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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 (this chapter, the sulty Sileya)
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 8
Self-directed anger raged through Viggo as he stalked toward the cabin that was his home for the summer. He knew his last comment had gone too far, in more ways than one. He should not have attacked Bloom the way he did, not when the blacksmith had so recently lost the lover to which Viggo had referred. He also should not have phrased the comment in so revealing a manner. He had all but screamed his desire at the other man, or so it seemed to him. He had walked away before Orlando had a chance to reply. Orlando… the blacksmith’s question about names had been pointed, and it seemed to have served its purpose as well. He would not call Orlando by his first name – he stood firm in that determination – but in his head a line had been crossed, one he could never cross in reality.
Except that he had crossed it. Not in saying Orlando’s name aloud, but in everything he had done that afternoon to try to catch the blacksmith’s attention. He knew, if he was being honest with himself, that he would never have stripped to the waist the way he did at the pump if Orlando had not been there. Yes, he had worked up a sweat setting up the camp, but he had been sweaty before. Yes, he wanted a bath, but a quick rinse under the icy pump hardly counted. The heat welling in him had little to do with the work they had been doing anyway, and removing his shirt and jacket had not been about relieving that heat, but hopefully adding to it. Unfortunately, as far as he could tell, the younger man had been unfazed.
He was beyond annoyed with himself. He had no reason to think he might catch Orlando’s eye, even knowing the blacksmith was interested in men. Hell, the man had lost his lover only a week before. It was completely unreasonable to expect Orlando to move on that quickly. That did nothing to mitigate Viggo’s desire, though. His entire conversation with Orlando after the crew bosses left for the watch and to move their things was motivated by an ever-increasing need to capture Orlando’s interest. Of course, then he had run like a coward rather than brazening out the blacksmith’s reaction.
That had to stop. Right now. He could not irresponsibly endanger his authority with his men or his position in town over an infatuation with the blacksmith, no matter how attractive he was. Orlando deserved better than that, too. His loss was surely too recent for him to have any desire for a new relationship, and Viggo could barely offer him that, not when the end of the summer meant an end to his residence on the island. His path was simple, really. Avoid time alone with the other man. He would not say anything that might be misinterpreted in front of the crew bosses or the crew. Only if they were alone would he dare say the kinds of things he had said to Orlando today. Therefore, such opportunities were to be avoided.
Stripping off his dirty clothes and pulling on his nightshirt, he lay down and tried to will himself to sleep. While he was awake, it was relatively simple to force his thoughts away from Orlando, but as he began to drift, images of the blacksmith slipped past his conscious control, and his libido sat up and took notice. Before he realized what he was doing, his hand had slid down his chest to his groin, rucking up his nightshirt as it went. With a groan, his hand closed around his hard flesh as he saw again the play of muscles under cloth as Orlando worked the forge. In his passion-inspired imaginings, the blacksmith removed his shirt, leaving his chest bare to Viggo’s gaze before turning back to his work, letting the overseer watch as his muscles flexed with the rhythmic pounding of the hammer. His fist on his cock kept perfect time. Letting himself sink deeper into the fantasy world his subconscious was providing, Viggo took a step toward Orlando, then another, until he could touch the smooth flesh. The blacksmith turned to him with a welcoming smile, setting aside his hammer without hesitation, opening his mouth to the claiming kiss.
Viggo’s hand tightened around his aching cock as he imagined what it would be like to kiss Orlando, what it would feel like to have the blacksmith’s strong, calloused hand encircle his erection. The movement of his fist sped up at the thought, leaving him gasping for breath as his orgasm tore through him, Orlando’s name on his lips as he came.
The feeling of release was soured by the realization that once again, he had allowed his passions to rule him. This was the second time he had brought himself off to thoughts of Orlando with absolutely no encouragement from the other man. Disgusted with himself, he rose and washed away the evidence of his climax, then pulled his clothes back on. He obviously would not be able to trust himself in the cabin. He would relieve Depp on watch and sublimate his energy into patrolling the camp. At least that way, he would be doing something to protect Orlando instead of making the situation worse.
***********************
Across the camp, in one of the large tents, Eric, Karl, and Orlando sat in the light of a small oil lamp talking. “So how long have you worked for Mr. Mortensen?”
