vigorli

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Title: Ever Changing Destinations © 2006 by Myr Juhl & Bee
Part: 5/6
Fandom: Viggo/Orlando;
Type: RPS, AU, Crossover-ish, Historic
Rating: NC-17
Cast: Orlando (D'Artangian) / Viggo (Arthos)

*** WARNINGS *** This series is rated NC-17 and contains for this chapter: * Male slash * Language *

Disclaimer: The events never happened. This fic is for entertainment purposes only, not profit. We, the authors, make no claim through this work as to the fictional characters/ actual lives/ preferences/ activities of the people mentioned herein.
Summary: This story is a rich gallery of historic people in the shape of Orlando and Viggo as they find each other every time Orlando steps inside an old painting in his mother’s attic and go back in time.

Beta:

inwe_salonde Thanks so much darling. *hugs*
Timeline: Main line is 2005. The rest obvious is various times in history.
/.../ Indicates thoughts.
Archive: http://www.livejournal.com/users/piximyr/
Archive requests please contact the author.

A/N: Colin Stone is Orlando’s real father.

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Ever Changing Destinations
Part 5

By Bee & Myr

The older man hunched his wide shoulders, trying to squeeze into the euphemistically named ‘coach-seating’ area. His row partner was a slightly overweight, verbose, cigar smoking hulk of a man; after taking one look at Viggo, he had launched into his life’s story. After the first hour of the flight, the fume-wafting salesman had wound down, and finally stopped - hopefully, deterred by the lack of response from his agitated neighbour.

Viggo’s moods moved from relief to frustration. He was on a stand-by flight out of Los Angeles to Boston’s Logan airport, but once there he would have to wait another eighteen hours or so. Leaving at seven in the evening, which made the time ten pm on the east coast, meant he’d have to wait until the next day for his connecting flight to Gatwick.

Intermixed with his wobbling emotions was pure concern and a tinge of fear for Orlando, for he’d yet to hear back from him. For the umpteenth time, Viggo vowed to call his younger friend, no matter the time.

Falling out of the frame, Orlando crumbled naked on the floor. He got up a bit confused and still feeling how good Viggo’s stained fingers had felt on his body. He turned towards the painting and swallowed, seeing the panicked expression in the painter’s stormy eyes.

It wasn’t as if Orlando had left voluntarily. He would have loved to have more sex with him. Sadly, he would never go back to that time in history.

Putting on some faded jeans from the pile of the second hand stuff he had bought, he went downstairs and was greeted by Colin. They kissed and then he was spun around.

“Hehe, what’s this, Orlando?” Colin had noticed the painted line along his son’s spine. Quickly, Orlando excused himself. He probably stunk of sex as well.

Ten in the evening, Orlando could hardly keep his eyes open. He was exhausted from standing too long and there was a text message from Viggo. /Delayed./ He smiled as he buried his face in the pillow and was soon a sleep.

Disembarking, Viggo immediately hefted his carry-on pack to his shoulder, and moved along with the others. Whereas others went to collect luggage, the determined blue-eyed man moved to the ticket counter; verifying he was still booked on the first available flight to London’s Gatwick, he heaved a sigh of relief. Things looked good. Due to some weather interference the flight had taken an hour longer than originally predicted, but he didn’t care. Dialling Orlando’s cell, he listened to the ring tone, then the bouncy voice mail message. Rubbing his head, Viggo left yet again another message, leaving his expected time of arrival, flight number and other pertinent information.

Sitting in one of the hard plastic chairs, he tried to get comfortable. There was no way in hell he was going to a hotel for the night and risk missing his flight, no way in hell.

Orlando awoke to a new day. Remnants of yesterday’s passion in Viggo’s arms made him stretch lazily, skimming his hands down his chest afterwards. Languidly he stroked his nipples and further down, he cupped his morning erection. His parents were off to work already. He was alone, feeling like a schoolboy skipping lessons.

