Slippery Slope 5/?
Aug. 15th, 2005 08:11 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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vigorliTitle: Slippery Slope
Chapter: 5/?
Author: Rocketbalm
Pairing: OB/VM
Rating: PG-13ish for language
Summary: A friendship grows. A sleepless night. A secret revealed but not understood.
Content/warnings: AU
Spoilers: None.
Disclaimer: A work of my modestly twisted mind -- complete fiction. Never happened. Don’t know these people, sadly all in my imagination.
Chapter 5
The two men sat like that for a long time: Orlando’s head on Viggo’s shoulder, curled into his body as if in search for warmth; and Viggo’s hand on his slender waist, barely touching as if he feared he would not be able to stop. Viggo wondered what the younger man was thinking or if he was thinking at all, his body so still against his own. The older man’s mind raced: part of him wanted to gather the slender form and carry him upstairs, strip him naked and worship every inch of the lightly burnished skin and bury his face in the mass off unruly curls; the other part of him wanted to run as far and as fast as he could. Everything about this young man made his mind and body hum with life, made him want to touch and be touched, something that hadn’t happened in years. Yet the possibility of the boy’s addiction stopped him cold. The metallic taste of fear tinged his pallet as he swallowed hard trying to focus, knowing that addiction in his life had almost killed him – hell, it had almost killed Sean. His body stiffened at the memory he fought to suppress.
Orlando slowly became aware of the change in the body next to him. Viggo had gone rigid and felt wooden, instead of the warm cocoon like embrace that he had curled himself into. Unsure what the change meant or how to react to it, Orlando lift his head and scanned the profile next to him, detecting a fleeting look of anguish he whispered “Viggo?”
Viggo turned to look at the young man and smiled – how could he not, the wild curls, sleepy look and furrowed brow. “hmm?” he murmured. “Just thinking, probably not a good thing considering neither of us has finished breakfast yet, and I’m sure your coffee is cold by now.” He rushed to fill the silence. “How about I make a fresh pot or would you prefer tea? I should probably call Brian or Mike and let them know where you are.” He disentangled himself and headed toward the kitchen. A confused Orlando watched him go. “Um, tea would be great. I think I’ll just have a shower and be back down before the teas’ finished steeping.” He hurried upstairs adjusting the softening bulge in his pants as he went.
When he came back down to the kitchen Viggo was just pouring the tea and talking on the phone to Mike. Pushing the mug toward Orlando he motioned for him to take the phone. Orlando shook his violently; no he wasn’t up to talking to Mike yet. He certainly didn’t need someone else telling him how stupid he was. Viggo frowned and told Mike that Orlando would call him later. “You know you’re going to have to talk to him, he just wants to help. It’s his job to help.” After he had hung up.
“Look I don’t need some else telling what a stupid git I am. It’s bad enough that I have to face Dom and Lijah later”. Morosely Orlando leaned on the counter and sipped his tea.
“I don’t know, sounds like you have some really good people supporting you. Good friends, and well even though he’s gone Hollywood, I’ve known Mike for years and he’s got a good heart.” Viggo added not wanting to get into another argument with the moody youngster.
“Yeah, well right now I just don’t want to face anyone all right? So don’t worry about me, just do whatever you were going to do today and I’ll, I don’t know, sit and read, stare at the mountains or something.” His tone was decidedly dejected.
Viggo studied Orlando for a long time. Wondering who had made him feel so unworthy and insecure and if they were the reason that he had started to over-medicate. Viggo froze. If Orlando was addicted it wasn’t something Viggo could help with, no matter how much he wanted to reach out to him, this battle was too dangerous, too familiar. He forced himself to stop analyzing Orlando and put on a smile. “The only thing I had planned today was time in the studio and well, really don’t feel much like working. So I was thinking that maybe I could drive you around, show you the town from the insides of Brian’s gas guzzling SUV. That way you wouldn’t be seen but I could show off the little community I call home.” He let his smile grow into what he hoped was an encouraging grin.
Orlando looked up from his tea. “Really? I’d like that. Then maybe you could explain how you know Sean and why the hell I didn’t know that.” His comment was more self deprecating than accusatory.
“Great. Now in all those bags you brought, did you bring anything that resembles appropriate footwear for winter weather? And maybe a proper winter jacket? Gloves?” Viggo teased.
Orlando had the good graces to look sheepish. “I just kind of threw things into bags, thinking more of a night on the town than a day on the slopes. I guess when I’m free to wander the streets again I’ll have to buy some gear.”
"Yeah well, until then, what size are your feet? I probably have something that will work. Jackets I have a few spare so that’s not a problem.” Viggo jumped off his stool and wandered into the back mudroom, pulling out boots and jackets in a flurry of activity. Finding something suitable they both dressed and stepped outside into the crisp cold air of the Canadian winter. Orlando looked down the long steep drive and understood Viggo’s concern with him trying to navigate it. The drive was daunting enough to keep all but the most skilled winter drivers from attempting it, let alone any pesky press types that tried to find him.
Viggo grinned when he saw Orlando’s reaction. “It’s enough to keep the wolves at bay don’t you think? I pay the neighbour’s kid to keep it shoveled and salted; it’s a pretty good arrangement, though sometimes I miss the exercise you get from shoveling. Out back there’s a little trail that leads to the slopes making this place truly ski in/ski out. If I’m not picking up much, I don’t even drive to the village. A backpack and my skis is all I need most days.”
Orlando turned to look at him in amazement. “How do you get back? Surely you don’t hike?”
“Nah, the Magic chair runs until 10 at night for night skiing.” He pointed to a thin cable of the chair lift in the distance. “That and my season’s pass pretty much keep me out of my vehicle most of the time. In the summer I usually ride everywhere. The mountain biking is amazing out here.”
