vigorli

Title: Camping Sucks (3/7)
Author: Ranmaru
Rating: R (NC-17 later on)
Summary: Orlando is attacked by a tent pole, Viggo gets a splinter.
Disclaimer: Don't know, don't own, just playing.
Beta'd by the sweet

dienwand

queen_mean_jean!

Camping Sucks

By Ranmaru

PART THREE

Son. Of. A. Bitch.

If there was ever a time in his life that he’d known for sure, for abso-fucking-lutely sure The Powers that Be, Fate, Destiny and all of the Gods in all of their many shapes and forms, had it out for him, it was now. It was sitting on a goddamned bug-infested log and submitting to Viggo as the older man gently swabbed the scrape on his cheek with alcohol and that fucking stung. The little pup-tent sat innocently, if not forlornly only a few feet away. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad if Viggo wasn’t trying not to laugh. And not being all that successful.

“Fuck. You.”

Viggo just bit his lip and concentrated much harder than necessary on his chosen task. Orli wanted heat vision just for a moment, just to see that stupid tent with its bendy poles go up in flames. It had to be Viggo’s fault.

“I hate you.”

“Mmm hmm.” Orli kept a careful eye on his lover as Viggo leaned back, squinting a little at the burning cut before focusing on brown eyes. “You’re just mad. Tent: one, Orli: nothing.”

“I could have lost an eye!" And maybe that wasn't the strongest argument but it was true; the scrape was only centimeters from his eye and to emphasize the averted disaster, he pointed to his face and stoically endured Viggo’s knowing smirk.

“But all you lost was your dignity.”

“You are such an asshole.” Orlando crossed his arms over his chest and looked away. It was just like Viggo to take the tent’s side. An inanimate object meant more to him than Orli. The goddamned humanity.

“Chin up, old son. I’ll finish setting up the tent; you just sit here and have a good sulk.” Viggo was out of reach for the swing Orli aimed at him. Fucker. He watched his lover quickly position the poles, expertly bending them to fit into each metal ring. The tent obviously just wanted Viggo to set it up and had felt offended by Orli’s interference. What else would explain how one of the poles had lashed out at him?

Viggo didn’t say anything after he’d finished with the tent which saved him from Orli’s wrath, in whatever form it would have been in. The Brit cautiously crawled inside their temporary shelter and unrolled their sleeping bags. Viggo had wanted to sleep out in the open but Orli had quickly nixed that idea, visions of insects creeping in bad places and the yellow eyes of some wild animal staring down at them giving him nightmares. He had the feeling he’d disappointed Viggo for not being such a Nature Man but dammit, camping had not been a part of his life in England! And who the hell went camping in Los Angeles?

There was something incredibly wrong with two separate sleeping bags though, so Orli took a moment to zip them together for one big bag. He even crawled inside and made love to a phantom Viggo to make sure there was enough maneuverability. Oral sex, especially if they did the good old sixty-nine, would obviously be a problem if they kept the zippers zipped so he spread the top layer open.

When he re-emerged, Viggo was returning with an armload of firewood which he placed next to a small ring of stones. He wasn’t wearing gloves and when he stood up and dusted off his hands he winced. He held up one hand, palm towards him.

“What?” asked Orli as he walked closer.

“Splinter,” Viggo said, poking at his palm for a second before raising his hand to his mouth. Orli stopped and stared at him. He had no idea what Viggo was doing and couldn’t you get diseases from splinters?

“Have you had a tetanus shot recently?”

Blue eyes flickered up to him just before Viggo let his hand lower. He turned his face to the side, spit and said, “It’s a wood splinter.”

“And wood doesn’t carry fungus, mold or bugs,” Orli hissed, kicking a thin stick near his foot. “What do I do if you go into convulsions or something in the middle of the night? What if it’s when we’re fucking and I think you’re just really into it?”

Viggo stared at him for so long that Orli wanted to look behind him to see if maybe there was someone else there. It wasn’t a good look. It was clearly asking if Orlando had lost his mind. He had a feeling that question would be answered with a resounding yes.

“You go bungee jumping,” Viggo said, moving towards the first aid kit that was still out from Orli’s earlier skirmish with the tent pole. “You ride dirt bikes where no dirt bike should ever go, you have a hang gliding trip planned for next month, you drink like the world is going to end and you want to make sure you’re not conscious to see it go.” He rifled through the small box until he found another alcohol wipe and tore open the packet.

“Yeah?” Orli almost asked if he could help but Viggo had that stand-offish body language going on that Orli had learned over time to pay attention to. That tension in his back, that particular way he planted his feet, knees locked as if the older man was afraid he’d either crumple to the ground to lunge in attack. It wasn’t frightening in any way but it meant Viggo was actually angry and Orli could not for the life of him figure out why. He’d just been concerned. Why was that wrong?

“Nothing.” Viggo was staring down at a small packet. His posture changed slightly and Orlando sucked in a breath. Shoulders and back that had been tensed were now almost rounded, slumped and a heavy ball of guilt formed in the Brit’s stomach.

“Viggo.”

“This was a bad idea.”

“No, I-“

Viggo turned around and shook his head. “Just don’t. It was.” He sighed and looked around the campsite. “It’s too late to hike out tonight.”

“I don’t want to…” Orli didn’t know how to finish the sentence. Didn’t want to leave? No, that was an outright lie, but at the same time, maybe staying was something he did want to do. He approached Viggo cautiously. “All this?” he said, gesturing to the woods and the small tent. “This is you. It’s not me.”

“Like I said, a bad idea.”

“No.” Orli took the packet from Viggo and read the label. Anti-bacterial ointment. He looked up again. “I’m being a complete twat.”

Viggo’s lips twitched but he remained quiet.

“I still want to lick maple syrup off your cock.”

Viggo did laugh then, the sound skittering down Orli’s spine and pooling in his groin.

“I’m just wondering if there will be some unwanted six to ten legged critters hoping for the same thing.”

“I’m no entomologist but I don’t think insects are interested in cock,” Viggo said with a grin.

“I meant the syrup, you git.”

“Hm.” Viggo hugged Orli close and the younger man closed his eyes and pressed his face into Viggo’s neck. He smelled like sweat and fresh air and Orli flicked his tongue out to taste. The arms around him tightened. “I’ll worm your hook for you,” Viggo mumbled, lips against Orli’s hair.

Orli grinned. Orli: 1. Worm: 0.