“Eight years,” Eric replied. “I think we started with him the same summer, right, Karl?”
“Yeah,” Karl agreed. “Eight years ago. I’ve worked with other overseers in my career, but none of them compare to Mr. Mortensen. I’ll keep coming back to him as long as he has work to be done.”
“He seems to inspire incredible loyalty,” Orlando observed casually, trying not to give away his interest to the other men. That he would want to know about his employer was reasonable, but he did not want to telegraph the depth of his fascination with the tall blond.
“He does,” Eric concurred. “You’ll find, probably, that more than half the crew he hires this year will be people who have worked for him before. He treats his men well, makes sure they’re paid on time and in full, gives us all a place to stay and provides the board for the summer. He doesn’t have to hire a cook. He could leave us all on our own to make do with our feeble cooking skills. He doesn’t, though.”
“It’s not completely unselfish on his part,” Karl interjected. “After all, if we don’t have to spend time cooking, that’s more time we can spend working.”
“I’d rather work an extra hour or two than have to cook for myself!” Eric insisted.
“Me, too,” Orlando agreed. “I can do it if I have to, but just as often, I end up eating at the tavern or at Widow Tyler’s boarding house.”
“Not this summer,” Karl declared. “Mrs. Weaving is a fine cook. You won’t need to head into town to get a decent meal.”
“He can’t head into town anyway,” Johnny added from the entrance of the tent.
“Aren’t you supposed to be on watch?” Eric asked.
Johnny shrugged. “Mr. Mortensen came and relieved me early. He said he couldn’t sleep anyway.”
Orlando perked up at that. He would wait a while so as not to be obvious, and then he would see if he could join the overseer on his watch. He definitely wanted to follow up on their earlier conversation. “Is he always so solitary?” he wondered aloud.
“Yes,” Johnny replied. “He shares some of the load he bears from the construction responsibilities with us, but he has always been a loner on a personal level.”
“But he’ll listen to anything you want to tell him,” Karl commented. “Knowing I could talk to him is all that kept me sane my first summer here.”
“He’s the camp’s confessor in a lot of ways,” Eric agreed. “I think we’ve all spilled our worries to him at least once a summer.”
“Who listens to his worries?” Orlando inquired.
All three men shook their heads. “Nobody here anyway,” Johnny answered. “Maybe he has someone back in Boston.”
“His wife, maybe?” Orlando suggested guilelessly.
“He’s not married,” Karl informed him. “In fact, I’ve never even heard of him speak of anyone special, but surely he must have friends there.”
Orlando hoped so. The thought of living such a solitary life saddened him. Viggo deserved better than that. The thought brought an almost smile to his lips, despite the troubled thoughts. The overseer had made a similar comment to him earlier, about how he deserved better than to live in fear and persecution. For a moment, he wondered if they could give each other what they truly deserved. He had to remind himself not to jump to conclusions just yet.
Shifting restlessly on his cot, he found the perfect excuse to leave the tent and join Viggo. “I need the privy,” he announced. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Eric rose immediately. “I’ll come with you. You shouldn’t wander alone, and I need to go anyway.”
Orlando smothered a curse. He could not very well change his mind now or refuse Eric’s offer without an explanation he was not willing to give.
“Thanks,” he said instead, knowing that saying the right things now would increase the likelihood of being able to slip away later. “It’s probably safe with Mr. Mortensen on patrol, but that’s no reason to take chances.”
He and Eric left the tent for the little outhouse on the outskirts of the camp. The wind whistled eerily through the trees as they walked, the wispy clouds dancing across the face of the moon, casting odd shadows on the clearing where the camp stood. Suddenly glad he was not out there alone, Orlando turned to look at Eric, seeking the reassurance of the other man’s presence. He refused to let the killer keep him from functioning, but he could feel an edge of fear that had not bothered him until that day with the attempted shooting in town and the vandalism at his house.
They used the privy and returned to the tent. Eric doused the lamp as soon as they were settled, plunging them into the darkness and silence of the night and leaving them alone with their individual thoughts.