Orlando tried to imagine what it would be like living here; so close to everything yet almost isolated. Not driving but skiing or cycling to get around. Somehow he just couldn’t picture it being something he’d enjoy, though he could certainly see its advantages. He wondered silently if Sean had ever been here.
“So, um, has Sean been here?” he asked almost shyly.
“Yeah, Sean’s been here. Not often though, you know how he is about flying. I can usually get him to come if he’s within driving distance. Last time he was shooting in Seattle he came twice for a week. Not that he skis but he loves the village atmosphere and how no one bothers him. I wish he came more often, but I’ll take what I can get.” His smile soft with memories of his friend. “Come on, I promised to show you the town.” The two men climbed into the Landrover and navigated the driveway and slowly made there way toward the village.
“So, um, how long have you and Sean been… friends?” He asked almost nervously.
“That’s friends Orlando not f.r.i.e.n.d.s. I mean you know Sean well enough to know he’s not gay, right?” The question was asked with a quirked eyebrow.
“Well I thought so, but suddenly I was beginning to question everything, you know. I mean you get all soft and mushy when you talk about him, not that friends can’t be that way but I was, well, starting to wonder.”
Viggo chuckled. “I can see your point, though I think I’d use the word sentimental rather than ‘mushy’. Sean has been a good friend; I would do pretty much anything for him. Between Sean and Brian, I can pretty much say, they are the most important people in the world to me – and I haven’t slept with either of them. Not that it should matter.”
“It doesn’t. You still haven’t answered my question though.” Orlando persisted.
“Yeah well I guess I do owe you that much. There’s a view point over on the other side of the lake, why don’t we go there and I’ll tell you the whole boring story.”
“If it involves Sean, I can’t see how it could be boring.” He smiled and settled back to enjoy the view. The scenery outside the car was rather pleasant as well.
Viggo pulled up at a park overlooking a frozen lake. Children skated with parents, dogs chased Frisbees through the powder and sun glinted off the snow like diamonds. Viggo pointed out the names of the mountains and where you could see the peak of his roof across the lake and through the trees, before finally coming around to what Orlando really wanted to know.
“So you want to know about me and Sean huh? Let’s see, we met back in the early 80’s. I was in the UK for an artist exchange and he came to one of our shows. He was trying to impress some young thing that he picked up at RADA, even though he was married at the time. We started talking about art and then politics and before we knew it the show was closing his *date* was leaving with some performance artist and his bisexual girlfriend. Sean almost went with them just for the visual and we both got a big laugh out of that. We just clicked and became good friends. I went to two of his weddings, through three divorces – though he was with you in New Zealand for the third -- and I am godfather to Lorna. Guess that pretty much sums it up. Told you, not very exciting.” He looked off into the distance as if lost in the memories. Somehow Orlando sensed that he wasn’t being told everything and wasn’t sure he had a right to ask.
“Okay, you’ve known him forever. Hell I feel like I’ve known him forever. How is it that I don’t know about you? Why haven’t we ever met?” Orlando was puzzled and not sure he wanted to know the answer.
Viggo shrugged and said. “Maybe I’m not exciting enough for him to talk about. I don’t know -- you’ll have to ask him.”
“Right. Okay, well Dom said he’d met you, where was I? I feel like I’m missing something here.”
“I don’t know what to tell you Orlando. I don’t think Sean keeps me a secret. We live on two separate continents so it’s not like I just pop over for tea. I met Dom almost three years ago when I was staying with Sean in London for a few months. I think you were filming that Pirate movie. At any rate there’s no big conspiracy. Dom came over a few times to watch Soccer.”
“Football” Orlando automatically corrected.
“Yes, football. I’ve met all of the fellowship except for you and of course the one you’ve all excommunicated.” Viggo crunched his brow trying to remember the name.
“Stuart.” Orlando spit it out like it was venom.
“That’s right Stuart. Not likely I’ll be meeting him, so I guess I’ve met you all now.” Viggo studied Orlando closely. Sean had never told him why Stuart wasn’t considered part of the fellowship anymore but he was pretty sure that it had to with Orlando and suddenly he wondered if he was the one that did a number the younger man. As Viggo watched he could see Orlando’s body stiffen as if warding off unpleasant memories and then as if the effort was too much, his frame sagged and went practically limp. He reached into his pocket and fumbled with the pills Viggo knew were there.
“Do you think we can stop somewhere for lunch? I’m feeling a bit peckish.” Orlando flashed him a tight smile. “Thanks for filling me in. I’m sure Sean mentioned you I just think I would have remembered a name like Viggo, you know?”
“Well most of the time he calls me ‘Vig’ if that helps any.”
“Vig? He calls you Vig?”
“Yeah, pretty much always. Either that or wanker.” Viggo grinned hoping the nickname would lighten the mood.
“Yeah well that’s better than being Elf-boy.” Orlando paused, brow furrowed in contemplation. “I’m such an idiot. You’re Vic.” Orlando snorted.
“Not Vic, Vig.” Answered Viggo confused.
“You don’t understand. All this time, Sean has talked about his friend ‘Vig’, I thought he was saying ‘Vic”. You’re Vic.” By this time Orlando was laughing so hard tears were streaming down his face.
“I’m Vic? Fuck what a pair. Mae and Vic.” The two of them dissolved into fits of laughter solidifying the bond that had been starting to grow.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Orlando was confused. He lay in his bed listening to the sounds of a sleeping house, thinking about the day, about Viggo. The man intrigued him, captivated his imagination, and thoroughly confused him. In the brief time they had known each other he had totally confounded him on more than one occasion. His concern and kindness were apparent as was his ability to put him in his place and not take his bullshit. No one had tested him with their honesty for a long time; even Sean and the hobbits were more likely to let things slide and get him out of trouble since the whole mess back in New Zealand. Viggo was different, Viggo held him responsible made him feel capable – it scared him. It scared him to think he might let the older man down when he found out he was less than capable, that he wasn’t responsible. Somewhere on their short journey together what Viggo thought of him had come to matter.