“Love skipping,” he murmured, smiling eagerly pumping his hard on. Then a devious thought escaped him, and he got up and ran up the stairs, naked as the day he was born. Standing in front of the painting, he stepped a bit closer. Today, they crept a hundred years forward. Viggo looked like one of the Three Musketeers.

“Arthos?” Sounded mostly like Aragorn. “Well my French isn’t in the best of condition, but hopefully I can bluff.” He felt so horny he was ready to be shagged by whoever met him on his way, but then he’d be sent right back to the attic and that would be a shame.

He looked at Viggo’s goatee from the period, and the pretty long golden curls that looked like it was his own hair and not a powdered wig. He had a charming little heart painted on his cheek and he truly looked decadent.

“Ok,” Orlando breathed. Closing his eyes, he leaned against the painting and went through it.

Standing naked with a hard on in a courtyard full of exercising soldiers was probably not his wisest move.

As he walked among the training guards, Arthos nearly collided with the naked form of his fellow Musketeer, D'Artangian. Eyeing him from head to toe, a mirthful chortle of amusement echoed across the courtyard, and then full-born, booming laughter drew every eye in their direction. The older guard had noticed his friend’s arousal.

“Get tossed from another wench’s bed? Or were you trying to evade an irate father or brother?” Pulling his royal blue cape with the Fleur de Lis on its back, the older guard wrapped it around the moon-shadowed form before him. “Good Gods man, couldn’t you have grabbed your britches on your way out the window?”

With his arm around his companion, Arthos guided them back towards the barracks. “Good thing I came upon you and not Porthos or Aramis, they wouldn’t soon let you forget this escapade my young friend.”

Orlando followed his amused friend and the rest of the Musketeers smirked as they passed them.

Inside his quarters, Arthos shook his head at his young daring friend. He did many foolish things, but to suddenly appear in the exercise court without a stitch of clothing was most funny. He stopped smiling when D’Artangian slid off the cape, neared him and began pulling a long curl till it was fully stretched. Then the dark beauty let go and it bounced right into his face.

“It’s so great about these situations, Arthos, I don’t have to worry about speaking French at all. These situations are adapting to my needs.”

“That is superbe, D’Artangian, regarde mon compagne.”

“Nonono...” Orlando laughed. “English!”

“But you don’t speak the stupid language, D’Artangian!”

Orlando smiled and put his arms around the man. Arthos’ eyes changed fractionally, and Orlando knew he had hit home with the man.

“You’re not dressed my friend.”

“I know. It was on purpose.”

“Purpose?”

“Yeah... purpose,” Orlando mumbled and leaned in to steal a kiss, already willing to get started with the fucking part.

“So I am to appease your lust? I’m hurt; it is not always enviable to be second choice.” Pushing the slender body away, thinking it was yet another of D'Artangian’s amusements, Arthos slapped him lightly on the shoulder and made to turn from him.

“I’ll get you a pair of my britches so you may make your way back to your room, unmolested of course.”

When strong, olive hued arms wrapped around his upper body, the older Musketeer slowed and tossed a glance over his shoulder. The banked fire he saw in the dark orbs halted his forward progress, causing him to gulp audibly, his throat suddenly dry.

Blue eyes widened in stunned response to the gentle nudging of D’Artangian’s engorged cock against his ass. The heated shudder of lust and desire that ran through his body affected Arthos tremendously, causing him to reach back and grasp the satin-naked hips of the younger man.

“You sure you want me covered up?” Orlando purred.

“I’m pretty sure my friends will be here shortly, and do you really want them to find us in this delicate position?”

“I don’t really care, Vig,” Orlando said sharply, then he heard how possessive he sounded, like a rich brat getting everything, he pointed at.

Arthos smiled. “Not so cheeky like you usually are. My name isn’t Vig.”

Orlando began to walk a few rounds around the man. Finally, they stood face to face.

“Well, who are you then. I’m sure you look like someone I’d call Veeggo.”

“Veeggo?” Arthos was amused at this little game of D’Artangian’s. “So if I were to dive inside you here in these quarters, you wouldn’t mind if the others came to watch?”