Eric’s thoughts drifted to his sweetheart back home. Despite her youth – she was still six months shy of eighteen – she had captured his heart. He sighed wistfully as he thought of her… little Rebecca Gleeson. Except that she was not so little anymore. To his delight, the little terror had grown into a tall, slender woman. The silken exterior hid a spine of steel, and Eric knew she was exactly what he needed, that having her at his side would push him to be his very best rather than drifting through life as he was so often tempted to do. He sighed again, missing the feeling of her hand in his, her lips under his. Though they would wait until her birthday to wed, at her father’s insistence, they had long since mastered the art of slipping away for a few stolen hours. He had not made love to her yet the way he desired, not wanting her to get pregnant out of wedlock, but that had not stopped them from learning each other’s body in every other way he could think of. He rolled over on the cot, wishing he were alone with his thoughts. It would not be the last time he made that wish, he knew all too well. This was the last summer, though. He would marry Rebecca this winter and if he returned to work for Mr. Mortensen next summer, they would take a room at the boarding house so he could return to her every night. Holding tight to that thought, he slipped into dreams.
Across the tent, Orlando hid a muffled sigh of frustration. He was glad Eric had gone with him to the privy, but it had ruined the chance to slip away. Another time, he promised himself. He had all summer. The opportunity to speak with Viggo again would certainly arise if he was patient. His thoughts led to a familiar swelling in his lower regions. He sighed again, knowing he could do nothing about it but dream. Trying to avoid thinking about the nagging ache, his thoughts drifted instead to Jude. That certainly doused any lingering arousal.
A part of him had wondered, still wondered since he first learned of Jude’s faithlessness, why his former lover had cheated on him. He could not ever remember discussing the issue with Jude, yet surely it must have been clear to the banker that he wanted an exclusive relationship. Had he done something to drive Jude away? He knew he was not the most polished of men. His apparel was of necessity coarse, the heavy fabrics protecting him from the cold in the winter and from the dangers of his job. Jude had known what Orlando was before they ever became lovers. Surely that could not be the cause, yet Orlando could think of nothing else.
He tried to pinpoint in his mind the moment when Jude first strayed. He flattered himself to think that they had shared some period of faithfulness before Jude’s roving eye kicked in. Thinking back, he could identify a change in his lover’s behavior about six weeks before their fight in the tavern. At the time, he had thought it was stress at work, with a new bank manager coming in and changing things, and that was surely part of it, but their relationship had not recovered after that, leaving Orlando often alone and emotionally neglected even when Jude did come by and assuage his physical needs.
Hating the doubt that filled him when he thought of those times, Orlando pushed the memories away, trying to dwell instead on the possibilities the future held, specifically one sexy overseer. Viggo had none of Jude’s softness, none of his perfumed clinginess, but Orlando did not think he would miss it, not if he had the overseer’s strength in its place. Certainly, his boss would not be disturbed by his blacksmith’s clothes or the sweat and soot that were part of his job. Jude had never wanted to see Orlando until after he bathed and was always harping for him to buy nicer clothes. Orlando had stubbornly resisted, claiming he had no reason to spend money on more than his suit for Sunday when he was only going to sit around the house. Was that refusal part of the problem? Had his stubbornness driven Jude away?
He knew he was independent, some would even say cocky, but he had gotten where he was in his life by forging ahead, regardless of the odds against him. Had that caused his problems with Jude? Had the banker wanted someone more malleable? Could that be what Viggo wanted as well? His heart quailed at the thought. Could he change so completely to suit the whims of a lover?
He was getting ahead of himself again. He had no idea if Viggo was even interested in men, much less in him. Resigning himself to another restless night, he tried to still his thoughts enough that he could sleep. His fears followed him into his dreams, though, images of himself wearing a muslin dress and plain apron, playing the perfect wife, groveling at the overseer’s feet, begging for scraps of the man’s time and attention yet completely at his command lest he drive his lover away. With a muffled shout, he startled awake, sitting up in bed as he fought the humiliation of the nightmare.
No.
He would not subjugate himself that way. He would not give up who he was. He wanted Viggo, yes, but if the perfect wife was what Viggo wanted, he would be better off with one of the ladies in town. Despite his desire for the older man, the overseer was not worth losing himself in the process.
