Fic: Art Therapy (RPS Viggorli)
Feb. 2nd, 2006 11:39 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
Title: Art Therapy
Author: Saone
Summary: Art can be good for the soul... if you have one.
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Slightly evilish Orli
Notes: Written for
vo_xmas.
elanna9 asked for: I'd love to get a story involving any (or all) of the following: jealous!Orli, first time sex (between V/O), NC-17 action, mild kink (involving top!Viggo and bottom!Orli), spanking, angst as long as it resolves. An AU would be fun; no particular requests
*****
Orlando Bloom was on top of the world.
Well, actually, he was on the thirty second floor of a high rise in Los Angeles, home to S&B, Inc.--the most prestigious talent agency in Hollywood. But, in Orli’s mind, it was the same difference.
He had just returned to the office from a luncheon meeting with the “next hot British import”. She was a sweet little thing, and her big brown eyes and pouty mouth almost made up for the total lack of tits. 'Costume Dramas' was practically written all over her patrician forehead, and while that Jane Austin crap rarely drew in big bucks, it did make critics swoon.
Orlando could use a critical darling in his stable.
He couldn't help but grin at a few interns as he made his way down the hall. The fact that they all paled and scattered in his wake lifted him even higher. He had once heard one of the other agent's secretary refer to him as a 'shark in dolphin's clothing'. Orlando had liked that very much. He had worked hard to cultivate his cutthroat image, and was glad it was being appreciated.
Elijah, Orlando's assistant, and one of the few people in the company he truly trusted, just shook his head at his boss' antics. "Evil,” he said, following Orli into his office. "Pure evil."
"True." Orli relaxed into his Mirra chair, and flipped through his messages. Most of them got tossed into the trash can under his desk. “Anything else?”
“You’ve got the meeting with Chris Evans in half an hour.”
“Yeah, I know, that should be a joy. Silly sod wants to start doing independent films, and I've got to talk him out of it without mentioning the tiny fact that he can't act.”
“Hmmm." Elijah stifled a smile. "And the big bossman wants to see you.”
Orlando straightened in his chair. “Sean wants to see me? Why?”
“Like he would tell me.” Elijah snorted. “I’ve been your assistant for almost three years and he still calls me Algernon.”
“It’s close. They both start with vowels.” Orlando said. “Okay, after I get rid of Chris-”
“No, Orli, he wants to see you now.”
“Now?”
Elijah nodded. “It... could be a good thing.” He said hesitantly.
Orlando laughed. “Of course it’s a good thing. What else could it be?”
*****
For all his bravado, Orlando couldn’t help but feel a bit apprehensive as he approached Sean’s office. He had known the older Brit for almost eight years, ever since he moved to L.A.
Orlando's first plan upon arriving in California was to become an actor. He could have too. With his exotic looks, lush curls, and questionable morals, Orli could have gone far in the world of acting. But, pulling strings behind the scenes spoke to some deep seated Machiavellian impulses inside of him. He wanted power more than stardom, and Sean, who had just signed one of Orlando's flatmates, recognized that, and decided to nurture it. The fledging S&B, Inc. had paid for Orli to go to business school, and the company had more than recouped its investment.
Orlando's natural charm, coupled with his innocent, guileless face, could have almost anyone eating out of the palm of his hand. He quickly became a fixture at S&B.
There was absolutely no reason for him to feel odd about being called to Sean's office. He knew that. But, for some reason, he just couldn’t quell the tiny flutter of butterflies in his stomach that told him something was up.
Sean's office was catty-corner to Orlando's and it didn't take long before he was standing before David, Sean's assistant.
"Hey, Daisy, I'm here to-"
"I know." The man usually glared when the dreaded nickname was used, but this time he simply gave Orli a pitying smile and nodded at him.
Orlando clamped down on the urge to gulp, and he entered Sean's office. Usually, he loved going in to see Sean, the latter's spacious corner office offered an amazing view, much better than Orli's own, but this
time Orlando couldn't see beyond the frowning countenance of his employer.
"Orlando." Sean practically purred his name.
"Sean."
"Sit. Please."
Orli gingerly took a seat in one of the two massive leather chairs facing Sean's desk. They were designed to make their occupants feel small. They worked.
Sean steepled his fingers and stared at the younger man. For a long drawn-out moment nothing was said. Finally, Sean leaned back in his chair and addressed his subordinate. "This is not an easy business,
Orlando. There are many times when we have to play the villain. When we have to lie and cheat in order to get the best results, not just for our clients, but for this company. You are my top agent, so I know you understand what I'm talking about. You play the game, Orli, and you play it well. But," Sean leaned forward, his keen green eyes pinning Orlando to his seat. "You never play that game with me."
Orlando's eyes were wide. "What? I... What?"
“There’s one thing that I can’t abide, Orlando," Sean growled. "And that’s people who I'm supposed to be able to trust, lying to me.”
“Sean, I’ve never lied to you." Orlando said. "Well, not about anything really important.”
Sean gave the other man a withering glare. “Is that so? All right. This past Monday you had your annual physical. Afterwards, I asked you how it went, and you said fine.”
“Because it was fine. I’m fine.”
“That’s odd, because when Dr. Blanchett spoke to me earlier today-”
“Wait, you talked to Dr. Blanchett? About me? You can’t do that. What about doctor/patient confidentiality?”
"Oh, please. She works for the company, Orlando. If you want confidentiality pay for your own doctor." Sean's eyes seemed to bore into Orlando even further. "She's concerned about you, Orli, and so am I."
"Concerned about what?"
"Your blood pressure.
"Is that what this is all about? I'm perfectly fine."
Sean snorted. "Perfectly fine?! You're right at the door to Hypertension. Are you looking to have your first heart attack before you turn thirty-five?"
"Sean."
"I'm serious, Orlando. This isn't something to fuck around with."
"Come on, I barely touch red meat, I drink moderately and only in social situations, I go to the gym or swim every day. I'm a picture of health."
"Except for the tiny fact that your heart is pumping much harder than it should."
"Yes, fine. But there are medications I can take. This isn't a death knell."
"Yet, Orlando. It's not a death knell, yet. And a guy in his twenties shouldn't have to take blood pressure medicine."
"Well, what am I supposed to do? Like I said, I already eat right, and exercise. Maybe it's just a genetic thing."
"Hmmm." Sean replied noncommittally. "Do you know why I play golf?"
Orlando blinked at the switch in topics. "To make contacts?"
"In the beginning, yes, but I'm head of the best talent agency in Hollywood, I hardly need to be out on the links whoring my services around anymore."
"I guess not." Orlando thought for a moment. "Okay, then, you like the fresh air?"
"In Los Angeles?"
"Fine, I give."
"I play golf because I'm good at it." Sean said. "Those first lean years I realized I had an affinity for the game. It comes natural to me; I don't have to think about it. I just take all my aggression out on a tiny white ball, and nine times out of ten, it lands exactly where I want it to."
"You should go pro." Orlando said cheekily.
"You should keep your gob shut until I'm done." Sean huffed. "They say air traffic controllers have the most stressful job in the world, and I'll grant them that, but ours is right up there near the top. Stress kills, Orlando. And I play golf so I don't end up in an early grave."
"So... I should... take up golf?"
"No. But you need to take up something. What do you like to do?"
"Make money."
Sean gritted his teeth. "Besides that. What are your hobbies?"
"Um... well, I... there's..." Orlando blinked rapidly. "I don't have any."
Sean sighed. "What do you do when you're not working?"
"I'm always working, Sean, you know that. It's why I'm here, at the top, with you."
"You know what's nice about being at the top, Orli? You get to sit and rest a while, and look out on all you've accomplished."
"Bullshit!" Orli exclaimed. "Being at the top means you have to continually protect yourself from the other blighters trying to finish the climb and push you off. I don't have time to sit and rest, in fact, I've got a meeting in twenty minutes."
Sean ran his fingers through his short blond hair, then cracked first his neck, then his knuckles. Each movement was a sign of serious agitation. "Orli," he said, "You know you're more than just an employee to me. I like to think of you as a friend, a younger brother even. You're family."
"I know Sean." Orlando nodded.
"Then I also hope you know that whatever I may do, it's only because I have your best interests at heart."
Orlando's stomach felt like it had just taken a steep drop. "You gonna fire me, Sean?"
"Go on to your meeting,” Sean said, waving him out the door. "We'll talk more about this later."
As Orlando began the walk back to his office, he couldn't help but obsess over the fact that Sean never answered his question.
*****
An hour later Orlando was itching to strangle someone, preferably the vacuous pretty boy he was escorting out of his office.
"So you're going to talk to Cronenberg, right? And Spike Jonez, he's indie, isn't he?"
"I'll see what I can do." Orlando said, forcing a smile.
"Good, good." Chris slapped Orli on the back. "Who's da man?"
Orlando's muscles strained to hold the inane grin on his face. "I am."
"Excellent! Later, dude!"
Orlando watched as one of his prize cash cows sauntered down the hallway towards the elevators, taking his time to less than discreetly ogle every female along the way. Orli rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I should be grateful, I suppose. At least he doesn't want to direct." When no colorful commentary came from his assistant, Orli turned toward Elijah.
The younger man's face was ashen. "I'm so sorry, Orlando." He solemnly held out a message slip.
Orlando took the paper, and as he read what was scribbled on it, all color seeped from his face. "Oh. My. God."
*****
Orlando barreled down the hallway, snarling at anyone who was stupid enough to get in his way. He burst through the door into Sean's office.