“And who might the others be?” Orlando said cocking his head, looking intensely at the man.

“Porthos and Aramis for instance...” Arthos said, not sure how to grasp the young man’s mood and not kill the delicious arousing state of his. His hard on hadn’t diminished yet.

Orlando looked him straight in the eye. “I wouldn’t give a shit.”

Arthos looked at him for a few seconds. “I see. Then Spectators don’t worry you?”

“No - but then I don’t crave them either. The faster we begin, the lesser chances for an audience.”

“Fine, but IF we manage to get an audience, there is no chance for you to back out.”

“Agreed,” Orlando dared himself.

Deciding to turn the tables on the brown haired man, Arthos circled him, his blue eyes alight with mischievousness. Flicking his hand out, he parted the side panel of the cape, exposing a creamy length of thigh, and watched as it settled back into place, hiding the treasure once more.

When D’Artangian turned his head to the side the older man was on, he quirked one eyebrow but kept the remainder of his body motionless and saying nothing.

Arthos gripped the heavy material and pushed it open, framing the silken skin of his fellow Musketeer. Sliding his hands in between the cape and D’Artangian’s body, Arthos lightly skimmed the trembling flesh. Leaning closer, the older man placed a single kiss to the rounded curve of his shoulder.

Whispering against the just kissed skin, “I care not also if we have watchers, as long as I can feel you move under me.”

The echoing laughter of other Musketeers as they went about their business faded into the background, leaving the men in a world of two.

Suddenly the noise returned, waves of laughter sounding louder to stop right outside the door. Orlando stood still, and then he tried to pull the cape around him, but Arthos smiled wickedly.

“You wanted an audience. Don’t turn bashful now.”

“Nobody but you can touch me. Got it? No invitation for others to join, or you can kiss my derrière goodbye, Arthos ...literally.”

The blond man seemed to consider this, but then he opened the fastenings to the cape and Orlando stood naked, beautiful, and aroused as the door opened and Aramis and Porthos stumbled inside to stand still.

The four men considered the situation. Aramis stepped closer to D’Artangian who wasn’t so coy anymore.

“You’re afraid of us? But we’re your best amis!”

“Are you now?” Orlando doubted, and still he was aroused at the thought of all three men lusting after him.

Porthos stood in the door smiling. He enjoyed the flushed and embarrassed colour of D’Artangian’s cheeks. The boy was unusually handsome today. He hadn’t really thought about it until now, when he stood naked, his staff jutting like that.

Aramis had same grin plastered across his face, and Orlando just nodded with a little ironic smile. “Don’t even think about it,” he said, warning them.

“Think about what, darling?” Aramis said.

Arthos bent his neck and began kissing Orlando. Orlando hesitated, but heat soon pooled in his sex. And feeling the others’ lustful eyes on his body, he soon melted and the dirty, slutty feel made him respond more wantonly than he would have thought possible.

“Ah, mon Dieu!” Arthos panted for breath. Had he known what passions D’Artangian had been hiding he would have his cock up his derrière years ago.

“You want me to fuck you in front of our friends?”

“Oh yeah. This is gonna be magnifique.” Aramis laughed, putting his hand under his chin and looked rather pleased, expecting a good horny show.

Arthos was surprised and deeply aroused by this new side to D’Artangian. True, both were lusty men, bedding any willing wench in the past, but now...

Catching a movement out of the corner of his blue eyes, he turned and gently smacked Aramis’ hand, firm admonishment in his voice. “Mine. Don’t touch. And make yourself useful. Close the door. I really don’t care to share beyond those here.”

Not waiting to see if one of the others did as he’d requested, Arthos turned back to the silent D’Artangian. Running his knuckles up the satin skin of the younger man’s cheek, he leaned in and kissed the full lips. Pulling the fuller bottom one between his teeth, he gently nibbled on it, a low, throaty moan breaking the heavy silence.

Stepping back, the blond held out his arms, his loose fitting white shirt billowing around his upper body. “Undress me.”