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 (this chapter, the sulty Sileya)
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 8
Self-directed anger raged through Viggo as he stalked toward the cabin that was his home for the summer. He knew his last comment had gone too far, in more ways than one. He should not have attacked Bloom the way he did, not when the blacksmith had so recently lost the lover to which Viggo had referred. He also should not have phrased the comment in so revealing a manner. He had all but screamed his desire at the other man, or so it seemed to him. He had walked away before Orlando had a chance to reply. Orlando… the blacksmith’s question about names had been pointed, and it seemed to have served its purpose as well. He would not call Orlando by his first name – he stood firm in that determination – but in his head a line had been crossed, one he could never cross in reality.
Except that he had crossed it. Not in saying Orlando’s name aloud, but in everything he had done that afternoon to try to catch the blacksmith’s attention. He knew, if he was being honest with himself, that he would never have stripped to the waist the way he did at the pump if Orlando had not been there. Yes, he had worked up a sweat setting up the camp, but he had been sweaty before. Yes, he wanted a bath, but a quick rinse under the icy pump hardly counted. The heat welling in him had little to do with the work they had been doing anyway, and removing his shirt and jacket had not been about relieving that heat, but hopefully adding to it. Unfortunately, as far as he could tell, the younger man had been unfazed.
He was beyond annoyed with himself. He had no reason to think he might catch Orlando’s eye, even knowing the blacksmith was interested in men. Hell, the man had lost his lover only a week before. It was completely unreasonable to expect Orlando to move on that quickly. That did nothing to mitigate Viggo’s desire, though. His entire conversation with Orlando after the crew bosses left for the watch and to move their things was motivated by an ever-increasing need to capture Orlando’s interest. Of course, then he had run like a coward rather than brazening out the blacksmith’s reaction.
That had to stop. Right now. He could not irresponsibly endanger his authority with his men or his position in town over an infatuation with the blacksmith, no matter how attractive he was. Orlando deserved better than that, too. His loss was surely too recent for him to have any desire for a new relationship, and Viggo could barely offer him that, not when the end of the summer meant an end to his residence on the island. His path was simple, really. Avoid time alone with the other man. He would not say anything that might be misinterpreted in front of the crew bosses or the crew. Only if they were alone would he dare say the kinds of things he had said to Orlando today. Therefore, such opportunities were to be avoided.
Stripping off his dirty clothes and pulling on his nightshirt, he lay down and tried to will himself to sleep. While he was awake, it was relatively simple to force his thoughts away from Orlando, but as he began to drift, images of the blacksmith slipped past his conscious control, and his libido sat up and took notice. Before he realized what he was doing, his hand had slid down his chest to his groin, rucking up his nightshirt as it went. With a groan, his hand closed around his hard flesh as he saw again the play of muscles under cloth as Orlando worked the forge. In his passion-inspired imaginings, the blacksmith removed his shirt, leaving his chest bare to Viggo’s gaze before turning back to his work, letting the overseer watch as his muscles flexed with the rhythmic pounding of the hammer. His fist on his cock kept perfect time. Letting himself sink deeper into the fantasy world his subconscious was providing, Viggo took a step toward Orlando, then another, until he could touch the smooth flesh. The blacksmith turned to him with a welcoming smile, setting aside his hammer without hesitation, opening his mouth to the claiming kiss.
Viggo’s hand tightened around his aching cock as he imagined what it would be like to kiss Orlando, what it would feel like to have the blacksmith’s strong, calloused hand encircle his erection. The movement of his fist sped up at the thought, leaving him gasping for breath as his orgasm tore through him, Orlando’s name on his lips as he came.
The feeling of release was soured by the realization that once again, he had allowed his passions to rule him. This was the second time he had brought himself off to thoughts of Orlando with absolutely no encouragement from the other man. Disgusted with himself, he rose and washed away the evidence of his climax, then pulled his clothes back on. He obviously would not be able to trust himself in the cabin. He would relieve Depp on watch and sublimate his energy into patrolling the camp. At least that way, he would be doing something to protect Orlando instead of making the situation worse.
***********************
Across the camp, in one of the large tents, Eric, Karl, and Orlando sat in the light of a small oil lamp talking. “So how long have you worked for Mr. Mortensen?”