Yet in spite of the natural honesty that came with every thing Viggo did, Orlando could sense that something wasn’t right. Not that Viggo was lying, it was more like he wasn’t revealing everything, he was holding back. Orlando knew he had no right to know, no right to ask; after all they had just met. He didn’t understand what drew him to the riddle or why he felt the need to understand he just knew that his body was restless trying to figure it out and until then sleep would be elusive.
He tried thinking of their day together, well the part after the disastrous beginning. The part that started with the two of them sitting together on the stairs, holding and being held, touching, that part. Orlando stroked himself absently before focusing his attention back on the day and off of the man; sort of. Spending the day with Viggo felt, well, normal. It was comfortable -- more than comfortable -- it was wonderful and scary and something he never knew he wanted. He enjoyed the ordinariness of it all; the lightness and good natured teasing when Dom and Elijah stopped by on their way to the another party; the unhurried routine that Viggo had in his kitchen cooking dinner; the pleasure he found in Viggo’s studio, surrounded by things that he had created. One of the biggest surprises of the day was Brian, his agent’s brother and Viggo’s close friend. He wasn’t what Orli would have expected, if in fact he had expected anything. He was warm, laid back, and made Orlando feel like an old friend. Orlando’s mind swam with inviting images of the two of them together with their friends, relaxed and happy. When they were alone, they talked about everything and nothing, exchanged stories about Sean, discussed politics and family. Their conversation was always light even in serious subjects and though he felt the bonds of friendship form, Orlando came back to what he didn’t know. He saw the fleeting looks of anguish, of pain; the far off stares when he thought Orlando wasn’t watching, the occasional flinch at an accidental touch and the way Brain kept looking at him as if he was checking to see if he was okay. It was driving him mad; he was just going to screw up his courage to ask.
Still stroking his semi-hard member he glanced at his watch, 12:26 AM. Still a long time until morning. He closed his eyes and gave in to what he really wanted to do – to release the pressure that had been building all day. He slipped into the realm of fantasy where he was desirable and wanted, where Viggo would want him, where his touch wouldn’t be hesitant, but sure and firm. Their mouths, hungry for each other, would taste and explore, nibble and bite their way across the topology of every hard muscle and sharp angle, teasing until their passion overwhelmed them. Orlando arched into his fist, stifling a moan by biting his bottom lip when he heard the distinct sound of the pad of bare feet on hardwood of the stairs.
Orlando jerked his hand from his erection guiltily and listened, heart pounding in his throat; willing the footsteps to come to his bedside and at the same time terrified that they would. The loft had no door, just a wall that separated it from the hallway and the other room on the floor, allowing sound to travel and distort. The footsteps paused briefly at the top of the stairs before making their way down the hall into what Orlando knew was Viggo’s studio. Slowly Orlando’s was able to breathe normally again as his mind raced trying to remember if he had made any sounds during his late night wanking session, hoping like mad that he had been quiet. He could feel the warm flush of blood race to his face at the thought of Viggo catching him in the act and part of him wondered if he would have joined in. Fuck, he could feel himself swell and become hard again. He fought desperately fought the urge, knowing that Viggo could walk back any moment. Instead he lay there straining to hear anything at all.
After what seemed an eternity he glanced at his watch again, 1:03 AM. Maybe he should just go check and see if everything was all right. Maybe Viggo would want company; after all they both couldn’t sleep right? Convincing himself that this was a good idea he climbed out of bed and threw on a pair of well worn sweats.
Treading softly down the hallway he could see the door to the studio was slightly ajar, beckoning him. He reached the door and nudged it gently letting it swing open wide enough to accommodate his slender form. The studio was dark except for the puddle of moonlight that bathed the worn settee on which Viggo sat sketching furiously, his hand flying across the page, his body rigid and head bent in focused intensity. Orlando watched, leaning against the door frame not wanting to disturb the artists concentration, completely captivated with the sight before him.
After many minutes, the pencil stilled on the page and Viggo’s body seemed to slump in exhaustion. He stared at the sketch for a long moment before throwing it down next to him in, what seemed to be revulsion. A shudder ran through his frame and as he gazed sightless out the window before him, before he wrapped his arms around himself and slowly rocked back and forth. Alarmed, Orlando wanted to run and comfort him, yet he was afraid to startle the man. He stepped quietly inside the studio and whispered. “Viggo?”
As if in a trance, the artist turned his head, eyes momentarily out of focus trying to place the shadowy form in the doorway. Then in recognition he nodded. “Hey Orlando. Did I wake you?” He asked softly.
“No, I was awake, couldn’t sleep.” He started into the room not knowing if he would be welcomed to sit on the settee or not.
Viggo moved his notebook and carefully closed it to make room for Orlando. “No rest for the wicked I guess.” He teased.
“I hadn’t pegged you for wicked Vig, maybe a little crazy but never wicked.” He smiled softly as Viggo shrugged his shoulders. “Anything wrong?” he asked gently.
“hmm? Wrong? No, not wrong. Just an anniversary coming up and it’s one that I don’t particularly want to celebrate.” He answered distractedly.
“Can I help? That is, do you want to tell me about it?” He stammered. “What I mean is um, my mum always says that the weight of the problem becomes less of a burden when it’s shared.” He continued with a smile.
Viggo looked hard at him is if he was searching for something important, something that would help him with his decision. Finally he replied with a slight edge to his voice. “In that case I guess you’ll be wanting to ease your burden as well.”