Smiling, Orlando pulled the wide shirt loose from the man’s waistband and lifted it over Arthos’ head. A light haired chest was revealed and Orlando smiled at Viggo’s very familiar nipples and curves.

He lusted after this man so much. Putting his arms around his neck, Orlando kissed him possessively. He really didn’t care who else was there. He had to have him... yesterday.

Feeling Arthos’ hands travel down his back to pull him closer when they reached the small of his back felt reassuring.

“Kissing him must feel very similar to a woman,” Porthos said, noticing how much his friend enjoyed the young D’Artangian’s lips.

Aramis stepped closer; he had to see this as close as Arthos would allow.

Letting go of the tempting lips, Arthos found himself annoyed by his friends and commanded them out.

As he turned back once more to capture the supple flesh, the older man wrapped one arm around the slimmer form, his other he used to push and prod Aramis and Porthos towards the door. While the two expelled members of the cadre were continually nudged, Aramis fumbled with the partially closed portal, finally manoeuvring himself through it. Reaching back, he grasped Porthos’ cape, tugging him out as well. Both men barely escaped the slamming door.

Both arms wormed their way around the naked form, pressing the two heated bodies together. Arthos ground his hips against the other man’s throbbing erection.

Speaking through their still clasped lips, Arthos murmured, “I still have some clothing on, what do you intend to do about it?”

Orlando let go of him and stared incredulously. “Just get the fucking pants off old man!”

They both began to laugh wholeheartedly, and Orlando eagerly opened the broad leather belt and shortly after, the wide pants fell to the floor.

“Get your boots off man,” Orlando smiled against Arthos’ lips.

“Can’t wait to have me on top of you, lad?”

“You got that absolutely right. I want nothing more than having you shove your cock up my arse right now.”

Turning the boy half around, Arthos began rubbing his hard flesh in the tempting crease of the boy’s backside. Seeing the scar along his spine, Arthos wanted to ask how he had never noticed that, prominent as it was.

“ARTHOS!!!” Aramis knocked on the door with an urgent voice.

“The king commands our presence immediately.”

“Oh, merde,” Arthos said. “Better get dressed in a hurry, garçon!”

“In what? I have no clothes!” Orlando couldn’t believe how difficult it was to get shagged today. “Where are we going anyway?”

“To settle a minor misunderstanding. I had hoped we could spend this intimate little moment with each other, but alas...” Arthos looked at him and smiled at the young man’s irritated air.

“Get dressed,” he said again.

“I don’t have my clothes,” Orlando repeated.

“They’re probably in your closet.”

Orlando turned and slowly went to get some gear from a closet with D’Artangian’s name on.

“Great... I don’t feel like having a Will Turner day,” he mumbled.

Arthos sat upon his bunk and waited while D’Artangian fumbled through his cloths-press and mumbled to himself. Shaking his head in amusement, his blond curls swaying with the movement, the older man leaned back to rest on his elbows.

When the youngest Musketeer donned his britches, forgoing his small clothes, Arthos yearned to run his hand over the arched back and thrusting buttocks. Duty called, however, and he turned away, instead tormenting himself with the sounds from the other man. Rolling onto his stomach turned out to be a huge mistake when his cock pushed into the straw mattress.

Reaching down to adjust himself, Arthos realized he needed to dress as well. Stepping off the bed, he picked up his discarded clothing. Quickly dressing, Arthos turned to see that D’Artangian had finished as well.

“Come my young friend, duty calls.”

With a big smile on his face, Orlando stepped through the door only to fall into the attic. Confused he looked around. “What the...?” he said, sitting on his butt. Biting his lip, he slowly got on his feet. He went to stare at the painting; it hadn’t changed yet - Viggo still looked like a dashing Musketeer.

Rolling his neck, he suddenly heard the door slam. His mother was home.

“Orlando?”

“Yeah?”

“When was the last time you were out?”

“Uummm...”

“Get down and walk me to the supermarket, would you luv´?”

Orlando sighed. Of course, he could do that. He went to his room and changed.

TBC...

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