Growing Room: Sweet Sorrow
Mar. 14th, 2005 09:21 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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vigorliTitle: Growing Room 2: Sweet Sorrow
Author: Rainweaver13
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando
Summary: Last-minute jitters
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for language. AU in that this takes place "now," but blithely refuses to take into account current realities. Deal.
Disclaimer: Don't own them, don't know what they do in their private lives; wouldn't want to - they are their own. This is fond fiction.
A/N: These boys just won't leave me alone.
This is a followup to a longer fic, Breathing Room, which can be found here:
Breathing Room Look under Personal Fics
Late January 2005, L.A. 3:12 a.m.
Viggo stood naked and befuddled in the kitchen and stared at the cabinets, wondering why in the hell he'd wandered in here half awake. He wasn't hungry, so that wasn't it. He pulled a bottle of water from the fridge and took a meditative drink. Was he thirsty?
Not particularly. Not for water, anyway. He flicked a glance toward the cabinet that held the liquor bottles, but firmly nudged himself away from that thought. Nope, that wasn't what had brought him to the kitchen in the middle of the night, so what was it?
Opening the fridge again, he pondered the possibilities inside. Bottled water. Milk. Juice - orange and grapefruit, apple for Henry. Henry's Pepsi, Lan's Diet Pepsi. Cheese. Butter. Eggs. Carrots. Leftover... he leaned over to peer a bit more closely at the container ... beef stroganoff, looked like. Leftover enchiladas. There were always leftover enchiladas. Green stuff in the crisper. Since Orlando was here, stuff that was actually supposed to be green. Yogurt.
Boring. Why was there no cake? No pie? Nothing sweet? That's what he wanted suddenly - something sweet.
Ten minutes of determined searching later, he was completely frustrated. Now not only could he not remember what he got up for in the first place, but he couldn't find a single stash of hidden sweets in the entire damn kitchen. And it had reached the point of obsession. He didn't care what time it was; he had to have candy and he had to have it now. If not sooner.
Sneaking back into the bedroom, he grabbed his discarded jeans from the floor and pulled them back on, looking over to make sure Lan was still asleep. Feeling around for his shirt in the darkness, he banged against the nightstand and caused the lamp to rattle. Grabbing at it hastily to still the sound, he smacked his hand against the wall and popped a finger. Hissing, he shoved the throbbing finger under his arm and went back to searching for his shirt.
"Going somewhere?" Orlando asked groggily.
Viggo's heart jumped into his throat and he wheeled around, snickering. "Nearly gave me a heart attack."
Orlando yawned hugely and stretched. "Why are you sneaking around getting dressed at..." He squinted at the clock... "3:27 in the morning?"
"I've got to have something sweet," Viggo said as solemnly as he could manage, pulling his t-shirt on inside-out and backwards.
"Mmmm... I'm not sweet enough for you?"
"Babe, I love you, but I need serious sugar. I need to be at Ghirardelli Square in San Francisco, but that's too far. So I'm off to look for a fix closer by."
"Want me to come?"
Viggo paused and just looked at that loaded question lying there for a nice long minute. Eventually Orlando got it and started chuckling. "You filthy old pervert."
"Don't start. I need to hunt some sugar."
"I'll just wait. Wake me up when you get home and need to work off some of that sugar rush."
Viggo crossed to the bed, leaned over and laid a kiss on the drowsy Orlando that would've curled his hair if it hadn't been curly already. "I'll be back," he said in his best Arnold, which wasn't really very good.
Orlando just snorted, waved him on his way, rolled over and went back to sleep.
4:41 a.m.
The other side of the bed was still empty, and the vacancy tugged at Orlando's subconscious until it pulled him up far earlier than he would normally bob to the surface of sleep. Only blearily awake, he slid a warm hand across the sheet and encountered only a cold landscape. The red numbers on his side of the bed said 4:41. When was it Viggo had left? Around 3:30 wasn't it? He should be back by now.
That thought roused him almost entirely. "Vig?"
