"You're supposed to be with Sean," Viggo repeated thoughtfully. "Explain to me what that means."
He didn't look surprised to see Orlando on his doorstep. He didn't register much emotional at all. Orlando hadn't expected indifference to his presence. It left him off-balance. He didn't know what to say.
Distractedly, his eyes panned Viggo's clothing, noting the paint-splattered T-shirt, the jeans with the cuffs frayed from wear. Viggo was barefoot.
"You're painting."
A tightening of Viggo's lips. "I was. Until you knocked on my door." He rested a hand on the doorframe, barring entrance. "Now explain what you meant."
Orlando realized with some surprise that the other man was irritated. Wasn't this what Viggo had wanted? Or had Orlando made a mistake in coming here?
He took a deep breath, fiddling with the ends of his scarf. "I spoke with Sean today."
Viggo's expression revealed nothing. "Why?"
Orlando took a step back, startled. There was fury behind the word, frustration. "We needed to clear the air," he said, confused.
"Did you?"
Viggo was definitely angry. The hand against the doorframe was white-knuckled. Orlando tried not to stammer. "We need more time to resolve things, but it was a start."
Viggo clenched his jaw and looked past Orlando. "Then why aren't you with him, *resolving things*?" he bit out. The sarcasm in his voice made Orlando cringe. "What are you doing here?"
This wasn't going at all the way Orlando had hoped. Orlando being here was supposed to be a *good* thing. Surely he hadn't misunderstood Viggo? That was impossible.
"You come here and tell me that you and Sean rediscovered your connection," Viggo went on. There was less emotion in his voice, as if he was distancing himself. Somehow, Orlando found that more terrible. "If you've decided that you and he are supposed to be together, why do you need me to convince you it's the right choice?"
Orlando's eyes widened. "No," he protested. "You've got it all wrong." He might have laughed if he hadn't been so nervous. He stepped forward and laid a hand upon a tense shoulder. "That's not what I meant at all. Sean's expecting me for dinner. But I'm here, Viggo. With you."
Viggo simply stared at him. The steel of his eyes kept Orlando rooted in place, afraid to look away for fear it would undermine the importance of what he'd just admitted.
"Sean's expecting you for dinner--"
"No, forget about him," Orlando interrupted. "Just let me in," he pleaded, uncaring that he had to beg. "It's taken me too long to believe in this and if you turn me away I'll--" He raised his chin. "I don't want to have to go back to how I was. I need you to convince me this is right."
Viggo's eyes softened slightly. A knot of tension began to unwind within Orlando. He noticed, though, that Viggo still hadn't dropped his arm from the doorway.
"Let me ask you something," Viggo began. He studied Orlando thoughtfully. "When was the last time you entered into a relationship because you had initiated it? When was the last time the decision was solely yours? I want to know."
Orlando was taken aback by the question. The last time he had initiated a relationship? The longer he thought about it, the more surprised he was by the answer. Dominic was out of the question. There had been that fling with the cameraman. But no, even that had been Orlando responding to the other man's flirting and using the situtation to drive home a point to Dominic. With Sean...Orlando would never have dreamed of making a move if Sean hadn't invited him for drinks that day in London.
"It's been a long time," he admitted. "Maybe before I entered Guildhall."
Viggo nodded, as if he'd known the answer already. "And here you are on my doorstep, asking me to take the decision out of your hands once again." He dropped his arm. "I can't do that for you, Orlando. If you want this, if you truly want *me*, you can't remain passive."
Before Orlando could respond, Viggo turned and walked into the house.
"Can't remain pass--" Orlando's teeth ground together. "I'm not a bloody puppy being led about by a leash!" he called out angrily. "I take responsibility for *everything* that I've done!"
No one answered him. He was staring at an empty doorway. An *open* doorway. Orlando stormed inside and slammed the door behind him. Viggo wasn't in the living room, but there was a light coming from down the hallway. Orlando followed it to Viggo's studio.
"If you think I like playing the victim--"
Orlando broke off, struck by Viggo's contemplative pose before the easel set up in the center of the room. Viggo spared him a glance, then went back to studying the canvas.
"I'm not a victim," Orlando repeated in frustration, stepping up to Viggo. The older man looked at him again as he approached, but Orlando was drawn to what he saw on the easel. "What is this?" he asked, forgetting everything he and Viggo had just been discussing. He lifted his fingers and let them hover just above the swirls of paint.
He heard a shade of vulnerability in Viggo's voice as he answered, "This is what I feel whenever I think of you."
Orlando's breath caught. His eyes shot to Viggo's face, then back to the canvas. "Everything you feel?"
