vigorli | Geek!Orlando, part 14 (Orlando/Viggo, adult)

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author: stormatdusk
pairing: Viggo/Orlando
rating: adult
warnings: m/m sex; otherwise, none
disclaimer: this is only fiction.
a/n: starts here
picks up directly from part 13
a/n 2: icon of the sweet one by

lady_razzle!

Orlando pulled up in front of Viggo’s house and parked.

It was kind of odd, coming here to Viggo’s house, in his own van instead of in the Best Buys ‘R Us car.

Yeah, a green 2001 Plymouth Voyager minivan wasn’t the car of his dreams, but he didn’t care much about cars, anyway. He’d gotten a darn good deal on it from his Uncle Bud after his Aunt Nancy had driven Bud batty for months, complaining that she didn’t like how the seats felt and she was going to have constant chiropractor bills now and it wasn’t even her favorite color and didn’t he care about her at all any more?

Elijah had gleefully referred to Orlando as a soccer mom for a week or two, until that first time Orlando had removed the middle row of seats and brought out the little TV and propped it up on the inside armrests of the two front seats and lots of pillows and a cooler with Elijah’s Pepsi and they’d played Spiderman 2: The Game for half the night out in the driveway. Couldn’t do that in Elijah’s junky Ford Taurus, could ya?

Yeah, no more soccer mom comments from Elijah.

It was also kind of odd – well, really odd – coming here to Viggo’s because Orlando was going to have dinner with his boyfriend, rather than fix a computer for a customer.

It was even odd not to have to do the Big Three P's for Success™.

Odd, but... nice. Really nice.

Viggo was smiling when he opened the door.

Gosh, Viggo smiled a lot. At Orlando, even. At Orlando, especially, it seemed.

It was wonderful.

“Hi, you,” Viggo purred. He stepped aside to let Orlando enter, and helped him out of his jacket.

“May I kiss you hello?” he asked, all smoky and smooth and gorgeous boyfriendish.

Orlando’s right femur wavered briefly but then decided not to liquefy after all.

“Yes please?” Orlando managed in a hopeful tone.

Viggo kissed him, moving his lips against Orlando’s gently for long, long moments.

Both of Orlando’s femurs started to puree themselves then, but this time, he felt his cock yell down at them to toughen up because it was enjoying itself big time, darn it, and they were not going to ruin things.

Orlando wondered vaguely why Viggo’s lips tasted so good. Come on, it was lips. Lips shouldn’t taste good. It was kind of icky to think about, really. If lips tasted so good, shouldn’t we all be going around gnawing on ourselves all day? And even weirder than that, it was someone else’s lips. They should taste kind of skin-y and maybe even a little chap-y, and just, ew.

But no, Viggo’s lips tasted warm and soft, and a little sweet, almost a little buttery.

Yeah, that was it: Viggo’s skin smelled like toast, and his lips were the butter. Real, delicious butter. Orlando wondered, if he had a cold and couldn’t smell anything, would Viggo still taste like butter?

He would have to google it later when he got home.

“Dinner’s not quite ready yet,” Viggo said quietly. “What would you like to do until then?”

Orlando took in a shaky breath. “Could we - - … well, snuggle? Maybe?” There was that hopeful tone again.

Viggo smiled and led him into the room and stretched out along the sofa, reclining against the arm. He reached out and encouraged the younger man to lie atop him, settling Orlando between his knees.

Oh, wow. This was a lot better than working on Viggo’s PC.

Orlando could feel Viggo’s solid warmth all along him. It was soothing, safe. And not, too, in a way that made Orlando kind of shivery.

He looked down at Viggo’s face, really looked at it. It was such a nice face. It was nice to just be able to just look at it, too, and not talk much. So he looked. Eventually, Orlando’s upper lip was sort of sneering, trying to keep his glasses from slipping down on his nose.

“I noticed you’d put some tape on your glasses. Did they break already?” Viggo asked. “I’m sure the store would exchange them for you if they’ve already broken so soon.”

“Um, no… they didn’t break,” Orlando said, a little embarrassed. “They just feel funny… without tape, I guess. So I just … put a little on.”

“I see,” Viggo grinned. He traced a lazy finger over the bridge of Orlando’s glasses, from one corner to the other, and then back again. Orlando’s eyes crossed a little, watching him, until he blinked and refocused his eyes on Viggo’s face again.

Gosh, Viggo was handsome.

Orlando almost asked first if he could touch Viggo, but that would be dumb, he supposed, seeing as he was already lying full out on top of him. So he let himself lift a hand and tentatively sifted his fingertips through Viggo’s hair, curving around the top of Viggo’s ear. He did it again, and again, slowly. He smiled a little when Viggo closed his eyes and rumbled a quiet hum of encouragement.

Viggo’s hair was even softer than the worn flannel of Orlando’s blue and orange plaid bedspread and matching bathrobe that his mom made him when he graduated from high school when he was 16. Wow; ten years, already? He sort of missed the kids in the Chess Club sometimes. He’d even had a little crush on Randy Petrie for a few weeks, until it became clear that Randy really did like Pascal over FORTRAN, and Orlando didn’t see how any relationship could overcome a disagreement on such a basic thing as preferred programming language.

Orlando had just been a kid, then, though. He liked to think he was a lot more open-minded now.

Gosh, it was relaxing, lying here with Viggo’s arms around him. He let himself sink into it, just watching his fingers sort through Viggo’s hair, over and over again, feeling how silky it was. Viggo’s hands rested on the small of Orlando’s back; his thumbs started making little circles there.

