vigorli

author: zebraljb
rating: up to nc17
disclaimer: this is au, but nothing is known truly about viggo and/or orlando's personalities or preferences
note: written for the vo_xmas challenge asking for an au christmas story where Orlando is the top

Viggo left work around six, heading for home to change clothes. He also changed cars, trading in the chauffeured Cadillac for his older sports car. It was slightly beat up, totally lived in, and one of his favorite possessions on the planet. He drove to his usual eating place, his heart rolling from his stomach to his throat and back again. He told himself that the diner was convenient, that it was good food for a good price. Bullshit, he argued in his mind as he turned into the parking lot. You’re here to see Orlando.

Orlando was one of the servers in the tiny restaurant, and he was the reason Viggo left the office with a spring in his step four nights a week. He forced himself to stay out of the restaurant a few nights; no need for anyone to think anything odd. He made sure, though, that the nights he stayed away were Orlando’s nights off. Orlando was about twenty years his junior, with a long lithe body, sparkling dark eyes, and riotous brown curls that framed his slender face, bouncing when he laughed. Orlando was beauty personified, and seemed to be a genuinely nice person, something Viggo saw very rarely in his line of work. Orlando didn’t KNOW Viggo’s line of work, didn’t know that Viggo was number twenty on the list of wealthiest people in the United States. Orlando thought Viggo was an artist named Peter. That wasn’t an EXACT lie; Viggo’s middle name WAS Peter, and he WAS an artist. He did need his art to live, or he’d go insane. He didn’t need it for a living, and that was where he had fibbed slightly.

The restaurant was packed, but it was open until eleven, and Viggo had nothing to do that night. Wild horses wouldn’t have dragged him away from the chance to see Orlando, but he didn’t admit that to himself. He mentally groaned, for Orlando’s sake, when he saw Sean Astin behind the register. The manager was an annoying ass-kisser who seemed determined to find a reason to get rid of Orlando. Viggo secretly thought it was because Sean was jealous; all eyes went to Orlando, whether male or female. Sean was always nice to Viggo, though, due to the fact that he was a VERY regular customer. Sean also knew that Viggo preferred Orlando to wait on him, basically because Viggo had hinted once that one of the waitresses, Kate, tended to flirt with him a bit too much. It wasn’t true; she flirted madly with Orlando, NOT with him, but Viggo didn’t tell Sean that.

“Evening,” Sean said with a smile.

“I’ll seat myself,” Viggo said. “I see you’re busy.” He grabbed a menu and headed for the back corner, where he could see Orlando involved with a group of loud and obnoxious men. He opened up the magazine he had brought along, shrugging off his coat. He could wait. He’d wait forever for one smile from Orlando.

Orlando said a silent prayer of thanks when the group of men finally left the restaurant. He looked around his section, eyes widening when he realized that Peter was sitting at a table with only his tea and water. “Fuck.” He quickly warmed up the corn muffin, ladled out some chili, and hurried back. “I’m so sorry, Peter. I got caught up and…”

“Relax.” Peter briefly touched Orlando’s hand. “I had a big lunch. No hurry.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “Anything else right now?”

“More hot water when you swing by again, and that’s it.” Peter put the paper napkin on his lap and picked up his spoon. Orlando nodded, and couldn’t find any other reason to linger.

He went back to the empty table, thankful that the restaurant was emptying out. He cleared silverware and glasses, pushing the money onto a small pile. And after everything was said and done, that’s all it was: a small pile. The bill was over sixty dollars, which, taken at 15%, should have left him with at least an eight dollar tip. He counted out four dollars in change, sadly sliding it into the palm of his hand. “Mother FUCKERS,” Orlando growled to himself. He finished cleaning the table, wiped and set it, and went back to Peter, pasting a sunny smile on his face. “How’s the chili?”

“Good, as usual.” Peter looked around the restaurant. “Did I chase everyone away?”

“If that’s true, I could kiss you for it,” Orlando said, then blushed. “I, I mean, no, of course not.” He moved away before his foot could slide into his mouth any further.