Orlando took a deep breath not prepared to be put on the defensive. “Touché. So I guess we’re at a stalemate then.” His voice quavered with uncertainty of what would come next. He’d only wanted to help and now he felt as if he had crossed some line that he didn’t know existed. It took all his strength to stay there and not flee in embarrassment.
With a heavy sigh, Viggo clapped him gently on the back and stroked his neck beneath the hair the softly curled at the nape with his strong artist’s fingers. “I’m sorry Orlando. That wasn’t called for. I know you just wanted to help.” He gave what was supposed to be a reassuring expression, but came across as a sad and forlorn half smile. “Come on, we should probably get back to our beds. I’m sure I’ll be less of a bear in the morning. Besides, I have a squash game early so you’ll have the place to yourself, while I exercise my bad mood. Literally.” Giving Orlando’s neck one final caress, he rested his hand briefly on the younger man’s shoulder before moving to a paint splattered armoire and placed his notebook inside. “Come, I’ll walk you home.” He said with a teasing wink, offering his hand to help him off the settee.
After a moment, Orlando took the offered hand. Still shaken and unsure he didn’t notice that Viggo continued to hold his hand as they made their way down the hall to the top of the stairs and Orlando’s room. Pausing, they turned to face each other, and found themselves lost in a moment of awkwardness. “Well good night.” Orlando said hastily, not wanting to prolong the moment he tried to free his hand from Viggo’s.
Viggo held on a moment longer giving his hand a squeeze. “Thank you for your concern Orlando. I’m sorry I’m not much company right now.” He added almost shyly as he turned to go down the stairs, leaving Orlando longing for the warmth of his hand. Turning as he made his way down, he whispered. “Good night Orlando, pleasant dreams.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After a restless night Orlando woke with a start; he tossed and turned most of the night aching to know what was in the notebook, understanding he would be unable to resist the temptation to look -- well aware that if caught he could irreparably damage the tentative friendship they were building. Lost in thought, he could hear Viggo puttering downstairs and hoped he would be leaving shortly for his squash game before guilt overwhelmed him.
Finally he heard the door to the garage close softly and the sound of the garage door and vehicle leaving, filter upstairs. He lay there realizing that his next move could ruin a potentially important friendship in his life, always knowing what he would do regardless. A good ten minutes later, he figured that Viggo wouldn’t be returning and he rose cautiously feeling like a thief in the night and slipped into his sweats. Glancing over the banister nervously as if expecting Viggo to suddenly appear, he made his way down the hall and to the studio door. With a gentle push he opened the door and sealed his fate one way or the other. The sunlight streamed into the room, filling it with light and caressing dust motes that danced lazily in its beams. Taking a deep breath Orlando pressed forward barely catching an easel that almost fell as he brushed past, knocking several brushes clattering to the ground as the noise shouted in his ears. His breath catching in his throat he carefully walked to the armoire and opened its cavernous cabinet. Inside lay stacks of notebooks and sketchpads, some with pages dog eared and yellowed with age. The notebook he wanted was on top, slightly askew as if it were reaching out to be taken. He carefully removed it and closed the big wooden doors, moving slowly to the settee as if carrying the Holy Grail.
He sat stiffly looking a the book in his lap knowing he could still put it back without betraying any trust between the two of them. In his head he could hear *his* voice… // How could you Orlando, I trusted you. How will anyone ever trust you after this? // He shook his head to rid himself of his own demons, intent on finding out which demons haunted Viggo.
He thumbed through the pages of sketches and poems until he neared the end. The first sketch he recognized was one of himself. He gasped at the picture; he looked, well beautiful. He imagined that this is what others saw when they described him as such. His head tilted to one side, hair windswept and unruly, and a smile that lit his face and danced in his eyes. The detail was amazing and the effect breathtaking. Orlando flushed thinking how Viggo had drawn this from memory, capturing a beauty that he could not see in himself. With warm anticipation he turned the page to the next sketch and instead of beauty he found agony. Again the picture was of him, but far from beautiful. He looked pained, lonely and haggard, eyes deadened and desperate. Orlando nearly dropped the book as a wave of anger washed over him. Was this is how Viggo saw him or was it the first sketch or maybe both. Orlando was afraid to turn the last page but knew there was no turning back. He had always understood that the price he would pay for his deceit would be high, he just didn’t realize how high.
Taking a deep breath he turned the final page. The sketch was dark and ugly. Three figures were drawn in infinite detail. One was a man that looked similar to himself in colouring but the similarity ended there. The man looked evil as he wrestled with Viggo, the fingers of one hand clutching Viggo’s shirt the other encircled his waist and reached deep into the pocket. The figure of Viggo struggled to keep one hand clamped over the man’s mouth to keep him from speaking the other clutched over one ear as not to hear what was being said as he pushed the man toward the door. Deep in the shadow of the room, was the unmistakable figure of Sean, looking on the scene before him and giving it his benediction. The picture was awful, heart wrenching, a battle of wills where the losers very life was at stake. Along one side, a hastily written poem was scribbled.
In life’s struggle
to find balance
you stole from me
my faith, my trust, my love.
I shut your mouth to stop your lies
to find they still escape.
A thousand deaths,
one for each lie told
each day endured
without the touch
caress or comfort of another.
How many thousands more
before you’re banished from my soul.
He slammed the notebook shut and put it back where he found it, banging his knee on a low table knocking a canvass to the floor. Hurriedly he picked up the canvass and fled the room, shutting the door behind him. In the loft, Orlando’s hand shook as he composed himself as he suddenly remembered he hadn’t taken his pills yet that morning. More than anything he needed to feel the relief wash over him and wash away the hopelessness of the sketches that danced in his memory. The images that Viggo had created were so opposed to the gentle man he had come to think of as a friend. If anything, he had more questions than ever before. Only now he had the added burden of guilty knowledge.
