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vigorliTitle: A Summer Place
Author: Ariel Tachna
Type: RPS
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Just sex
Disclaimer: I don’t know the actors. I just make up stories when I get bored. Any real places or historical figures are represented to the best of my knowledge and with nothing but the most profound respect.
Feedback: Please.
Beta: the irreplaceable namárië120
Summary: In protecting a local blacksmith from a murderer, overseer Viggo Mortensen meets the love of his life. Does he dare to claim that love for his own?
Banner by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mesnica
Chapter 4
The next morning, Orlando did what he always did when he needed to think: he worked the forge. The one there on site was rudimentary at best, and he resolved to fetch his own tools or have Mr. Mortensen send for them at the first possible opportunity. The overseer’s reputation made it clear he demanded quality work. Orlando was perfectly capable of providing that level of work, but only with the proper tools. The ones here would not suffice. Even so, he fired the forge and worked the bellows, shedding his jacket and vest despite the frost on the ground. The heat of the coals and the softening metal were more than enough to keep him warm. Were it not for the occasional gust of glacial wind that tore through the open shelter, he probably would have shed his shirt as well, despite the risk of sparks. He was skilled enough that he no longer worried about burning himself on the metal he was working and a few stray sparks were not enough to deter him when the heat of the forge combined with the heat of the day.
The rhythmic pounding of hammer on steel soothed his thoughts, subsuming all his passion into the creation of something new, in this case a ploughshare he had promised to a local farmer. He would replace the metal from his own stores, and he hoped Mr. Mortensen would understand and accept that. If he did not, Orlando would have to tell Sean to find another way to protect him.
From his vantage point in a nearby shed, Viggo watched the blacksmith at work. He was familiar with the process, had even wielded a hammer and tongs once or twice himself. It was a point of pride with him that he knew every task he asked his crew to perform, even if he was not skilled at all of them. He would never be an artist with metal, but he knew how to heat and shape iron into the simple braces and spars they needed. He was surprised to see Bloom in his shirtsleeves, for Viggo was bundled up against the chill, but the smith was an island native, more used to the extremes of temperature, and he had the fire to provide some heat.
Privately, he would admit to himself that he was glad of the opportunity to study the other man in the light of day, although the distance between them still made it difficult to make out the details of the man’s features. The thin shirt, though, let Viggo’s eyes follow the play of powerful muscles as Bloom’s hammer struck repeatedly. He paused in his task to return the fagot to the fire and work the bellows, heating the metal to white-hot before removing it and taking up the mallet again. Viggo felt bad about interrupting, but they had things to discuss and he could not put that off all day for the guilty pleasure of watching the younger man. Steeling himself to ignore the shivers of attraction he dared not acknowledge, he moved from the shadows, striding purposefully into the forge.
Movement on the edge of his vision broke Orlando’s concentration, but he forced himself to finish the last few strikes before plunging the heated metal into a bucket of icy water to cool. “Morning,” he said with a curt nod, grabbing a rag and wiping his hands and face free of the soot and sweat of his work.
“Good morning,” Viggo replied, summoning a smile. “We didn’t discuss your salary or your responsibilities last night. I wanted to clear that up as soon as possible.”
Orlando raised an eyebrow in surprise. “I thought my salary was the protection of life and limb.”
Viggo frowned. “Of course not! You’ll be paid for the work you do just like everyone else. In the past, we’ve paid the blacksmith one hundred dollars plus room and board for the summer.”
Orlando’s brow shot higher. That was more money than he had earned in his lifetime! “Is that what you’re offering me?” he asked cautiously.
“You’ll earn it,” Viggo assured him, knowing in intimate detail what remained to do on Cleftstone Manor before it could be completed and released to its future owner.
“What kind of smith work remains to be done?” Orlando wanted to know.
“All the railings in the house and for the balconies,” Viggo explained. “The man we hired last year could make the hinges and hardware we needed, but he wasn’t an artist. The sheriff says you have the talent to do the fine work as well as the everyday things.”
“I’ve some talent,” Orlando allowed. “But I’ll need better tools than these.”
Viggo bristled. Emerson would not appreciate extra expenses, not when they already had tools on site. The architect would not hesitate to spend necessary money, but he hated waste. “What’s that going to cost?”
“Nothing if I can go home for a few hours. I have everything I need in my forge, but Sean didn’t give me time to gather what I would need last night.”
Viggo nodded. “We’ll hitch up a wagon and take a trip into town this afternoon,” he decided. “I need to get the word out that I’m here and hiring and we need to replace some supplies that didn’t make it through the winter. Depp made a list. We can go by your forge at the same time and pick up your tools.”
