Sight Unseen (02)
Aug. 1st, 2005 06:53 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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vigorliSight Unseen (02) by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
okinay
Pairing: Vig/Orli
Rating: NC17
Beta: My other half –piedpiperme
Disclaimer: Ever heard the song 'Cotton Eyed Joe'? It's all BULLSHIT!
Summary: An accidental wrong number changes the course of two men's lives.
Chapter 2
The next morning, Orlando walked into the Brighton Ski Resort office and checked the board for his assignments. He had a beginners group, ages eight to twelve, scheduled for 9:30, and then a private advanced lesson slated that afternoon for 1:15. He quickly checked the name on the private lesson form to see if he recognized it, but no such luck. He loved it when his previous students came back to pick up where they had left off. It might have been a month or two later, or maybe a year, but either way, it put a smile on his face.
The morning class passed quickly, as it always did with a beginners group. After the standard safety speech, he showed everyone how to check their equipment, making sure that their bindings were tight and their boots laced properly, made sure they had both ski gloves. Once he was satisfied that everyone was ready, he gathered up his students and over to the starter slope they went. As with all beginners, they spent more time in the snow instead of gliding on top, but when everyone returned to the resort before noon, all agreed that they had a good time. He could hear the kids babbling excitedly to their parents about some of the things they had learned. A couple of them managed to traverse the entire beginners slope without falling, and for someone just starting out, no matter how old you were, that was a great accomplishment.
After a quick lunch at the grill, he went back to the office to wait for his student. Casey Adams, age twenty-three, was an excellent snowboarder and Orlando found himself watching the way his body twisted and turned as he manipulated the board through the rough terrain they were covering. Orlando followed the blur down the mountainside, his mind recording their entire run. At the end, when they slid safely to the rail, he pointed out a few places where Casey could improve, and back up the lift they went. They made three additional runs, and when they unhooked their bindings later that afternoon, both Orlando and Casey felt they had a very productive afternoon.
As a repayment of sorts, Casey invited Orlando to join himself and some friends at Club Vortex, a members-only nightclub in the city. For a few moments, he had given the invitation some serious thought. Casey was a good looking guy and even if things didn’t work out with them, since he had no idea what the other man’s preferences were, there were always others at the club he could pull, but Orlando found himself politely declining the invitation as he had to work the next day.
It had nothing to do with a phone call that may – or may not – come later that night.
~*~
Viggo spent the majority of the day outside as well. He managed to get a path cleared from the cabin to the barn and spent time with his equine friends, cleaning out stalls, replenishing food and water, and grooming each one. He briefly wondered if his new – friend? – enjoyed horseback riding. He would make a note to ask what his hobbies were the next time he called.
And call he would. He wanted to find out more about the person he spoke to last night, as much as he could. He was attracted to him, of that there was no doubt, and he wondered what opinion the other man held of him.
*Probably thinks I’m some crazy person who dials random numbers when I get bored,* he thought to himself as he finished up his chores in the barn.
As he went back to the house, he gathered more firewood and stacked it by the front door, and then went inside. A stranger’s face looked up at him from the sketchpad lying on the coffee table and he wondered, not for the first time, if he *had* lost his mind.
He had enjoyed their second phone call last night more than he probably should have, but it felt nice to just let go and be himself, minus a few pertinent details. The other man’s cryptic parting words haunted him and it was maddening to know that he was no closer to figuring out exactly what ‘neighbor’ meant now than he was when he finally drifted off to sleep last night.
It was one thing he hoped to rectify tonight.
~*~
“I was wondering how long you would wait,” Orlando said into the receiver that was currently lodged between his cheek and shoulder.
“You sound funny,” Viggo offered. “What are you doing?”
Orlando snorted. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Well, yeah, I asked, didn’t I?” the older man threw back.
“Oh, there are *so* many ways I could answer that,” the young man said with a grin. “But it’s not late enough for some of them.” Viggo’s stomach clenched at the thought of what some of them could be. “Actually, I’m making a sandwich. And before you ask what kind, it’s a ham and cheese sandwich. And I’m using wheat bread,” he said as he slathered Miracle Whip across the two pieces lying on the counter.
