Fic: Pole Position (4 of ?)
Jun. 28th, 2006 08:08 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
obselizabeth.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
vigorliTitle: Pole Position (Part 4 of ?)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
obselizabeth
E-mail: obselizabeth@gmail.com
Live journal: www.livejournal.com/users/obselizabeth
Rating: Definitely NC-17 now!
Type: RPS
Pairing: ViggOrli (with a little Ian and Sean and Eric thrown in -- this chapter adds a couple more boys *smile*)
Warnings: it's slash, ladies :)
Disclaimer: wouldn't it be nice if we COULD see Orlando pole dancing?
Feedback: is the cream in my coffee
Summary: Viggo's a bored multi-gazillionaire...Orlando's a pole dancer
A/N: Thanks so much to my dear friend,namarie120, for begging me offering to beta this
Beta: The glamorousnamarie120
Author's note: Special thanks goes tonamarie120 for letting me use the infamous "Red" in my fic. I wanted there to be something that was special to Viggo in his past relationship that could, perhaps transition to his new relationship. "Red" fits the bill :) If you haven't had the pleasure of reading it, go here: http://namarie120.livejournal.com/6268.html
Laying his hand on Alexandra's shoulder, Viggo said softly, "I'm going to head home. Thanks for everything this afternoon."
"If I had the chance at love again, I'd do the same as you," she murmured, a bit melancholy with the memory. "I'll be out of here soon, just want to finish a couple of things." And then, remembering that Viggo would be at home alone with his memories, she added, "You sure you're going to be all right?"
He nodded, his hair, unkempt for the first time in ages, falling in swatches across his forehead. But hope sparkled in his blue eyes; and even though it might take a bit of time, she knew he would be all right.
Karl, ever the efficient and professional driver, remained silent…not even offering a greeting when he held the car door open for his employer. He sensed the tension, the apprehension, and thought quiet to be best. When they arrived at Viggo's home, Karl again held the door for him, saying softly, "I'll be turning in for the evening, sir. If there's anything else you need, please don't hesitate to let me know."
Viggo looked at Karl, as if for the first time. He'd been a loyal employee for years, and probably had seen more than his share of Viggo's life. "Thank you, Karl. Thank you," he said, turning to go into the house.
There were no lights on inside, but it was still early enough outside to provide a smattering of illumination…enough to make his way through the monstrosity. It was a gorgeous residence, but it wasn't a home. Only love made a home. Viggo thought back to Johnny. To what he thought was love. As Viggo trudged wearily through the dim hallway, a memory flickered. 'Would it still be there?' he wondered, now sprinting towards the staircase…up, up, up until he reached the entrance to the grand floor of the attic. Making his way through dust-covered boxes and cobwebs, he finally found it, pushed up against the back wall. It was covered with a sheet, but he knew its lines and curves from memory. He could almost smell it.
The red sofa was a most elegant piece of furniture when it was first made, but time and wear had taken their toll upon it. When new, only the well-to-do could afford furniture of this quality. Its frame was made of the strongest wood; only the softest padding filled its cushions. The legs and trim were crafted of rare mahogany and ebony; and the red velvet fabric, pleated and tufted in an intricate design across the curved back, was thick and luxurious. In its first home, it occupied a place of honor in the formal parlor; but it was seldom used, except when guests were invited. Over time sunlight began to fade the vibrancy of the crimson velvet, and disuse to stiffen its suppleness. After several years, tastes changed; the ornate sofa was replaced with a sleek leather divan, and relegated to an upstairs playroom. There it was constantly employed by the household's children; spilled drinks and dirty shoes began to soil and abrade its surface. Then one day the children were grown and the playroom abandoned, and eventually the red sofa was carried downstairs and left by the curb, along with other discards deemed too old or too damaged to be saved.
Its story might have ended there, had it not been for the Artist. He had been passing by on the street, but pulled to the curb to examine the jumble of discards with a critical eye. Spotting the sofa, he ran a palm over its elegantly curved back with a smile. 'What's a beautiful piece like you doing here on the street?' he asked in a slightly husky voice. 'Looks like you need someone to rescue you, Red, and it just so happens that I need a sofa. This could be a match made in heaven.' The sofa was large and heavy, but the Artist was young and determined. With some effort he wedged it into the hatchback of his small car and dragged it up the stairs to his mostly empty apartment.
Over time, the Artist brought home other treasures – one day, a low table with a top made from a slice of tree trunk; on another, a brass lamp in the form of a woman wreathed in vines, its glass bulbs shaped like ripe clusters of grapes. He filled the apartment with books and boxes of found items, and with easels and canvas and paints and photographs. At times he would sprawl on the sofa for hours, scribbling in notebooks or resting between bursts of painting. He once slept on the sofa for a week in paint-splattered clothes, begrudging the time he had to close his eyes, so he could begin painting again as soon as he awoke. Its fabric became marked with oils and acrylics, solvents and developing chemicals. But the Artist still thought the sofa was beautiful.
That was back when life was much simpler. But, what he thought he had back then turned out to be a lie. Viggo pushed past cartons and boxes, making his way to the couch. He took a breath before pulling back the sheet, revealing years of sentiment woven in crimson velvet. Viggo sat, gingerly at first as if to test the durability of the sofa…then suddenly sank into its welcoming depths. Brushing his hand across the seat next to him, Viggo whispered, "Hello, old friend." The nap of the fabric buzzed beneath his hand as if to purr in response to his greeting…to his return.
Tears welled up in his eyes, waves of moisture swaying against the icy blue backdrop. He kicked off his shoes and pulled his knees up onto the couch, wrapping his arms around his legs. Bracing his back against the mahogany and ebony frame of Red's corner, Viggo allowed himself to cry – years of longing and regret spilling out onto the material of his pants.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Sean watched the stage with anticipation, curious to see what Orlando's reaction would be to the first night of their ruse. He hadn't expected the young man to peer out before his performance started. A small vibration in his pocket alerted him otherwise. Seeing Orlando's code, Sean quickly made his way backstage.