He studied the canvas more closely. The unfinished painting was a riot of colors. The background was yellow, three bright shades of sunshine. Scattered here and there were splashes of robin's egg blue, like glimpses of the perfect sky. Across the bottom half of the canvas was a shooting trail of fuschia, like a star...Everything he feels, Orlando thought to himself, awed. Viggo had chosen vibrant, laughing colors celebrating life and joy...
Yet in the middle of all of that brightness was a dark spot. It looked almost as if Viggo had made a mistake and had tried to rub it out with the side of his hand, only to make it worse. It was small and its edges faded into the celebration around it, but it was there. The longer Orlando looked at it, the larger it became until it seemed to dominate the entire painting. It's presence amidst such gaiety seemed somehow obscene.
"What is that?" Orlando asked, pointing at the spot.
Viggo's eyes were on him, but Orlando couldn't tear his eyes from the offending mark. "That represents the part of you that you haven't shared with me. The part you've been afraid to share with anyone, lately. Even yourself."
*Even yourself*
Orlando stared at the darkness and decided he had never seen anything so awful. Was that him? False brightness around a heart of darkness? He understood that he harbored an unhealthy share of self-disgust, but to see it visualized like a malignant tumor...
"Make it go away," he whispered, fingers curling above the spot as he fought the urge to scrape it off the canvas. "I don't want it there."
"I told you. It's not up to me anymore."
And he was right.
A hand settled on his shoulder. "I would do anything for you," Viggo said. "But some things you need to figure out on your own. It wouldn't help either of us if I did it for you."
It was like gazing into the mirror again, searching for the person Orlando wanted to be. Too many reflections faced him, none of them the *true* him, none of them happy.
Still staring at the painting, Orlando covered Viggo's hand with his own. "You asked me on the beach what it would take to make me happy," Orlando said slowly. "I think I know what that is now."
Viggo's hand squeezed lightly. "Tell me."
Orlando closed his eyes briefly. The dark spot had imprinted its image against his eyelids. He opened them and turned to face Viggo. "I want to be myself with you. And--and I want you to still love me for it."
Viggo's hands cupped his face. "You want me to--"
"Love me," Orlando repeated, afraid to meet Viggo's eyes, but knowing that he must. That if there was one single moment when he needed to show Viggo every shameful, needy thing within him, this was it. "I've never asked anyone to, but I'm asking you now," he went on, hearing his voice crack. "Love me, Viggo. Please. I promise you I will give you everything."
Viggo's hands tightened, becoming almost painful on his face, but Orlando didn't try to pull away. The blue steel of Viggo's eyes were a shimmery molten, burning Orlando where he stood.
"Just give me yourself," Viggo said thickly. "I don't want anything else. Just give me that. Show me who you are and I'll take care of you."
"Take care of me," Orlando echoed before Viggo's lips covered his.
Only a second's worth of contact. That's all it took to clarify everything in Orlando's mind. Here was the touch he needed, the touch he had been searching for all along. It didn't matter that Orlando had kissed other people who claimed to care for him. All of those kisses had been mere whispers of emotion. Viggo's kiss was a shout.
Orlando lost himself to it. He forgot everything he knew about kissing because kissing Viggo wasn't like kissing anyone. It was like losing oneself to the inevitable. Orlando kissed back in a way he never had before. Gently, tenderly, so lightly because every tremulous contact was an admission of who he truly was. Love me, his lips said against Viggo's. This is who I am. I need you to love me for it.
Viggo understood. His hands caressed Orlando's face, holding him gently in place. A sweet swipe of the tongue and Viggo was inside his mouth, not to conquer or to invade, but to share in everything that was Orlando. Viggo lapped at him. He stroked Orlando from the inside, soothing and loving. Orlando made a soft whimpering sound and clutched at Viggo's shoulders, needing to be reminded of the strength in the other man. Here, he knew, was a force that that could help him to be stronger.
"Make love to me," Orlando said against Viggo's lips. He had never used those words before. They'd always seemed too corny, too much like a line from a script to ever apply to real life. This time was different. This time the words were exactly what he meant.
Viggo pulled back slightly to look at him. Viggo's face was alive with emotion. Color stained his cheeks and his eyes were dark with passion. "Are you sure?"
He wasn't asking if Orlando was ready for sex. Orlando knew the question held a far deeper meaning. Are you ready to be truly vulnerable? Viggo was asking him. Are you ready to use your body for pleasure and love, instead of for control?