Viggo leaned back against the arm of the swing, his right foot nestled in the cushion while his left one rocked him back and forth. “What time is it there?” he asked.
“Dinner time,” Orlando quipped and called him on it. “I know what you’re doing.”
“So you’re a mind reader. Then tell me, oh great seer, what am I thinking right now?” he taunted.
“You’re trying to figure out exactly where I am.”
“Besides the kitchen, of course,” Viggo offered.
“Well that goes without saying.”
“Last night you said ‘neighbor’ before hanging up, which could mean one of several things. First, you know where I am …”
“Yep, Idaho, youdaho,” Orlando interrupted as he returned the jar to the refrigerator.
Viggo continued on as if the other person hadn’t said anything. “So the term could mean one of three things. One, you’re in the same city as I am, which is highly doubtful because I live in the middle of nowhere; two, you’re in the same state as I am; or three, you live in one of the surrounding states. How am I doing?”
“Didn’t ask,” Orlando said after taking a bite of his sandwich. “Sorry about that. So, how are you doing?”
“Smart ass,” Viggo said with a smile.
“You’ve given this quite a bit of thought, haven’t you?”
Viggo nodded, as if he could be seen. “Honestly, it’s been driving me up the wall since we hung up last night.”
“I really hope you didn’t lose any sleep over it,” Orlando said before taking another bite.
Before Viggo could answer, an owl screeched somewhere in the distance and Orlando heard it through the phone.
“What in the bloody hell was that?”
“Owl.”
“Sounded like someone screaming, if you ask me,” the young man offered.
“There’s a parliament of Boreal owls that live in a stand of cedars about fifty yards from my cabin. They can be quite vocal when stirred up. And before you decide to interject your crazy thoughts, no, they do not have a Prime Minister, House of Commons, House of Lords, or anything of that nature.”
Orlando snickered quietly. “Well, of course they wouldn’t. They live in America, not the United Kingdom.”
Viggo dropped the receiver from his ear and shook his head. This one was definitely a hand full. *No, don’t go there,* he thought. His body began to shake as the laughter welled up inside of him until he could contain it no more.
Several hundred miles away, Orlando sat at his dinner table and listened to the caller’s voice as he laughed, and wished that he could see him. The laugh was full and strong, and he imagined someone who was solidly built, but not overly so like a lumberjack. Those guys were just … Orlando shivered at the thought. Gross.
When he finally recovered, Viggo picked up the phone again.
“Sorry about that,” he said with a sigh. “I haven’t laughed like that in I can’t tell you how long.”
“Well, glad to know you’re getting your money’s worth for this call,” Orlando said as he rinsed off his empty plate and left it in the sink.
“So now, where were we?” Viggo said as he settled back against the swing again.
“You were trying to figure out exactly where I am,” Orlando said as he moved into the living room and opened the vertical blinds, his sienna gaze taking in the lights of the city. “The weather report said we’re in for several inches of new snow tonight.”
“Not really helping,” Viggo offered.
“I could turn this into something sexual and say that you’re on top of me,” Orlando said with a grin.
Viggo’s cock twitched at the thought. “You could, but don’t you think we need to introduce ourselves first, before we jump to that point?”
“Orlando.”
“You’re in Florida? Bullshit. It doesn’t snow in Florida,” Viggo said as he shook his head.
Orlando laughed as he settled himself on the couch. He hadn’t bothered with any lights and the soft glow from his porch light filtered into the room.
“No, you wanker. That’s my name,” he said as he propped his feet up on the coffee table.
Viggo said the name several times to himself and liked the way it felt, liked the way his tongue brushed the roof of his mouth on the second syllable.
“What? No comments from the peanut gallery about my name?” he asked.
What could Viggo say? Absolutely nothing because his own name was just as odd, but he couldn’t tell Orlando that. He knew if he said his name was ‘Viggo’, he was fairly certain the young man would figure it out. He could use his middle name, but if it ever came around to last names, he was screwed there as well. So he offered up the next best thing – one of his character’s names.
“Nope. None from me,” he said as he slowly rocked the swing. “My name is David.”
“Can I call you Davey?” Orlando teased.
“Not if you expect me to answer.”