"Whot's the matter?" Sean asked, rushing to surround Orlando with his arms.
"He's here," Orlando said, shaking slightly.
"He is not here."
"But, why then? What's that on the table? Who put it there?"
"An anonymous client had both items set on that exact table. Said they hoped it would 'mean something' to someone here. I only take the money in, son."
"He's not here?"
"No." Sean didn't want to give out any more information than he needed to. But he couldn't help but be concerned. "So before in yer dressing room was a bit of false bravado, eh?"
Orlando looked up at him, nodding. "My heart hurts. I can't believe the only time I tried to give my heart, it was…"
Sean interrupted him, moving the curtain just a bit so they could see the table. "Orlando. What do you see out there?"
"It…it's a bottle of wine, and a rose."
"It's YOUR favorite wine…Viggo's and your favorite wine. And a yellow rose…your favorite color. All I have to say is there's two sides to everythin', and maybe he dinna reject yeh…maybe he rejected himself." Sean watched the painted face as the idea crawled around inside Orlando's head.
"That's why he left those particular items instead of being here himself? Thinking it would be easier for me to deal with those for the time being."
Sean just nodded. "You going to be ok?"
"Yes. I'm going to be performing for him tonight, even if he isn't here. You've never steered me wrong, Sean."
"Believe me, I'd love to hate the bastard. All I'm sayin' is don't give up hope." Then, swatting Orlando 's lightly covered ass, he said, "Now get out there and knock 'em dead!"
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*
Sean went back out to the main room to find Ian sitting at the bar, so he went over to join him. "I believe you owe me a drink," Ian teased, touching Sean's arm as the blonde sidled onto the stool next to him.
"What's yer pleasure?" Sean asked, the double-entendre accompanied by a sultry grin. Sean wondered what the attraction what…and mused on what an odd couple they would make. However, the fact was that he ached for Ian. The white-haired gentleman, what a dandy he was…with a voice, a beautiful voice, an old-fashioned voice…like the cultured voices from long ago film stars, actors who made an art of simple speech. His voice was eloquent, giving words a more lyrical dimension.
"I think I'll stick to brandy, for now," Ian drawled, his emphasis on the last two words not lost on Sean. "So, how's our boy?"
"He freaked out at first," Sean said. "But I think, now, there just might be a glimmer of hope in those gorgeous brown eyes."
Just then, a man came up on the stage to announce Orlando's show.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The beat was strong. Something you'd use as a metronome to time your thrusts. Definitely a sexual beat. And the woman's voice full of lust. No lyrics, yet. Just her voice, altered in timbre by more than ordinary expiration of breath. Paula Cole…"Feelin' Love"…a song that left nothing unsaid.
As was his habit, Orlando always began his dance by moving just his hips at first, in order to get his entire body into the rhythm of the music. Soft illumination of amber tones fell on his body, highlighting the curves, emphasizing the shadows.
"You make me feel like a sticky pistil leaning into her stamen. You make me feel like Mr. Sunshine himself.
His eyes never strayed from the table in the corner…the unopened bottle of wine…the yellow rose. His gaze remained constant, as if Viggo himself occupied the chair. He danced with all the unbridled lust he'd felt with Viggo the previous evening, even though part of him was afraid to hope.
A light sheen of sweat had formed with his exertions, and the flimsy white material began to show what lay beneath. With his thoughts of Viggo and the previous evening, Orlando's body reacted…his nipples hardening, standing out…his cock hardening, straining against the insubstantial panties.
"You make me feel like splendor in the grass where we're rolling…Damn skippy baby…You make me feel like the Amazon's running between my thighs. You make me feel love…"
"He's quite a sight, isn't he?" Ian whispered against Sean's ear, his body pressed up against the other man's back. Ever the master of words, Ian could talk anyone into submission. But he couldn't deny the reaction he had to Sean. It had been a long time since anyone made him even consider bottoming. But all he could think about was Sean mastering him…seducing him…filling him.
"You make me feel like a candy apple all red and horny…You make me feel like I want to be a dumb blonde in a centerfold, the girl next door…"
Orlando slid down the pole, walking seductively over to a chair that awaited him. Perching on the edge of the folded metal seat, he reached up to grab a chain rigged to a water supply over him…all he had to do was pull. The cold water engulfed him, soaking his curls, changing the 'white' of his costume into almost nothingness. He spread his legs, the white spike-heeled boots providing an ample support, grabbed a hold of the seat of the chair with his free hand, and lifted his hips skyward…thrusting his erection up for display…then pulled the chain again. He thrust into it, as if the water were his lover.
"And I would open the door and I'd be all wet with my tits soaking through this tiny little t-shirt that I'm wearing and you would open the door and tie me up to the bed. You make me feel love…"
Orlando's body slumped back down onto the chair, indicating the end of his performance. To Sean's delight, the audience howled their pleasure. Orlando stood, bowing, and inclined his head toward Sean before exiting back to his dressing room. There, a stage hand provided him with warm towels. He couldn't wait to peel off the boots and the wet meshy costume from his skin. Rubbing his flesh briskly with the terrycloth, Orlando marveled at the erection he sported…just from thinking of Viggo. He wondered where the man was this very moment…and if Viggo thought of him.
