finish it another night."

With that the door slammed shut behind him and Viggo was left staring at an unkempt, silk-shrouded bed.

~~~~~~~~~~

Once outside Orlando walked faster than he knew he could. His breathing was laboured and he felt his heart beating furiously in his chest. He turned down an alleyway and punched the wooden fence. "Fuck!"

"I am such a twat." He rested his head against the fence and let it cool him. Viggo had never said he was gay, he had even been surprised when he found himself in a gay club, why the hell had Orlando just assumed that the man was gay? ‘Because of the way he looked at me’, he thought.

After the past few months with Marco, Orlando really didn’t need more drama in his life. He really didn’t want to go from being a masochist in an abusive, controlling relationship, to a bit on the side with an in-the-closet, middle-aged man.

He walked back to his small flat and cursed himself for always wearing his heart on his sleeve. He thought he would have learned his lesson by now.

TBC