"You called my Mum?!" He screeched.
"Close the door, and lower your voice." Sean said calmly. "And, yes. You left me little choice... Orlando Jonathan Blanchard Bloom." Sean grinned as the newly reveled full name caught the younger Brit right between the eyes.
"Bastard." Orlando hissed. "Do you have any idea what you've done? Any idea what she's going to put me through?"
"The ringer? Maybe squeeze some sense into you?"
Orlando waved the message slip in the air. "She wants me to quit and go back to England! England, Sean! I'm sure she's already cleaning out my old room, and knitting new afghans for the furniture, and getting a nice girl lined up for me, and--" Orlando pulled at his collar, and wheezed. "Did it suddenly get warm in here?"
"Sit down for God's sake, before you pass out." Sean got up and retrieved a water bottle from a cleverly concealed mini fridge in the equally cleverly concealed wet bar. He gave Orlando the water and watched as the younger man took a shaky sip. "You're not going back to England. And you're certainly not going to quit. But maybe now you understand how serious I am about this."
Orlando nodded.
"Good." Sean returned to his seat. "Now, besides telling me your middle names, your mother also imparted some other interesting information."
Orlando's mind raced with all the embarrassing possibilities.
Sean continued. "She said you used to sculpt."
"Sculpt?" Orlando was taken aback. "I never really... I mean, I liked to work on the wheel, make some bowls and things, but it was never serious."
"So it was just something you did for..." Sean trailed off expectantly.
Orlando's brow furrowed. "For?"
Sean sighed. "Fun, Orli. You did it for fun?"
"Oh! Yes, I suppose. It was... fun."
"Excellent! I've already booked some studio time, you start tomorrow morning." Sean carefully looked over the shell-shocked Orlando. "You feel all right to stand?"
"Yeah." Orlando said hesitantly. "I think."
"Good. Get out of my office."
Orlando, still not entirely sure of what just happened, stood stiffly and shuffled towards the door.
"Oh, and Orlando?" Sean called out.
"Yeah."
"Make me something pretty."
*****
The next morning Orlando was cruising through Silverlake trying, and failing, to find Perceval Studios. His car's navigation system was no help, and the directions Daisy had given him had been crumpled and thrown to the floorboard. Finally Orlando spied a sign for Hidalgo Avenue. He made a u-turn, flipped off several other irate drivers, and motored down the new street. After several more minutes he found the studio. It was a smallish, nondescript building, with an equally smallish sign.
The street in front of the studio was empty save for a decrepit pickup that had seen better decades. Orlando left quite a bit of room between his car and the other. Logically, he knew that rust wasn't contagious, but he preferred not to take any chances with his new Lexus SC 2006. He pressed the lock button on his key chain and gave the Twilight Amethyst Pearl exterior an affectionate pat.
Orlando walked up to the building slowly. He wasn't quite sure of the protocol yet, but the problem of whether to knock or just walk right on in was solved when the door swung open. A man stood there, a broad smile splitting his face. "Hey,” he said. "You must be Orlando."
Usually, this would be when Orlando would paste on his meet and greet smile, which of course would be as fake as the sincerity in his voice. But, upon seeing the man--this scruffy, paint-splattered, and barefoot middle aged man--something went horribly wrong with the bullshit dispenser in Orlando's brain.
"Um... er... Hey." Orlando said, blushing slightly.
If possible, the man's smile got bigger. Lovely lines crinkled around his eyes and mouth. With anyone else, Orlando would have thought nothing of recommending the name of a good plastic surgeon--the same one who had done wonders for his previously less than perfect nose—but for some reason he found himself thinking that the creases and crevices were... kind of... cute. Orlando wanted to frown, and was a little dismayed to feel his face melt into a smile of its own. The Brit only hoped it didn't look as sappy as it felt.
"Come on in." The man said. "Name's Viggo. This is my place."
"Viggo..." Orli let the name roll off his tongue.
"It's Danish."
"Like the pastry." Orlando felt vaguely horrified that something that daft could come out of his mouth.
Viggo just chuckled. "Let me give you the ten cent tour." He gently put a guiding hand on Orlando's back, and didn't notice, or didn't care, when the younger man practically jumped out of his skin.
Orlando had never felt anything quite like the sensation that coursed through him at Viggo's touch. The butterflies from yesterday were back, and they had brought friends, but this time the result wasn't apprehension, but anticipation.
Viggo led him through several rooms, explaining that the oil painters worked in here, while the watercolorists worked in there. "David said that you work with clay, not stone, is that correct?" He asked.
"That's right." Orlando said. "You know David?"
"He's a pretty regular visitor. Works mainly with pastels." He pushed open a final door and they entered a large, spacious room.
There were less windows here then in the painting rooms, but there was still enough natural light for Orli's taste. A huge, monster of a kiln sat in the far corner. One wall was made up of shelves that held various kinds of ceramics. A row of wheels were spaced along the other wall, and Orlando's fingers started to itch as soon as he saw them.
"There's not much clay here right now." Viggo said. "But, there's an art supply store over on Brier. If you want to stock up you can keep your stuff here. I assume you know what to do with that." Viggo gestured towards one of the wheels.
"Yeah." Orli wanted to continue and tell him all about his qualifications and previous experiences with pottery, but he held his tongue.
"Good, good. I'm afraid I don't know much about what you'll be doing. I tend to focus on photography, and,” he ruefully looked down at his splattered clothing. "Painting. Miranda's really the one who runs the sculpture portion of things, but she's off visiting family, so you're stuck with me.
Orlando bristled at the mention of this unknown female. Miranda. She sounded like a tart.
"The kiln is old, but still reliable. Just let me know when you're ready to fire something, and I'll get it up and running for you." Viggo scratched his head as he looked around the room. "Let's see... I think that's about it. Do you have any questions?"
Oh, Orli definitely had questions. "No. Not at the moment."
"Okay." Viggo cast a critical eye over Orlando's Armani suit. "I don't suppose you were planning on doing anything today." He said.
Orlando flushed. He had actually not planned on staying long at all, but that had quickly gone out the window. "I, uh..."
"Thought you'd just look around today, familiarize yourself with the studio?" Viggo nodded. "I understand."
Orlando grasped onto the easily provided answer. "Yes! Exactly. Um, I'll bring a change of clothes tomorrow."
"Great! Well,” Viggo gave a last look around the room, but his gaze seemed to linger on Orlando. "Find me if you need anything." There was one more smile, and then he was gone.
Orlando couldn't help but grin, not his usual shark-like smile promising bloody retribution and slow death, but something softer, something nicer. Orli decided that maybe Sean was right, maybe this was going to be good for him.
*****
The next day, for the first time in over ten years, Orli had clay under his fingernails, and a spring in his step that didn't come from verbally eviscerating someone. Dressed in clay dappled casual with a garment bag slung over his shoulder, he was halfway to his office before he realized he was humming.
If anything, his abnormally sunny disposition sent the underlings scattering faster than normal. Even Elijah seemed put off by Orlando's attitude, or lack there of.
He followed Orli into his office and watched warily as the Brit began to change his clothes. "Are you... okay?"
"'Course. Why do you ask?"
"You seem... different." Elijah said. "But, in a good way." He added quickly.
Orlando thought for a moment, then he smiled, bright and cheerful. "I've been inspired."
*****
The next few days were heavenly. The tart still hadn't returned, so any questions Orli had had to be answered by Viggo. Orlando found he had a lot of questions.
Viggo helped where he could, and when he couldn't, that heart stopping smile made up for his lack of knowledge.
He slowly began to learn things about the eccentric artist. Viggo had been married, and had a son with whom he was extremely close. Before, any mention of offspring would send Orli running for the hills, but with Viggo, Orlando couldn't help but find such devotion endearing.
Neither had made any overt moves. Orlando knew that his usual 'Me: Orlando, You: bend over' routine would not fly with the sensitive soul that resided inside the older man. Besides, he was so smitten that Orli could still barely get through a conversation with him without blushing.
Orlando never worried that his burgeoning feelings for the artist weren't reciprocated. Every time Orli was within five feet of Viggo the older man ended up touching him somehow. There were soft touches on the arms, or shoulders, a steady hand on his back. Once Viggo had even grabbed hold of one of Orlando's curls, pulled it straight and then watched in utter fascination as it sprung back into shape.
Orlando walked on clouds for the rest of the day.
At the office there were whispered rumors about where S&B's former pitbull, and current golden retriever, was spending his mornings, and bets were being taken on just when he would complete his obvious decent into madness. Orlando had Elijah put a hundred bucks on two weeks from Tuesday at 4:05 PM.
Sean had expressed a bit of concern regarding his prize agent's abrupt attitude change, but as Orlando so deftly pointed out, since this was really all the older Brit's fault, he didn't have a leg to stand on. Sean had grudgingly agreed, and remarked that Orli did look healthier. He then wondered if perhaps he should give up golf and rent some space at Perceval to which Orlando responded by snarling and telling him to find his own fuckable bohemian. Sean smiled at the display of menace, and he said everything would work out just fine.
*****
Of course, after every high, there must come a low, and Orlando hit rock bottom only a week after first visiting Perceval.
When Orlando pulled up to the studio that morning, there was another car already parked close to Viggo's truck. He scowled, but did not think much of it. He had been lucky so far, Perceval was usually empty in the mornings, and he had had Viggo all to himself. Evidently another artist had decided to wake before noon, and was joining them this day.