“I owe you a fagot as well,” Orlando said. “I borrowed one this morning to finish an outstanding commission while I checked the state of the forge. The bellows, anvil and fire pit are in good shape, but the hammers are not very good quality. I’d rather have my own.”
“It’s settled then. We’ll go this afternoon,” Viggo declared. He started to leave, then turned back. “Depp’s making breakfast. You’re welcome to join us if you’re hungry.”
Orlando smiled genuinely, the expression lightening his features and giving him a youthful air that had been missing during their earlier conversation. Viggo’s breath caught in his throat as the desire he had suppressed while talking business came back to the fore. He could see why Bean still referred to the blacksmith as a boy, but Viggo knew only the man and so saw the beauty of the smile rather than being reminded of the boy the man had once been.
“Does the crew usually eat together?” Orlando asked, banking the fire so it would still be hot later and so no stray sparks would escape. He ordered the forge quickly so that all was in readiness for his return.
Viggo watched in silent appreciation, both aesthetic and practical. The harnessed power evident in every move the other man made appealed to the artist and lover that resided under the manager’s practical exterior, making him long to reach for his sketchbook and pencils. The overseer in him appreciated the obvious care the blacksmith put into keeping his workplace and tools in good shape. He had found the blacksmith from the year before disappointingly lax and was glad of the opportunity to replace him with someone more conscientious. And if Bloom could do the artistic work required, that would save them from having to order the expensive custom-made decorations and have them shipped to the island. Emerson did not believe in cutting corners, but he also appreciated opportunities for saving money.
Orlando could feel Mr. Mortensen’s eyes on him, but surreptitious glances in his direction did not reveal any of the other man’s thoughts to the blacksmith. The overseer’s face was a pensive mask even as his eyes followed Orlando’s every move. The expression could have hidden anything from indifference to disgust to a lust to rival Orlando’s own. Unfortunately, he did not know his employer well enough to know which emotions would show and which would be hidden. He would watch and he would learn, but for the moment, he could do nothing but meet Mortensen’s eyes. “You said something about breakfast?” he prompted after a moment of tense stillness.
“So I did,” Viggo agreed, the words jerking him out of his thoughts and back to the present. “Let’s go.” He led Orlando away from the forge and toward the campfire where they had assembled the night before.
As promised, Johnny had made breakfast, a large pot of black coffee, a batch of thick, rich oatmeal, and a rasher of bacon to share. Orlando joined the other four men in eating, though he held his silence as the others talked, listening and learning. It was clear that Johnny and the other two men had worked with Mr. Mortensen before. Though they spoke to him respectfully, the ease of their conversation projected volumes about their relationship. Perhaps they were not quite friends, understandable given their respective positions, but the overseer listened to the suggestions Johnny, Bana, and Urban made with an open mind and serious consideration. He saw as well that the manager had every intention of being involved in all aspects of the construction. That was all well and good as long as Mortensen did not try to tell him how to do his job. What needed to be done and when, absolutely, but not how.
“The timbers we used for scaffolding last summer are rotting out,” Karl informed his employer. “We’ll have to get new ones if we have any hope of raising the marble and granite to the upper levels. The ones we have now might hold regular bricks, but the first time we tried to raise one of those blocks, the whole structure would come tumbling down.”
“We’ll find what you need in town,” Viggo assured the mason. “I don’t want injuries on the site. That’s not the way I work.”
“That’s why I told you about the wood,” Karl replied with complete confidence. More than once, he had seen his boss stop construction to fix a problem that endangered the men. It was one of the reasons he left his lover every summer to come to this island to work. The pay was good and the conditions far better than on any other site he had ever worked. He would have preferred the comfort of home most of all, but he had to earn a living somehow.
Orlando was surprised by the overseer’s vehemence. He had never worked on a building site before, always working in the island forge with Bernard, but he had heard tales of workers killed or maimed by accidents because of cavalier attitudes and cutting corners. It was one of the reasons Bernard had always refused to work on the summer cottages that were springing up around the island. Even working from his own forge where he would be in no danger himself, he said, he wouldn’t be party to endangering others. The shared outrage at the conditions they saw at some of the worksites had been one of the reasons Orlando had been so hesitant to accept Sean’s plan for protection. It appeared, though, that this site, this overseer, were different.
“It might be a good idea to get an oilcloth for the forge, too,” Orlando spoke up, wanting to see what reaction he got. “I keep the fire banked pretty well, but sparks do escape occasionally, and if it gets dry like it did last summer, they could cause a wildfire.”