Wrapping himself in a plush robe, Orlando moved to a settee where he usually took naps between shows. As he lay back, the rigid flesh of his penis parted the robe, lifting out into the coolness of the air. Blue eyes haunted Orlando, urging his arousal, heaping coals of lust into an already fiery passion. Almost subconsciously, Orlando reached down, and wrapped his hand around his thick, aching cock.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Viggo was weary from crying. But he felt a lightness, as if some heavy weight had been lifted from him. The brown eyes he saw before him now did not belong to an old, failed affair…but to Orlando. Just the thought of the young man stirred Viggo's arousal…memories of their evening together brought his blood to a boil within him. He felt a surge inside, one that started at his brain and continued down between his legs. The flesh hardened, achingly so, until Viggo had to find relief for himself. It did not stop him, however, from imagining Orlando's hand on him…Orlando's wicked mouth whispering teasing provocations in his ear…Orlando’s sensual body moving beneath him, as he filled the young man completely.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
His eyes closed, Orlando thought back to the previous night…remembering the pleasure Viggo had brought him. He reached up, trying to mimic the sensations, and pinched his nipple…the nub of flesh tightening quickly in response. He imagined it was Viggo's lips….teasing…licking…biting.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Viggo remembered the feel of Orlando's tight, swollen nipple in his mouth…between his teeth…and the reaction of the young man to his ministrations. Viggo licked his fingers, imagining the feel of Orlando's entrance as he breeched it…the tight orifice stretching to accommodate his finger…
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
…as he drove it deep inside himself…imagining Viggo was there, stretching him, preparing him. And then two fingers assaulted the opening, pumping…joined by a third, scissoring, widening….until he imagined the older man…
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
…curling his fingers inside of Orlando…searching out the spot that would bring him pleasure…that would make him scream with delight. Viggo's three fingers found the gland, brushing over it again and again, listening to moans of overwhelming gratification. It would be then he would enter his lover, his thick shaft penetrating the orifice with one great plunge…and his hand would be on Orlando's erection, keeping the same beat as his own thrusts…
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Orlando felt Viggo's hand on him, felt his passage filled with Viggo's cock…the staccatos echoing each other. He began to get light headed…the room spinning…and suddenly…
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
…his penis pulsed, sending streams of cum cascading down around his hand.
Red now had a new stain.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Ian flirted openly with Sean now, touching him on the thigh, making naughty innuendo with a whisper in his ear. Sean wondered why he hadn't gone any farther than that, though; until it hit him…Ian wanted Sean to take charge. That was a surprise – not that Sean minded being in control. It's just that he'd figured Ian, the older and wiser, would master that role. Ian was looking at him, right at him…and Sean understood the attraction.
On a whim, Sean moved his head just enough to brush his lips over the older man's. Ian's lips were gentle, supple, responsive. Experimentally, Sean swiped his tongue across Ian's lips. He could feel the older man trembling with anticipation in his embrace, as lips parted to grant Sean access to his mouth. Sean's tongue plunged inside, investigating every corner…every bit of warm, wet flesh.
Ian was breathless…moaning softly as Sean took his mouth.
"Such a lovely mouth ye have, meh dear Ian," Sean muttered, watching icy blue eyes fog over with lust. "I can only imagine what other uses I could put that mouth to."
Ian could only groan in reply. This was what he'd longed for…someone who was equal to him in power, in prowess. Someone who could top him…could take him and bend him to their will…could force him to yield both to them and to himself…to find total release of the control he'd been in all his life. Thankfully, Sean had taken the hint.
"In fact," Sean growled, "I think I'd like to take advantage of that sweet mouth now. Could you be persuaded to follow me to the back room, Mr. McKellen?" He took Ian's hand, and moved it between his own legs…urging him to feel Sean's prominent erection. "I've got something here that needs taking care of. And since you're the cause of it," he said, moving his hips to grind against Ian's grip, "I think you should be the one to take care of it."
Ian's eyes lit up like a child at Christmastime. His eyes crinkled with a grin, and his fingers tightened slightly around Sean.
Sean grabbed Ian's wrist, removing his hand from between his legs. "You can touch when I say you can touch. You'll do as I say, or you'll get nothing from me. Understand?"
"Perfectly," Ian said, still smiling. 'What a positively delightful game,' he thought to himself.
Ian followed Sean to that now-familiar room where he'd watched Orlando and Viggo just the previous night. Sean secured the door first, then moved to the couch. After removing his pants, he reclined…one leg along the length of the settee, one leg bent and propped on the floor. "Come, meh little tart," Sean beckoned. Ian was on his knees instantly, licking his lips at the sight of Sean's thickness. He put his hands on the blonde's thighs, but was instantly reprimanded. "Uh, uh…no hands. I want to see what you can do with just your mouth."
Sean set his hands along both sides of Ian's face, urging the older man downward. Ian marveled at Sean's large yet soft hands, sexy and delicate at the same time. His green eyes full of soul, yet wild and free like a beast in a way some men would never be. Ian focused on those eyes as his mouth willingly moved between Sean's powerful thighs, bestowing little kitten-licks along the way. He wormed his way, aided by his nose, underneath the already swelling cock, and slid his lips around one of Sean's balls, sucking the hair-covered sac in his mouth.
Sean felt a swift, delicious sensation spread out in his loins. The warmth ran over him, up his back, down his arms. Ian's lips captured the other side, his mouth massaging the firmness inside. Opening his mouth, Ian's tongue maintained contact up the underside of Sean's cock, tracing a line all the way to the ridge at its end. With an evil glint in his eye, Ian's lips slid down over the head, his tongue delving in and out of Sean's leaking slit.
With no warning, Ian's mouth plunged downward in a single motion, completely engulfing the throbbing penis. Sean was overwhelmed, and knew he wouldn't last long. Back and forth, the older man's mouth moved expertly, his teeth barely grazing against the sensitive flesh, his throat relaxing to accommodate the great length.
Finally, Sean could hold out no longer. The deep, thrilling sensation engulfed him, rather like a perfume, and a spasm passed through him as if in continual surrender. Sean's hands clutched Ian's head, fingers digging into thick, grey locks, pulling his mouth closer as he pumped…the hot flood of semen spilling into Ian's mouth.