It was inconvenient, but not unexpected, and Orli's almost perpetual good mood had once again returned by the time he locked his car.
He entered the building and immediately headed towards Viggo's normal station. He would greet the older man, talk for a bit, bask under the glow of a few random, and all too fleeting, touches, and then head back to the wheel he had claimed.
Today, however, his happy routine shattered, and the world dropped out from under his feet.
Viggo was in front of his usual canvas, but he wasn't alone. He was hugging someone. And not just a friendly hug, it was a full-out, no space between the bodies, next stop: dry humping, embrace.
Orlando's first instinct was to run, as far and as fast as he could, but before he could get his limbs to cooperate, Viggo spotted him.
"Orlando! I'd like you to meet a good friend of mine." Viggo kept one hand on the stranger's shoulder, high up, almost caressing his neck, while one of the stranger's arms settled low on Viggo's waist. "This is Gael García Bernal." He smiled and his crinkles were deeper than ever. "Gael, meet Orlando, our newest sculptor."
The young man's smile was just as dazzling as Viggo's, his teeth a perfect white against the light brown of his face. "Sculptor? Really? How wonderful." A soft accent wrapped around each of his words, and Orlando had never hated anyone so much in his life. "You know, I've always wondered, do you find, as Michelangelo did, that the form is already in the rock, and you simply have to set it free?"
Orlando found that for the first time since he started going to Perceval, he had to force a smile. "No, I..."
"Orlando works with clay, not stone." Viggo explained for him.
"Oh." Gael cocked his head to the side thoughtfully. "Well. The world can never have enough bowls, right?" Viggo laughed heartily, and Gael winked and simply said, "Private joke."
Orlando managed to hold his smile until he got to the bathroom where he promptly lost his breakfast.
*****
After Orlando had made himself presentable, he skulked to the pottery room. He got out his supplies, and put a lump of clay on his wheel, but his mind was too chaotic to do much more than stare at it.
Hollywood agents had a more motley selection of contacts than most people realized. A lot of people in Hollywood got into the film industry later in life, after dabbling in other careers. Orli had once been at a party thrown by Drea de Matteo and had somehow gotten involved in a truly interesting conversation with a guy who did tech work on The Sopranos. His previous business had been working with cement. Orlando couldn't help but wonder if he still freelanced.
His happily homicidal thoughts were disturbed by a light knock on the door. Orlando schooled his face into a neutral expression just as Gael stepped into the room.
"Hello again." Gael said. He looked slightly abashed. "I realized that what I said was probably very insulting to you. I meant no harm, and I apologize."
Orlando shrugged and offered up a sickly smile. "Don't worry about it. I didn't take any offense."
"Good." Gael said. "Truthfully, I find what potters do fascinating. That you manage to take what is essentially a clump of dirt and mold it into something beautiful, yet functional is quite impressive."
Somehow Orlando resisted the almost overwhelming urge to smack him. Instead, he cleared his throat and asked, "What's your medium?" Sure that the answer would be paints and photography, just like Viggo. They were obviously destined soulmates.
"Oh, I'm not an artist,” Gael said. "I'm a student. I'm studying to get a degree in literature. My ultimate dream is to become a teacher and go back to my old neighborhood."
"Wow." Orlando was glad all of his sharp tools were out of reach. "How... nice."
Gael shrugged, he leaned against a wall, obviously getting comfortable. "My parents think I'm too altruistic, but I believe you have to go where your heart leads you. Humans have an obligation to better this world, don't you think?" Gael's face was so earnest, his voice so heartfelt, Orlando was afraid he might have to puke again.
Orli swallowed heavily. "Heart. Obligation. World. Right."
"What is it you do?"
"I work with people." Orlando said quickly. "So, how did you and Viggo meet?"
"At a poetry reading. I was in the audience, critiquing poems for a class, and Vig was there debuting his latest work."
"Viggo writes poetry?"
Gael looked surprised. "You didn't know?"
Orlando shook his head, not trusting his voice at the moment.
"Oh. Well, I was blown away. The passion, the intensity... He truly is an amazing man." Gael said, his eyes shining. "Anyway, we went for coffee, and one thing led to another, and we ended up spending hours-” Gael stopped, eyes wide, a blush darkening his cheeks. "You probably don't want to hear about all of that."
"No,” Orlando said softly. "I probably don't." He focused on his clay. "Um, if you don't mind, I'd like to be alone when I work."
"Oh, of course." Gael nodded. "Artistic temperament, right?"
Orlando managed a wan smile. "Right." He watched as Gael waved and then left, shutting the door behind him. As soon as he was gone, Orli slumped in his seat. He had been a fool.
*****
The next morning found Orlando back at the office, his dress impeccable, his nails freshly manicured, and his disposition surlier than ever.
Elijah was notably concerned. “What the hell?” He asked. “What’s up with you, man?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Orlando said.
“I’m talking about how you went from being bastard-like to a pretty happy looking guy, and now you’re back to bastard mode.” Elijah frowned. “Are you bipolar or something?”
“No.”
“Did you go off your meds?”
Orlando glowered. “I’m not on medication.”
“Do you need to be?”
“Elijah!” Orlando took a deep breath. “What happened with me this past week was... an aberration."
"An aberration?" Elijah replied skeptically.
"That's right, and because of that aberration, I let things slide."
"No you didn't. All of your clients are fine."
"Fine." Orlando scoffed. "You don't win awards for being fine."
"Awards?"
"The new girl from England, Knightley, she could go far if I get her the right parts. You know Americans are suckers for a good British accent."
"Why do you think I've stuck with you for so long?"
For the first time since he'd caught Viggo with his little Latin lover, Orlando really smiled. "Yeah. And, here I thought it was just my charming personality.”
Elijah snorted. “Right. Sorry, but your allure wore off the first time you threw something at me.”
“Ah, that was your second day, right?”
“First day, third hour. It was a pencil. Freshly sharpened.” Elijah grinned. “You’re an ass, but your my ass. And because of that if you ever, you know, want to discuss that... aberration, I'm right outside the door, okay?"
Orlando nodded. He knew he would never take Elijah up on his offer, but he welcomed the sentiment behind it.
*****
Another day, another meeting in Sean's office.
The older Brit wasn't happy that Orli had stopped going to the studio, and had threatened to call his mother again for another chat. Orlando had responded with a copy of his resignation letter and a very real threat to go to another firm. He told Sean that the subject was closed, and that if he wished to remain not just Orlando's employer, but also his friend, he would never speak of it again.
Sean offered a friendly ear.
Orlando said he had work to do.
*****
If Orlando had known what would be waiting for him back at his office, he might have taken Sean up on the offer, or, more likely, begged the older man to hide him until it was safe to sneak out of the building.
There, one hip on Elijah’s desk, talking animatedly with the young assistant, was Viggo.
The older man looked up, that damn smile already on his face. "Hey, Orli."
"Hi." Orlando said.
Elijah looked inquisitive, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.
"Do you have a minute?" Viggo asked.
Orlando looked over at Elijah, who checked his appointment book, and then nodded.
"Sure." Orlando gestured towards his office.
Viggo entered the space, looking completely at ease in his new surroundings despite the obvious difference in value between his attire and Orlando's furnishings. Orli realized that for the first time since he'd met him, the older man was wearing shoes.
"I was going to call,” Viggo said. "But I didn't know if I'd be able to get through."
"You probably wouldn't have." Orlando replied honestly. He crossed his arms over his chest, a move he knew looked defensive, but he couldn't seem to care at the moment. "Why are you here?"
Viggo shrugged. "Officially? I wanted to ask you if you were coming back to the studio. You still have a lot of stuff there, supplies, finished pieces."
Orlando's jaw clenched, his gaze hardened. "I can send someone around to pick up my things tomorrow."
Viggo sighed. He ran a hand through his scruffy hair, making it even messier than it was before. "Look,” he said. "I'm sorry, but I'm a little confused. I thought things were going pretty good. That you were happy... you know, at Perceval." He looked sincere, and Orlando felt an ache in his chest.
"I was." Orlando said. "It was great to get my hands dirty again. But some things have come up. I'm trying to get one of my new clients a pretty choice role, so I'm afraid Perceval is just going to have to take a backseat."
"This must be a very lonely business."
Orlando bristled at the compassionate tone in the older man's voice. Where the hell did Viggo get off caring about him? "I don't really have time to be lonely." Orlando moved behind his desk letting the highly polished wood act as a barrier. "So, how's Gael?" He asked, inordinately proud that he had managed to keep the scorn in his voice to a minimum.
"He's fine. Back at Stanford."
"That must be difficult, him being so far away."
"We keep in touch..." Viggo frowned, then cocked his head, and after a moment, Orlando could swear he saw a light go on behind those piercing eyes. "Orlando?" Viggo took in a deep breath and let it out in a series of long chuckles. "Oh, Orli."
"What?" If Viggo was making fun of him, Orlando was going to call security.
Viggo rounded the desk, and patiently followed Orlando as he tried to back away. "I think there's been a misunderstanding on your part, and a pretty colossal misstep on mine."
"Viggo,” Orlando’s back hit the wall. "I assure you that any misunderstandings I might have had have been completely cleared up, and-"
"Gael's straight." Viggo said.
"Pardon?"
Viggo put his hands on either side of Orlando's head and leaned in close enough for the young Brit to get a good whiff of his scent. "He's straight, Orli. He's my very good, very heterosexual friend."
The heat from the older man's body was almost overwhelming. Orlando struggled to remember his objections. "But, he said..."