“Do we have any in the storage shed?” Viggo asked, turning to Depp. He had put the widower in charge of supplies several years ago when he noticed the man’s knack for organization and numbers. It was one less thing for Viggo to worry about and added to the rapport he had with his returning crew.
“We had one left last summer,” Johnny replied. “I’ll check before we go into town today and make sure.”
Satisfied, Orlando let the conversation swirl on without him, content in the knowledge that his concerns would be taken as seriously as those of the established crew. The discussion of stonework and painting, gardens and gazebos passed him by. He knew little to nothing of those matters, having spent all his time learning to work iron. Instead, he sipped his coffee and observed the men before him. Bana and Urban seemed of an age, a little older than Orlando himself, but younger than either Johnny or Mr. Mortensen. Both were darkly handsome men, strong and overtly muscular. Johnny was slimmer, though Orlando suspected his build hid a wiry strength that opponents would easily underestimate. While all three of them were attractive, they did not hold Orlando’s gaze or his thoughts. Those meandered consistently back to the overseer. Fairer than the others, he was nonetheless handsome, his blue eyes twinkling in response to a joke Johnny made. Like Johnny, the overseer was wiry rather than bulky, but he had more than proved his strength the night before when he wrestled with Orlando. Certainly, part of that was the element of surprise, but even caught off guard, Orlando was strong, made so by the work he did for a living. Mr. Mortensen had not only taken him down, he had kept the blacksmith down, a rarer feat, and proof of the overseer’s hidden strength.
A part of him felt guilty for having such thoughts so soon after Jude’s death, as if he were betraying his former lover the same way Jude had betrayed him, but Jude’s faithlessness had already killed Orlando’s softer feelings for the bank clerk. He had thought himself in love, but he had sworn to himself long ago that he would never stay with a cheating lover. It had been too hard, as a boy, to watch his mother suffer through that before both his parents were killed in an accident. Finding out that Jude had been seeing Jared Leto from Seal Cove, on the other side of the island, was all it took to extinguish any interest Orlando had in a longer term relationship with Jude. All that had remained was the desire, which was not so easily snuffed out. Now it seemed that had been supplanted, too. Glancing back at the overseer, Orlando found he did not mind. He knew he was probably setting himself up for disappointment, for the overseer surely had no interest in men beyond their role as his employees, but at least this time, the object of his attraction would be a man worthy of his respect as well.
Author: Ariel Tachna
Type: RPS
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Just sex
Disclaimer: I don’t know the actors. I just make up stories when I get bored. Any real places or historical figures are represented to the best of my knowledge and with nothing but the most profound respect.
Feedback: Please.
Beta: the irreplaceable namárië120
Summary: In protecting a local blacksmith from a murderer, overseer Viggo Mortensen meets the love of his life. Does he dare to claim that love for his own?
Banner by
mesnicaChapter 4
The next morning, Orlando did what he always did when he needed to think: he worked the forge. The one there on site was rudimentary at best, and he resolved to fetch his own tools or have Mr. Mortensen send for them at the first possible opportunity. The overseer’s reputation made it clear he demanded quality work. Orlando was perfectly capable of providing that level of work, but only with the proper tools. The ones here would not suffice. Even so, he fired the forge and worked the bellows, shedding his jacket and vest despite the frost on the ground. The heat of the coals and the softening metal were more than enough to keep him warm. Were it not for the occasional gust of glacial wind that tore through the open shelter, he probably would have shed his shirt as well, despite the risk of sparks. He was skilled enough that he no longer worried about burning himself on the metal he was working and a few stray sparks were not enough to deter him when the heat of the forge combined with the heat of the day.
The rhythmic pounding of hammer on steel soothed his thoughts, subsuming all his passion into the creation of something new, in this case a ploughshare he had promised to a local farmer. He would replace the metal from his own stores, and he hoped Mr. Mortensen would understand and accept that. If he did not, Orlando would have to tell Sean to find another way to protect him.
From his vantage point in a nearby shed, Viggo watched the blacksmith at work. He was familiar with the process, had even wielded a hammer and tongs once or twice himself. It was a point of pride with him that he knew every task he asked his crew to perform, even if he was not skilled at all of them. He would never be an artist with metal, but he knew how to heat and shape iron into the simple braces and spars they needed. He was surprised to see Bloom in his shirtsleeves, for Viggo was bundled up against the chill, but the smith was an island native, more used to the extremes of temperature, and he had the fire to provide some heat.
