Look to the West where the Ocean is, 1:2

[romi.livejournal.com]

Title: Look to the West where the Ocean is (1:2/3). Post too big for lj; for part 1:1 go here

Author: romika

Beta: Scarrlett, evil_scarrlett, the one person who has stood behind me from the beginning of this adventure; trusted me, told me to cool off sometimes, held my hand when storms raged. I love you.

Pairing: Viggorli but there is something else in this fic too.

Rating: NC 17

Summary: AU. Orlando is a young Brit who lives in Santa Barbara, California; sometimes he wonders what he is doing there. 

Disclaimer: This is not for real, it is just the name, "Real Person Slash" that is real around here.

Feedback: Yes if you like

Warning: Warnings: A pairing that is... not Viggorli is included but includes one of them.

Notes: dalehead came up with the original idea for this fic and xandrinuccia made the icon.

 

Look to the west where the ocean is (1:2)

It was hotter now despite the fact that it was late afternoon. Orlando walked slowly over to old mister Mortensen’s garden. He had the pale pink t shirt on and his jeans, they were a bit too posh to go with the t shirt really but maybe the Mortensens wouldn’t notice.

 

In his hands were the glasses of lemonade, and Orlando let out a small sigh of relief when he saw that the old neighbor had indeed joined his son on the porch that was being repaired; he was the thought receiver of the other drink. Orlando saw the son too, of course, but he tried not to look too much at the squatting man with his back

 

His naked back, the skin sweaty, the muscles tensing when he used the arms

 

Bent over the lowest step in the set of stairs.

 

“See, what have we here- Orlando!” old mister Mortensen said cheerfully. Orlando smiled at him and held hard onto the glasses when Viggo turned around and saw him coming too. Orlando was there now, next to them, and his brown eyes were wide open and intensely happy but his mouth was silent and the two men Mortensen looked at him and probably waited for him to say something.

 

Viggo stood up or he had when Orlando came up to them; he put his head to his side and wiped his brow with his lower arm; he smiled and he had a little mirthful frown in his face

 

…his chest was as muscular as Orlando had thought in the kitchen before, the hair on it was silky and Orlando saw the pecs and he even saw the nipples that were pink on the suntanned skin and they sat there under the hair

 

And Orlando reached out his arms.

 

“Lemonade,” he said. “Do you want some lemonade? It is very hot outside.”

 

~

 

They spoke about things. Old mister Mortensen first complemented Orlando on his lemonade and then he mocked Orlando and Viggo because they had not thought about the ice cream; why did not Orlando bring the ice cream inside when he went the first time? Old mister Mortensen had sat on the porch and watched what had happened and he had laughed he said when his son came back and old mister Mortensen had asked what kind of food was dropped on the ground.

 

Orlando laughed when old mister Mortensen told how Viggo had stolen ice cream as a child and never realized it could melt, and he’d found the stolen and hidden treasure spoilt when he came back later to eat it. Viggo said his father should not tell only bad things to Orlando about him; Orlando laughed again but anxiously watched them drink the lemonade.

 

“Is it too sour?” he asked Viggo and tried to sound as casual as Viggo did when he spoke. Viggo looked like he woke up from something and said no, not at all, and drank more but Orlando had seen that Viggo only sipped first. And Orlando smiled and spoke to old mister Mortensen but his eyes shot glances at Viggo's neck when Viggo drank, the tendons that moved there under the skin; much more suntanned than the rest of the upper body and that did not mean a little.

 

“My dear Orlando arrived here last summer and made me a lot happier man,” old mister Mortensen said and made Orlando feel embarrassed but appreciated just the same.

 

“Orlando likes to take care of the house and garden, and he likes to take care of his neighbors too,” the old man said and Orlando’s cheeks were warm and he smiled and smiled but felt shy when Viggo looked at him. In Orlando’s head the lines he had rehearsed before spun, he wanted to tell Viggo that he was not from here, but the lines were answers to questions and Orlando couldn’t think now about how he would put them as plain statements instead.

 

“I am from London! I am not from here,” Orlando said suddenly, “where are you from?” he added quickly and did not look at Viggo's face but at his glass of lemonade.

 

“I live in Venice,” Viggo said and something in his voice made Orlando feel less unsure, he dared meet Viggo's eyes, “By the ocean, in a house there, not at all as big as your houses.”

 

“What do you do in Venice- are you a carpenter?” Orlando asked now that he had more knowledge of Viggo and wasn’t so worried he’d make a fool of himself. Old mister Mortensen spoke before Viggo did.

 

“He could make a decent living out of carpentry,” he said and suddenly there was not only cheer in the old man’s voice, “and send some money to his old father, but he spends all his time on writing poetry instead that leads to nothing at all.”