"What did he say?" Viggo's breath tickled Orli's cheek.
Orlando pushed against Viggo's chest and ducked under his arm. He moved to the middle of his office. "He said the night you two met you spent hours together... doing... something."
Viggo gave him a fond smile. "We spent the night talking about poetry."
"Poetry?"
"Deconstruction. Metaphor theory. Hermeneutics."
"I have no bloody idea what you're talking about."
"Yeah,” Viggo chuckled. "Most people don't. But Gael does, and that's how we became friends."
"Just friends?"
"Just friends."
The butterflies were back. "You gave me your official reason for coming here,” Orlando said hesitantly. “What's the unofficial reason?"
Viggo took a deep breath. "I wasn’t looking for a long term relationship, but... Every time I see you my heart beats faster. Every time I touch you it's like electricity running through my veins, I..."
"I know the feeling." Orlando couldn't help but let out a tiny gasp as Viggo's hand stroked over his cheek and settled against his jaw. "So, what do you think this is? Chemistry?"
Viggo leaned in and placed tiny kisses at the sides of Orlando's mouth. "Fate."
"That's a romantic notion." Orlando said breathlessly.
"I'm a romantic guy."
"Prove it." Orlando had no idea why he issued such a challenge, but he did know if he hadn’t already been falling towards something resembling love, Viggo’s next words pushed him over the edge.
“Oh, I will,” the older man said, grabbing Orli by the hips. “But I’d really like to fuck you first.”
Orlando blinked. “’Kay.”
Before Orlando could think of anything else to say, he was pushed against his desk, his suit jacket was on the floor, his crisp white shirt pushed up to his armpits. Viggo was on the floor in front of him, face pressed against the front of Orli’s Gucci navy pinstrip trousers.
The older man inhaled deeply. “God, I’ve wanted to taste you since the first time I saw you get out of your car.”
“What-” Orlando gasped as Viggo deftly undid his pants and licked him through his black boxer-briefs. “Took you so long?”
Viggo leaned back on his heels and carefully pulled the younger man’s underwear down. He licked his lips as Orli’s cock came into view. “I think I wanted to court you first... or some stupid shit like that.”
“Not stupid.” Orlando moaned as the head of his cock was taken into Viggo’s mouth. “Sweet.”
Viggo kissed his way up Orlando’s body. “Really?” He suckled softly at the younger man’s nipples. “You like sweet?” He asked distractedly.
Orlando’s fingers tightened around Viggo’s biceps. “I like you.”
“I like you too,” Viggo said before claiming Orli’s lips in a fierce kiss. Their mouths never parted as Viggo pressed Orli backwards onto the desk.
Orlando broke free from the kiss, and tugged on Viggo’s shirt. “Off.” He demanded. Viggo was still fully dressed, and Orlando wanted that remedied immediately.
Viggo complied, and Orli couldn’t help but lick his lips as the older man’s chest came into view. He wasn’t sculpted, like most men in Orli’s circles, but he was firm, and hard, and looked completely edible.
Just then a truly horrid thought entered the younger man’s mind. “Fuck!” Orli exclaimed. “I’ve got some condoms, but I don’t have
any-”
“Got it covered.” Viggo pulled a condom and a small tube of lube from his back pocket. Orlando couldn’t help but be amused.
“You always carry that around with you?” He asked.
“Since I met you.” Viggo said sheepishly.
Orlando grinned and pulled him back for another kiss. He spread his legs further, letting Viggo settle between them. How could he have known this man for an entire week without experiencing this before now?
Orlando felt cool, slick fingers press against him, and he concentrated on relaxing his muscles. It had been quite some time since he’d bottomed for anyone, and the fact that he was willing to let Viggo in so easily should have concerned him. Of course, the fact that he was about to get shagged in his office, and he didn’t think he had locked the door should have also concerned him.
Viggo’s fingers disappeared and almost immediately something larger pushed into him.
“Oh, damn...” Viggo stopped, just barely in. “Tight.” He panted. “You been waiting for me, baby?”
“Ev-evidently.”
Viggo pushed in further and Orli let out a soft keening sound as his prostrate was nudged. Viggo began to rock slowly, and on each forward motion he went a little deeper.
Orlando thought this was as close as he was ever going to get to heaven. One hand was stuffed into his mouth, trying to stifle the cries that Viggo’s perfect coupling was producing, the other was scrabbling at his desk. Absently, he wondered how you got fingernail marks out of polished walnut inlay.
But, all extraneous thoughts flew from his head when Viggo’s thrusts sped up. Their hips pumped together, moving in complete sync. Orlando came first, and as he did, he closed his eyes and saw stars.
A few seconds later Viggo’s body stiffened. His hips moved a few more times before he collapsed on top of Orlando with a low groan. Orlando mimicked the sound when the older man pulled out.
“You okay?” Viggo laid a worried hand against Orlando’s cheek.
“Never better.” The Brit said, a beatific smile on his face. He was about to suggest they do a cursory cleanup and then take things to the long leather couch on the opposite side of the office when he heard the unmistakable trill of his cell phone.
Viggo raised an eyebrow. “Is that ‘For the Love of Money’?”
Orlando grimaced and shrugged an apology as he answered the cursed thing. “Hello? Oh, hey, Chris.” He couldn’t help rolling his eyes. “No, I haven’t heard anything from Cronenberg, but...” Suddenly,
brilliance flared across Orlando’s brain. Evidently, getting shagged in the office agreed with him. “Do you know who I have heard from? Tarantino.” Orli sighed. “Yeah, the ‘Pulp Fiction’ Guy.”
Orlando eased himself off of his desk, wincing a bit as he stood. “Quentin’s already sniffing about for an upcoming film. Nothing’s written in stone, of course, but we’ve got a bit of time to make him see things our way.”
He began to pace, really getting into the story now. “Kill Bill 3. Yeah. Yeah. He wants to focus on Uma Thurman’s daughter. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. But, it’s Tarantino, Chris. Tarann-fucking-tino. Yeah. Yeah. Hey, who’s da man, remember? That’s right. Okay. Yeah. Later.” He turned off the phone and threw it somewhere in general vicinity of his desk. “Great,” he said. “That gives me about fifteen years to get him to take acting lessons.”
Viggo had already gotten dressed and was staring at his new lover in something that looked liked amusement tinged with a great deal of trepidation. “Did you just say ‘who’s da man’? I think I may have lost all respect for you.”
Orlando chucked. “Yeah, well, I do what I have to...” He frowned. There was something that needed to be addressed before whatever this was between them went any further. “Actually, I’m like this a lot. I can... uh... be a cold-hearted, conniving bastard. And, occasionally, I’m, kind of... um... evil.”
Viggo thought for a moment. “Sounds like you may be able to take on my ex-wife.”
“So...”
“I think I’ll keep you.”
“Really?” Orlando asked almost shyly. He gestured towards the couch. “Do you want to...”
Viggo shook his head and smiled, eyes crinkling adorably. “No. You said you wanted romance, remember?”
“Hey, that’s right.”
Viggo took one of Orlando's hands and gently kissed each knuckle. "Come by the studio tonight, after eight. That is,” Viggo’s lips caressed Orli's palm. "If you're not too busy."
"What do you know?" Orlando said. "My schedule suddenly opened up."
"Good." Viggo gave one last, lingering kiss to Orlando's palm. "See you tonight."
As soon as the older man left, Orlando did a little jig around his office before getting dressed.
He was straightening his tie when his phone buzzed and Elijah’s voice came over the speaker. "Am I to assume that was the aberration?"
"Sod off." Orli said good-naturedly. “Uh, there wasn’t any... you didn’t hear anything, did you?”
“A few people commented about some odd grunts and groans. I just told them you were in with your yoga instructor.”
“Good man!” Orlando relaxed into his chair. “Clear my schedule for the rest of the day.” He had a date to get ready for. “Oh, and Elijah, send Dr. Blanchett a few dozen roses, and tell her... Thanks.”
*****
The End
Author: Saone
Summary: Art can be good for the soul... if you have one.
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Slightly evilish Orli
Notes: Written for
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*****
Orlando Bloom was on top of the world.
Well, actually, he was on the thirty second floor of a high rise in Los Angeles, home to S&B, Inc.--the most prestigious talent agency in Hollywood. But, in Orli’s mind, it was the same difference.
He had just returned to the office from a luncheon meeting with the “next hot British import”. She was a sweet little thing, and her big brown eyes and pouty mouth almost made up for the total lack of tits. 'Costume Dramas' was practically written all over her patrician forehead, and while that Jane Austin crap rarely drew in big bucks, it did make critics swoon.
Orlando could use a critical darling in his stable.
He couldn't help but grin at a few interns as he made his way down the hall. The fact that they all paled and scattered in his wake lifted him even higher. He had once heard one of the other agent's secretary refer to him as a 'shark in dolphin's clothing'. Orlando had liked that very much. He had worked hard to cultivate his cutthroat image, and was glad it was being appreciated.
Elijah, Orlando's assistant, and one of the few people in the company he truly trusted, just shook his head at his boss' antics. "Evil,” he said, following Orli into his office. "Pure evil."
"True." Orli relaxed into his Mirra chair, and flipped through his messages. Most of them got tossed into the trash can under his desk. “Anything else?”
“You’ve got the meeting with Chris Evans in half an hour.”
“Yeah, I know, that should be a joy. Silly sod wants to start doing independent films, and I've got to talk him out of it without mentioning the tiny fact that he can't act.”