Privately, he would admit to himself that he was glad of the opportunity to study the other man in the light of day, although the distance between them still made it difficult to make out the details of the man’s features. The thin shirt, though, let Viggo’s eyes follow the play of powerful muscles as Bloom’s hammer struck repeatedly. He paused in his task to return the fagot to the fire and work the bellows, heating the metal to white-hot before removing it and taking up the mallet again. Viggo felt bad about interrupting, but they had things to discuss and he could not put that off all day for the guilty pleasure of watching the younger man. Steeling himself to ignore the shivers of attraction he dared not acknowledge, he moved from the shadows, striding purposefully into the forge.
Movement on the edge of his vision broke Orlando’s concentration, but he forced himself to finish the last few strikes before plunging the heated metal into a bucket of icy water to cool. “Morning,” he said with a curt nod, grabbing a rag and wiping his hands and face free of the soot and sweat of his work.
“Good morning,” Viggo replied, summoning a smile. “We didn’t discuss your salary or your responsibilities last night. I wanted to clear that up as soon as possible.”
Orlando raised an eyebrow in surprise. “I thought my salary was the protection of life and limb.”
Viggo frowned. “Of course not! You’ll be paid for the work you do just like everyone else. In the past, we’ve paid the blacksmith one hundred dollars plus room and board for the summer.”
Orlando’s brow shot higher. That was more money than he had earned in his lifetime! “Is that what you’re offering me?” he asked cautiously.
“You’ll earn it,” Viggo assured him, knowing in intimate detail what remained to do on Cleftstone Manor before it could be completed and released to its future owner.
“What kind of smith work remains to be done?” Orlando wanted to know.
“All the railings in the house and for the balconies,” Viggo explained. “The man we hired last year could make the hinges and hardware we needed, but he wasn’t an artist. The sheriff says you have the talent to do the fine work as well as the everyday things.”
“I’ve some talent,” Orlando allowed. “But I’ll need better tools than these.”
Viggo bristled. Emerson would not appreciate extra expenses, not when they already had tools on site. The architect would not hesitate to spend necessary money, but he hated waste. “What’s that going to cost?”
“Nothing if I can go home for a few hours. I have everything I need in my forge, but Sean didn’t give me time to gather what I would need last night.”
Viggo nodded. “We’ll hitch up a wagon and take a trip into town this afternoon,” he decided. “I need to get the word out that I’m here and hiring and we need to replace some supplies that didn’t make it through the winter. Depp made a list. We can go by your forge at the same time and pick up your tools.”
“I owe you a fagot as well,” Orlando said. “I borrowed one this morning to finish an outstanding commission while I checked the state of the forge. The bellows, anvil and fire pit are in good shape, but the hammers are not very good quality. I’d rather have my own.”
“It’s settled then. We’ll go this afternoon,” Viggo declared. He started to leave, then turned back. “Depp’s making breakfast. You’re welcome to join us if you’re hungry.”
Orlando smiled genuinely, the expression lightening his features and giving him a youthful air that had been missing during their earlier conversation. Viggo’s breath caught in his throat as the desire he had suppressed while talking business came back to the fore. He could see why Bean still referred to the blacksmith as a boy, but Viggo knew only the man and so saw the beauty of the smile rather than being reminded of the boy the man had once been.
“Does the crew usually eat together?” Orlando asked, banking the fire so it would still be hot later and so no stray sparks would escape. He ordered the forge quickly so that all was in readiness for his return.
Viggo watched in silent appreciation, both aesthetic and practical. The harnessed power evident in every move the other man made appealed to the artist and lover that resided under the manager’s practical exterior, making him long to reach for his sketchbook and pencils. The overseer in him appreciated the obvious care the blacksmith put into keeping his workplace and tools in good shape. He had found the blacksmith from the year before disappointingly lax and was glad of the opportunity to replace him with someone more conscientious. And if Bloom could do the artistic work required, that would save them from having to order the expensive custom-made decorations and have them shipped to the island. Emerson did not believe in cutting corners, but he also appreciated opportunities for saving money.
Orlando could feel Mr. Mortensen’s eyes on him, but surreptitious glances in his direction did not reveal any of the other man’s thoughts to the blacksmith. The overseer’s face was a pensive mask even as his eyes followed Orlando’s every move. The expression could have hidden anything from indifference to disgust to a lust to rival Orlando’s own. Unfortunately, he did not know his employer well enough to know which emotions would show and which would be hidden. He would watch and he would learn, but for the moment, he could do nothing but meet Mortensen’s eyes. “You said something about breakfast?” he prompted after a moment of tense stillness.
“So I did,” Viggo agreed, the words jerking him out of his thoughts and back to the present. “Let’s go.” He led Orlando away from the forge and toward the campfire where they had assembled the night before.