 

Orlando could sense the tension between the men and he felt so stupid, so stupid, when Viggo sighed deeply and moved uneasily and clearly indicated he was fed up with this subject.

 

“I am sorry!” Orlando said, and then Viggo smiled a very wide smile.

 

“Do not be, Orlando,” he said. “You are not to blame for my father’s stubbornness. And besides, we poets are used to being doubted.” He took the empty glass from his muttering father’s hand and said,

 

“Thank you for the lemonade. It made me cool off; I need to put my t shirt on now.”

 

~

 

When Orlando was in his own garden again he couldn’t make himself walk into the house without saying one more thing to Viggo. He stepped up to the low bushes and the fence that separated the properties; he did not have to call because Viggo saw him and once again stood up from the step he was repairing. He seemed to understand Orlando wanted something; he walked over and Orlando had not in one day before felt so lost for words so many times.

 

“Thank you for helping me before and now you know my name is Orlando, I meant to tell you that before but I… forgot,” Orlando said. Viggo smiled and his hand moved to Orlando's right one and the cut there. “Has the bleeding stopped?” he asked and his fingers touched the band-aid but where gone in less than a second; Orlando's hand moved involuntarily.

 

“How long are you staying at your father’s?” Orlando said instead of answering and was astounded of the strength in his voice and the question itself.

 

“I will be done with the porch today, it is not very much left to do even if it took a lot of preparation,” Viggo said and they smiled at each other.

 

Something had happened to Orlando's body. It was tense with frustration. What did Viggo mean when he said the porch was done today already? Orlando wanted to kiss Viggo suddenly; Viggo was handsome like in the movies and his mouth seemed to be able to cover Orlando's. Orlando had such a big mouth and it was clumsy, it did not know how to kiss Sean properly.

 

“Are you going back to Venice after you are done?” Orlando asked and his voice was thin now, not strong at all.

 

“Yes,” Viggo said matter-of-factly and Sean’s car came driving up to the house. Viggo had moved the U-Haul so Sean never had trouble parking. Viggo did not walk away and Orlando didn’t either.

 

Sean had his briefcase and his jacket in his hand when he got out of the car and nodded in Orlando's and Viggo's direction.

 

“Nice day,” he said; both Sean and Viggo reached out their hands when Sean approached. Viggo introduced himself and Sean looked over his shoulder at old mister Mortensen who waved at him from the porch.

 

“So it’s getting repaired? That was about time,” Sean said and put a hand in the small of Orlando's back. “How is my darling?” he asked and kissed Orlando on the cheek. “What’s for dinner tonight? I have a lot to do this evening; brought some papers from the office that cannot wait.”

 

He started walking towards the house but stopped when Orlando didn’t follow right away.

 

Orlando met Viggo's eyes and Orlando said,

 

“Good bye.”

 

Viggo smiled that small smile and nodded a short nod before Orlando walked after Sean, pressing the two glasses close to his chest.

 

“Why are you wearing a t shirt in the garden?” Sean asked quietly when he held the door open for Orlando. “You were not working in the garden? No? Why, then?”

 

Orlando walked past Sean and said “It was too hot to wear a shirt.”

 

“Well,” Sean concluded, “I hope you didn’t wear it to the mall.”

 

~

 

Orlando had skipped the idea with the shrimp and the wine; he cooked a broccoli and cheese sauce instead. All the while he was preparing the dinner, his chest felt strangely stiff, like he couldn’t get the air in the lungs properly. It hurt and felt uncomfortable. After about fifteen minutes he was so uncomfortable he thought he might have to tell Sean but he told himself to stop it, get a grip.

 

Sean was in the living room in his chair; Orlando could see the back of Sean’s head when he walked up the stairs to change yet again.

 

“Dinner is ready,” Orlando said because he knew it would be a few minutes before Sean would listen to his call. And that was like always, but today Orlando stopped halfway up the stairs. He thought about the pink paper and the wine.

 

“Sean?” he said. And he waited, but Sean did not hear him or was too busy.

 

In the walk-in closet where Orlando kept his clothes the air was still and smelled of washing detergent. This time Orlando was not in a hurry to change, he stood much longer than necessary with his face in his hands and tried to make the discomfort in the chest go away.

 

When he pulled the t shirt off, he did it slowly, very slowly; his palms stroke the fabric upwards and when they were in level with his nipples, Orlando let the hands stroke them firmly and slowly- then he quickly pulled the garment over his head, his breath a little short but not from the discomfort in the chest.