When Sean released him, Ian sat back on his haunches, took out his handkerchief, folded it, and patted his lower lip.
"Come home with me," Sean managed, raggedly.
Ian obediently nodded.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Viggo's cell phone rang. A number he didn't recognize came up on the caller ID, but he answered it anyhow. "Mortensen…"
"Viggo, is that you? It's Eric."
"Ah, Eric," Viggo said, the respect evident in his greeting. And then, something struck Viggo. "Something wrong?" he asked, with urgency.
"No, no. Nothing at all. In fact," Eric said, just noting the fact himself, "I haven't heard a peep from Sean."
"Well, maybe 'no news is good news' as they say," Viggo replied, hiding his desperate uncertainty beneath a mask of pleasantries.
"Um, my new friend, I *did* call for a reason though," Eric stammered, and Viggo could sense his unrest.
"There's nothing we haven't shared out in the open, Eric. Speak, and let's get it on the table."
"Surely you noticed, today, that Johnny's current 'friend'…" Viggo noticed the emphasis on the word, as Eric still had a difficult time recognizing the homosexuality of the lot of them. "Um….he's rather miffed. And he's demanding Johnny have it out with you…come to some sort of 'closure', as it were."
"It's fine, I knew it was coming," Viggo responded heavily. "Could you have him here tomorrow morning? Don't want to totally ruin your vacation."
"He'll be there, if I have to hog tie him and bring him in there myself," Eric said.
"Um, Eric? He might enjoy that, if memory serves correct."
"That's more than I cared to know, Viggo." Eric quipped, laughing off the reference. "Should I stick around?"
"You might be needed to 'babysit' Heath for a while, don't you think?"
Eric thought a moment. Viggo was an extremely intelligent man. "You're right. He's still rather miffed. He won't even stay in the same room with Johnny."
"Johnny has that effect on people," Viggo mused, a bit more serious. "But there's lots of room here. You and Heath would probably only be halfway through a tour of the place before I finish with Depp."
"Viggo," Eric said, quietly.
"Yeah."
"You OK with this?"
Viggo thought a moment, remembering finding the sofa in the attic, re-acquainting himself with Red. The strange thing was this – Red did not despise him for the past, and it seemed that somehow, Red *knew*. "Yeah, I am now," Viggo answered, cryptically.
"Tomorrow morning, then. Rebecca can feign need of Heath to help with the children. But I'll be there for you…and Orlando."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Orlando dressed, hesitantly, and then made his way through the club. It wasn't 'normal' that Sean wasn't around. All the regular bouncer would divulge to him was that "Sean's gone for the evening". So, Orlando went home…to his cold, quiet, lonely apartment. And as he tried to sleep, dreams of oceans, vast seas of blueness, prevailed.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Viggo, too, spent a restless night. He felt he was, to Orlando, a failure…a giant beast with a thorn in his paw, a knight with a broken lance, Lord Byron with a malformed right foot. All he could concentrate on was the brown eyes, both intense and yet amazingly innocent…unlike the conniving sable of Johnny's eyes. How odd that the two would both have brown eyes, yet be so different. Sighing, in complete exhaustion after the day's events, Viggo gave in to unconsciousness.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Viggo didn't mean to oversleep. In fact, his intention was to wake early, shower, have coffee, and be 'prepared' for his morning confrontation. Although his dreams provided him with enough fodder to carry him through anything. His dancer…those brown eyes…the olive flesh…just for him.
*sigh*
Oh, if only.
And then, a knock at the door, roused him from his peaceful thoughts. "Fuck."
Viggo opened the door, greeted his guests clad in nothing but a pair of way-too-small boxers.
"Mmmmmmmm, Eric," Johnny said, obviously oblivious to his need to remain calm. "You sure you need to stick around?"
Eric didn't bat an eyelash before swatting Johnny. "Dammit, settle down," he swore, raising an eyebrow in Viggo's direction.
"Not to worry," Viggo responded, raising a hand. "Come on, Johnny. I have something to show you."
Johnny, unfortunately, saw an opportunity at another seduction. He followed Viggo; all the while, his hands touching, stroking, grabbing.
"Now, now," Viggo admonished, swatting Johnny's hands away. "It's a surprise. Be a good boy, and you'll get a surprise." Viggo, obviously by this time knew how to handle the younger man.
Up the stairs they went, up….up….into the attic…through the dust and cobwebs and….
"Oh," Johnny exclaimed.
"Oh, indeed," Viggo echoed, upon his discovery.
Johnny stared at him in unclear and embarrassed anticipation.
"You remember Red?" Viggo asked, his tone hushed and reverent, even in the presence of the man who had scorned him.
Johnny's response was unexpected. "I can't believe you hung on to this hunk of junk," he said, ridiculing the ancient piece of furniture as if there were no memories attached to it at all.
In that moment, Viggo found salvation. Johnny would never comprehend Red. ..that it was Red who helped him get through the memories, past the loneliness, beyond to the solution. It almost made Viggo sad, recognizing that Johnny would never know real love, no matter how many times the words spilled from his lips. He would never understand the commitment; he'd never make that leap.
Orlando had been part and parcel of the excitement and of his recovery.
As Viggo looked at the lopsided grin, the dark eyes, the ragged growth of hair along Johnny's chin…he knew he was ready to move on. He knew that soon, he would sit at the table, drink the wine, and present the dancer with an armload of yellow roses…and a promise of life together.
Author:
obselizabethE-mail: obselizabeth@gmail.com
Live journal: www.livejournal.com/users/obselizabeth
Rating: Definitely NC-17 now!