"I want this," Orlando told him. When Viggo started to back out of the room, tugging at his hand, Orlando shook his head. "No, not in your room." The memories of being with Dom on Viggo's bed were too fresh. "Here, Viggo. Make love to me here." He didn't voice his hope: that if they did it here, surrounded by the things Viggo loved, maybe Viggo would love him, too.
When Viggo gave him a questioning look, Orlando pulled the older man flush against him. He buried his face in Viggo's warm neck, nuzzling the soft skin of his throat. The scent of Viggo was heady to his senses. He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs, his entire body, with the essence of the other man. Orlando parted his teeth and took playful nips of the dusky skin above the T-shirt. Viggo gasped softly, his hands holding Orlando's arms. Orlando sucked at his skin, leaving marks of possession. Frustrated at the limited contact, he pulled back enough to tug Viggo's shirt over his head.
"You look like a predator," Viggo commented, amused.
Orlando lifted his eyes from their fascinated study of Viggo's bare chest. "You make me hungry," he answered.
Viggo's eyelids lowered. "Then taste me."
It was like being given permission to suck on his favorite candy. Orlando extended his tongue and ran it in a slow lick across the skin of Viggo's chest. Viggo groaned and lightly clasped the back of Orlando's head. Smiling slightly, Orlando licked his way to one peaked nipple. He ran the flat of his tongue across it, savoring the delicious texture of that pebbled nub and the sprinkling of whispy hairs around it. He closed his mouth around the tip and gently sucked, feeling Viggo's body stiffen against him. The hand on the back of his head pressed him tighter in encouragement. Orlando eagerly complied.
He sucked and licked Viggo's nipple until it was hard and glistening. Then he kissed his way to the other nipple and attacked it also. The more he teased the tight nub, the more his own body ached to feel the same. He shoved off his jacket, never losing contact with Viggo's skin, and impatiently yanked off his scarf. He sighed in relief as Viggo's hands began to undo the buttons on his shirt.
Soon, his shirt joined jacket and scarf upon the drop-cloth that covered the floor. Orlando moaned and pushed himself against Viggo as warm fingers lightly pinched his nipples.
"How many times have people told you you're beautiful and you never believed it?" Viggo murmured, tugging at the tiny buds.
Orlando just sucked harder at Viggo's skin, making the older man gasp.
"When I say it, I want you to realize it's true," Viggo told him huskily. He tugged Orlando's head up and ran a thumb across his bottom lip. "You're beautiful, Orlando."
He could have smiled coyly or laughed it off--all responses he'd made before. This time, he allowed himself to accept the compliment without deflection. "Thank you," he whispered, blushing slightly. "I think you're beautiful, too."
Viggo smiled. It was a smile Orlando had never seen from him before, holding so much pride and happiness that it turned Orlando's knees to jelly. "If I'd known I could make you so happy, I would have said that sooner," Orlando joked weakly.
Viggo shook his head. "But you wouldn't have meant it. Now, you do." He caught Orlando's lips in a passionate kiss. When he lifted his head, Orlando was gasping and dazed. "Now, you believe it." Viggo said.
He drew Orlando against his chest. As their hearts pounded against each other's, he lowered them to the floor. The protective drop-cloth was cool and soft against Orlando's back. It was a striking contrast to the heat and hardness of Viggo above him. A knee pushed between his legs, opening him to allow Viggo to settle against him. Orlando groaned as their hips rubbed together, the undeniable proof of Viggo's desire hard and stiff alongside his own erection.
"I want you inside me right now," Orlando panted, running his hands eagerly up the sleek muscles of Viggo's back.
"Not yet," Viggo told him, stroking his sides. He ran his tongue in a slow, leisurely lick up the side of Orlando's neck. As Orlando shuddered, Viggo whispered into his ear, "I want to see you come undone, first. Will you do that for me, baby?"
Viggo was asking for more than that and they both knew it. Orlando closed his eyes, hesitant in a way he'd not been before. He shouldn't be nervous about this. Hell, he'd used sex often enough to have lost all shame in the act. But this was different and he couldn't pretend otherwise.
Paradoxically, he had always used the closeness of sex as a way of distancing his heart. The more he could coax his previous lovers into losing themselves in his body, the farther apart he could hold himself from them. Opening his eyes again and meeting Viggo's, Orlando knew that he couldn't get away with that this time.
His mouth opened. He heard himself speaking as if from far away. "If I do this for you..." He trailed off, unable to finish it. The words, however, hung clear between them.
*If I do this for you, you mustn't use it against me*
Viggo touched his cheek. "Trust me."