Orlando propped his left foot on the seat of the couch and rested his hand on his knee. “So we have David from Idaho.”
“And Orlando from somewhere below me,” Viggo supplied. “Care to be a bit more specific?”
The young man sighed. “Yeah, okay. I live in Utah.”
“Yep, I’m on top of you,” Viggo said with a smile.
“Not yet you’re not,” Orlando quipped.
Viggo laughed quietly. “You know, I didn’t call you for phone sex, Orlando.”
“Maybe not, but it could be fun. You got me pretty worked up last night.”
Viggo did NOT need to be reminded of the soft sounds that filtered through the phone during their conversation the night before. He took a few deep breaths and tried to get the conversation back on track. “As much as I’d love to, I’m not going there again. I …”
What should he say? That he’d been thinking of him all day? That that soft, accented voice made him harder than stone?
“At the risk of sounding cheesy, I just want to get to know you,” he settled on. “You seem like a very charming young man who has a wicked sense of humor. After spending all my time around my horses, it’s nice to have some human interaction, even if it’s over the telephone.”
“God, it’s been forever since I rode a horse. Not since I moved here, I know that much. How many do you have?” Orlando excitedly asked.
Viggo breathed a sigh of relief that he had managed to get Orlando’s mind away from sex, at least for the time being. From that point on, they opened up a bit more and talked about their hobbies. Viggo was a bit dismayed to find that Orlando seemed to love doing things that put his life in danger. Throwing himself out of a perfectly good airplane was not something Viggo would ever entertain doing, never mind dangling from a bridge with what amounted to a huge rubber band tied to his ankles. Snowboarding and surfing were Orlando’s passions, though, and Viggo was suddenly glad that he had not sold his condo in Venice Beach.
Orlando learned that Viggo spent his free time riding, painting or sketching and was surprised to hear that the other man owned not one horse, but three, and figured he must be good at what he did. He wondered if the artist was good at *everything* he did.
From there, the conversation bounced from topic to topic and before they realized it, two hours had disappeared. Since the first time Viggo had heard the intoxicating voice, one question plagued the older man, but he was afraid that if he asked, Orlando would hang up on him, and that was not something he wanted to risk. But in the end, he decided to take a chance, seeing as what he was doing was chancy, at best, anyway.
“I know this is going to sound weird, but what do you look like?” Viggo asked and then held his breath.
The question was unexpected and it caught Orlando by surprise. “What do…what do I look like?”
He fell silent for a bit and Viggo thought that he had indeed scared the young man off.
“Why do you want to know?” he asked, his voice different now; softer than it had been before. Viggo recognized it from last night when Orlando was teasing him. This was his bedroom voice and it would be the death of Viggo, he was sure of it.
“Just answer the question, Orlando,” Viggo said, exasperation tinting his voice.
Orlando chuckled into the phone. “Can’t blame a guy for trying. So yeah, you want to know what I look like. Well, obviously I’m a guy,” he teased and heard the groan through the handset. “How specific do you want me to get?”
“Okay, let me go first then,” Viggo offered.
“Hey! What if I don’t want to know what you look like? What if I want to keep the image I have in my head?” he asked, knowing full-well that he wanted to know what the other man looked like, but was going to torture him just the same.
“Tough. If you don’t want to hear, then don’t listen,” Viggo said before describing himself as best as he could. “I have what some would call sandy-blonde hair and blue eyes, medium build, five-eleven and weigh about two-ten. I work out when I can, but the chores I do around here keep me fit.” He purposefully did not mention the scar on his upper lip. It was something else that would give him away.
“Not too bad,” Orlando said and then tried to describe himself. “Like you, I’m five-eleven, but I weigh somewhere around one-eighty, so I’m a bit on the thin side, but my job keeps me in shape, although I do work out at the resort a few times a week. I’ve got brown hair that has a mind of its own. Oh, and I have brown eyes.”
Viggo closed his eyes and revised his picture of Orlando in his mind. “Nice,” he whispered. As soon as they hung up, he would make a new sketch of his friend from the description he had just been given.
Now it was Orlando’s turn to catch Viggo off-guard. “How old are you, David?” he asked. He knew the man was older than himself and that didn’t matter. He was just curious.