“Hmmm." Elijah stifled a smile. "And the big bossman wants to see you.”
Orlando straightened in his chair. “Sean wants to see me? Why?”
“Like he would tell me.” Elijah snorted. “I’ve been your assistant for almost three years and he still calls me Algernon.”
“It’s close. They both start with vowels.” Orlando said. “Okay, after I get rid of Chris-”
“No, Orli, he wants to see you now.”
“Now?”
Elijah nodded. “It... could be a good thing.” He said hesitantly.
Orlando laughed. “Of course it’s a good thing. What else could it be?”
*****
For all his bravado, Orlando couldn’t help but feel a bit apprehensive as he approached Sean’s office. He had known the older Brit for almost eight years, ever since he moved to L.A.
Orlando's first plan upon arriving in California was to become an actor. He could have too. With his exotic looks, lush curls, and questionable morals, Orli could have gone far in the world of acting. But, pulling strings behind the scenes spoke to some deep seated Machiavellian impulses inside of him. He wanted power more than stardom, and Sean, who had just signed one of Orlando's flatmates, recognized that, and decided to nurture it. The fledging S&B, Inc. had paid for Orli to go to business school, and the company had more than recouped its investment.
Orlando's natural charm, coupled with his innocent, guileless face, could have almost anyone eating out of the palm of his hand. He quickly became a fixture at S&B.
There was absolutely no reason for him to feel odd about being called to Sean's office. He knew that. But, for some reason, he just couldn’t quell the tiny flutter of butterflies in his stomach that told him something was up.
Sean's office was catty-corner to Orlando's and it didn't take long before he was standing before David, Sean's assistant.
"Hey, Daisy, I'm here to-"
"I know." The man usually glared when the dreaded nickname was used, but this time he simply gave Orli a pitying smile and nodded at him.
Orlando clamped down on the urge to gulp, and he entered Sean's office. Usually, he loved going in to see Sean, the latter's spacious corner office offered an amazing view, much better than Orli's own, but this
time Orlando couldn't see beyond the frowning countenance of his employer.
"Orlando." Sean practically purred his name.
"Sean."
"Sit. Please."
Orli gingerly took a seat in one of the two massive leather chairs facing Sean's desk. They were designed to make their occupants feel small. They worked.
Sean steepled his fingers and stared at the younger man. For a long drawn-out moment nothing was said. Finally, Sean leaned back in his chair and addressed his subordinate. "This is not an easy business,
Orlando. There are many times when we have to play the villain. When we have to lie and cheat in order to get the best results, not just for our clients, but for this company. You are my top agent, so I know you understand what I'm talking about. You play the game, Orli, and you play it well. But," Sean leaned forward, his keen green eyes pinning Orlando to his seat. "You never play that game with me."
Orlando's eyes were wide. "What? I... What?"
“There’s one thing that I can’t abide, Orlando," Sean growled. "And that’s people who I'm supposed to be able to trust, lying to me.”
“Sean, I’ve never lied to you." Orlando said. "Well, not about anything really important.”
Sean gave the other man a withering glare. “Is that so? All right. This past Monday you had your annual physical. Afterwards, I asked you how it went, and you said fine.”
“Because it was fine. I’m fine.”
“That’s odd, because when Dr. Blanchett spoke to me earlier today-”
“Wait, you talked to Dr. Blanchett? About me? You can’t do that. What about doctor/patient confidentiality?”
"Oh, please. She works for the company, Orlando. If you want confidentiality pay for your own doctor." Sean's eyes seemed to bore into Orlando even further. "She's concerned about you, Orli, and so am I."
"Concerned about what?"
"Your blood pressure.
"Is that what this is all about? I'm perfectly fine."
Sean snorted. "Perfectly fine?! You're right at the door to Hypertension. Are you looking to have your first heart attack before you turn thirty-five?"
"Sean."
"I'm serious, Orlando. This isn't something to fuck around with."
"Come on, I barely touch red meat, I drink moderately and only in social situations, I go to the gym or swim every day. I'm a picture of health."
"Except for the tiny fact that your heart is pumping much harder than it should."
"Yes, fine. But there are medications I can take. This isn't a death knell."
"Yet, Orlando. It's not a death knell, yet. And a guy in his twenties shouldn't have to take blood pressure medicine."
"Well, what am I supposed to do? Like I said, I already eat right, and exercise. Maybe it's just a genetic thing."
"Hmmm." Sean replied noncommittally. "Do you know why I play golf?"
Orlando blinked at the switch in topics. "To make contacts?"
"In the beginning, yes, but I'm head of the best talent agency in Hollywood, I hardly need to be out on the links whoring my services around anymore."
"I guess not." Orlando thought for a moment. "Okay, then, you like the fresh air?"
"In Los Angeles?"
"Fine, I give."
"I play golf because I'm good at it." Sean said. "Those first lean years I realized I had an affinity for the game. It comes natural to me; I don't have to think about it. I just take all my aggression out on a tiny white ball, and nine times out of ten, it lands exactly where I want it to."
"You should go pro." Orlando said cheekily.
"You should keep your gob shut until I'm done." Sean huffed. "They say air traffic controllers have the most stressful job in the world, and I'll grant them that, but ours is right up there near the top. Stress kills, Orlando. And I play golf so I don't end up in an early grave."
"So... I should... take up golf?"
"No. But you need to take up something. What do you like to do?"
"Make money."
Sean gritted his teeth. "Besides that. What are your hobbies?"
"Um... well, I... there's..." Orlando blinked rapidly. "I don't have any."
Sean sighed. "What do you do when you're not working?"
"I'm always working, Sean, you know that. It's why I'm here, at the top, with you."
"You know what's nice about being at the top, Orli? You get to sit and rest a while, and look out on all you've accomplished."
"Bullshit!" Orli exclaimed. "Being at the top means you have to continually protect yourself from the other blighters trying to finish the climb and push you off. I don't have time to sit and rest, in fact, I've got a meeting in twenty minutes."
Sean ran his fingers through his short blond hair, then cracked first his neck, then his knuckles. Each movement was a sign of serious agitation. "Orli," he said, "You know you're more than just an employee to me. I like to think of you as a friend, a younger brother even. You're family."
"I know Sean." Orlando nodded.
"Then I also hope you know that whatever I may do, it's only because I have your best interests at heart."
Orlando's stomach felt like it had just taken a steep drop. "You gonna fire me, Sean?"
"Go on to your meeting,” Sean said, waving him out the door. "We'll talk more about this later."
As Orlando began the walk back to his office, he couldn't help but obsess over the fact that Sean never answered his question.
*****
An hour later Orlando was itching to strangle someone, preferably the vacuous pretty boy he was escorting out of his office.
"So you're going to talk to Cronenberg, right? And Spike Jonez, he's indie, isn't he?"
"I'll see what I can do." Orlando said, forcing a smile.
"Good, good." Chris slapped Orli on the back. "Who's da man?"
Orlando's muscles strained to hold the inane grin on his face. "I am."
"Excellent! Later, dude!"
Orlando watched as one of his prize cash cows sauntered down the hallway towards the elevators, taking his time to less than discreetly ogle every female along the way. Orli rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I should be grateful, I suppose. At least he doesn't want to direct." When no colorful commentary came from his assistant, Orli turned toward Elijah.
The younger man's face was ashen. "I'm so sorry, Orlando." He solemnly held out a message slip.
Orlando took the paper, and as he read what was scribbled on it, all color seeped from his face. "Oh. My. God."
*****
Orlando barreled down the hallway, snarling at anyone who was stupid enough to get in his way. He burst through the door into Sean's office.
"You called my Mum?!" He screeched.
"Close the door, and lower your voice." Sean said calmly. "And, yes. You left me little choice... Orlando Jonathan Blanchard Bloom." Sean grinned as the newly reveled full name caught the younger Brit right between the eyes.
"Bastard." Orlando hissed. "Do you have any idea what you've done? Any idea what she's going to put me through?"
"The ringer? Maybe squeeze some sense into you?"
Orlando waved the message slip in the air. "She wants me to quit and go back to England! England, Sean! I'm sure she's already cleaning out my old room, and knitting new afghans for the furniture, and getting a nice girl lined up for me, and--" Orlando pulled at his collar, and wheezed. "Did it suddenly get warm in here?"
"Sit down for God's sake, before you pass out." Sean got up and retrieved a water bottle from a cleverly concealed mini fridge in the equally cleverly concealed wet bar. He gave Orlando the water and watched as the younger man took a shaky sip. "You're not going back to England. And you're certainly not going to quit. But maybe now you understand how serious I am about this."
Orlando nodded.
"Good." Sean returned to his seat. "Now, besides telling me your middle names, your mother also imparted some other interesting information."
Orlando's mind raced with all the embarrassing possibilities.
Sean continued. "She said you used to sculpt."
"Sculpt?" Orlando was taken aback. "I never really... I mean, I liked to work on the wheel, make some bowls and things, but it was never serious."
"So it was just something you did for..." Sean trailed off expectantly.
Orlando's brow furrowed. "For?"
Sean sighed. "Fun, Orli. You did it for fun?"
"Oh! Yes, I suppose. It was... fun."
"Excellent! I've already booked some studio time, you start tomorrow morning." Sean carefully looked over the shell-shocked Orlando. "You feel all right to stand?"
"Yeah." Orlando said hesitantly. "I think."
"Good. Get out of my office."
Orlando, still not entirely sure of what just happened, stood stiffly and shuffled towards the door.