Type: RPS
Pairing: ViggOrli (with a little Ian and Sean and Eric thrown in -- this chapter adds a couple more boys *smile*)
Warnings: it's slash, ladies :)
Disclaimer: wouldn't it be nice if we COULD see Orlando pole dancing?
Feedback: is the cream in my coffee
Summary: Viggo's a bored multi-gazillionaire...Orlando's a pole dancer
A/N: Thanks so much to my dear friend,
namarie120, for Beta: The glamorous
namarie120Author's note: Special thanks goes to
namarie120 for letting me use the infamous "Red" in my fic. I wanted there to be something that was special to Viggo in his past relationship that could, perhaps transition to his new relationship. "Red" fits the bill :) If you haven't had the pleasure of reading it, go here: http://namarie120.livejournal.com/6268.html Laying his hand on Alexandra's shoulder, Viggo said softly, "I'm going to head home. Thanks for everything this afternoon."
"If I had the chance at love again, I'd do the same as you," she murmured, a bit melancholy with the memory. "I'll be out of here soon, just want to finish a couple of things." And then, remembering that Viggo would be at home alone with his memories, she added, "You sure you're going to be all right?"
He nodded, his hair, unkempt for the first time in ages, falling in swatches across his forehead. But hope sparkled in his blue eyes; and even though it might take a bit of time, she knew he would be all right.
Karl, ever the efficient and professional driver, remained silent…not even offering a greeting when he held the car door open for his employer. He sensed the tension, the apprehension, and thought quiet to be best. When they arrived at Viggo's home, Karl again held the door for him, saying softly, "I'll be turning in for the evening, sir. If there's anything else you need, please don't hesitate to let me know."
Viggo looked at Karl, as if for the first time. He'd been a loyal employee for years, and probably had seen more than his share of Viggo's life. "Thank you, Karl. Thank you," he said, turning to go into the house.
There were no lights on inside, but it was still early enough outside to provide a smattering of illumination…enough to make his way through the monstrosity. It was a gorgeous residence, but it wasn't a home. Only love made a home. Viggo thought back to Johnny. To what he thought was love. As Viggo trudged wearily through the dim hallway, a memory flickered. 'Would it still be there?' he wondered, now sprinting towards the staircase…up, up, up until he reached the entrance to the grand floor of the attic. Making his way through dust-covered boxes and cobwebs, he finally found it, pushed up against the back wall. It was covered with a sheet, but he knew its lines and curves from memory. He could almost smell it.
The red sofa was a most elegant piece of furniture when it was first made, but time and wear had taken their toll upon it. When new, only the well-to-do could afford furniture of this quality. Its frame was made of the strongest wood; only the softest padding filled its cushions. The legs and trim were crafted of rare mahogany and ebony; and the red velvet fabric, pleated and tufted in an intricate design across the curved back, was thick and luxurious. In its first home, it occupied a place of honor in the formal parlor; but it was seldom used, except when guests were invited. Over time sunlight began to fade the vibrancy of the crimson velvet, and disuse to stiffen its suppleness. After several years, tastes changed; the ornate sofa was replaced with a sleek leather divan, and relegated to an upstairs playroom. There it was constantly employed by the household's children; spilled drinks and dirty shoes began to soil and abrade its surface. Then one day the children were grown and the playroom abandoned, and eventually the red sofa was carried downstairs and left by the curb, along with other discards deemed too old or too damaged to be saved.
Its story might have ended there, had it not been for the Artist. He had been passing by on the street, but pulled to the curb to examine the jumble of discards with a critical eye. Spotting the sofa, he ran a palm over its elegantly curved back with a smile. 'What's a beautiful piece like you doing here on the street?' he asked in a slightly husky voice. 'Looks like you need someone to rescue you, Red, and it just so happens that I need a sofa. This could be a match made in heaven.' The sofa was large and heavy, but the Artist was young and determined. With some effort he wedged it into the hatchback of his small car and dragged it up the stairs to his mostly empty apartment.
Over time, the Artist brought home other treasures – one day, a low table with a top made from a slice of tree trunk; on another, a brass lamp in the form of a woman wreathed in vines, its glass bulbs shaped like ripe clusters of grapes. He filled the apartment with books and boxes of found items, and with easels and canvas and paints and photographs. At times he would sprawl on the sofa for hours, scribbling in notebooks or resting between bursts of painting. He once slept on the sofa for a week in paint-splattered clothes, begrudging the time he had to close his eyes, so he could begin painting again as soon as he awoke. Its fabric became marked with oils and acrylics, solvents and developing chemicals. But the Artist still thought the sofa was beautiful.
That was back when life was much simpler. But, what he thought he had back then turned out to be a lie. Viggo pushed past cartons and boxes, making his way to the couch. He took a breath before pulling back the sheet, revealing years of sentiment woven in crimson velvet. Viggo sat, gingerly at first as if to test the durability of the sofa…then suddenly sank into its welcoming depths. Brushing his hand across the seat next to him, Viggo whispered, "Hello, old friend." The nap of the fabric buzzed beneath his hand as if to purr in response to his greeting…to his return.
Tears welled up in his eyes, waves of moisture swaying against the icy blue backdrop. He kicked off his shoes and pulled his knees up onto the couch, wrapping his arms around his legs. Bracing his back against the mahogany and ebony frame of Red's corner, Viggo allowed himself to cry – years of longing and regret spilling out onto the material of his pants.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Sean watched the stage with anticipation, curious to see what Orlando's reaction would be to the first night of their ruse. He hadn't expected the young man to peer out before his performance started. A small vibration in his pocket alerted him otherwise. Seeing Orlando's code, Sean quickly made his way backstage.
"Whot's the matter?" Sean asked, rushing to surround Orlando with his arms.
"He's here," Orlando said, shaking slightly.
"He is not here."
"But, why then? What's that on the table? Who put it there?"
