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Nov. 8th, 2005 10:16 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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vigorliTitle: Devolution
Author: blurblely
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando
Rating: R for implied mansexin', but really only because I used the word "cock"
Warnings: See rating; plus mentions of Kate (but no real het content, because ew), made up words, cliches a-go-go. Oh and angst. :D
Disclaimer: It's all a lie of course. No harm meant.
Feedback: would be great.
Beta: *hangs head* No, therefore the horrid grammar.
Summary: Orlando broke up with Viggo and now he's metaphorically deaf. Damn, I hate it when that happens!
Author's note: Could be considered a companion piece to "Suffocation" if you want but only if you take into account that Orlando would have to have more thoughts in his head besides the requisite "duh" on constant loop, which is highly unlikely. Just kidding, just kidding. He's pretty AND smart. >:D Anyway, it's really just a one-off so you needn't read the other in order to understand this one.
Oh and I'm sorry for the last sentence in the story. It seems cliched and wrong and I really just want to keep adding stuff onto it like "and some rumply trousers. and grease. and a vapid bimbo who has nothing better to do than throw commands at him ad nauseum." So if you have a suggestion for a better ending sentence, I'm all ears. Ahem.
*****
Orlando never bothers to look at his trousers before he puts them on anymore. He usually either assumes that they’re clean enough or just doesn’t care enough to find a pair that isn’t rumpled. He doesn’t go out anymore, can’t be arsed, and if he does his hair is nearly always disheveled or slicked back with unnatural amounts of natural grease. Orlando wonders when his consciousness level started to completely crap out on him, wonders when he stopped paying attention to or caring about his life in general. He remembers Kate telling him once how words would always go in one of his ears and out the other one, but now he doesn’t think words even go in his ears at all anymore. He thinks it must’ve started with Kate anyway, the hysterical deafness, because if she didn’t repeat herself at least five times a minute, then how would he know to get up in the morning or to wash himself or to fucking breathe if she didn’t remind him? And it didn't make sense to even tune in the first time when the rerun’s gonna be on in ten minutes anyway, so he just stopped listening.
But to be fair to Kate, if he really wants to know where his hearing and heart began to fail him, then he need look no further than Viggo. Viggo, with the crooked smile that makes at least thirty-three orthodontists plus Orlando drool. Viggo, with the golden hair long enough for his fingers to get lost in while his cock is busy losing itself someplace else. Viggo, who has millions of words, in assorted languages even, usually poetic and always wonderful. Viggo, who had everything for Orlando but the three words Orlando needed more than anything to hear.
Viggo wouldn’t speak, and in time, Orlando couldn’t hear.
Orlando couldn’t hear the words Viggo longed to say, couldn’t hear Viggo’s tears hit the pillow, couldn’t hear the fear in Viggo’s voice, begging him to stay. So Orlando left. So he fell in with a mother-hen type, someone to remind him to get up and face another shit-tastic day, someone to be blindingly bright and cheery, someone to be anyone other than Viggo. And now words just float off into the air around Orlando, and he might catch a snippet of a facial tic here, or the hint of a concerned brow there, but he never gets the main point anymore. And all he’s left with is a smile that never reaches his eyes.
Author: blurblely
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando
Rating: R for implied mansexin', but really only because I used the word "cock"
Warnings: See rating; plus mentions of Kate (but no real het content, because ew), made up words, cliches a-go-go. Oh and angst. :D
Disclaimer: It's all a lie of course. No harm meant.
Feedback: would be great.
Beta: *hangs head* No, therefore the horrid grammar.
Summary: Orlando broke up with Viggo and now he's metaphorically deaf. Damn, I hate it when that happens!
Author's note: Could be considered a companion piece to "Suffocation" if you want but only if you take into account that Orlando would have to have more thoughts in his head besides the requisite "duh" on constant loop, which is highly unlikely. Just kidding, just kidding. He's pretty AND smart. >:D Anyway, it's really just a one-off so you needn't read the other in order to understand this one.
Oh and I'm sorry for the last sentence in the story. It seems cliched and wrong and I really just want to keep adding stuff onto it like "and some rumply trousers. and grease. and a vapid bimbo who has nothing better to do than throw commands at him ad nauseum." So if you have a suggestion for a better ending sentence, I'm all ears. Ahem.
*****
Orlando never bothers to look at his trousers before he puts them on anymore. He usually either assumes that they’re clean enough or just doesn’t care enough to find a pair that isn’t rumpled. He doesn’t go out anymore, can’t be arsed, and if he does his hair is nearly always disheveled or slicked back with unnatural amounts of natural grease. Orlando wonders when his consciousness level started to completely crap out on him, wonders when he stopped paying attention to or caring about his life in general. He remembers Kate telling him once how words would always go in one of his ears and out the other one, but now he doesn’t think words even go in his ears at all anymore. He thinks it must’ve started with Kate anyway, the hysterical deafness, because if she didn’t repeat herself at least five times a minute, then how would he know to get up in the morning or to wash himself or to fucking breathe if she didn’t remind him? And it didn't make sense to even tune in the first time when the rerun’s gonna be on in ten minutes anyway, so he just stopped listening.
But to be fair to Kate, if he really wants to know where his hearing and heart began to fail him, then he need look no further than Viggo. Viggo, with the crooked smile that makes at least thirty-three orthodontists plus Orlando drool. Viggo, with the golden hair long enough for his fingers to get lost in while his cock is busy losing itself someplace else. Viggo, who has millions of words, in assorted languages even, usually poetic and always wonderful. Viggo, who had everything for Orlando but the three words Orlando needed more than anything to hear.
Viggo wouldn’t speak, and in time, Orlando couldn’t hear.
Orlando couldn’t hear the words Viggo longed to say, couldn’t hear Viggo’s tears hit the pillow, couldn’t hear the fear in Viggo’s voice, begging him to stay. So Orlando left. So he fell in with a mother-hen type, someone to remind him to get up and face another shit-tastic day, someone to be blindingly bright and cheery, someone to be anyone other than Viggo. And now words just float off into the air around Orlando, and he might catch a snippet of a facial tic here, or the hint of a concerned brow there, but he never gets the main point anymore. And all he’s left with is a smile that never reaches his eyes.
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Date: 2005-11-09 10:22 pm (UTC)