As promised, Johnny had made breakfast, a large pot of black coffee, a batch of thick, rich oatmeal, and a rasher of bacon to share. Orlando joined the other four men in eating, though he held his silence as the others talked, listening and learning. It was clear that Johnny and the other two men had worked with Mr. Mortensen before. Though they spoke to him respectfully, the ease of their conversation projected volumes about their relationship. Perhaps they were not quite friends, understandable given their respective positions, but the overseer listened to the suggestions Johnny, Bana, and Urban made with an open mind and serious consideration. He saw as well that the manager had every intention of being involved in all aspects of the construction. That was all well and good as long as Mortensen did not try to tell him how to do his job. What needed to be done and when, absolutely, but not how.
“The timbers we used for scaffolding last summer are rotting out,” Karl informed his employer. “We’ll have to get new ones if we have any hope of raising the marble and granite to the upper levels. The ones we have now might hold regular bricks, but the first time we tried to raise one of those blocks, the whole structure would come tumbling down.”
“We’ll find what you need in town,” Viggo assured the mason. “I don’t want injuries on the site. That’s not the way I work.”
“That’s why I told you about the wood,” Karl replied with complete confidence. More than once, he had seen his boss stop construction to fix a problem that endangered the men. It was one of the reasons he left his lover every summer to come to this island to work. The pay was good and the conditions far better than on any other site he had ever worked. He would have preferred the comfort of home most of all, but he had to earn a living somehow.
Orlando was surprised by the overseer’s vehemence. He had never worked on a building site before, always working in the island forge with Bernard, but he had heard tales of workers killed or maimed by accidents because of cavalier attitudes and cutting corners. It was one of the reasons Bernard had always refused to work on the summer cottages that were springing up around the island. Even working from his own forge where he would be in no danger himself, he said, he wouldn’t be party to endangering others. The shared outrage at the conditions they saw at some of the worksites had been one of the reasons Orlando had been so hesitant to accept Sean’s plan for protection. It appeared, though, that this site, this overseer, were different.
“It might be a good idea to get an oilcloth for the forge, too,” Orlando spoke up, wanting to see what reaction he got. “I keep the fire banked pretty well, but sparks do escape occasionally, and if it gets dry like it did last summer, they could cause a wildfire.”
“Do we have any in the storage shed?” Viggo asked, turning to Depp. He had put the widower in charge of supplies several years ago when he noticed the man’s knack for organization and numbers. It was one less thing for Viggo to worry about and added to the rapport he had with his returning crew.
“We had one left last summer,” Johnny replied. “I’ll check before we go into town today and make sure.”
Satisfied, Orlando let the conversation swirl on without him, content in the knowledge that his concerns would be taken as seriously as those of the established crew. The discussion of stonework and painting, gardens and gazebos passed him by. He knew little to nothing of those matters, having spent all his time learning to work iron. Instead, he sipped his coffee and observed the men before him. Bana and Urban seemed of an age, a little older than Orlando himself, but younger than either Johnny or Mr. Mortensen. Both were darkly handsome men, strong and overtly muscular. Johnny was slimmer, though Orlando suspected his build hid a wiry strength that opponents would easily underestimate. While all three of them were attractive, they did not hold Orlando’s gaze or his thoughts. Those meandered consistently back to the overseer. Fairer than the others, he was nonetheless handsome, his blue eyes twinkling in response to a joke Johnny made. Like Johnny, the overseer was wiry rather than bulky, but he had more than proved his strength the night before when he wrestled with Orlando. Certainly, part of that was the element of surprise, but even caught off guard, Orlando was strong, made so by the work he did for a living. Mr. Mortensen had not only taken him down, he had kept the blacksmith down, a rarer feat, and proof of the overseer’s hidden strength.
A part of him felt guilty for having such thoughts so soon after Jude’s death, as if he were betraying his former lover the same way Jude had betrayed him, but Jude’s faithlessness had already killed Orlando’s softer feelings for the bank clerk. He had thought himself in love, but he had sworn to himself long ago that he would never stay with a cheating lover. It had been too hard, as a boy, to watch his mother suffer through that before both his parents were killed in an accident. Finding out that Jude had been seeing Jared Leto from Seal Cove, on the other side of the island, was all it took to extinguish any interest Orlando had in a longer term relationship with Jude. All that had remained was the desire, which was not so easily snuffed out. Now it seemed that had been supplanted, too. Glancing back at the overseer, Orlando found he did not mind. He knew he was probably setting himself up for disappointment, for the overseer surely had no interest in men beyond their role as his employees, but at least this time, the object of his attraction would be a man worthy of his respect as well.
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