Orlando let his head drop back onto the cloth as Viggo kissed his way down his body. The pressure against his groin disappeared, replaced by insistent tugging as Viggo loosed his jeans. Just another blow-job, Orlando told himself, closing his eyes. He wasn't fooling anyone. He brought a hand to his face, covering his eyes as Viggo released his straining sex into the air. He held his breath until the first tentative touch.
"Oh, God!" he moaned, arching off the ground as a wet tongue swept up his length. Suction and heat surrounded him, sliding up and down in tortuous intimacy.
Orlando bit his lip, fighting back the sounds that struggled to escape his throat. Viggo took him deep into his mouth, so much hot, slick wetness that Orlando wanted to scream. He brought his other hand up and covered his face as his head rolled on the floor. Viggo was killing him. Viggo was Heaven.
Suddenly the amazing touch was gone. "Orlando."
Orlando stilled, trying to control his breathing.
"Orlando, lower your hands."
Reluctantly, Orlando did. He felt Viggo's gaze like a feverish hand on his brow. "You said you would give me everything," Viggo reminded him quietly.
Orlando looked down at him. "I did say that. I'm sorry."
Viggo's eyes were black. "Unless you plan on breaking my heart, don't ever again tell me that you're sorry," he growled.
"I'm so--I won't," Orlando finished firmly. He touched Viggo's hair. "Don't stop now."
Viggo looked down at the pulsing flesh before his lips. "I wouldn't dream of it." Holding Orlando's gaze, he opened his mouth and sealed his lips around the stiff flesh.
Orlando shuddered at the vision of Viggo sucking on him, *looking* at Orlando as he did it. Was there anything more sinful, more sexy than that? Orlando didn't think so. He kept his eyes on Viggo's as Viggo drew up and swirled his tongue around the head. Heat burst across Orlando's cheeks and the ache in his flesh swelled to impossible proportions. But he never broke eye contact. He panted raggedly, fingers clutching in Viggo's hair. When Viggo swooped down, deep-throating him, Orlando let out a strangled cry and thrust his hips upwards. Firm hands held his hips to the ground as Viggo licked and kissed his way back up.
"Viggo--" he gasped, hearing the plea in his voice.
"Keep your eyes on me," Viggo whispered against his skin.
Orlando did, though it took every ounce of his concentration. He trembled and bucked beneath Viggo's hands as the hot mouth engulfed him, teasing and pleasuring. Viggo's fingers crept up to his chin, and pressed against his lips. Orlando opened his mouth and sucked the digits greedily, mimicking what Viggo was doing to him. Viggo groaned, the vibration making Orlando gasp in pleasure.
The fingers pulled from his mouth and disappeared between his legs. At the first probing touch, Orlando arched. Viggo sucked him hard and fast as he slid a finger into Orlando's body. A curl of the finger, an expert caress and Orlando moaned, his body shaking. He pushed back against the intimate touch, wanting more even as his body was telling him it couldn't take anything further.
"Viggo, I'm close--Viggo!"
He should have known Viggo wouldn't care. Viggo had said he'd wanted to see Orlando lose it, and he was getting his wish. Using everything he had, Orlando forced himself to meet Viggo's gaze as the combined assaults on his body overwhelmed him. A wave of blackness swept across his vision. A starburst of pleasure exploded throughout his body. Viggo swallowed him, watching him, as Orlando completely lost himself to the pleasure that consumed his body. Never could Orlando have imagined how much more intense it was to allow Viggo to see how completely wrecked he became. He allowed Viggo to see that it was *his* touch that had undid him, *his* touch that left him utterly vulnerable. It was Viggo's touch he would need if Orlando ever wanted to feel this way again.
Orlando couldn't hold his head up anymore. He let it drop with a thud to the floor. His body tingled everywhere as though it had come in contact with electrical current. Dazedly, he listened to the sounds of Viggo stripping. He lifted his head, wanting to watch the show, but Viggo was already upon him, stealing his breath with a kiss.
"I'm jealous of everyone who has ever seen you this way," Viggo said in a low voice, tugging on Orlando's earlobe with his teeth. "No should have touched you but me."
Orlando laughed hoarsely. "Viggo, you weren't exactly around..."
"Doesn't matter."
It made no sense, but Orlando understood him. He caught Viggo's head, making the older man stop. "No one has touched me the way you do," he said quietly. "And no one has seen me this way, either. Do you believe me?"
Viggo's wordless nod meant more than he could know to Orlando. "Make love to me, Viggo."