“Eight years,” Eric replied. “I think we started with him the same summer, right, Karl?”
“Yeah,” Karl agreed. “Eight years ago. I’ve worked with other overseers in my career, but none of them compare to Mr. Mortensen. I’ll keep coming back to him as long as he has work to be done.”
“He seems to inspire incredible loyalty,” Orlando observed casually, trying not to give away his interest to the other men. That he would want to know about his employer was reasonable, but he did not want to telegraph the depth of his fascination with the tall blond.
“He does,” Eric concurred. “You’ll find, probably, that more than half the crew he hires this year will be people who have worked for him before. He treats his men well, makes sure they’re paid on time and in full, gives us all a place to stay and provides the board for the summer. He doesn’t have to hire a cook. He could leave us all on our own to make do with our feeble cooking skills. He doesn’t, though.”
“It’s not completely unselfish on his part,” Karl interjected. “After all, if we don’t have to spend time cooking, that’s more time we can spend working.”
“I’d rather work an extra hour or two than have to cook for myself!” Eric insisted.
“Me, too,” Orlando agreed. “I can do it if I have to, but just as often, I end up eating at the tavern or at Widow Tyler’s boarding house.”
“Not this summer,” Karl declared. “Mrs. Weaving is a fine cook. You won’t need to head into town to get a decent meal.”
“He can’t head into town anyway,” Johnny added from the entrance of the tent.
“Aren’t you supposed to be on watch?” Eric asked.
Johnny shrugged. “Mr. Mortensen came and relieved me early. He said he couldn’t sleep anyway.”
Orlando perked up at that. He would wait a while so as not to be obvious, and then he would see if he could join the overseer on his watch. He definitely wanted to follow up on their earlier conversation. “Is he always so solitary?” he wondered aloud.
“Yes,” Johnny replied. “He shares some of the load he bears from the construction responsibilities with us, but he has always been a loner on a personal level.”
“But he’ll listen to anything you want to tell him,” Karl commented. “Knowing I could talk to him is all that kept me sane my first summer here.”
“He’s the camp’s confessor in a lot of ways,” Eric agreed. “I think we’ve all spilled our worries to him at least once a summer.”
“Who listens to his worries?” Orlando inquired.
All three men shook their heads. “Nobody here anyway,” Johnny answered. “Maybe he has someone back in Boston.”
“His wife, maybe?” Orlando suggested guilelessly.
“He’s not married,” Karl informed him. “In fact, I’ve never even heard of him speak of anyone special, but surely he must have friends there.”
Orlando hoped so. The thought of living such a solitary life saddened him. Viggo deserved better than that. The thought brought an almost smile to his lips, despite the troubled thoughts. The overseer had made a similar comment to him earlier, about how he deserved better than to live in fear and persecution. For a moment, he wondered if they could give each other what they truly deserved. He had to remind himself not to jump to conclusions just yet.
Shifting restlessly on his cot, he found the perfect excuse to leave the tent and join Viggo. “I need the privy,” he announced. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Eric rose immediately. “I’ll come with you. You shouldn’t wander alone, and I need to go anyway.”
Orlando smothered a curse. He could not very well change his mind now or refuse Eric’s offer without an explanation he was not willing to give.
“Thanks,” he said instead, knowing that saying the right things now would increase the likelihood of being able to slip away later. “It’s probably safe with Mr. Mortensen on patrol, but that’s no reason to take chances.”
He and Eric left the tent for the little outhouse on the outskirts of the camp. The wind whistled eerily through the trees as they walked, the wispy clouds dancing across the face of the moon, casting odd shadows on the clearing where the camp stood. Suddenly glad he was not out there alone, Orlando turned to look at Eric, seeking the reassurance of the other man’s presence. He refused to let the killer keep him from functioning, but he could feel an edge of fear that had not bothered him until that day with the attempted shooting in town and the vandalism at his house.
They used the privy and returned to the tent. Eric doused the lamp as soon as they were settled, plunging them into the darkness and silence of the night and leaving them alone with their individual thoughts.
