"You're a pig."
I look up from my breakfast and glare at Viggo. "Shrfmh," I mumble around a mouthful of blueberry pancakes.
"What was that?" he laughs. "Seriously Orlando, have you ever heard of the concept of chewing your food before you swallow it? You're practically inhaling those pancakes."
"Sod off," I retort when I'm able to speak clearly again.
"Ah. A very mature argument." His lips curl in amusement. "Do you want the rest of my croissant?"
"Hell yes." I grab it and stuff it in my mouth, ignoring his chuckle. "Tnkoo."
"Excuse me?"
"Thank you," I say after I've swallowed the croissant.
"You're welcome." There's a comfortable silence for a few moments. "I was thinking that we could have lunch at that little cafe we used to go to all the time."
"That sounds great. And then I have some holiday shopping to do as well, so maybe we could just walk around and browse in some stores. What time do we have to be at the theater?"
"At six, but we should probably be ready to go by around five."
"Cool. Is there anything else you want to do today?"
"Not really." Viggo smiles and leans back on the unmade bed. "I guess I just want to be with you. We have some lost time to make up for."
"No kidding. Seven bloody months of being stupid fuckers, but nothing we can do about it now." I flop down on the mattress next to him, smiling when he leans in to kiss me. "You taste like orange juice and Viggo," I inform him after the kiss ends. "It's quite a delectable combination."
He laughs again and brushes his thumb over the hollow of my throat. "Oh, Orli . . . you have no idea how happy you make me." I keep silent, knowing he doesn't need me to respond. "When I was watching you sleep before, all I could think about was how beautiful you are and how beautiful we are together. We're going to make it work this time."
"You're damned right we are," I say in a quavery voice. "Fuck, I'm gonna start crying now, you cunt."
"Sorry."
"S'okay." I'm smiling despite the tears pricking at my eyes.
Viggo gently kisses my eyelids before I guide his mouth to mine for another kiss. My hands hold him tightly through the thick material of the hotel bathrobe and he moans when I plunge my tongue deep into his mouth. We break the kiss to gasp for air. "You're going to be the death of me," he accuses playfully.
"I'm working on it," I respond with a grin.
"Orli, I was thinking before about what you said last night."
My brow furrows. "Which thing? I said a lot last night, Vig."
"About setting a date for when to come out."
"What about it?" I comb his soft hair with my fingers. "Do you still think that's a good idea?"
"I love the idea," he assures me.
"Good. I just think it would help both of us."
"I agree. And there's really one date that makes sense to me."
"Oh yeah?" I prop myself up on my elbow and look down at his handsome face. "When's that?"
"Well, I was thinking that we should come out, um . . . around . . ."
"Tell me," I urge as I wrap my arms around him.
"I want to come out in January of 2004."
"Why that date?" I ask gently.
"First of all, that's two years from next month and I *know* I can get over my fears by that point. There's no doubt that I'll be ready in two years," Viggo tells me fervently. By then Henry will be fifteen and better prepared to deal with the attention you and I will garner by coming out. Your career will be established, we'll have been together four years, and the third 'Rings' movie will have been released, so we won't affect that whole deal. So basically, that's why I'm thinking January of 2004." He looks at me nervously. "What do you think?"
"Are you sure you'll be ready by then?" I ask.
"Yes."
"Then it's fine with me." And it really is. Do I wish things could be easier and Viggo was ready right now? Of course. But that's not realistic, and I think setting the date for two years from now is the right thing to do; it's what Viggo needs, and it's what I'm comfortable with.
"Really?"
"Yeah. Look, this has to be a date that's right for both of us. What you say about Henry, about our relationship and careers makes sense, and the most important thing to me is for you to truly be ready for this."
"What about you?"
"Like you said, it's two years from next month; that's a good chunk of time but I can definitely handle it. To be honest, I was actually thinking you'd need about a year or two so that's what I'd braced myself for. But I wasn't expecting you to reach this conclusion so quickly, and I want to make sure that you're not just telling me this so the issue is out of the way. Are you completely comfortable with setting this date?"
"Yes," he says firmly. "This is the date I want."
I smile and kiss him. "Then that's the date."
"You swear you're okay with it?"
"I'm fine with it."
Viggo sighs in relief and hugs me tightly. "Thank you, Orli."
"You're welcome."
The sharp ring of the phone startles me. "Shit," he mutters. "I ordered a wake-up call yesterday and forgot to cancel it." While Viggo politely thanks the hotel staffer for the unnecessary wake-up call, I return to our breakfast, starting to eat the plate of fresh fruit. "Hungry again already?" he asks after hanging up the phone.