"An anonymous client had both items set on that exact table. Said they hoped it would 'mean something' to someone here. I only take the money in, son."
"He's not here?"
"No." Sean didn't want to give out any more information than he needed to. But he couldn't help but be concerned. "So before in yer dressing room was a bit of false bravado, eh?"
Orlando looked up at him, nodding. "My heart hurts. I can't believe the only time I tried to give my heart, it was…"
Sean interrupted him, moving the curtain just a bit so they could see the table. "Orlando. What do you see out there?"
"It…it's a bottle of wine, and a rose."
"It's YOUR favorite wine…Viggo's and your favorite wine. And a yellow rose…your favorite color. All I have to say is there's two sides to everythin', and maybe he dinna reject yeh…maybe he rejected himself." Sean watched the painted face as the idea crawled around inside Orlando's head.
"That's why he left those particular items instead of being here himself? Thinking it would be easier for me to deal with those for the time being."
Sean just nodded. "You going to be ok?"
"Yes. I'm going to be performing for him tonight, even if he isn't here. You've never steered me wrong, Sean."
"Believe me, I'd love to hate the bastard. All I'm sayin' is don't give up hope." Then, swatting Orlando 's lightly covered ass, he said, "Now get out there and knock 'em dead!"
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*
Sean went back out to the main room to find Ian sitting at the bar, so he went over to join him. "I believe you owe me a drink," Ian teased, touching Sean's arm as the blonde sidled onto the stool next to him.
"What's yer pleasure?" Sean asked, the double-entendre accompanied by a sultry grin. Sean wondered what the attraction what…and mused on what an odd couple they would make. However, the fact was that he ached for Ian. The white-haired gentleman, what a dandy he was…with a voice, a beautiful voice, an old-fashioned voice…like the cultured voices from long ago film stars, actors who made an art of simple speech. His voice was eloquent, giving words a more lyrical dimension.
"I think I'll stick to brandy, for now," Ian drawled, his emphasis on the last two words not lost on Sean. "So, how's our boy?"
"He freaked out at first," Sean said. "But I think, now, there just might be a glimmer of hope in those gorgeous brown eyes."
Just then, a man came up on the stage to announce Orlando's show.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The beat was strong. Something you'd use as a metronome to time your thrusts. Definitely a sexual beat. And the woman's voice full of lust. No lyrics, yet. Just her voice, altered in timbre by more than ordinary expiration of breath. Paula Cole…"Feelin' Love"…a song that left nothing unsaid.
As was his habit, Orlando always began his dance by moving just his hips at first, in order to get his entire body into the rhythm of the music. Soft illumination of amber tones fell on his body, highlighting the curves, emphasizing the shadows.
"You make me feel like a sticky pistil leaning into her stamen. You make me feel like Mr. Sunshine himself.
His eyes never strayed from the table in the corner…the unopened bottle of wine…the yellow rose. His gaze remained constant, as if Viggo himself occupied the chair. He danced with all the unbridled lust he'd felt with Viggo the previous evening, even though part of him was afraid to hope.
A light sheen of sweat had formed with his exertions, and the flimsy white material began to show what lay beneath. With his thoughts of Viggo and the previous evening, Orlando's body reacted…his nipples hardening, standing out…his cock hardening, straining against the insubstantial panties.
"You make me feel like splendor in the grass where we're rolling…Damn skippy baby…You make me feel like the Amazon's running between my thighs. You make me feel love…"
"He's quite a sight, isn't he?" Ian whispered against Sean's ear, his body pressed up against the other man's back. Ever the master of words, Ian could talk anyone into submission. But he couldn't deny the reaction he had to Sean. It had been a long time since anyone made him even consider bottoming. But all he could think about was Sean mastering him…seducing him…filling him.
"You make me feel like a candy apple all red and horny…You make me feel like I want to be a dumb blonde in a centerfold, the girl next door…"
Orlando slid down the pole, walking seductively over to a chair that awaited him. Perching on the edge of the folded metal seat, he reached up to grab a chain rigged to a water supply over him…all he had to do was pull. The cold water engulfed him, soaking his curls, changing the 'white' of his costume into almost nothingness. He spread his legs, the white spike-heeled boots providing an ample support, grabbed a hold of the seat of the chair with his free hand, and lifted his hips skyward…thrusting his erection up for display…then pulled the chain again. He thrust into it, as if the water were his lover.
"And I would open the door and I'd be all wet with my tits soaking through this tiny little t-shirt that I'm wearing and you would open the door and tie me up to the bed. You make me feel love…"
Orlando's body slumped back down onto the chair, indicating the end of his performance. To Sean's delight, the audience howled their pleasure. Orlando stood, bowing, and inclined his head toward Sean before exiting back to his dressing room. There, a stage hand provided him with warm towels. He couldn't wait to peel off the boots and the wet meshy costume from his skin. Rubbing his flesh briskly with the terrycloth, Orlando marveled at the erection he sported…just from thinking of Viggo. He wondered where the man was this very moment…and if Viggo thought of him.
