vigorli

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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 16
a/n 2: adorable sexy geek icon made by

lady_razzle!

Orlando crossed his fingers as he opened the break room refrigerator. Someone had swiped Dom’s lasagna again; Dom was rampaging around interrogating everyone. Orlando didn’t envy the bonehead who’d done it. Dom could be pretty relentless when he was wronged.

Whew. He’d lucked out again; his Spam and Velveeta on white was still there. Orlando was always lucky, come to think of it. The lunch thief never seemed to go after his stuff.

Huh.

He took a seat at the far table with his back to the corner, fired up his laptop, and started eating. With no one else in the break room right now, he could grab a few minutes of privacy to get his spreadsheet updated.

Orlando wasn’t really into keeping a diary or whatever. Still, he liked records. They were soothing and orderly and they just made him kind of happy. So he’d started an Excel journal. He’d used the same format of the doc he’d created for his manager when Karl had wanted a listing of the opening and closing procedures to post on the break room wall.

He glanced back over what he’d written recently.

Holy moly. This had been one heck of a week.

Orlando’s Outlook reminder dinged at him that lunch was over. Wow, that had gone by fast. He stopped typing mid-word, shut down his laptop and wolfed down his last few Sour Cream & Onion Pringles. Time to wash up and head back to the Computer Department. The quicker he finished his work day, the quicker he could head over to Viggo’s tonight!

Weird. He was actually missing Viggo.

Huh.

---

Orlando didn’t drink very often. Or very much. Cream soda was usually all he needed.

So he wasn’t sure what had possessed him to pick up a 6-pack of Hooch before he stopped for Chinese takeout on the way over to Viggo’s. But hey!, that poster of the champagne flutes was still up, and this time, the fact that they were clinking in a TOAST just made Orlando’s cock feel all warm and fuzzy, instead of going all caveman on him like last time and sending him lurching to the nearest private corner. Cool!

He just felt like having a real drink tonight, he guessed.

A while later, seated on the floor around Viggo’s coffee table and halfway through his chicken egg foo yung and his second bottle of Hooch, Orlando was feeling kind of tipsy.

Then Viggo leaned over and fed Orlando a bite of his spicy Mongolian beef, and Orlando had gotten fullway through the second bottle and partway into the third, chasing that down, and suddenly Orlando was feeling nicely tipsy.

And then Viggo leaned over again, and again – …and wow, Viggo was very, very good at leaning. He could teach courses in leaning. Leaning 101, with your Gorgeous Instructor, Viggo Mortensen. Orlando would have chosen a class like that even over Microprocessors and Their Impact on the History of Computing Hardware 312, as super great as that class had been. Well, it would be a close decision. No, no – he definitely would’ve taken Leaning 101… – and offered Orlando a sip of his wine, or kissed Orlando with a little taste of wine still on Viggo’s lips, or twined their arms together and showed Orlando the most romantic way ever to take a sip of anything, and suddenly Orlando was feeling very tipsy.

Chinese food was weird. Orlando’s sister really liked Chinese. She used to beg for it all the time when they were kids. Orlando remembered one time when Sam had asked their mom if they could get Chinese for dinner that night, and their mom had correctly pointed out that they’d just had Chinese the night before, and that you couldn’t have Chinese every day, now, could you? And Sam had said, “Why not? Chinese people do.”

Which was kind of funny, now that Orlando thought about it.

Chopsticks were kind of funny, too. Orlando slipped one over each ear, alongside his glasses, pointing out straight in front of him. “Hey, look!” he grinned at Viggo. “It’s that mind game that Riker brought back from Risa!”

Viggo cracked up.

Like, really cracked up.

Orlando blinked.

“You like Star Trek: The Next Generation?” he asked Viggo, happily surprised.

“Never seen it,” Viggo giggled. “I have no idea why it’s so funny!” He giggled again. Like, hard. Really giggled.

Orlando blinked.

Viggo snorted.

“You snorted!” Orlando accused, starting to giggle himself.

“No, I didn’t!” Giggling Viggo said.

Orlando pointed a giggling finger. “You totally snorted!”

“Did not!” Giggling Viggo was in full-out denial.

Orlando pursed his giggling lips. “You did – “

Giggling Viggo snorted again, then clapped a hand over his mouth. His giggles got all the louder to try to fight through his fingers.

Apparently Viggo was feeling tipsy, too.

Giggling Orlando crawled the few feet between them, trying and failing miserably to be menacing in attempt to extract a confession. “I heard you snort!”

Chortling Viggo grabbed Orlando and twisted and suddenly Orlando was belly-up, half in Viggo’s lap, being tickled. Orlando squealed. Orlando giggled.

Orlando snorted.

Viggo froze, eyes huge, and then collapsed on Orlando in a complete fit.

Giggling Orlando managed to wrestle his glasses off and secure them safely on the coffee table before wrapping his arms around Viggo.

Viggo calmed a little.

Orlando calmed a little, too.

Viggo calmed more, and kissed Orlando.

Orlando calmed more, and kissed Viggo back.

Viggo rolled to his back, pulling Orlando with him, and Orlando snuggled in.

Orlando could feel Viggo’s pulse rabbiting under his cheek, and Viggo drawing Viggo Circles on his hip.

When Viggo sighed a big, end-of-a-big-laughing-fit sigh, Orlando could hear it in stereo, both through the air and through the wall of Viggo’s chest.

This was wonderful.

Orlando closed his eyes. He wished he didn’t have to work tomor –

ETA: continued here