"You know that I'm always hungry. I eat more than an army of hobbits. Now open wide," I instruct as I push a piece of cantaloupe into his mouth. "Good boy."
"You're completely insane."
"Mm-hmm. And you love it." I hold up a slice of kiwi fruit, and he obligingly opens his mouth for it after a grin and a roll of his eyes. "Besides, it's not exactly like *you're* the picture of sanity."
"True," he admits. "But at least I have an excuse -- I'm an artist. Which reminds me . . ." He climbs off of the bed and rummages around in his suitcase before finding his camera and snapping a picture of me sipping juice. "There we go."
"God, how many photos of me do you need?" I ask with a grin. Actually, it always makes me feel pleasantly mushy inside when he takes pictures of me. "You've gotta have about five hundred by now."
"I wouldn't be surprised. I'll have to unpack them all when I get back to L.A." Viggo puts the camera down and rejoins me on the bed, accepting a proffered strawberry from my fingers.
"What do you mean 'unpack them'?"
"They're all packed away in a box in my studio . . . I put them there after what happened in May," he says sheepishly.
"Yeah, I stuffed the relationship journals under my bed," I admit.
"I looked at all of the pictures on our anniversary, though. And the poems, and your journals. When Henry came over that night he found me asleep on the couch surrounded by photos of you. It must have looked pretty pathetic."
"It's not pathetic, it's sweet," I assure him, and I kiss his cheek. "Besides, it's not as if *I* didn't get a bit carried away on our anniversary."
"That's right -- you told me you got drunk and watched my movies," he chuckles.
"Atti can give you the sordid details if you want. Apparently I was shouting obscenities at the telly whenever you had a sex scene."
"Are you serious?"
"Not to mention that I cried when your character was killed in 'A Perfect Murder'."
"Oh, my poor little Love Pig," he laughs.
"I also rang you later that night, but I chickened out and hung up."
"That was you? I picked up and there was nothing but a dial tone."
"Yeah, I couldn't help myself. I missed you so much but I was convinced you didn't feel the same way. When I saw you in August you were really uncomfortable and I thought it was because you couldn't stand to be around me, although now I know why you acted like that. I'm really sorry I lied to you -- maybe we would have gotten back together sooner if I hadn't behaved like such a twat."
"Orli, I understand why you lied to me, and you don't have to apologize. All that's behind us, you said so yourself." Viggo smiles and gives me a kiss. "Let's just move forward now."
"Okay." I spear a piece of pineapple with my fork and pop it into my mouth. "Can I ask you a question, though?"
"Sure."
"Did you ever tell Henry why we broke up? When he called me over the summer, he didn't know what happened and wanted me to tell him, which I didn't do."
"No, I never told him. I didn't want him to have to worry about that whole issue. I just told him that you and I wanted different things, which was true in a way. What did you say when he called you?"
"That it wasn't my place to tell him what had happened," I recall. "That I wished things could have been different, and that I'd always be there for him even if you and I weren't together. He was stubborn as all hell, imploring me to talk things over with you, and he said that we were both being dumb."
"Yeah, he called me an idiot," Viggo says with a wry grin. "It's good to know that I'm not the only one who got the third degree from him."
"How is it that a thirteen-year-old has more common sense than two grown men?"
"I don't know."
"I wonder what he'll say when you tell him that we've resurrected the relationship."
"Knowing my son, he'll probably say 'I told you so' several hundred times."
"Will he be okay with my staying there when I'm in L.A.?"
"I can't imagine he'd have a problem with it."
"He made me promise that the next time I went to California I'd go with him to Disneyland," I say. "That should be pretty fun."
"He's *obsessed* with that place."
"Hey Vig, what will you say if someone asks why I'm staying at your place all the time?"
Viggo shrugs. "I guess I'll say that you didn't feel like spending money on a house and that I gave you an open invitation to stay as long as you want."
"Or you could just tell them that I'm your personal boy toy," I tease. "That you make me clean the house in my underwear."
"I like that idea. Especially if you do chores that make you bend over."
"Pervert," I admonish playfully.
"We all have perversions, love; the only issue is whether we embrace or deny them."
"And you certainly embrace yours. You've fully corrupted me, old man."
He tilts his head to the side and gives me an appraising look. "Not fully. I might be able to corrupt you some more."
"Is that so?" I lie back on the bed and give him my best sultry
gaze. "What are you waiting for then? Corrupt me."