Wrapping himself in a plush robe, Orlando moved to a settee where he usually took naps between shows. As he lay back, the rigid flesh of his penis parted the robe, lifting out into the coolness of the air. Blue eyes haunted Orlando, urging his arousal, heaping coals of lust into an already fiery passion. Almost subconsciously, Orlando reached down, and wrapped his hand around his thick, aching cock.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Viggo was weary from crying. But he felt a lightness, as if some heavy weight had been lifted from him. The brown eyes he saw before him now did not belong to an old, failed affair…but to Orlando. Just the thought of the young man stirred Viggo's arousal…memories of their evening together brought his blood to a boil within him. He felt a surge inside, one that started at his brain and continued down between his legs. The flesh hardened, achingly so, until Viggo had to find relief for himself. It did not stop him, however, from imagining Orlando's hand on him…Orlando's wicked mouth whispering teasing provocations in his ear…Orlando’s sensual body moving beneath him, as he filled the young man completely.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
His eyes closed, Orlando thought back to the previous night…remembering the pleasure Viggo had brought him. He reached up, trying to mimic the sensations, and pinched his nipple…the nub of flesh tightening quickly in response. He imagined it was Viggo's lips….teasing…licking…biting.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Viggo remembered the feel of Orlando's tight, swollen nipple in his mouth…between his teeth…and the reaction of the young man to his ministrations. Viggo licked his fingers, imagining the feel of Orlando's entrance as he breeched it…the tight orifice stretching to accommodate his finger…
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
…as he drove it deep inside himself…imagining Viggo was there, stretching him, preparing him. And then two fingers assaulted the opening, pumping…joined by a third, scissoring, widening….until he imagined the older man…
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
…curling his fingers inside of Orlando…searching out the spot that would bring him pleasure…that would make him scream with delight. Viggo's three fingers found the gland, brushing over it again and again, listening to moans of overwhelming gratification. It would be then he would enter his lover, his thick shaft penetrating the orifice with one great plunge…and his hand would be on Orlando's erection, keeping the same beat as his own thrusts…
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Orlando felt Viggo's hand on him, felt his passage filled with Viggo's cock…the staccatos echoing each other. He began to get light headed…the room spinning…and suddenly…
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
…his penis pulsed, sending streams of cum cascading down around his hand.
Red now had a new stain.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Ian flirted openly with Sean now, touching him on the thigh, making naughty innuendo with a whisper in his ear. Sean wondered why he hadn't gone any farther than that, though; until it hit him…Ian wanted Sean to take charge. That was a surprise – not that Sean minded being in control. It's just that he'd figured Ian, the older and wiser, would master that role. Ian was looking at him, right at him…and Sean understood the attraction.
On a whim, Sean moved his head just enough to brush his lips over the older man's. Ian's lips were gentle, supple, responsive. Experimentally, Sean swiped his tongue across Ian's lips. He could feel the older man trembling with anticipation in his embrace, as lips parted to grant Sean access to his mouth. Sean's tongue plunged inside, investigating every corner…every bit of warm, wet flesh.
Ian was breathless…moaning softly as Sean took his mouth.
"Such a lovely mouth ye have, meh dear Ian," Sean muttered, watching icy blue eyes fog over with lust. "I can only imagine what other uses I could put that mouth to."
Ian could only groan in reply. This was what he'd longed for…someone who was equal to him in power, in prowess. Someone who could top him…could take him and bend him to their will…could force him to yield both to them and to himself…to find total release of the control he'd been in all his life. Thankfully, Sean had taken the hint.
"In fact," Sean growled, "I think I'd like to take advantage of that sweet mouth now. Could you be persuaded to follow me to the back room, Mr. McKellen?" He took Ian's hand, and moved it between his own legs…urging him to feel Sean's prominent erection. "I've got something here that needs taking care of. And since you're the cause of it," he said, moving his hips to grind against Ian's grip, "I think you should be the one to take care of it."
Ian's eyes lit up like a child at Christmastime. His eyes crinkled with a grin, and his fingers tightened slightly around Sean.
Sean grabbed Ian's wrist, removing his hand from between his legs. "You can touch when I say you can touch. You'll do as I say, or you'll get nothing from me. Understand?"
"Perfectly," Ian said, still smiling. 'What a positively delightful game,' he thought to himself.
Ian followed Sean to that now-familiar room where he'd watched Orlando and Viggo just the previous night. Sean secured the door first, then moved to the couch. After removing his pants, he reclined…one leg along the length of the settee, one leg bent and propped on the floor. "Come, meh little tart," Sean beckoned. Ian was on his knees instantly, licking his lips at the sight of Sean's thickness. He put his hands on the blonde's thighs, but was instantly reprimanded. "Uh, uh…no hands. I want to see what you can do with just your mouth."
Sean set his hands along both sides of Ian's face, urging the older man downward. Ian marveled at Sean's large yet soft hands, sexy and delicate at the same time. His green eyes full of soul, yet wild and free like a beast in a way some men would never be. Ian focused on those eyes as his mouth willingly moved between Sean's powerful thighs, bestowing little kitten-licks along the way. He wormed his way, aided by his nose, underneath the already swelling cock, and slid his lips around one of Sean's balls, sucking the hair-covered sac in his mouth.
Sean felt a swift, delicious sensation spread out in his loins. The warmth ran over him, up his back, down his arms. Ian's lips captured the other side, his mouth massaging the firmness inside. Opening his mouth, Ian's tongue maintained contact up the underside of Sean's cock, tracing a line all the way to the ridge at its end. With an evil glint in his eye, Ian's lips slid down over the head, his tongue delving in and out of Sean's leaking slit.
With no warning, Ian's mouth plunged downward in a single motion, completely engulfing the throbbing penis. Sean was overwhelmed, and knew he wouldn't last long. Back and forth, the older man's mouth moved expertly, his teeth barely grazing against the sensitive flesh, his throat relaxing to accommodate the great length.
Finally, Sean could hold out no longer. The deep, thrilling sensation engulfed him, rather like a perfume, and a spasm passed through him as if in continual surrender. Sean's hands clutched Ian's head, fingers digging into thick, grey locks, pulling his mouth closer as he pumped…the hot flood of semen spilling into Ian's mouth.
When Sean released him, Ian sat back on his haunches, took out his handkerchief, folded it, and patted his lower lip.
"Come home with me," Sean managed, raggedly.
Ian obediently nodded.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Viggo's cell phone rang. A number he didn't recognize came up on the caller ID, but he answered it anyhow. "Mortensen…"
"Viggo, is that you? It's Eric."