TBC
Chapter: 5/?
Author: Rocketbalm
Pairing: OB/VM
Rating: PG-13ish for language
Summary: A friendship grows. A sleepless night. A secret revealed but not understood.
Content/warnings: AU
Spoilers: None.
Disclaimer: A work of my modestly twisted mind -- complete fiction. Never happened. Don’t know these people, sadly all in my imagination.
Chapter 5
The two men sat like that for a long time: Orlando’s head on Viggo’s shoulder, curled into his body as if in search for warmth; and Viggo’s hand on his slender waist, barely touching as if he feared he would not be able to stop. Viggo wondered what the younger man was thinking or if he was thinking at all, his body so still against his own. The older man’s mind raced: part of him wanted to gather the slender form and carry him upstairs, strip him naked and worship every inch of the lightly burnished skin and bury his face in the mass off unruly curls; the other part of him wanted to run as far and as fast as he could. Everything about this young man made his mind and body hum with life, made him want to touch and be touched, something that hadn’t happened in years. Yet the possibility of the boy’s addiction stopped him cold. The metallic taste of fear tinged his pallet as he swallowed hard trying to focus, knowing that addiction in his life had almost killed him – hell, it had almost killed Sean. His body stiffened at the memory he fought to suppress.
Orlando slowly became aware of the change in the body next to him. Viggo had gone rigid and felt wooden, instead of the warm cocoon like embrace that he had curled himself into. Unsure what the change meant or how to react to it, Orlando lift his head and scanned the profile next to him, detecting a fleeting look of anguish he whispered “Viggo?”
Viggo turned to look at the young man and smiled – how could he not, the wild curls, sleepy look and furrowed brow. “hmm?” he murmured. “Just thinking, probably not a good thing considering neither of us has finished breakfast yet, and I’m sure your coffee is cold by now.” He rushed to fill the silence. “How about I make a fresh pot or would you prefer tea? I should probably call Brian or Mike and let them know where you are.” He disentangled himself and headed toward the kitchen. A confused Orlando watched him go. “Um, tea would be great. I think I’ll just have a shower and be back down before the teas’ finished steeping.” He hurried upstairs adjusting the softening bulge in his pants as he went.
When he came back down to the kitchen Viggo was just pouring the tea and talking on the phone to Mike. Pushing the mug toward Orlando he motioned for him to take the phone. Orlando shook his violently; no he wasn’t up to talking to Mike yet. He certainly didn’t need someone else telling him how stupid he was. Viggo frowned and told Mike that Orlando would call him later. “You know you’re going to have to talk to him, he just wants to help. It’s his job to help.” After he had hung up.
“Look I don’t need some else telling what a stupid git I am. It’s bad enough that I have to face Dom and Lijah later”. Morosely Orlando leaned on the counter and sipped his tea.
“I don’t know, sounds like you have some really good people supporting you. Good friends, and well even though he’s gone Hollywood, I’ve known Mike for years and he’s got a good heart.” Viggo added not wanting to get into another argument with the moody youngster.
“Yeah, well right now I just don’t want to face anyone all right? So don’t worry about me, just do whatever you were going to do today and I’ll, I don’t know, sit and read, stare at the mountains or something.” His tone was decidedly dejected.
Viggo studied Orlando for a long time. Wondering who had made him feel so unworthy and insecure and if they were the reason that he had started to over-medicate. Viggo froze. If Orlando was addicted it wasn’t something Viggo could help with, no matter how much he wanted to reach out to him, this battle was too dangerous, too familiar. He forced himself to stop analyzing Orlando and put on a smile. “The only thing I had planned today was time in the studio and well, really don’t feel much like working. So I was thinking that maybe I could drive you around, show you the town from the insides of Brian’s gas guzzling SUV. That way you wouldn’t be seen but I could show off the little community I call home.” He let his smile grow into what he hoped was an encouraging grin.
Orlando looked up from his tea. “Really? I’d like that. Then maybe you could explain how you know Sean and why the hell I didn’t know that.” His comment was more self deprecating than accusatory.
“Great. Now in all those bags you brought, did you bring anything that resembles appropriate footwear for winter weather? And maybe a proper winter jacket? Gloves?” Viggo teased.
Orlando had the good graces to look sheepish. “I just kind of threw things into bags, thinking more of a night on the town than a day on the slopes. I guess when I’m free to wander the streets again I’ll have to buy some gear.”
"Yeah well, until then, what size are your feet? I probably have something that will work. Jackets I have a few spare so that’s not a problem.” Viggo jumped off his stool and wandered into the back mudroom, pulling out boots and jackets in a flurry of activity. Finding something suitable they both dressed and stepped outside into the crisp cold air of the Canadian winter. Orlando looked down the long steep drive and understood Viggo’s concern with him trying to navigate it. The drive was daunting enough to keep all but the most skilled winter drivers from attempting it, let alone any pesky press types that tried to find him.
Viggo grinned when he saw Orlando’s reaction. “It’s enough to keep the wolves at bay don’t you think? I pay the neighbour’s kid to keep it shoveled and salted; it’s a pretty good arrangement, though sometimes I miss the exercise you get from shoveling. Out back there’s a little trail that leads to the slopes making this place truly ski in/ski out. If I’m not picking up much, I don’t even drive to the village. A backpack and my skis is all I need most days.”
Orlando turned to look at him in amazement. “How do you get back? Surely you don’t hike?”
“Nah, the Magic chair runs until 10 at night for night skiing.” He pointed to a thin cable of the chair lift in the distance. “That and my season’s pass pretty much keep me out of my vehicle most of the time. In the summer I usually ride everywhere. The mountain biking is amazing out here.”