 

~

 

The spouses had dinner. Orlando served Sean a glass of the white wine but he didn’t feel like drinking any himself. Sean ate the cheese sauce and pasta, told Orlando about the agreement that had failed and now forced him to work overtime. Orlando listened and nodded in encouragement. When Sean was quiet for a while Orlando told him that the oranges were strangely bad for the season, he had looked for nice ones but they were all dry.

 

Where had Orlando bought them? Sean wanted to know.

 

“You always buy things where the people are friendly, do you not, even if I tell you that we are better off shopping where we get good value for the money. And now you complain about the fruit you bought yourself.”

 

“I am not complaining,” Orlando protested, “I am just saying that… I am just –“

 

He had tried to small talk; not complain, now the headache came over him, pang. “Well, never mind,” Orlando added and then kept quiet.

 

“If I am to come home to your complaining,” Sean said, “then I’d rather do the extra hours at the office.” And he kept talking for a while about the agreement that had failed.

 

And such was the spouses’ dinner, same as most nights. Orlando helped Sean to a refill of the pasta and said, reluctantly,

 

“I cut my finger today when I cleared the table; I broke a glass, don’t know what I was thinking about.”

 

Sean stopped eating, put his fork down. And why he said what he then said, and just then, Orlando would ask himself many times after this evening but never find the answer.

 

“That guy, who worked at Mortensen's house, was his name not Mortensen too?”

 

“Yes,” Orlando said, “he is mister Mortensen's son.”

 

“About time Mortensen does something about that run down shed- he should notice himself how ill it looks.”

 

Sean was displeased that old mister Mortensen's house was so ill kept. It wasn’t very ill kept, but compared to the other houses in the area it did not live up to the standard, that was true. “He should have seen my home in London,” Orlando thought.  

 

Sean, who was seldom subtle, inspected Orlando's face.

 

“How handy Mortensen has a son that is a carpenter.”

 

“He is not a carpenter, he is a poet.”

 

“A poet?” Sean said and snorted laughter. “No wonder he has time to work on his father’s porch then; do poets exist even? I thought they were imaginary characters you only find in films.”

 

Sean finished his wine and with that the conversation was over. “Thank you darling,” he said, “off to the notes again. Please bring me some coffee and one of those miniature cupcakes, will you? And… weren’t you at the doctor’s today?”

 

Orlando stiffened when he heard Sean mention the appointment at the clinic.

 

“I was.”

 

Sean grinned and reached for Orlando's face, fondled his chin.

 

“Tell me about that later my darling? Your husband is so busy now, but a bit later he will have time to listen, ok my sugar?”

 

~

 

Orlando had almost fallen asleep when Sean came into the bedroom. He got undressed and sat down on the bed, sighed heavily- Orlando knew he’d been eating a few sandwiches and perhaps leftovers from dinner; he sighed because he was full. When Sean lay down under the duvet (they had air conditioning that made the room very cold) and moved about, grunting while he did, Orlando could tell he had had a whisky too; maybe two. And Orlando could have sworn he heard the front door earlier, but he didn’t want to talk to Sean about anything right now so he didn’t ask.

 

“Sugar,” Sean whispered loudly, “did the doctor tell you what was wrong with you?”

 

Orlando knew that tone of voice, and his headache got worse.

 

“He said that asexuality was very uncommon,” Orlando replied; he was already curled up on his side, face towards Sean, and couldn’t curl up any more.

 

“Did he!” Sean said loudly, sounding surprised and relieved. “Then- there is nothing wrong with you?”

 

Orlando was glad the room was dark; his face was not fit to be shown to Sean right now. What was he supposed to answer? Why had he even told Sean that he was probably not asexual? Because Orlando did not want to lie, that’s why. But the thought of the advice and suggestions on the pink paper made Orlando let out a desperate laugh suddenly.

 

“I guess not,” he said, and laughed again at how obscure that statement was in the light of the meeting this afternoon.

 

“Oh, I am so glad to hear you laugh my darling,” Sean said and moved closer. “And… what about now; could I- perhaps..?”

 

A frozen moment Orlando thought nothing and then he said,

 

“I have a headache, Sean.”

 

“Poor darling,” Sean said, and all was quiet for a while.

 

Then Sean sighed and shifted his weight, moved closer to Orlando again.

 

“Your hero is in the mood, darling,” he said with a voice that did not beg but close to it. And he touched Orlando's body in that mechanical manner- it made Orlando want to run. The first summer, in Acapulco, they had a game- they pretended Sean was Elvis Presley in that film; and Orlando had called Sean “my hero”.

 

Then, Sean still touched Orlando for a while on the chest and legs before he approached Orlando's genitals; but such was not their love making any longer.

