vigorli

Title: The perfect canvas Prompted by

ficchallenge's 'Boy Toy' Challenge
Characters: Viggorli
Rating: PG-13 (stuff 'implied', but never divulged)
Warnings: um….if you're here and reading, you don't NEED a warning ;)
Disclaimer: can i help it that viggo loves to paint?

Author's note: Special thanks, again, to namarie120 for letting me use the infamous "Red" in my fics. If you haven't had the pleasure of reading it, go here: http://namarie120.livejournal.com/6268.html

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"Okay, okay…so you won the bet, filthy human," Orlando protested.

"Can I help it that I'm older and wiser?" Viggo quipped, rummaging through his kitchen pantry. He emerged, minutes later, arms laden with various jars and containers…to find Orlando sitting at the kitchen table. "So you think you can go through with this?"

Orlando looked up at his lover, incredulously. "Who the fuck do you think you're talking to?" he asked. "I can take anything you dish out, old man."

With the gauntlet firmly thrown down, Viggo's eyes crinkled in amusement. "I'm sure you can, elf boy," was all Viggo muttered, barely able to contain his chuckle.

Orlando followed Viggo, with his armload in tow, into Viggo's workroom. Orlando would have thought his lover might bring him immediately to the bedroom.

Viggo dumped the contents of his arms unceremoniously onto his work counter, then turned to leave the room. "Wait here," he instructed Orlando, then disappeared through the doorway. Orlando heard all sorts of unidentified grunts and groans.

Finally, when Viggo returned, he gathered all his supplies in a bucket, grabbed Orlando's hand, and pulled him along behind him. They went into the sun room…where they loved to lounge and read the paper. The sun room…where Viggo had deemed that "Red" was destined for its own special room. Orlando noted that the ramshackled sofa was covered with clear plastic sheeting.

Viggo directed Orlando down onto Red, posing his arm closest to the back of the couch up over his head…the other arm trailing down towards the carpeting below. Likewise, Viggo took Orlando's leg that was closest to the back of the soft and crooked it up over the back to expose his naked loins.

"Perfect."

"What? You want to photograph me here? All you had to do was…"

But Viggo interrupted him. "No, my love," he said, softly, gently, and totally engrossed in his thought process. "I want to paint you."

Orlando looked around. He saw no canvas. No drawing tablet. No medium upon which Viggo could transfer the image he saw onto another avenue.

"But," Orlando protested.

"Don't move," Viggo ordered, his mind elsewhere as he mixed and concocted various colors and blends on the palette balanced with his left hand. Viggo turned, brush in hand, and began to swirl the edible paint upon Orlando's flesh. He began at the striking cheekbones, working his way down over Orlando's strong chin line…down along the incredibly sumptuous length of his neck…and over his shoulders. Reaching the younger man's collar bones and chest, Viggo created intricate patterns that led down to the quarter-sized areolas.

Viggo took the opportunity to re-dip his brush, changing colors. "This requires a special color," he muttered, more to himself. Subsequently, the brush returned, tracing intricate circles, in varying hues from red-orange to yellow-gold, outward from the distended nipples.

Viggo dipped his brush between Lemon Yellow and Bordeaux Wine, mixing the two in an empty space on the palette. "I need something distinctive to highlight your sun tattoo," Viggo said, again mutter, preoccupied.

Orlando laid his head back, closing his eyes, reveling in the feel of the paintbrush working its way down his body. He'd notice, every once in a while, when the brush wouldn't touch him, realizing that it was Viggo changing colors, or mixing a more elaborate blend.

When the brush touched the head of his already-erect cock, Orlando's eyes opened in curiosity.

Yellow. The entire head and shaft were painted yellow. And then gone back over with a brush in swirls of Spring Rose Pink and Capri Blue. Orlando watched as Viggo reached behind him, stretching to find just the right ingredient. Then he returned to shower his still-damp-shaft with just the right amount of white edible sprinkles – the 'white' color being more clear than anything.

Viggo leaned back, his hand coming up to rest his chin upon.

"You satisfied, you old buggar?"

"The bet was," Viggo spoke, his voice even, without moving his head from its resting point, "for the loser to be a 'boy toy' for the winner for an afternoon."

"And all you wanted to do was paint me?" Orlando asked, obviously wanting more than his lover was currently giving him.

"Let's just say," Viggo teased, "that it's a damn good thing I'm not a diabetic."