Viggo watched the back table run Orlando a bit more before they finally left. He watched Orlando clean off the table, then slide the change into his hand, counting it as he went. He read Orlando’s lips, frowning at the obvious expletive. Viggo wasn’t surprised; they didn’t look like really big spenders. Orlando came back to check on him, saying something about kissing him when Viggo asked if he’d chased everyone away. Viggo didn’t notice much after that, except that Orlando turned bright red once the words were out of his mouth. His mind automatically went to the idea of kissing Orlando, hands twining up through those curls. Viggo was grateful for the napkin over his lap. His cock had jumped to immediate and needy attention at the simple thought.

He finished his chili and sipped at his tea, waiting for Orlando to come back. Orlando reappeared a few minutes later and cleared away his bowl. “Anything else?”

Viggo glanced at the clock on the wall behind Orlando. Almost eight. He knew that Orlando worked until close, normally not getting out of the restaurant until eleven-thirty on a weeknight. He knew this because, unknown to Orlando, Viggo often sat in the parking lot in his car, making sure that Orlando made it safely into his well-worn Toyota. There was something about Orlando that made Viggo want to reach out and hold him close, protecting him from the world. Not that Orlando was helpless or naïve; it was just the way Viggo felt about him. It would embarrass him to death if Orlando knew.

“What kind of pie do you have?”

“Pie?” Orlando stared at him blankly. Peter never ordered dessert.

“Yes, pie. You know.” Peter smiled up at him teasingly. “Pie. That stuff with a bottom crust, and then some sort of filling, and then a topping, maybe another crust, or crumbs, or cream?”

“Yes, I know pie. Sorry. I just…” Orlando laughed out loud, a merry sound. “You’re all about surprises tonight, aren’t you?”

Peter shrugged. “So. What kind?”

“Apple, cherry, blueberry, peach. Pumpkin, mincemeat, peanut butter. Coconut cream, coconut custard, banana cream.”

“What do you recommend?” Peter propped his chin in one hand, gazing up at Orlando.

Orlando felt as if he could get lost in that gaze. “Uh, well, I’m into cream pies myself. The, uh, banana looks good.”

“Then that’s what I’ll have. And more hot water and another teabag.”

“Of course.” Orlando hurried off to the pie case.

“You know, we’d like to get out of here before tomorrow,” Sean whispered. “Quit flirting and get your sidework done.”

“Sean, I’m not…” Orlando counted to ten. Though no one knew for a fact that he was gay, it had never really come up, and he wasn’t about to start anything now, especially with his manager. “Of course.”

He sliced an abnormally large piece of pie for Peter, making sure to hide it from Sean, who kept a close eye on cost. He grabbed a handful of teabags and another pot of hot water. “Jesus,” Peter gasped when he set down the plate.

“It’s on the house,” Orlando said, turning to glare at his manager’s back. “Merry Christmas.”

“Thank you. Wow, Orlando, I’m gonna gain a ton, thanks to you.” But Peter dug his fork in and took a bite. “Mm…you weren’t lying,” he said, a look of bliss on his face.

Orlando watched him eat, wanting nothing more than to lick the little bit of cream from Peter’s lips. “Glad you like it,” he said weakly.

“So, speaking of Christmas.” Peter steeped his teabag. “Going back to England?”

“No. I’d love to, because I haven’t been back in three years, but it’s just too damn expensive.” Orlando watched Sean head for the back office before he leaned against the other side of Peter’s booth. “I’ll just hang at home, probably. Watch old movies or something.”

“That sounds fantastic. I LOVE old black and whites,” Peter said.

“How about you?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “I’m duty bound to visit my mother, but after that, I think I’ll follow your example and curl up in front of the TV. I don’t normally watch the thing, but old movies are an exception.” He smiled up at Orlando.

“Well, I have a ton of work to do if I want to get out of here before Christmas,” Orlando said. He slid the check to the table, face down. “Have a nice night, Peter.”

“You, too, Orlando, and if I don’t see you, Merry Christmas.”

“Same to you.” Orlando paused for one last moment, then went back to the kitchen. He didn’t want to watch Peter leave the restaurant.

Viggo watched Orlando’s retreating form, sighing at the way the black dress pants hugged the slim waist. He finished his pie and picked up the check. He threw down a bill without even looking at the total, and then went to pay.

“You have a nice holiday,” Sean told him, giving him his change.

“You, too,” Viggo said automatically. He went out to his car and started it. He pulled around the side of the building near the employee parking, underneath one of the lights. He shut off the engine and pulled out his magazine. Every once in a while he’d turn on the car to get some heat, but otherwise he simply sat and waited for Orlando to finish work.