No response. Orlando swung his legs out of the bed and stood, grabbing a long, thick robe and shrugging into it. Nobody in the bathroom. Sometimes when Viggo couldn't sleep, he'd spend time in his studio, so that was the next logical place to check, but it was dark and empty. No lights were on anywhere in the house.
He hasn't been in an accident, Orlando told his rapidly accelerating heart. Someone would have called. He's okay. He's just wandered off somewhere and lost track of the time. Orlando crossed through the kitchen and down the two steps to the garage door, refusing to allow himself to get scared. A flick of the light switch revealed that Viggo's car was still gone.
He hasn't been kidnapped. He hasn't been mugged and left for dead. He hasn't been murdered. He hasn't run off and left me. The litany wrote itself across the white screen of unfolding panic in Orlando's mind as he flicked the light off and went back to the living room where he just stood, helpless, shoving his hands into the robe pockets to prove they weren't shaking.
"Damned man. Goddamned man. Why won't he use a cell like everybody else in existence?" He ran his hands through his hair and tried to think of what to do. "Okay, think, Orli, think. Where would he go? Where would you go for a sugar fix at three in the morning?"
He grabbed the enormous phone book from its home under the couch, but then stood staring at it with no idea where to even start.
"Henry! Henry would know!" Orlando already had his hand on the phone when he stopped to think. He didn't really know that there was a problem, and calling Henry at five in the morning to ask where his dad would go to buy candy would probably not be a great idea. Better to save that option for later. If needed.
Pacing the room, Orlando pulled back the drapes to peer out toward the security gates and paused. There was a car just outside the gates, just sitting there, lights off. Should he call the police?
"Oh bloody fucking hell," he grated between clenched teeth, stomping up the hallway to the bedroom to slide his feet into loafers and stopping back by the hall closet, fumbling around for a moment, until he came out with a baseball bat. "If it's bloody robbers, they'll probably kill me, but if it's Mortensen, I'll bash his cunting head in."
At the last minute, he stuck his cell phone in one pocket, then pulled open the front door and stormed out, a rampaging angel in long brown curls and thick white terry, wielding a bat and an attitude.
TBC
Author: Rainweaver13
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando
Summary: Last-minute jitters
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for language. AU in that this takes place "now," but blithely refuses to take into account current realities. Deal.
Disclaimer: Don't own them, don't know what they do in their private lives; wouldn't want to - they are their own. This is fond fiction.
A/N: These boys just won't leave me alone.
This is a followup to a longer fic, Breathing Room, which can be found here:
Breathing Room Look under Personal Fics
Late January 2005, L.A. 3:12 a.m.
Viggo stood naked and befuddled in the kitchen and stared at the cabinets, wondering why in the hell he'd wandered in here half awake. He wasn't hungry, so that wasn't it. He pulled a bottle of water from the fridge and took a meditative drink. Was he thirsty?
Not particularly. Not for water, anyway. He flicked a glance toward the cabinet that held the liquor bottles, but firmly nudged himself away from that thought. Nope, that wasn't what had brought him to the kitchen in the middle of the night, so what was it?
Opening the fridge again, he pondered the possibilities inside. Bottled water. Milk. Juice - orange and grapefruit, apple for Henry. Henry's Pepsi, Lan's Diet Pepsi. Cheese. Butter. Eggs. Carrots. Leftover... he leaned over to peer a bit more closely at the container ... beef stroganoff, looked like. Leftover enchiladas. There were always leftover enchiladas. Green stuff in the crisper. Since Orlando was here, stuff that was actually supposed to be green. Yogurt.
Boring. Why was there no cake? No pie? Nothing sweet? That's what he wanted suddenly - something sweet.
Ten minutes of determined searching later, he was completely frustrated. Now not only could he not remember what he got up for in the first place, but he couldn't find a single stash of hidden sweets in the entire damn kitchen. And it had reached the point of obsession. He didn't care what time it was; he had to have candy and he had to have it now. If not sooner.