Viggo closed his eyes and laid his head back on the swing. This would probably be it. “Older than you,” he offered.
Orlando was chewing on his thumbnail, something he did when he was nervous. “Yeah, but how much? I’m twenty-eight.”
“Does it matter how old I am?” Viggo asked.
“No. I’ve had lovers who were older. I was just curious, yeah? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
Viggo’s stomach lurched at the word Orlando had just used. He knew the young man didn’t mean anything by it, but still …
“How old do you think I am?” Viggo asked.
“I’m taking a wild guess here but I’d say in your forties?” the brunette enquired.
“Ever had a lover that old before?”
“Um, no. I think the oldest one was in his late thirties. And I really shouldn’t call them lovers, because it wasn’t a relationship. Well, not a proper one. Just a few shags, you know?”
“Been there and done that. Listen, it’s getting late and I have to get up early - chores and all that,” Viggo said as he slowly rose from the padded swing and stretched, his unused joints protesting.
“You don’t have anyone there to help out?”
“Nope, just me and the horses.”
“And don’t forget the parliament,” Orlando teased.
“And the parliament,” Viggo repeated.
“Get some sleep, David,” he said, not really wanting to end their conversation.
“You too, Orlando,” Viggo said as he opened the door and slipped back into the warmth of the house.
“Wait! Before you hang up, you never answered my question,” Orlando chided.
Viggo smiled. “How about we save that for next time?”
A matching smile spread across Orlando’s face. “So will there be a next time?”
“I’d like for there to be, if that’s okay with you,” Viggo answered softly as he leaned back against the wall.
Orlando nodded. “Yeah, I think I’d like that too.”
Viggo’s heart soared. “Until tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” Orlando parroted before disconnecting the call. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of the couch. “Bloom, I really hope you know what in the hell you are doing.”
He shook his head and slowly stood. “Not a fucking clue, mate, but whatever it is, it’s … nice. Oh great, now I’m talking to myself … and answering! I must be nutters,” he said as he made his way into the bedroom.
TBC
okinayPairing: Vig/Orli
Rating: NC17
Beta: My other half –
piedpipermeDisclaimer: Ever heard the song 'Cotton Eyed Joe'? It's all BULLSHIT!
Summary: An accidental wrong number changes the course of two men's lives.
Chapter 2
The next morning, Orlando walked into the Brighton Ski Resort office and checked the board for his assignments. He had a beginners group, ages eight to twelve, scheduled for 9:30, and then a private advanced lesson slated that afternoon for 1:15. He quickly checked the name on the private lesson form to see if he recognized it, but no such luck. He loved it when his previous students came back to pick up where they had left off. It might have been a month or two later, or maybe a year, but either way, it put a smile on his face.
The morning class passed quickly, as it always did with a beginners group. After the standard safety speech, he showed everyone how to check their equipment, making sure that their bindings were tight and their boots laced properly, made sure they had both ski gloves. Once he was satisfied that everyone was ready, he gathered up his students and over to the starter slope they went. As with all beginners, they spent more time in the snow instead of gliding on top, but when everyone returned to the resort before noon, all agreed that they had a good time. He could hear the kids babbling excitedly to their parents about some of the things they had learned. A couple of them managed to traverse the entire beginners slope without falling, and for someone just starting out, no matter how old you were, that was a great accomplishment.
After a quick lunch at the grill, he went back to the office to wait for his student. Casey Adams, age twenty-three, was an excellent snowboarder and Orlando found himself watching the way his body twisted and turned as he manipulated the board through the rough terrain they were covering. Orlando followed the blur down the mountainside, his mind recording their entire run. At the end, when they slid safely to the rail, he pointed out a few places where Casey could improve, and back up the lift they went. They made three additional runs, and when they unhooked their bindings later that afternoon, both Orlando and Casey felt they had a very productive afternoon.
As a repayment of sorts, Casey invited Orlando to join himself and some friends at Club Vortex, a members-only nightclub in the city. For a few moments, he had given the invitation some serious thought. Casey was a good looking guy and even if things didn’t work out with them, since he had no idea what the other man’s preferences were, there were always others at the club he could pull, but Orlando found himself politely declining the invitation as he had to work the next day.