Orlando’s glasses slipped down his nose again. He braced himself awkwardly on his elbow to thumb them up with his non-Viggo-hair-sifting hand.

“Stupid gravity,” he grumped a little. “Glasses are a pain.”

Viggo’s thumbs had found a rhythm: two small slow circles, then one larger, slooowwwer circle.

“Have you always worn them?” Viggo’s voice melted Orlando even a little more.

“Pretty much,” he nodded. “I don’t remember ever being able to see clearly. I’m kinda blind without….” Orlando’s voice trailed off.

Circle. Circle. Ciiiirrrrrrcle.

Orlando was starting to feel like an almost-done grilled Velveeta, when the cheese started to ooooze out the sides of the bread.

“My optometrist says I’m a good candidate for laser surgery,” Orlando mumbled. Between the thumb circles and the soft music that was playing and the light scent of toast, Orlando felt slightly, pleasantly drunk.

“Why haven’t you done it?” Viggo asked.

“I don’t know, I - - …,” Orlando shrugged a little. “I tried contacts for a while, but I just felt too… out there. Something.” He sighed out a contented breath. “Glasses seem kind of… safer. I guess.”

Circle. Circle. Ciiiirrrrrrcle.

The cheese was really melting out, now. Still, Orlando wondered….

“Do you… um, do you think… I should? I mean - - … get rid of the glasses?” Orlando peeked at Viggo, feeling kind of shy again despite how close and warm Viggo felt.

Circle. Circle. Ciiiirrrrrrcle.

Orlando made a foggy mental note to add Viggo Circles to the running list of Wonderful Things About Geometry he kept on his fridge at home.

“I think you’re perfect like you are,” Viggo said. He tilted his head, leaning into Orlando’s stroking hand and hummed again before continuing. “But I had it done, and I’ve been really happy with it. It’s been great to be done with glasses.”

Circle. Circle. Ciiiirrrr - -

Orlando’s breath caught a little. He peered at Viggo.

“You - - you used to - - … wear… glasses?”

“Mmm. For years,” Viggo hummed.

“Oh,” Orlando whispered. He felt sort of… funny.

Viggo looked at him.

Orlando looked back. He definitely felt sort of… funny.

“Could I, uh - - …” Orlando leaned onto his elbow again, and one-hand-wrestled off the thick black frames. “Could I - -… just, uh - - … could you…?” He trailed off, turning his glasses around, motioning slightly, his voice small and hopeful and sort of… funny.

Viggo’s forehead creased a little in curiosity, and he smiled. “Sure.”

Orlando set his glasses carefully onto Viggo’s face.

Oh.

That was….

Oh.

Orlando’s cock didn’t feel sort of funny. Orlando’s cock didn’t feel sort of anything. No, it felt completely, definitely, most assuredly hard.

Viggo squinted out of the Coke-bottle lenses. “Well, how are they?”

“Oh - - …” Orlando said. “Um - - … they’re - - I’m mean - - you’re…”

Faced with Viggo the Glasses-Wearing Cobra, Orlando the Hyptonized Bunny was rapidly losing the power of speech. The power of stuttering, even.

He shifted atop Viggo.

“Oh,” Squinting Viggo said, his eyes widening in awareness. “You - - you like… the - -?”

Orlando exhaled an unintelligible response and swallowed Viggo nearly whole.

>DING<

The oven timer dinged.

Orlando jerked in surprise and flipped freakishly to the floor, banging his elbow on the coffee table on the way down.

His dick was definitely more annoyed than his elbow.

“You okay?” Viggo said, his breath quick, his eyes squinty, and he sat up, trying not to step on Orlando as he struggled up from the floor.

Orlando squinted and nodded, blushing and gasping a little, and pulled himself up to an awkward slump on the couch.

Viggo took off the glasses and pressed them gently into Orlando’s hand.

There, that was better. Orlando unsquinted, cheeks still burning.

He just didn’t know what the heck was wrong with him lately!

Viggo excused himself to check on dinner and walked – a little strangely, Orlando noticed – to the kitchen.

Uh - - … was that? Was Viggo?…

Well, yeah - - probably….

Orlando smiled. Cool!

---

Orlando managed to make it through dinner without falling off the furniture even once.

Viggo told him a little about his family growing up, and said he had been married, to a woman, once, years ago. Orlando was surprised, but also surprised that he wasn’t more surprised, which was kind of nice, for some reason.

Orlando told Viggo how his parents had divorced when he was 7, and he and his sister had mostly grown up living with his mom and stepdad. They lived two hours north, now, and Orlando saw them pretty often. And his dad and stepmom lived in south Florida, and he didn’t see them much, but they emailed a lot now that his dad was online, which was really cool.

After dinner, Viggo shooed Orlando out to the living room to pick out another CD to listen to. He came in a minute later carrying three wine glasses. He set one down, and held one of the other two glasses to Orlando’s nose.

“Canadian Icewine. Have you had it?” Orlando shook his head and sniffed. It smelled sweet.

“And…” Viggo waved the other glass below Orlando’s nose.

“Cream soda!” Orlando beamed. “And there’s a cherry!”

Viggo grinned.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Viggo said, setting the glasses down next to his own. “I got you something.”

He went to the coat closet and returned with a shopping bag. At Orlando’s look of protest, he smiled. “I promise, I’m not going to bring you something each date,” he said, handing Orlando the bag. “But yours was broken, so I thought….”

Orlando looked inside the bag.

Orlando looked up at Viggo.

Oh GO - - ….

ETA: continued here