Sneaking back into the bedroom, he grabbed his discarded jeans from the floor and pulled them back on, looking over to make sure Lan was still asleep. Feeling around for his shirt in the darkness, he banged against the nightstand and caused the lamp to rattle. Grabbing at it hastily to still the sound, he smacked his hand against the wall and popped a finger. Hissing, he shoved the throbbing finger under his arm and went back to searching for his shirt.
"Going somewhere?" Orlando asked groggily.
Viggo's heart jumped into his throat and he wheeled around, snickering. "Nearly gave me a heart attack."
Orlando yawned hugely and stretched. "Why are you sneaking around getting dressed at..." He squinted at the clock... "3:27 in the morning?"
"I've got to have something sweet," Viggo said as solemnly as he could manage, pulling his t-shirt on inside-out and backwards.
"Mmmm... I'm not sweet enough for you?"
"Babe, I love you, but I need serious sugar. I need to be at Ghirardelli Square in San Francisco, but that's too far. So I'm off to look for a fix closer by."
"Want me to come?"
Viggo paused and just looked at that loaded question lying there for a nice long minute. Eventually Orlando got it and started chuckling. "You filthy old pervert."
"Don't start. I need to hunt some sugar."
"I'll just wait. Wake me up when you get home and need to work off some of that sugar rush."
Viggo crossed to the bed, leaned over and laid a kiss on the drowsy Orlando that would've curled his hair if it hadn't been curly already. "I'll be back," he said in his best Arnold, which wasn't really very good.
Orlando just snorted, waved him on his way, rolled over and went back to sleep.
4:41 a.m.
The other side of the bed was still empty, and the vacancy tugged at Orlando's subconscious until it pulled him up far earlier than he would normally bob to the surface of sleep. Only blearily awake, he slid a warm hand across the sheet and encountered only a cold landscape. The red numbers on his side of the bed said 4:41. When was it Viggo had left? Around 3:30 wasn't it? He should be back by now.
That thought roused him almost entirely. "Vig?"
No response. Orlando swung his legs out of the bed and stood, grabbing a long, thick robe and shrugging into it. Nobody in the bathroom. Sometimes when Viggo couldn't sleep, he'd spend time in his studio, so that was the next logical place to check, but it was dark and empty. No lights were on anywhere in the house.
He hasn't been in an accident, Orlando told his rapidly accelerating heart. Someone would have called. He's okay. He's just wandered off somewhere and lost track of the time. Orlando crossed through the kitchen and down the two steps to the garage door, refusing to allow himself to get scared. A flick of the light switch revealed that Viggo's car was still gone.
He hasn't been kidnapped. He hasn't been mugged and left for dead. He hasn't been murdered. He hasn't run off and left me. The litany wrote itself across the white screen of unfolding panic in Orlando's mind as he flicked the light off and went back to the living room where he just stood, helpless, shoving his hands into the robe pockets to prove they weren't shaking.
"Damned man. Goddamned man. Why won't he use a cell like everybody else in existence?" He ran his hands through his hair and tried to think of what to do. "Okay, think, Orli, think. Where would he go? Where would you go for a sugar fix at three in the morning?"
He grabbed the enormous phone book from its home under the couch, but then stood staring at it with no idea where to even start.
"Henry! Henry would know!" Orlando already had his hand on the phone when he stopped to think. He didn't really know that there was a problem, and calling Henry at five in the morning to ask where his dad would go to buy candy would probably not be a great idea. Better to save that option for later. If needed.
Pacing the room, Orlando pulled back the drapes to peer out toward the security gates and paused. There was a car just outside the gates, just sitting there, lights off. Should he call the police?
"Oh bloody fucking hell," he grated between clenched teeth, stomping up the hallway to the bedroom to slide his feet into loafers and stopping back by the hall closet, fumbling around for a moment, until he came out with a baseball bat. "If it's bloody robbers, they'll probably kill me, but if it's Mortensen, I'll bash his cunting head in."
At the last minute, he stuck his cell phone in one pocket, then pulled open the front door and stormed out, a rampaging angel in long brown curls and thick white terry, wielding a bat and an attitude.
TBC
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Date: 2005-03-15 09:35 pm (UTC)