Orlando tried to imagine what it would be like living here; so close to everything yet almost isolated. Not driving but skiing or cycling to get around. Somehow he just couldn’t picture it being something he’d enjoy, though he could certainly see its advantages. He wondered silently if Sean had ever been here.
“So, um, has Sean been here?” he asked almost shyly.
“Yeah, Sean’s been here. Not often though, you know how he is about flying. I can usually get him to come if he’s within driving distance. Last time he was shooting in Seattle he came twice for a week. Not that he skis but he loves the village atmosphere and how no one bothers him. I wish he came more often, but I’ll take what I can get.” His smile soft with memories of his friend. “Come on, I promised to show you the town.” The two men climbed into the Landrover and navigated the driveway and slowly made there way toward the village.
“So, um, how long have you and Sean been… friends?” He asked almost nervously.
“That’s friends Orlando not f.r.i.e.n.d.s. I mean you know Sean well enough to know he’s not gay, right?” The question was asked with a quirked eyebrow.
“Well I thought so, but suddenly I was beginning to question everything, you know. I mean you get all soft and mushy when you talk about him, not that friends can’t be that way but I was, well, starting to wonder.”
Viggo chuckled. “I can see your point, though I think I’d use the word sentimental rather than ‘mushy’. Sean has been a good friend; I would do pretty much anything for him. Between Sean and Brian, I can pretty much say, they are the most important people in the world to me – and I haven’t slept with either of them. Not that it should matter.”
“It doesn’t. You still haven’t answered my question though.” Orlando persisted.
“Yeah well I guess I do owe you that much. There’s a view point over on the other side of the lake, why don’t we go there and I’ll tell you the whole boring story.”
“If it involves Sean, I can’t see how it could be boring.” He smiled and settled back to enjoy the view. The scenery outside the car was rather pleasant as well.
Viggo pulled up at a park overlooking a frozen lake. Children skated with parents, dogs chased Frisbees through the powder and sun glinted off the snow like diamonds. Viggo pointed out the names of the mountains and where you could see the peak of his roof across the lake and through the trees, before finally coming around to what Orlando really wanted to know.
“So you want to know about me and Sean huh? Let’s see, we met back in the early 80’s. I was in the UK for an artist exchange and he came to one of our shows. He was trying to impress some young thing that he picked up at RADA, even though he was married at the time. We started talking about art and then politics and before we knew it the show was closing his *date* was leaving with some performance artist and his bisexual girlfriend. Sean almost went with them just for the visual and we both got a big laugh out of that. We just clicked and became good friends. I went to two of his weddings, through three divorces – though he was with you in New Zealand for the third -- and I am godfather to Lorna. Guess that pretty much sums it up. Told you, not very exciting.” He looked off into the distance as if lost in the memories. Somehow Orlando sensed that he wasn’t being told everything and wasn’t sure he had a right to ask.
“Okay, you’ve known him forever. Hell I feel like I’ve known him forever. How is it that I don’t know about you? Why haven’t we ever met?” Orlando was puzzled and not sure he wanted to know the answer.
Viggo shrugged and said. “Maybe I’m not exciting enough for him to talk about. I don’t know -- you’ll have to ask him.”
“Right. Okay, well Dom said he’d met you, where was I? I feel like I’m missing something here.”
“I don’t know what to tell you Orlando. I don’t think Sean keeps me a secret. We live on two separate continents so it’s not like I just pop over for tea. I met Dom almost three years ago when I was staying with Sean in London for a few months. I think you were filming that Pirate movie. At any rate there’s no big conspiracy. Dom came over a few times to watch Soccer.”
“Football” Orlando automatically corrected.
“Yes, football. I’ve met all of the fellowship except for you and of course the one you’ve all excommunicated.” Viggo crunched his brow trying to remember the name.
“Stuart.” Orlando spit it out like it was venom.
“That’s right Stuart. Not likely I’ll be meeting him, so I guess I’ve met you all now.” Viggo studied Orlando closely. Sean had never told him why Stuart wasn’t considered part of the fellowship anymore but he was pretty sure that it had to with Orlando and suddenly he wondered if he was the one that did a number the younger man. As Viggo watched he could see Orlando’s body stiffen as if warding off unpleasant memories and then as if the effort was too much, his frame sagged and went practically limp. He reached into his pocket and fumbled with the pills Viggo knew were there.
“Do you think we can stop somewhere for lunch? I’m feeling a bit peckish.” Orlando flashed him a tight smile. “Thanks for filling me in. I’m sure Sean mentioned you I just think I would have remembered a name like Viggo, you know?”
“Well most of the time he calls me ‘Vig’ if that helps any.”
“Vig? He calls you Vig?”
“Yeah, pretty much always. Either that or wanker.” Viggo grinned hoping the nickname would lighten the mood.
“Yeah well that’s better than being Elf-boy.” Orlando paused, brow furrowed in contemplation. “I’m such an idiot. You’re Vic.” Orlando snorted.
“Not Vic, Vig.” Answered Viggo confused.
“You don’t understand. All this time, Sean has talked about his friend ‘Vig’, I thought he was saying ‘Vic”. You’re Vic.” By this time Orlando was laughing so hard tears were streaming down his face.
“I’m Vic? Fuck what a pair. Mae and Vic.” The two of them dissolved into fits of laughter solidifying the bond that had been starting to grow.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Orlando was confused. He lay in his bed listening to the sounds of a sleeping house, thinking about the day, about Viggo. The man intrigued him, captivated his imagination, and thoroughly confused him. In the brief time they had known each other he had totally confounded him on more than one occasion. His concern and kindness were apparent as was his ability to put him in his place and not take his bullshit. No one had tested him with their honesty for a long time; even Sean and the hobbits were more likely to let things slide and get him out of trouble since the whole mess back in New Zealand. Viggo was different, Viggo held him responsible made him feel capable – it scared him. It scared him to think he might let the older man down when he found out he was less than capable, that he wasn’t responsible. Somewhere on their short journey together what Viggo thought of him had come to matter.