It had nothing to do with a phone call that may – or may not – come later that night.
~*~
Viggo spent the majority of the day outside as well. He managed to get a path cleared from the cabin to the barn and spent time with his equine friends, cleaning out stalls, replenishing food and water, and grooming each one. He briefly wondered if his new – friend? – enjoyed horseback riding. He would make a note to ask what his hobbies were the next time he called.
And call he would. He wanted to find out more about the person he spoke to last night, as much as he could. He was attracted to him, of that there was no doubt, and he wondered what opinion the other man held of him.
*Probably thinks I’m some crazy person who dials random numbers when I get bored,* he thought to himself as he finished up his chores in the barn.
As he went back to the house, he gathered more firewood and stacked it by the front door, and then went inside. A stranger’s face looked up at him from the sketchpad lying on the coffee table and he wondered, not for the first time, if he *had* lost his mind.
He had enjoyed their second phone call last night more than he probably should have, but it felt nice to just let go and be himself, minus a few pertinent details. The other man’s cryptic parting words haunted him and it was maddening to know that he was no closer to figuring out exactly what ‘neighbor’ meant now than he was when he finally drifted off to sleep last night.
It was one thing he hoped to rectify tonight.
~*~
“I was wondering how long you would wait,” Orlando said into the receiver that was currently lodged between his cheek and shoulder.
“You sound funny,” Viggo offered. “What are you doing?”
Orlando snorted. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Well, yeah, I asked, didn’t I?” the older man threw back.
“Oh, there are *so* many ways I could answer that,” the young man said with a grin. “But it’s not late enough for some of them.” Viggo’s stomach clenched at the thought of what some of them could be. “Actually, I’m making a sandwich. And before you ask what kind, it’s a ham and cheese sandwich. And I’m using wheat bread,” he said as he slathered Miracle Whip across the two pieces lying on the counter.
Viggo leaned back against the arm of the swing, his right foot nestled in the cushion while his left one rocked him back and forth. “What time is it there?” he asked.
“Dinner time,” Orlando quipped and called him on it. “I know what you’re doing.”
“So you’re a mind reader. Then tell me, oh great seer, what am I thinking right now?” he taunted.
“You’re trying to figure out exactly where I am.”
“Besides the kitchen, of course,” Viggo offered.
“Well that goes without saying.”
“Last night you said ‘neighbor’ before hanging up, which could mean one of several things. First, you know where I am …”
“Yep, Idaho, youdaho,” Orlando interrupted as he returned the jar to the refrigerator.
Viggo continued on as if the other person hadn’t said anything. “So the term could mean one of three things. One, you’re in the same city as I am, which is highly doubtful because I live in the middle of nowhere; two, you’re in the same state as I am; or three, you live in one of the surrounding states. How am I doing?”
“Didn’t ask,” Orlando said after taking a bite of his sandwich. “Sorry about that. So, how are you doing?”
“Smart ass,” Viggo said with a smile.
“You’ve given this quite a bit of thought, haven’t you?”
Viggo nodded, as if he could be seen. “Honestly, it’s been driving me up the wall since we hung up last night.”
“I really hope you didn’t lose any sleep over it,” Orlando said before taking another bite.
Before Viggo could answer, an owl screeched somewhere in the distance and Orlando heard it through the phone.
“What in the bloody hell was that?”
“Owl.”
“Sounded like someone screaming, if you ask me,” the young man offered.
“There’s a parliament of Boreal owls that live in a stand of cedars about fifty yards from my cabin. They can be quite vocal when stirred up. And before you decide to interject your crazy thoughts, no, they do not have a Prime Minister, House of Commons, House of Lords, or anything of that nature.”
Orlando snickered quietly. “Well, of course they wouldn’t. They live in America, not the United Kingdom.”
Viggo dropped the receiver from his ear and shook his head. This one was definitely a hand full. *No, don’t go there,* he thought. His body began to shake as the laughter welled up inside of him until he could contain it no more.