"Oh, and Orlando?" Sean called out.
"Yeah."
"Make me something pretty."
*****
The next morning Orlando was cruising through Silverlake trying, and failing, to find Perceval Studios. His car's navigation system was no help, and the directions Daisy had given him had been crumpled and thrown to the floorboard. Finally Orlando spied a sign for Hidalgo Avenue. He made a u-turn, flipped off several other irate drivers, and motored down the new street. After several more minutes he found the studio. It was a smallish, nondescript building, with an equally smallish sign.
The street in front of the studio was empty save for a decrepit pickup that had seen better decades. Orlando left quite a bit of room between his car and the other. Logically, he knew that rust wasn't contagious, but he preferred not to take any chances with his new Lexus SC 2006. He pressed the lock button on his key chain and gave the Twilight Amethyst Pearl exterior an affectionate pat.
Orlando walked up to the building slowly. He wasn't quite sure of the protocol yet, but the problem of whether to knock or just walk right on in was solved when the door swung open. A man stood there, a broad smile splitting his face. "Hey,” he said. "You must be Orlando."
Usually, this would be when Orlando would paste on his meet and greet smile, which of course would be as fake as the sincerity in his voice. But, upon seeing the man--this scruffy, paint-splattered, and barefoot middle aged man--something went horribly wrong with the bullshit dispenser in Orlando's brain.
"Um... er... Hey." Orlando said, blushing slightly.
If possible, the man's smile got bigger. Lovely lines crinkled around his eyes and mouth. With anyone else, Orlando would have thought nothing of recommending the name of a good plastic surgeon--the same one who had done wonders for his previously less than perfect nose—but for some reason he found himself thinking that the creases and crevices were... kind of... cute. Orlando wanted to frown, and was a little dismayed to feel his face melt into a smile of its own. The Brit only hoped it didn't look as sappy as it felt.
"Come on in." The man said. "Name's Viggo. This is my place."
"Viggo..." Orli let the name roll off his tongue.
"It's Danish."
"Like the pastry." Orlando felt vaguely horrified that something that daft could come out of his mouth.
Viggo just chuckled. "Let me give you the ten cent tour." He gently put a guiding hand on Orlando's back, and didn't notice, or didn't care, when the younger man practically jumped out of his skin.
Orlando had never felt anything quite like the sensation that coursed through him at Viggo's touch. The butterflies from yesterday were back, and they had brought friends, but this time the result wasn't apprehension, but anticipation.
Viggo led him through several rooms, explaining that the oil painters worked in here, while the watercolorists worked in there. "David said that you work with clay, not stone, is that correct?" He asked.
"That's right." Orlando said. "You know David?"
"He's a pretty regular visitor. Works mainly with pastels." He pushed open a final door and they entered a large, spacious room.
There were less windows here then in the painting rooms, but there was still enough natural light for Orli's taste. A huge, monster of a kiln sat in the far corner. One wall was made up of shelves that held various kinds of ceramics. A row of wheels were spaced along the other wall, and Orlando's fingers started to itch as soon as he saw them.
"There's not much clay here right now." Viggo said. "But, there's an art supply store over on Brier. If you want to stock up you can keep your stuff here. I assume you know what to do with that." Viggo gestured towards one of the wheels.
"Yeah." Orli wanted to continue and tell him all about his qualifications and previous experiences with pottery, but he held his tongue.
"Good, good. I'm afraid I don't know much about what you'll be doing. I tend to focus on photography, and,” he ruefully looked down at his splattered clothing. "Painting. Miranda's really the one who runs the sculpture portion of things, but she's off visiting family, so you're stuck with me.
Orlando bristled at the mention of this unknown female. Miranda. She sounded like a tart.
"The kiln is old, but still reliable. Just let me know when you're ready to fire something, and I'll get it up and running for you." Viggo scratched his head as he looked around the room. "Let's see... I think that's about it. Do you have any questions?"
Oh, Orli definitely had questions. "No. Not at the moment."
"Okay." Viggo cast a critical eye over Orlando's Armani suit. "I don't suppose you were planning on doing anything today." He said.
Orlando flushed. He had actually not planned on staying long at all, but that had quickly gone out the window. "I, uh..."
"Thought you'd just look around today, familiarize yourself with the studio?" Viggo nodded. "I understand."
Orlando grasped onto the easily provided answer. "Yes! Exactly. Um, I'll bring a change of clothes tomorrow."
"Great! Well,” Viggo gave a last look around the room, but his gaze seemed to linger on Orlando. "Find me if you need anything." There was one more smile, and then he was gone.
Orlando couldn't help but grin, not his usual shark-like smile promising bloody retribution and slow death, but something softer, something nicer. Orli decided that maybe Sean was right, maybe this was going to be good for him.
*****
The next day, for the first time in over ten years, Orli had clay under his fingernails, and a spring in his step that didn't come from verbally eviscerating someone. Dressed in clay dappled casual with a garment bag slung over his shoulder, he was halfway to his office before he realized he was humming.
If anything, his abnormally sunny disposition sent the underlings scattering faster than normal. Even Elijah seemed put off by Orlando's attitude, or lack there of.
He followed Orli into his office and watched warily as the Brit began to change his clothes. "Are you... okay?"
"'Course. Why do you ask?"
"You seem... different." Elijah said. "But, in a good way." He added quickly.
Orlando thought for a moment, then he smiled, bright and cheerful. "I've been inspired."
*****
The next few days were heavenly. The tart still hadn't returned, so any questions Orli had had to be answered by Viggo. Orlando found he had a lot of questions.
Viggo helped where he could, and when he couldn't, that heart stopping smile made up for his lack of knowledge.
He slowly began to learn things about the eccentric artist. Viggo had been married, and had a son with whom he was extremely close. Before, any mention of offspring would send Orli running for the hills, but with Viggo, Orlando couldn't help but find such devotion endearing.
Neither had made any overt moves. Orlando knew that his usual 'Me: Orlando, You: bend over' routine would not fly with the sensitive soul that resided inside the older man. Besides, he was so smitten that Orli could still barely get through a conversation with him without blushing.
Orlando never worried that his burgeoning feelings for the artist weren't reciprocated. Every time Orli was within five feet of Viggo the older man ended up touching him somehow. There were soft touches on the arms, or shoulders, a steady hand on his back. Once Viggo had even grabbed hold of one of Orlando's curls, pulled it straight and then watched in utter fascination as it sprung back into shape.
Orlando walked on clouds for the rest of the day.
At the office there were whispered rumors about where S&B's former pitbull, and current golden retriever, was spending his mornings, and bets were being taken on just when he would complete his obvious decent into madness. Orlando had Elijah put a hundred bucks on two weeks from Tuesday at 4:05 PM.
Sean had expressed a bit of concern regarding his prize agent's abrupt attitude change, but as Orlando so deftly pointed out, since this was really all the older Brit's fault, he didn't have a leg to stand on. Sean had grudgingly agreed, and remarked that Orli did look healthier. He then wondered if perhaps he should give up golf and rent some space at Perceval to which Orlando responded by snarling and telling him to find his own fuckable bohemian. Sean smiled at the display of menace, and he said everything would work out just fine.
*****
Of course, after every high, there must come a low, and Orlando hit rock bottom only a week after first visiting Perceval.
When Orlando pulled up to the studio that morning, there was another car already parked close to Viggo's truck. He scowled, but did not think much of it. He had been lucky so far, Perceval was usually empty in the mornings, and he had had Viggo all to himself. Evidently another artist had decided to wake before noon, and was joining them this day.
It was inconvenient, but not unexpected, and Orli's almost perpetual good mood had once again returned by the time he locked his car.
He entered the building and immediately headed towards Viggo's normal station. He would greet the older man, talk for a bit, bask under the glow of a few random, and all too fleeting, touches, and then head back to the wheel he had claimed.
Today, however, his happy routine shattered, and the world dropped out from under his feet.
Viggo was in front of his usual canvas, but he wasn't alone. He was hugging someone. And not just a friendly hug, it was a full-out, no space between the bodies, next stop: dry humping, embrace.
Orlando's first instinct was to run, as far and as fast as he could, but before he could get his limbs to cooperate, Viggo spotted him.
"Orlando! I'd like you to meet a good friend of mine." Viggo kept one hand on the stranger's shoulder, high up, almost caressing his neck, while one of the stranger's arms settled low on Viggo's waist. "This is Gael García Bernal." He smiled and his crinkles were deeper than ever. "Gael, meet Orlando, our newest sculptor."
The young man's smile was just as dazzling as Viggo's, his teeth a perfect white against the light brown of his face. "Sculptor? Really? How wonderful." A soft accent wrapped around each of his words, and Orlando had never hated anyone so much in his life. "You know, I've always wondered, do you find, as Michelangelo did, that the form is already in the rock, and you simply have to set it free?"
Orlando found that for the first time since he started going to Perceval, he had to force a smile. "No, I..."
"Orlando works with clay, not stone." Viggo explained for him.
"Oh." Gael cocked his head to the side thoughtfully. "Well. The world can never have enough bowls, right?" Viggo laughed heartily, and Gael winked and simply said, "Private joke."
Orlando managed to hold his smile until he got to the bathroom where he promptly lost his breakfast.
*****
After Orlando had made himself presentable, he skulked to the pottery room. He got out his supplies, and put a lump of clay on his wheel, but his mind was too chaotic to do much more than stare at it.