Yet in spite of the natural honesty that came with every thing Viggo did, Orlando could sense that something wasn’t right. Not that Viggo was lying, it was more like he wasn’t revealing everything, he was holding back. Orlando knew he had no right to know, no right to ask; after all they had just met. He didn’t understand what drew him to the riddle or why he felt the need to understand he just knew that his body was restless trying to figure it out and until then sleep would be elusive.
He tried thinking of their day together, well the part after the disastrous beginning. The part that started with the two of them sitting together on the stairs, holding and being held, touching, that part. Orlando stroked himself absently before focusing his attention back on the day and off of the man; sort of. Spending the day with Viggo felt, well, normal. It was comfortable -- more than comfortable -- it was wonderful and scary and something he never knew he wanted. He enjoyed the ordinariness of it all; the lightness and good natured teasing when Dom and Elijah stopped by on their way to the another party; the unhurried routine that Viggo had in his kitchen cooking dinner; the pleasure he found in Viggo’s studio, surrounded by things that he had created. One of the biggest surprises of the day was Brian, his agent’s brother and Viggo’s close friend. He wasn’t what Orli would have expected, if in fact he had expected anything. He was warm, laid back, and made Orlando feel like an old friend. Orlando’s mind swam with inviting images of the two of them together with their friends, relaxed and happy. When they were alone, they talked about everything and nothing, exchanged stories about Sean, discussed politics and family. Their conversation was always light even in serious subjects and though he felt the bonds of friendship form, Orlando came back to what he didn’t know. He saw the fleeting looks of anguish, of pain; the far off stares when he thought Orlando wasn’t watching, the occasional flinch at an accidental touch and the way Brain kept looking at him as if he was checking to see if he was okay. It was driving him mad; he was just going to screw up his courage to ask.
Still stroking his semi-hard member he glanced at his watch, 12:26 AM. Still a long time until morning. He closed his eyes and gave in to what he really wanted to do – to release the pressure that had been building all day. He slipped into the realm of fantasy where he was desirable and wanted, where Viggo would want him, where his touch wouldn’t be hesitant, but sure and firm. Their mouths, hungry for each other, would taste and explore, nibble and bite their way across the topology of every hard muscle and sharp angle, teasing until their passion overwhelmed them. Orlando arched into his fist, stifling a moan by biting his bottom lip when he heard the distinct sound of the pad of bare feet on hardwood of the stairs.
Orlando jerked his hand from his erection guiltily and listened, heart pounding in his throat; willing the footsteps to come to his bedside and at the same time terrified that they would. The loft had no door, just a wall that separated it from the hallway and the other room on the floor, allowing sound to travel and distort. The footsteps paused briefly at the top of the stairs before making their way down the hall into what Orlando knew was Viggo’s studio. Slowly Orlando’s was able to breathe normally again as his mind raced trying to remember if he had made any sounds during his late night wanking session, hoping like mad that he had been quiet. He could feel the warm flush of blood race to his face at the thought of Viggo catching him in the act and part of him wondered if he would have joined in. Fuck, he could feel himself swell and become hard again. He fought desperately fought the urge, knowing that Viggo could walk back any moment. Instead he lay there straining to hear anything at all.
After what seemed an eternity he glanced at his watch again, 1:03 AM. Maybe he should just go check and see if everything was all right. Maybe Viggo would want company; after all they both couldn’t sleep right? Convincing himself that this was a good idea he climbed out of bed and threw on a pair of well worn sweats.
Treading softly down the hallway he could see the door to the studio was slightly ajar, beckoning him. He reached the door and nudged it gently letting it swing open wide enough to accommodate his slender form. The studio was dark except for the puddle of moonlight that bathed the worn settee on which Viggo sat sketching furiously, his hand flying across the page, his body rigid and head bent in focused intensity. Orlando watched, leaning against the door frame not wanting to disturb the artists concentration, completely captivated with the sight before him.
After many minutes, the pencil stilled on the page and Viggo’s body seemed to slump in exhaustion. He stared at the sketch for a long moment before throwing it down next to him in, what seemed to be revulsion. A shudder ran through his frame and as he gazed sightless out the window before him, before he wrapped his arms around himself and slowly rocked back and forth. Alarmed, Orlando wanted to run and comfort him, yet he was afraid to startle the man. He stepped quietly inside the studio and whispered. “Viggo?”
As if in a trance, the artist turned his head, eyes momentarily out of focus trying to place the shadowy form in the doorway. Then in recognition he nodded. “Hey Orlando. Did I wake you?” He asked softly.
“No, I was awake, couldn’t sleep.” He started into the room not knowing if he would be welcomed to sit on the settee or not.
Viggo moved his notebook and carefully closed it to make room for Orlando. “No rest for the wicked I guess.” He teased.
“I hadn’t pegged you for wicked Vig, maybe a little crazy but never wicked.” He smiled softly as Viggo shrugged his shoulders. “Anything wrong?” he asked gently.
“hmm? Wrong? No, not wrong. Just an anniversary coming up and it’s one that I don’t particularly want to celebrate.” He answered distractedly.
“Can I help? That is, do you want to tell me about it?” He stammered. “What I mean is um, my mum always says that the weight of the problem becomes less of a burden when it’s shared.” He continued with a smile.
Viggo looked hard at him is if he was searching for something important, something that would help him with his decision. Finally he replied with a slight edge to his voice. “In that case I guess you’ll be wanting to ease your burden as well.”
Orlando took a deep breath not prepared to be put on the defensive. “Touché. So I guess we’re at a stalemate then.” His voice quavered with uncertainty of what would come next. He’d only wanted to help and now he felt as if he had crossed some line that he didn’t know existed. It took all his strength to stay there and not flee in embarrassment.