 

Now Sean's hand found its way under the cover and it took hold of Orlando's slack dick; he fondled it through Orlando's pajama trousers the way he had fondled Orlando's face earlier. This made Sean breathe heavier and come close to Orlando with his lower body. Next move was the hand that took hold of Orlando's and pulled it- gently- to Sean's crotch.

 

Sean was a lot harder than Orlando; he placed Orlando's hand on his own dick and made Orlando rub it.

 

“Yes, yes,” Sean whispered, he tried to kiss Orlando at the same time but this Orlando thought was the worst part, when he held Sean, Sean held Orlando and they had to kiss. Orlando twisted his face away carefully and mumbled something; Sean was not very discouraged but he stopped the attempts to kiss Orlando. Instead, he breathed heavily in Orlando's hear and whispered “yes, yes,” while he rubbed himself with Orlando's hand between his own hand and his dick.

 

The rubbing went on for a while and there was an occasional squeeze of Orlando's dick too; by now it had usually hardened some. Today Orlando was harder than he normally was though and Sean whispered, strong smell of whisky in clouds around his mouth,

 

“Can I suck you?”

 

“No!” Orlando whispered fast and then he added “I am- I don’t think… I haven’t been in the shower for a while, I…” and Sean moved on to pull at Orlando's pajama. Orlando helped him, got the trousers down to his knees and turned his back towards Sean, tried to get rid of the heavy duvet that made him warm and uncomfortable. Sean rolled onto his back for a moment; Orlando heard a condom open, and he heard the other sounds that belonged to the preparation of their love making.

 

“Do we need the condom?” Sean asked and Orlando said yes they did. Orlando couldn’t stand the feeling of Sean's sperm coming out during the night or even worse, the day after, so they rarely did it without a rubber.

 

Sean was soon behind Orlando's buttocks again, and Orlando helped him find his way. Orlando was not prepared for it and while Sean grunted “yes, yes,” Orlando's face was twisted with discomfort of different kinds. Sean then held Orlando's hips hard and he pushed his stiff piece of meat repeatedly inside his young spouse.

 

“Darling,” Sean breathed loudly; Orlando panted too, but out of unease. Today though when Sean grabbed Orlando's dick and pulled it- out of pace and in a jerking way that almost hurt- Orlando liked it and wanted it. He tensed his whole body, waited for him self to come, and felt the arousal hit that plateau where Orlando got nervous and always thought he would never get further. But today maybe he would, Sean's hand moved fast and pulled Orlando's skin.

 

“Yesss,” Sean whispered again and became completely still for a few seconds.

 

Orlando noticed that he was holding the duvet hard and that his teeth were bit together just as hard. He waited for something more, but there was nothing. Well, a comment from Sean when he withdrew from Orlando's body and removed the condom,

 

“Was it good for you, sugar?”

 

“Yes, yes!” Orlando whispered, of course he whispered that. But his body wept and the broken touch of Orlando's dick proved to Orlando yet again that he was not made for orgasms, at least not orgasms that others tried to provide him with.

 

And those thoughts followed him into his sleep, alongside Sean's silent snoring.

 

~

 

Ordinary morning routine; get up, wake husband and send him to the shower, make breakfast.

 

And then, something out of the ordinary- Misty morning, humid day in wake; Orlando looks out of the window and sees the man he met yesterday. It is Viggo; he walks from his father’s house to the mailbox, opens it, and gets the paper. Orlando can see that Viggo is wearing a pair of sweatpants that he has probably owned for a decade at least; they fit him so well despite their worn out look and bad fit… that sounded strange.

 

Orlando knows suddenly that if he said that to Viggo in a teasing manner, Viggo wouldn’t frown or sigh, he would laugh back and then tease Orlando about something; and Orlando would laugh. This thought makes Orlando sad, but then he thinks that he shouldn’t be sad.

 

Viggo stops momentarily. He looks straight at Orlando- or, Viggo can’t see him probably, but Orlando can see Viggo. Orlando can see Viggo and that is enough. Maybe.

 

The morning is still out of the ordinary when Sean comes downstairs to eat breakfast.

 

~

 

Sean said he was not so hungry, that he had perhaps lost some appetite from the stress at work, that the looked forward to the upcoming vacation. Orlando hummed and nodded more than usual because he was edgy; he wanted to see Viggo again before Viggo went back to Venice. But he took the time to think that Sean would never suffer from starvation; Orlando noticed immediately this morning that both bread and ham were gone from the fridge, the lid of the mustard jar not shut properly.

 

“You have yoga class this morning?” Sean asked suddenly.

 

Orlando got no time to answer; he was going to say “no I thought of skipping it”. But Sean was faster.