Several hundred miles away, Orlando sat at his dinner table and listened to the caller’s voice as he laughed, and wished that he could see him. The laugh was full and strong, and he imagined someone who was solidly built, but not overly so like a lumberjack. Those guys were just … Orlando shivered at the thought. Gross.
When he finally recovered, Viggo picked up the phone again.
“Sorry about that,” he said with a sigh. “I haven’t laughed like that in I can’t tell you how long.”
“Well, glad to know you’re getting your money’s worth for this call,” Orlando said as he rinsed off his empty plate and left it in the sink.
“So now, where were we?” Viggo said as he settled back against the swing again.
“You were trying to figure out exactly where I am,” Orlando said as he moved into the living room and opened the vertical blinds, his sienna gaze taking in the lights of the city. “The weather report said we’re in for several inches of new snow tonight.”
“Not really helping,” Viggo offered.
“I could turn this into something sexual and say that you’re on top of me,” Orlando said with a grin.
Viggo’s cock twitched at the thought. “You could, but don’t you think we need to introduce ourselves first, before we jump to that point?”
“Orlando.”
“You’re in Florida? Bullshit. It doesn’t snow in Florida,” Viggo said as he shook his head.
Orlando laughed as he settled himself on the couch. He hadn’t bothered with any lights and the soft glow from his porch light filtered into the room.
“No, you wanker. That’s my name,” he said as he propped his feet up on the coffee table.
Viggo said the name several times to himself and liked the way it felt, liked the way his tongue brushed the roof of his mouth on the second syllable.
“What? No comments from the peanut gallery about my name?” he asked.
What could Viggo say? Absolutely nothing because his own name was just as odd, but he couldn’t tell Orlando that. He knew if he said his name was ‘Viggo’, he was fairly certain the young man would figure it out. He could use his middle name, but if it ever came around to last names, he was screwed there as well. So he offered up the next best thing – one of his character’s names.
“Nope. None from me,” he said as he slowly rocked the swing. “My name is David.”
“Can I call you Davey?” Orlando teased.
“Not if you expect me to answer.”
Orlando propped his left foot on the seat of the couch and rested his hand on his knee. “So we have David from Idaho.”
“And Orlando from somewhere below me,” Viggo supplied. “Care to be a bit more specific?”
The young man sighed. “Yeah, okay. I live in Utah.”
“Yep, I’m on top of you,” Viggo said with a smile.
“Not yet you’re not,” Orlando quipped.
Viggo laughed quietly. “You know, I didn’t call you for phone sex, Orlando.”
“Maybe not, but it could be fun. You got me pretty worked up last night.”
Viggo did NOT need to be reminded of the soft sounds that filtered through the phone during their conversation the night before. He took a few deep breaths and tried to get the conversation back on track. “As much as I’d love to, I’m not going there again. I …”
What should he say? That he’d been thinking of him all day? That that soft, accented voice made him harder than stone?
“At the risk of sounding cheesy, I just want to get to know you,” he settled on. “You seem like a very charming young man who has a wicked sense of humor. After spending all my time around my horses, it’s nice to have some human interaction, even if it’s over the telephone.”
“God, it’s been forever since I rode a horse. Not since I moved here, I know that much. How many do you have?” Orlando excitedly asked.
Viggo breathed a sigh of relief that he had managed to get Orlando’s mind away from sex, at least for the time being. From that point on, they opened up a bit more and talked about their hobbies. Viggo was a bit dismayed to find that Orlando seemed to love doing things that put his life in danger. Throwing himself out of a perfectly good airplane was not something Viggo would ever entertain doing, never mind dangling from a bridge with what amounted to a huge rubber band tied to his ankles. Snowboarding and surfing were Orlando’s passions, though, and Viggo was suddenly glad that he had not sold his condo in Venice Beach.
Orlando learned that Viggo spent his free time riding, painting or sketching and was surprised to hear that the other man owned not one horse, but three, and figured he must be good at what he did. He wondered if the artist was good at *everything* he did.
From there, the conversation bounced from topic to topic and before they realized it, two hours had disappeared. Since the first time Viggo had heard the intoxicating voice, one question plagued the older man, but he was afraid that if he asked, Orlando would hang up on him, and that was not something he wanted to risk. But in the end, he decided to take a chance, seeing as what he was doing was chancy, at best, anyway.