Viggo shivered against him and Orlando felt the hard press of his desire like a burning brand against his inner thigh. Orlando spread his legs, allowing Viggo to push in close against him. Viggo had a bottle of something in his hands, some oil he used for painting. It could have been motor oil for all Orlando cared. He needed Viggo inside him with an intensity of need he'd never felt before. When fingers pushed inside him again, stretching him, he shook his head. "I can't wait, Viggo. I need you."
Viggo muttered something beneath his breath, but then he was there against the opening to Orlando's body, pushing with slow intent. Orlando clutched at the strong arms braced on either side of his body. With a last push, Viggo's flesh breached the tight ring of his body and eased inside.
They moaned in harmony as their bodies came into complete contact. Viggo dropped his head and tenderly kissed Orlando's open lips. "Are you all right?"
Orlando's eyes misted at the rare concern shown for him. "I'm fine," he whispered back. "You feel wonderful."
Viggo smiled faintly. "Just wait, beautiful. Just wait."
Orlando barely had time to savor the endearment before Viggo was thrusting slowly inside him. He bit at his lip as each heavy shift stroked across the heart of his pleasure. Orlando lifted his legs around Viggo's waist, encouraging a deeper contact. He groaned softly at the increased sensation.
Viggo moved excruciatingly slowly. Orlando had never had sex this way. It was maddening. It was incredible. He wanted to scream at Viggo to pick up the pace. Yet at the same time, he wanted the pleasure to last forever. This isn't being fucked, he thought distantly. Fucking Orlando was something he didn't think Viggo would ever do. The realization was startling. Startling because he admitted to himself he had never expected to deserve it. It made Orlando want to hide his face.
But he didn't, because this was about sharing, about opening himself to Viggo in a way he hadn't with the others. So he kept eye contact though every nerve in his body was afire and the urge was painfully strong to shut his eyes and simply fall into the sensations. It would feel good, but it wasn't what he wanted. Orlando wanted Viggo to trust him, believe in him. Accept him.
A bonfire was burning in his body, growing hotter with each deliberate flex of Viggo's hips. Orlando had grown hard again and now Viggo was holding him, stroking him. The bonfire flared into an inferno.
"Oh, God," Orlando gasped, squeezing the rigid muscles of Viggo's forearms. "This is too much."
Viggo began to move faster, his body striking Orlando's prostate with every stroke. Orlando's eyes widened, his face heating with arousal. He heard the moans spilling from his lips, felt the tremors wracking his body. Above him, Viggo watched everything. "Show me," he rasped.
Orlando's eyes threatened to squeeze shut. He forced them open as his body reached its peak. Viggo's touch was relentless. Even as Orlando bucked beneath him, his back arching up off the floor, Viggo didn't let up on his stroking, inside or out. "Show me!" he groaned.
Viggo's name was a shattered cry upon his lips. Orlando's body tightened unmercifully and then there was release--sweet, blissful release. He felt his pleasure burst from him like fireworks on a summer's night. In the midst of his release, he felt the flesh wtihin him swell and pulse. Viggo groaned above him and dropped down until their foreheads touched and their breaths intermingled between them. Orlando grabbed him, hugged him, wanting to keep Viggo against him for the rest of his life.
Viggo chuckled softly and raised his head. He lifted a finger and traced Orlando's cheek. His fingers came away wet. "You gave me everything," he said, almost as if he couldn't believe it.
Orlando hadn't the strength to be embarrassed of his tears. In truth, he knew he had no reason to feel ashamed. Viggo made him feel as no one else had. He was thankful for it.
Viggo was shifting against him. It took Orlando a moment to comprehend what was happening. "No," he protested, reaching after Viggo as the man pulled away. "Don't go."
Viggo smiled tenderly and placed a finger against Orlando's lips. "I'm not leaving you."
Orlando rolled over and watched Viggo grab a rag and a small bottle from a nearby table. Orlando's brows creased as Viggo wet the rag with the bottle's contents and approached the easel. "What are you doing?"
Viggo didn't answer. He began to rub the rag over the dark spot on the canvas, careful not to touch the surrounding color. When he dropped the rag to the floor, the spot was gone. Viggo picked up a palette and squeezed some tubes of paint over it. He didn't look at Orlando as he used a knife to mix the colors on the board. Orlando was glad. Viggo would have seen him crying.
A sweep of the wrist and the blank spot was filled with a wash of yellow. It was as though the darkness had never existed. But Viggo wasn't finished. He dipped his knife in the paint again and picked up a new color. With a practiced stroke, he splashed a vibrant red across the newly painted yellow. It was a red the color of valentines and roses. It was a red the color of Orlando's heart.
The End.