Eric’s thoughts drifted to his sweetheart back home. Despite her youth – she was still six months shy of eighteen – she had captured his heart. He sighed wistfully as he thought of her… little Rebecca Gleeson. Except that she was not so little anymore. To his delight, the little terror had grown into a tall, slender woman. The silken exterior hid a spine of steel, and Eric knew she was exactly what he needed, that having her at his side would push him to be his very best rather than drifting through life as he was so often tempted to do. He sighed again, missing the feeling of her hand in his, her lips under his. Though they would wait until her birthday to wed, at her father’s insistence, they had long since mastered the art of slipping away for a few stolen hours. He had not made love to her yet the way he desired, not wanting her to get pregnant out of wedlock, but that had not stopped them from learning each other’s body in every other way he could think of. He rolled over on the cot, wishing he were alone with his thoughts. It would not be the last time he made that wish, he knew all too well. This was the last summer, though. He would marry Rebecca this winter and if he returned to work for Mr. Mortensen next summer, they would take a room at the boarding house so he could return to her every night. Holding tight to that thought, he slipped into dreams.
Across the tent, Orlando hid a muffled sigh of frustration. He was glad Eric had gone with him to the privy, but it had ruined the chance to slip away. Another time, he promised himself. He had all summer. The opportunity to speak with Viggo again would certainly arise if he was patient. His thoughts led to a familiar swelling in his lower regions. He sighed again, knowing he could do nothing about it but dream. Trying to avoid thinking about the nagging ache, his thoughts drifted instead to Jude. That certainly doused any lingering arousal.
A part of him had wondered, still wondered since he first learned of Jude’s faithlessness, why his former lover had cheated on him. He could not ever remember discussing the issue with Jude, yet surely it must have been clear to the banker that he wanted an exclusive relationship. Had he done something to drive Jude away? He knew he was not the most polished of men. His apparel was of necessity coarse, the heavy fabrics protecting him from the cold in the winter and from the dangers of his job. Jude had known what Orlando was before they ever became lovers. Surely that could not be the cause, yet Orlando could think of nothing else.
He tried to pinpoint in his mind the moment when Jude first strayed. He flattered himself to think that they had shared some period of faithfulness before Jude’s roving eye kicked in. Thinking back, he could identify a change in his lover’s behavior about six weeks before their fight in the tavern. At the time, he had thought it was stress at work, with a new bank manager coming in and changing things, and that was surely part of it, but their relationship had not recovered after that, leaving Orlando often alone and emotionally neglected even when Jude did come by and assuage his physical needs.
Hating the doubt that filled him when he thought of those times, Orlando pushed the memories away, trying to dwell instead on the possibilities the future held, specifically one sexy overseer. Viggo had none of Jude’s softness, none of his perfumed clinginess, but Orlando did not think he would miss it, not if he had the overseer’s strength in its place. Certainly, his boss would not be disturbed by his blacksmith’s clothes or the sweat and soot that were part of his job. Jude had never wanted to see Orlando until after he bathed and was always harping for him to buy nicer clothes. Orlando had stubbornly resisted, claiming he had no reason to spend money on more than his suit for Sunday when he was only going to sit around the house. Was that refusal part of the problem? Had his stubbornness driven Jude away?
He knew he was independent, some would even say cocky, but he had gotten where he was in his life by forging ahead, regardless of the odds against him. Had that caused his problems with Jude? Had the banker wanted someone more malleable? Could that be what Viggo wanted as well? His heart quailed at the thought. Could he change so completely to suit the whims of a lover?
He was getting ahead of himself again. He had no idea if Viggo was even interested in men, much less in him. Resigning himself to another restless night, he tried to still his thoughts enough that he could sleep. His fears followed him into his dreams, though, images of himself wearing a muslin dress and plain apron, playing the perfect wife, groveling at the overseer’s feet, begging for scraps of the man’s time and attention yet completely at his command lest he drive his lover away. With a muffled shout, he startled awake, sitting up in bed as he fought the humiliation of the nightmare.
No.
He would not subjugate himself that way. He would not give up who he was. He wanted Viggo, yes, but if the perfect wife was what Viggo wanted, he would be better off with one of the ladies in town. Despite his desire for the older man, the overseer was not worth losing himself in the process.
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Date: 2006-10-07 09:04 pm (UTC)