“I know this is going to sound weird, but what do you look like?” Viggo asked and then held his breath.
The question was unexpected and it caught Orlando by surprise. “What do…what do I look like?”
He fell silent for a bit and Viggo thought that he had indeed scared the young man off.
“Why do you want to know?” he asked, his voice different now; softer than it had been before. Viggo recognized it from last night when Orlando was teasing him. This was his bedroom voice and it would be the death of Viggo, he was sure of it.
“Just answer the question, Orlando,” Viggo said, exasperation tinting his voice.
Orlando chuckled into the phone. “Can’t blame a guy for trying. So yeah, you want to know what I look like. Well, obviously I’m a guy,” he teased and heard the groan through the handset. “How specific do you want me to get?”
“Okay, let me go first then,” Viggo offered.
“Hey! What if I don’t want to know what you look like? What if I want to keep the image I have in my head?” he asked, knowing full-well that he wanted to know what the other man looked like, but was going to torture him just the same.
“Tough. If you don’t want to hear, then don’t listen,” Viggo said before describing himself as best as he could. “I have what some would call sandy-blonde hair and blue eyes, medium build, five-eleven and weigh about two-ten. I work out when I can, but the chores I do around here keep me fit.” He purposefully did not mention the scar on his upper lip. It was something else that would give him away.
“Not too bad,” Orlando said and then tried to describe himself. “Like you, I’m five-eleven, but I weigh somewhere around one-eighty, so I’m a bit on the thin side, but my job keeps me in shape, although I do work out at the resort a few times a week. I’ve got brown hair that has a mind of its own. Oh, and I have brown eyes.”
Viggo closed his eyes and revised his picture of Orlando in his mind. “Nice,” he whispered. As soon as they hung up, he would make a new sketch of his friend from the description he had just been given.
Now it was Orlando’s turn to catch Viggo off-guard. “How old are you, David?” he asked. He knew the man was older than himself and that didn’t matter. He was just curious.
Viggo closed his eyes and laid his head back on the swing. This would probably be it. “Older than you,” he offered.
Orlando was chewing on his thumbnail, something he did when he was nervous. “Yeah, but how much? I’m twenty-eight.”
“Does it matter how old I am?” Viggo asked.
“No. I’ve had lovers who were older. I was just curious, yeah? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
Viggo’s stomach lurched at the word Orlando had just used. He knew the young man didn’t mean anything by it, but still …
“How old do you think I am?” Viggo asked.
“I’m taking a wild guess here but I’d say in your forties?” the brunette enquired.
“Ever had a lover that old before?”
“Um, no. I think the oldest one was in his late thirties. And I really shouldn’t call them lovers, because it wasn’t a relationship. Well, not a proper one. Just a few shags, you know?”
“Been there and done that. Listen, it’s getting late and I have to get up early - chores and all that,” Viggo said as he slowly rose from the padded swing and stretched, his unused joints protesting.
“You don’t have anyone there to help out?”
“Nope, just me and the horses.”
“And don’t forget the parliament,” Orlando teased.
“And the parliament,” Viggo repeated.
“Get some sleep, David,” he said, not really wanting to end their conversation.
“You too, Orlando,” Viggo said as he opened the door and slipped back into the warmth of the house.
“Wait! Before you hang up, you never answered my question,” Orlando chided.
Viggo smiled. “How about we save that for next time?”
A matching smile spread across Orlando’s face. “So will there be a next time?”
“I’d like for there to be, if that’s okay with you,” Viggo answered softly as he leaned back against the wall.
Orlando nodded. “Yeah, I think I’d like that too.”
Viggo’s heart soared. “Until tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” Orlando parroted before disconnecting the call. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of the couch. “Bloom, I really hope you know what in the hell you are doing.”
He shook his head and slowly stood. “Not a fucking clue, mate, but whatever it is, it’s … nice. Oh great, now I’m talking to myself … and answering! I must be nutters,” he said as he made his way into the bedroom.
TBC
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Date: 2005-08-01 07:19 pm (UTC)Glad you're on board. Stay tuned because there's lots more to come!