"Ah, Eric," Viggo said, the respect evident in his greeting. And then, something struck Viggo. "Something wrong?" he asked, with urgency.
"No, no. Nothing at all. In fact," Eric said, just noting the fact himself, "I haven't heard a peep from Sean."
"Well, maybe 'no news is good news' as they say," Viggo replied, hiding his desperate uncertainty beneath a mask of pleasantries.
"Um, my new friend, I *did* call for a reason though," Eric stammered, and Viggo could sense his unrest.
"There's nothing we haven't shared out in the open, Eric. Speak, and let's get it on the table."
"Surely you noticed, today, that Johnny's current 'friend'…" Viggo noticed the emphasis on the word, as Eric still had a difficult time recognizing the homosexuality of the lot of them. "Um….he's rather miffed. And he's demanding Johnny have it out with you…come to some sort of 'closure', as it were."
"It's fine, I knew it was coming," Viggo responded heavily. "Could you have him here tomorrow morning? Don't want to totally ruin your vacation."
"He'll be there, if I have to hog tie him and bring him in there myself," Eric said.
"Um, Eric? He might enjoy that, if memory serves correct."
"That's more than I cared to know, Viggo." Eric quipped, laughing off the reference. "Should I stick around?"
"You might be needed to 'babysit' Heath for a while, don't you think?"
Eric thought a moment. Viggo was an extremely intelligent man. "You're right. He's still rather miffed. He won't even stay in the same room with Johnny."
"Johnny has that effect on people," Viggo mused, a bit more serious. "But there's lots of room here. You and Heath would probably only be halfway through a tour of the place before I finish with Depp."
"Viggo," Eric said, quietly.
"Yeah."
"You OK with this?"
Viggo thought a moment, remembering finding the sofa in the attic, re-acquainting himself with Red. The strange thing was this – Red did not despise him for the past, and it seemed that somehow, Red *knew*. "Yeah, I am now," Viggo answered, cryptically.
"Tomorrow morning, then. Rebecca can feign need of Heath to help with the children. But I'll be there for you…and Orlando."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Orlando dressed, hesitantly, and then made his way through the club. It wasn't 'normal' that Sean wasn't around. All the regular bouncer would divulge to him was that "Sean's gone for the evening". So, Orlando went home…to his cold, quiet, lonely apartment. And as he tried to sleep, dreams of oceans, vast seas of blueness, prevailed.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Viggo, too, spent a restless night. He felt he was, to Orlando, a failure…a giant beast with a thorn in his paw, a knight with a broken lance, Lord Byron with a malformed right foot. All he could concentrate on was the brown eyes, both intense and yet amazingly innocent…unlike the conniving sable of Johnny's eyes. How odd that the two would both have brown eyes, yet be so different. Sighing, in complete exhaustion after the day's events, Viggo gave in to unconsciousness.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Viggo didn't mean to oversleep. In fact, his intention was to wake early, shower, have coffee, and be 'prepared' for his morning confrontation. Although his dreams provided him with enough fodder to carry him through anything. His dancer…those brown eyes…the olive flesh…just for him.
*sigh*
Oh, if only.
And then, a knock at the door, roused him from his peaceful thoughts. "Fuck."
Viggo opened the door, greeted his guests clad in nothing but a pair of way-too-small boxers.
"Mmmmmmmm, Eric," Johnny said, obviously oblivious to his need to remain calm. "You sure you need to stick around?"
Eric didn't bat an eyelash before swatting Johnny. "Dammit, settle down," he swore, raising an eyebrow in Viggo's direction.
"Not to worry," Viggo responded, raising a hand. "Come on, Johnny. I have something to show you."
Johnny, unfortunately, saw an opportunity at another seduction. He followed Viggo; all the while, his hands touching, stroking, grabbing.
"Now, now," Viggo admonished, swatting Johnny's hands away. "It's a surprise. Be a good boy, and you'll get a surprise." Viggo, obviously by this time knew how to handle the younger man.
Up the stairs they went, up….up….into the attic…through the dust and cobwebs and….
"Oh," Johnny exclaimed.
"Oh, indeed," Viggo echoed, upon his discovery.
Johnny stared at him in unclear and embarrassed anticipation.
"You remember Red?" Viggo asked, his tone hushed and reverent, even in the presence of the man who had scorned him.
Johnny's response was unexpected. "I can't believe you hung on to this hunk of junk," he said, ridiculing the ancient piece of furniture as if there were no memories attached to it at all.
In that moment, Viggo found salvation. Johnny would never comprehend Red. ..that it was Red who helped him get through the memories, past the loneliness, beyond to the solution. It almost made Viggo sad, recognizing that Johnny would never know real love, no matter how many times the words spilled from his lips. He would never understand the commitment; he'd never make that leap.
Orlando had been part and parcel of the excitement and of his recovery.
As Viggo looked at the lopsided grin, the dark eyes, the ragged growth of hair along Johnny's chin…he knew he was ready to move on. He knew that soon, he would sit at the table, drink the wine, and present the dancer with an armload of yellow roses…and a promise of life together.
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no subject
Date: 2006-06-28 05:51 pm (UTC)although, you *do* remember, karl's lurking in the background still :)
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Date: 2006-06-29 12:18 pm (UTC)shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
and i can't wait to WRITE more :) i'm having so much fun with this. glad you're enjoying it.
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Date: 2006-06-28 09:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-29 12:18 pm (UTC)thanks so much!
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Date: 2006-07-13 05:12 pm (UTC)(pst. I tried to sneak a peek at the http://namarie120.livejournal.com/6268.html but it says something about not being able to see it, so I think it could be f-locked).
no subject
Date: 2006-07-13 05:18 pm (UTC)i'll check with her and get back to you....