 

“I will drive you and you can take a cab home. No, no objections, it is our anniversary today and I want to spend as much time as possible with you. Besides, you and I need to discuss our dinner tonight.”

 

Sean told Orlando- he had forgotten to say this last night- that because of the wrecked agreement he needed to keep the mood up in his closest group of business associates. Therefore, however much it pained Sean; Orlando would have to cook not only for the two of them but for the three colleagues as well. And Orlando could use the big table in the living room, Sean's family cutlery, glasses- it could be perfect even if they were not alone.

 

“But please do not break the glasses like you did yesterday,” Sean said straight to Orlando's face. “You won’t, right my darling? I will still give you your gift of course, and you will wear that shirt you bought too- did you find a shirt?”

 

“Yes I did,” Orlando said and his voice was tired, something that seemed to pass Sean by.

 

“Is it silky?”

 

“Yes it is.”

 

“Good!” Sean said with a nod and a grin. “You are so good at these things, my darling.”

 

~

 

Ride in a taxi when you are sweaty is not nice, but Orlando did not like to shower in the dressing rooms at the gym. He thought of himself to be too thin and scrawny to be stared upon by others; and the routines in his own bathroom were highly pleasurable, one of the highlights of his day. This was true about this day too. Orlando usually filled the bathtub with hot water and whatever product he felt like that particular day, but today nothing, no overly sweet or musky smell; just the water.

 

He got undressed, tossed the warm clothes and some other random laundry in the machine; thought through the list of ingredients he needed for dinner yet another time. The sound of the washing machine had an instant calming effect, so did the water. He soaked himself for a long, long time and did not want to get up; did so only when the water threatened to chill him more than warm him.

 

Ah, what an evening it would be; Sean's three colleagues were not Orlando's favorites. Neither their spouses- well, Dom never seemed to find a steady partner; Elijah and Billy constantly cheated on theirs, according to Sean. Sean spoke a lot about how ‘Wood and Boyd could never keep on the right side of their wedding vows’. But tonight the spouses wouldn’t come, only the boys, and Orlando was just as glad because he couldn’t stand their nagging.

 

With a towel wrapped around him Orlando went downstairs to call the grocery store Sean always wanted Orlando to buy food from. The Astin household had an account there and Sean knew the manager well, Orlando had nothing to object on days like these when he had a lot to do at home. He sang along with a pop song that played on the radio Orlando had left running in the kitchen, he used another towel to wipe his hair.

 

And in the kitchen stood Viggo; Orlando froze in the doorway. Viggo looked up at Orlando from a bucket of wall paint he was preparing. The floor was covered with paper, the smell of the paint strong, and the man before Orlando just as attractive as Orlando had seen him before his inner eye in the bath just a few minutes ago.

 

Orlando had a lot of hair on his head, it was still wet and drops of water fell on his shoulders. But he didn’t wipe it any more; he stared before himself at Viggo, who seemed surprised to see Orlando too.

 

No- it was not Viggo. It was no one there, just an illusion; a trick of Orlando's mind.

 

Orlando stepped out on the kitchen floor. Under his bare feet he felt not stone though, but paper- and the smell of paint was still strong. The illusion of Viggo was still there too, and when Orlando was very close to him Viggo smiled a wide smile and said,

 

“I am very pleased to see you, but you are on your way to step into a bucket of paint.”

 

And he put his hand on Orlando's upper arm to hinder him from walking further.

 

Orlando took a close look at the hand that held his arm.

 

“Why are you here?” he asked, this time he really meant “here next to me”.

 

“Your husband came over last night and asked me if I could paint your kitchen walls.”

 

“And you could.”

 

“Yes,” Viggo said and let go of Orlando's arm. “I could.”

 

“But where will I cook?” Orlando said, puzzled, before he leaned close to Viggo's face and kissed the older man right on the mouth.

 

TBC…

Comments

[wankers-fate.livejournal.com]

i hp things turn out better for them...cant wait for more!

[romi.livejournal.com]

Thank you thank you thank you

I LOVE YOU

[goldmund1110.livejournal.com]

this story is so amazing! i love the way you write. it seems to be a little detatched from the characters, but then you can feel orlando's emotion so well. and it's so tragic, the situation that he is in.
i feel badly for sean as well. i hope that he finds someone. but i just love this story. it's so wonderfully written and the idea itself it so hauntingly wonderful.
yeah...i LOVE you. please write more.

Re: I LOVE YOU

[romi.livejournal.com]

it seems to be a little detatched from the characters

Interesting! Say more?
*snugglekisses you very much*

the idea itself it so hauntingly wonderful
*sighs and moans a little out of joy*