Hollywood agents had a more motley selection of contacts than most people realized. A lot of people in Hollywood got into the film industry later in life, after dabbling in other careers. Orli had once been at a party thrown by Drea de Matteo and had somehow gotten involved in a truly interesting conversation with a guy who did tech work on The Sopranos. His previous business had been working with cement. Orlando couldn't help but wonder if he still freelanced.
His happily homicidal thoughts were disturbed by a light knock on the door. Orlando schooled his face into a neutral expression just as Gael stepped into the room.
"Hello again." Gael said. He looked slightly abashed. "I realized that what I said was probably very insulting to you. I meant no harm, and I apologize."
Orlando shrugged and offered up a sickly smile. "Don't worry about it. I didn't take any offense."
"Good." Gael said. "Truthfully, I find what potters do fascinating. That you manage to take what is essentially a clump of dirt and mold it into something beautiful, yet functional is quite impressive."
Somehow Orlando resisted the almost overwhelming urge to smack him. Instead, he cleared his throat and asked, "What's your medium?" Sure that the answer would be paints and photography, just like Viggo. They were obviously destined soulmates.
"Oh, I'm not an artist,” Gael said. "I'm a student. I'm studying to get a degree in literature. My ultimate dream is to become a teacher and go back to my old neighborhood."
"Wow." Orlando was glad all of his sharp tools were out of reach. "How... nice."
Gael shrugged, he leaned against a wall, obviously getting comfortable. "My parents think I'm too altruistic, but I believe you have to go where your heart leads you. Humans have an obligation to better this world, don't you think?" Gael's face was so earnest, his voice so heartfelt, Orlando was afraid he might have to puke again.
Orli swallowed heavily. "Heart. Obligation. World. Right."
"What is it you do?"
"I work with people." Orlando said quickly. "So, how did you and Viggo meet?"
"At a poetry reading. I was in the audience, critiquing poems for a class, and Vig was there debuting his latest work."
"Viggo writes poetry?"
Gael looked surprised. "You didn't know?"
Orlando shook his head, not trusting his voice at the moment.
"Oh. Well, I was blown away. The passion, the intensity... He truly is an amazing man." Gael said, his eyes shining. "Anyway, we went for coffee, and one thing led to another, and we ended up spending hours-” Gael stopped, eyes wide, a blush darkening his cheeks. "You probably don't want to hear about all of that."
"No,” Orlando said softly. "I probably don't." He focused on his clay. "Um, if you don't mind, I'd like to be alone when I work."
"Oh, of course." Gael nodded. "Artistic temperament, right?"
Orlando managed a wan smile. "Right." He watched as Gael waved and then left, shutting the door behind him. As soon as he was gone, Orli slumped in his seat. He had been a fool.
*****
The next morning found Orlando back at the office, his dress impeccable, his nails freshly manicured, and his disposition surlier than ever.
Elijah was notably concerned. “What the hell?” He asked. “What’s up with you, man?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Orlando said.
“I’m talking about how you went from being bastard-like to a pretty happy looking guy, and now you’re back to bastard mode.” Elijah frowned. “Are you bipolar or something?”
“No.”
“Did you go off your meds?”
Orlando glowered. “I’m not on medication.”
“Do you need to be?”
“Elijah!” Orlando took a deep breath. “What happened with me this past week was... an aberration."
"An aberration?" Elijah replied skeptically.
"That's right, and because of that aberration, I let things slide."
"No you didn't. All of your clients are fine."
"Fine." Orlando scoffed. "You don't win awards for being fine."
"Awards?"
"The new girl from England, Knightley, she could go far if I get her the right parts. You know Americans are suckers for a good British accent."
"Why do you think I've stuck with you for so long?"
For the first time since he'd caught Viggo with his little Latin lover, Orlando really smiled. "Yeah. And, here I thought it was just my charming personality.”
Elijah snorted. “Right. Sorry, but your allure wore off the first time you threw something at me.”
“Ah, that was your second day, right?”
“First day, third hour. It was a pencil. Freshly sharpened.” Elijah grinned. “You’re an ass, but your my ass. And because of that if you ever, you know, want to discuss that... aberration, I'm right outside the door, okay?"
Orlando nodded. He knew he would never take Elijah up on his offer, but he welcomed the sentiment behind it.
*****
Another day, another meeting in Sean's office.
The older Brit wasn't happy that Orli had stopped going to the studio, and had threatened to call his mother again for another chat. Orlando had responded with a copy of his resignation letter and a very real threat to go to another firm. He told Sean that the subject was closed, and that if he wished to remain not just Orlando's employer, but also his friend, he would never speak of it again.
Sean offered a friendly ear.
Orlando said he had work to do.
*****
If Orlando had known what would be waiting for him back at his office, he might have taken Sean up on the offer, or, more likely, begged the older man to hide him until it was safe to sneak out of the building.
There, one hip on Elijah’s desk, talking animatedly with the young assistant, was Viggo.
The older man looked up, that damn smile already on his face. "Hey, Orli."
"Hi." Orlando said.
Elijah looked inquisitive, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.
"Do you have a minute?" Viggo asked.
Orlando looked over at Elijah, who checked his appointment book, and then nodded.
"Sure." Orlando gestured towards his office.
Viggo entered the space, looking completely at ease in his new surroundings despite the obvious difference in value between his attire and Orlando's furnishings. Orli realized that for the first time since he'd met him, the older man was wearing shoes.
"I was going to call,” Viggo said. "But I didn't know if I'd be able to get through."
"You probably wouldn't have." Orlando replied honestly. He crossed his arms over his chest, a move he knew looked defensive, but he couldn't seem to care at the moment. "Why are you here?"
Viggo shrugged. "Officially? I wanted to ask you if you were coming back to the studio. You still have a lot of stuff there, supplies, finished pieces."
Orlando's jaw clenched, his gaze hardened. "I can send someone around to pick up my things tomorrow."
Viggo sighed. He ran a hand through his scruffy hair, making it even messier than it was before. "Look,” he said. "I'm sorry, but I'm a little confused. I thought things were going pretty good. That you were happy... you know, at Perceval." He looked sincere, and Orlando felt an ache in his chest.
"I was." Orlando said. "It was great to get my hands dirty again. But some things have come up. I'm trying to get one of my new clients a pretty choice role, so I'm afraid Perceval is just going to have to take a backseat."
"This must be a very lonely business."
Orlando bristled at the compassionate tone in the older man's voice. Where the hell did Viggo get off caring about him? "I don't really have time to be lonely." Orlando moved behind his desk letting the highly polished wood act as a barrier. "So, how's Gael?" He asked, inordinately proud that he had managed to keep the scorn in his voice to a minimum.
"He's fine. Back at Stanford."
"That must be difficult, him being so far away."
"We keep in touch..." Viggo frowned, then cocked his head, and after a moment, Orlando could swear he saw a light go on behind those piercing eyes. "Orlando?" Viggo took in a deep breath and let it out in a series of long chuckles. "Oh, Orli."
"What?" If Viggo was making fun of him, Orlando was going to call security.
Viggo rounded the desk, and patiently followed Orlando as he tried to back away. "I think there's been a misunderstanding on your part, and a pretty colossal misstep on mine."
"Viggo,” Orlando’s back hit the wall. "I assure you that any misunderstandings I might have had have been completely cleared up, and-"
"Gael's straight." Viggo said.
"Pardon?"
Viggo put his hands on either side of Orlando's head and leaned in close enough for the young Brit to get a good whiff of his scent. "He's straight, Orli. He's my very good, very heterosexual friend."
The heat from the older man's body was almost overwhelming. Orlando struggled to remember his objections. "But, he said..."
"What did he say?" Viggo's breath tickled Orli's cheek.
Orlando pushed against Viggo's chest and ducked under his arm. He moved to the middle of his office. "He said the night you two met you spent hours together... doing... something."
Viggo gave him a fond smile. "We spent the night talking about poetry."
"Poetry?"
"Deconstruction. Metaphor theory. Hermeneutics."
"I have no bloody idea what you're talking about."
"Yeah,” Viggo chuckled. "Most people don't. But Gael does, and that's how we became friends."
"Just friends?"
"Just friends."
The butterflies were back. "You gave me your official reason for coming here,” Orlando said hesitantly. “What's the unofficial reason?"
Viggo took a deep breath. "I wasn’t looking for a long term relationship, but... Every time I see you my heart beats faster. Every time I touch you it's like electricity running through my veins, I..."
"I know the feeling." Orlando couldn't help but let out a tiny gasp as Viggo's hand stroked over his cheek and settled against his jaw. "So, what do you think this is? Chemistry?"
Viggo leaned in and placed tiny kisses at the sides of Orlando's mouth. "Fate."
"That's a romantic notion." Orlando said breathlessly.
"I'm a romantic guy."
"Prove it." Orlando had no idea why he issued such a challenge, but he did know if he hadn’t already been falling towards something resembling love, Viggo’s next words pushed him over the edge.
“Oh, I will,” the older man said, grabbing Orli by the hips. “But I’d really like to fuck you first.”
Orlando blinked. “’Kay.”
Before Orlando could think of anything else to say, he was pushed against his desk, his suit jacket was on the floor, his crisp white shirt pushed up to his armpits. Viggo was on the floor in front of him, face pressed against the front of Orli’s Gucci navy pinstrip trousers.
The older man inhaled deeply. “God, I’ve wanted to taste you since the first time I saw you get out of your car.”
“What-” Orlando gasped as Viggo deftly undid his pants and licked him through his black boxer-briefs. “Took you so long?”