With a heavy sigh, Viggo clapped him gently on the back and stroked his neck beneath the hair the softly curled at the nape with his strong artist’s fingers. “I’m sorry Orlando. That wasn’t called for. I know you just wanted to help.” He gave what was supposed to be a reassuring expression, but came across as a sad and forlorn half smile. “Come on, we should probably get back to our beds. I’m sure I’ll be less of a bear in the morning. Besides, I have a squash game early so you’ll have the place to yourself, while I exercise my bad mood. Literally.” Giving Orlando’s neck one final caress, he rested his hand briefly on the younger man’s shoulder before moving to a paint splattered armoire and placed his notebook inside. “Come, I’ll walk you home.” He said with a teasing wink, offering his hand to help him off the settee.
After a moment, Orlando took the offered hand. Still shaken and unsure he didn’t notice that Viggo continued to hold his hand as they made their way down the hall to the top of the stairs and Orlando’s room. Pausing, they turned to face each other, and found themselves lost in a moment of awkwardness. “Well good night.” Orlando said hastily, not wanting to prolong the moment he tried to free his hand from Viggo’s.
Viggo held on a moment longer giving his hand a squeeze. “Thank you for your concern Orlando. I’m sorry I’m not much company right now.” He added almost shyly as he turned to go down the stairs, leaving Orlando longing for the warmth of his hand. Turning as he made his way down, he whispered. “Good night Orlando, pleasant dreams.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After a restless night Orlando woke with a start; he tossed and turned most of the night aching to know what was in the notebook, understanding he would be unable to resist the temptation to look -- well aware that if caught he could irreparably damage the tentative friendship they were building. Lost in thought, he could hear Viggo puttering downstairs and hoped he would be leaving shortly for his squash game before guilt overwhelmed him.
Finally he heard the door to the garage close softly and the sound of the garage door and vehicle leaving, filter upstairs. He lay there realizing that his next move could ruin a potentially important friendship in his life, always knowing what he would do regardless. A good ten minutes later, he figured that Viggo wouldn’t be returning and he rose cautiously feeling like a thief in the night and slipped into his sweats. Glancing over the banister nervously as if expecting Viggo to suddenly appear, he made his way down the hall and to the studio door. With a gentle push he opened the door and sealed his fate one way or the other. The sunlight streamed into the room, filling it with light and caressing dust motes that danced lazily in its beams. Taking a deep breath Orlando pressed forward barely catching an easel that almost fell as he brushed past, knocking several brushes clattering to the ground as the noise shouted in his ears. His breath catching in his throat he carefully walked to the armoire and opened its cavernous cabinet. Inside lay stacks of notebooks and sketchpads, some with pages dog eared and yellowed with age. The notebook he wanted was on top, slightly askew as if it were reaching out to be taken. He carefully removed it and closed the big wooden doors, moving slowly to the settee as if carrying the Holy Grail.
He sat stiffly looking a the book in his lap knowing he could still put it back without betraying any trust between the two of them. In his head he could hear *his* voice… // How could you Orlando, I trusted you. How will anyone ever trust you after this? // He shook his head to rid himself of his own demons, intent on finding out which demons haunted Viggo.
He thumbed through the pages of sketches and poems until he neared the end. The first sketch he recognized was one of himself. He gasped at the picture; he looked, well beautiful. He imagined that this is what others saw when they described him as such. His head tilted to one side, hair windswept and unruly, and a smile that lit his face and danced in his eyes. The detail was amazing and the effect breathtaking. Orlando flushed thinking how Viggo had drawn this from memory, capturing a beauty that he could not see in himself. With warm anticipation he turned the page to the next sketch and instead of beauty he found agony. Again the picture was of him, but far from beautiful. He looked pained, lonely and haggard, eyes deadened and desperate. Orlando nearly dropped the book as a wave of anger washed over him. Was this is how Viggo saw him or was it the first sketch or maybe both. Orlando was afraid to turn the last page but knew there was no turning back. He had always understood that the price he would pay for his deceit would be high, he just didn’t realize how high.
Taking a deep breath he turned the final page. The sketch was dark and ugly. Three figures were drawn in infinite detail. One was a man that looked similar to himself in colouring but the similarity ended there. The man looked evil as he wrestled with Viggo, the fingers of one hand clutching Viggo’s shirt the other encircled his waist and reached deep into the pocket. The figure of Viggo struggled to keep one hand clamped over the man’s mouth to keep him from speaking the other clutched over one ear as not to hear what was being said as he pushed the man toward the door. Deep in the shadow of the room, was the unmistakable figure of Sean, looking on the scene before him and giving it his benediction. The picture was awful, heart wrenching, a battle of wills where the losers very life was at stake. Along one side, a hastily written poem was scribbled.
In life’s struggle
to find balance
you stole from me
my faith, my trust, my love.
I shut your mouth to stop your lies
to find they still escape.
A thousand deaths,
one for each lie told
each day endured
without the touch
caress or comfort of another.
How many thousands more
before you’re banished from my soul.
He slammed the notebook shut and put it back where he found it, banging his knee on a low table knocking a canvass to the floor. Hurriedly he picked up the canvass and fled the room, shutting the door behind him. In the loft, Orlando’s hand shook as he composed himself as he suddenly remembered he hadn’t taken his pills yet that morning. More than anything he needed to feel the relief wash over him and wash away the hopelessness of the sketches that danced in his memory. The images that Viggo had created were so opposed to the gentle man he had come to think of as a friend. If anything, he had more questions than ever before. Only now he had the added burden of guilty knowledge.
TBC
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Date: 2020-05-23 05:43 pm (UTC)