Viggo leaned back on his heels and carefully pulled the younger man’s underwear down. He licked his lips as Orli’s cock came into view. “I think I wanted to court you first... or some stupid shit like that.”
“Not stupid.” Orlando moaned as the head of his cock was taken into Viggo’s mouth. “Sweet.”
Viggo kissed his way up Orlando’s body. “Really?” He suckled softly at the younger man’s nipples. “You like sweet?” He asked distractedly.
Orlando’s fingers tightened around Viggo’s biceps. “I like you.”
“I like you too,” Viggo said before claiming Orli’s lips in a fierce kiss. Their mouths never parted as Viggo pressed Orli backwards onto the desk.
Orlando broke free from the kiss, and tugged on Viggo’s shirt. “Off.” He demanded. Viggo was still fully dressed, and Orlando wanted that remedied immediately.
Viggo complied, and Orli couldn’t help but lick his lips as the older man’s chest came into view. He wasn’t sculpted, like most men in Orli’s circles, but he was firm, and hard, and looked completely edible.
Just then a truly horrid thought entered the younger man’s mind. “Fuck!” Orli exclaimed. “I’ve got some condoms, but I don’t have
any-”
“Got it covered.” Viggo pulled a condom and a small tube of lube from his back pocket. Orlando couldn’t help but be amused.
“You always carry that around with you?” He asked.
“Since I met you.” Viggo said sheepishly.
Orlando grinned and pulled him back for another kiss. He spread his legs further, letting Viggo settle between them. How could he have known this man for an entire week without experiencing this before now?
Orlando felt cool, slick fingers press against him, and he concentrated on relaxing his muscles. It had been quite some time since he’d bottomed for anyone, and the fact that he was willing to let Viggo in so easily should have concerned him. Of course, the fact that he was about to get shagged in his office, and he didn’t think he had locked the door should have also concerned him.
Viggo’s fingers disappeared and almost immediately something larger pushed into him.
“Oh, damn...” Viggo stopped, just barely in. “Tight.” He panted. “You been waiting for me, baby?”
“Ev-evidently.”
Viggo pushed in further and Orli let out a soft keening sound as his prostrate was nudged. Viggo began to rock slowly, and on each forward motion he went a little deeper.
Orlando thought this was as close as he was ever going to get to heaven. One hand was stuffed into his mouth, trying to stifle the cries that Viggo’s perfect coupling was producing, the other was scrabbling at his desk. Absently, he wondered how you got fingernail marks out of polished walnut inlay.
But, all extraneous thoughts flew from his head when Viggo’s thrusts sped up. Their hips pumped together, moving in complete sync. Orlando came first, and as he did, he closed his eyes and saw stars.
A few seconds later Viggo’s body stiffened. His hips moved a few more times before he collapsed on top of Orlando with a low groan. Orlando mimicked the sound when the older man pulled out.
“You okay?” Viggo laid a worried hand against Orlando’s cheek.
“Never better.” The Brit said, a beatific smile on his face. He was about to suggest they do a cursory cleanup and then take things to the long leather couch on the opposite side of the office when he heard the unmistakable trill of his cell phone.
Viggo raised an eyebrow. “Is that ‘For the Love of Money’?”
Orlando grimaced and shrugged an apology as he answered the cursed thing. “Hello? Oh, hey, Chris.” He couldn’t help rolling his eyes. “No, I haven’t heard anything from Cronenberg, but...” Suddenly,
brilliance flared across Orlando’s brain. Evidently, getting shagged in the office agreed with him. “Do you know who I have heard from? Tarantino.” Orli sighed. “Yeah, the ‘Pulp Fiction’ Guy.”
Orlando eased himself off of his desk, wincing a bit as he stood. “Quentin’s already sniffing about for an upcoming film. Nothing’s written in stone, of course, but we’ve got a bit of time to make him see things our way.”
He began to pace, really getting into the story now. “Kill Bill 3. Yeah. Yeah. He wants to focus on Uma Thurman’s daughter. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. But, it’s Tarantino, Chris. Tarann-fucking-tino. Yeah. Yeah. Hey, who’s da man, remember? That’s right. Okay. Yeah. Later.” He turned off the phone and threw it somewhere in general vicinity of his desk. “Great,” he said. “That gives me about fifteen years to get him to take acting lessons.”
Viggo had already gotten dressed and was staring at his new lover in something that looked liked amusement tinged with a great deal of trepidation. “Did you just say ‘who’s da man’? I think I may have lost all respect for you.”
Orlando chucked. “Yeah, well, I do what I have to...” He frowned. There was something that needed to be addressed before whatever this was between them went any further. “Actually, I’m like this a lot. I can... uh... be a cold-hearted, conniving bastard. And, occasionally, I’m, kind of... um... evil.”
Viggo thought for a moment. “Sounds like you may be able to take on my ex-wife.”
“So...”
“I think I’ll keep you.”
“Really?” Orlando asked almost shyly. He gestured towards the couch. “Do you want to...”
Viggo shook his head and smiled, eyes crinkling adorably. “No. You said you wanted romance, remember?”
“Hey, that’s right.”
Viggo took one of Orlando's hands and gently kissed each knuckle. "Come by the studio tonight, after eight. That is,” Viggo’s lips caressed Orli's palm. "If you're not too busy."
"What do you know?" Orlando said. "My schedule suddenly opened up."
"Good." Viggo gave one last, lingering kiss to Orlando's palm. "See you tonight."
As soon as the older man left, Orlando did a little jig around his office before getting dressed.
He was straightening his tie when his phone buzzed and Elijah’s voice came over the speaker. "Am I to assume that was the aberration?"
"Sod off." Orli said good-naturedly. “Uh, there wasn’t any... you didn’t hear anything, did you?”
“A few people commented about some odd grunts and groans. I just told them you were in with your yoga instructor.”
“Good man!” Orlando relaxed into his chair. “Clear my schedule for the rest of the day.” He had a date to get ready for. “Oh, and Elijah, send Dr. Blanchett a few dozen roses, and tell her... Thanks.”
*****
The End
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Date: 2006-02-02 05:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-05 02:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-02 06:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-03 10:34 pm (UTC)Ginger
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Date: 2006-02-06 03:16 pm (UTC)Thanks so much! This was the first really involved Viggorli I did, so, cool. *g* And, yeah, these two might have more stories to tell. Writing bitchy!Orli is way too much fun.
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Date: 2006-02-06 03:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-02 06:44 pm (UTC)Now lots more people get to read . . .
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Date: 2006-02-06 03:17 pm (UTC)Thanks! *g*
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Date: 2006-02-02 07:27 pm (UTC)This is such a refreshing take on a not-syrupy Orlando - just great!
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Date: 2006-02-06 03:21 pm (UTC)If it brightened up your workday, I take complete credit. However, if your boss got pissy over the random display of mirth, I disavow all knowlege of everything. Who are you? What is this "fanfic" you speak of? ;D
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Date: 2006-02-02 07:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-06 03:23 pm (UTC)The voices in my head say thank you, and are glad you liked it. ;D
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Date: 2006-02-02 08:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-06 04:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-02 09:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-06 04:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-03 12:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-06 04:29 pm (UTC)Can you blame him? ;D
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Date: 2006-02-03 01:25 am (UTC)Thanks~~
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Date: 2006-02-06 04:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-03 02:40 am (UTC)Loved it when I first read it and love it just as much now. Evil, sexy and sweet in a mean way *g*
:hugs poor Chris Evans to manly bosom:
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Date: 2006-02-06 04:35 pm (UTC)Awww, you say the nicest things. *eg*
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Date: 2006-02-03 03:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-07 05:36 pm (UTC)Thanks so much *g*
dare we hope for MORE?
Stronge maybe. ;) These two were a hoot to write, and you just know they have a lot more to say.
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Date: 2006-02-03 07:00 am (UTC)“No.”
“Did you go off your meds?”
Orlando glowered. “I’m not on medication.”
“Do you need to be?”
I think I about peed my pants at this...lmao
you should really write a second part to it.
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Date: 2006-02-08 03:50 pm (UTC)*snerk* I will take that as a huge compliment. *g*
you should really write a second part to it.
Thinking about it...
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Date: 2006-02-03 07:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-08 04:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-04 05:34 am (UTC)1. Logically, he knew that rust wasn't contagious
2. Orlando bristled at the mention of this unknown female. Miranda. She sounded like a tart.
3. Orlando had Elijah put a hundred bucks on two weeks from Tuesday at 4:05 PM
4. Orlando responded by snarling and telling him to find his own fuckable bohemian
And then, THIS, which caused a massive hormone dump into my system:
“Oh, I will,” the older man said, grabbing Orli by the hips. “But I’d really like to fuck you first.”
Orlando blinked. “’Kay.”
Wow, I'm really impressed! It's got everything I like in a story: a) humor (like, GOOD humor); b) some good old angst followed by really hot sex; c) a First Time (those are a weakness of mine); d) great dialogue; and e) men who aren't girls. As evidenced by this line:
“I think I wanted to court you first... or some stupid shit like that.”
Haha, bravo! I just loved this with all my heart. *wanders off to read more of your stuff*
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Date: 2006-02-08 09:40 pm (UTC)Thanks! Yeah, that's pretty much everything I like in a fic too. Take all that and slap on a happy ending and I am purring. *g*
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Date: 2006-02-04 03:42 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2006-02-24 07:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-13 05:01 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2009-02-09 02:05 pm (UTC)