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Title: The Sense of Failure
Author: Lara Lee ([livejournal.com profile] take_this_waltz)
Rating: R - NC-17
Summary: Sequel to 'Mi Casa', which I wrote for Viggorously's May Challenge. Part of what happened after Orlando and Diane shot that 'Troy' scene.
Warning: none
Disclaimer: I don't know those people in real life - thus, I can't be making any statement about their sexuality/personal lives whatsoever. This story is complete fiction.
A/N: Thanks to [livejournal.com profile] legomyarrow and [livejournal.com profile] melacita for the wonderful beta. You're great!
Archive: My journal and the communities/groups where I post it. LBES would be lovely, all others please ask.




The Sense of Failure


Ten days had gone by since that night. Ten days without a single word exchanged between Viggo and Orlando. According to Elijah, who had seen him off at the airport, Orlando had left for Malta the day after he'd spent the night with Viggo.

For the first few days, Viggo waited. For the phone to ring. For a car to pull up in his driveway. For a letter. For slightly scuffled footsteps to approach his door. But none of that would occur. Instead, the man Viggo had lost himself in just a short time ago had simply snuck off again, disappearing to that small island in the Mediterranean, thousands of miles away. Viggo was beginning to think he'd imagined it all but then he took a folded note from his wallet or jeans pocket or from the book he was reading and let his fingers run across the smooth paper. Every now and then he unfolded it and read the words Orlando had written. The dark gray of the pencil against the white of the paper made everything seem even more surreal.

Ten days had passed, and Viggo hadn't talked to anybody about what had happened in his living room that night. He hadn't talked much at all since Orlando had left. Henry was staying at Exene's, and most other contacts were easily avoided. A couple of times he had stood next to the phone, his hand resting on the receiver. But after some minutes he had withdrawn his hand, not knowing whom to call. He spent most of his time in his studio. Paint on canvas seemed to be the language of choice when words wouldn't flow.

Ten days had passed since that night, and Viggo had stopped waiting for a message from Malta. He hadn't stopped turning the images of Orlando's lips and Orlando's naked body covered in sweat and of that small foil package lying on the floor over and over in his mind though. When his hand found his cock underneath the blankets at night he remembered the texture of Orlando's jeans and the warmth touching his palm, and when he made himself come he heard Orlando's voice moaning his name. Twice, when he sat down on his couch in the evening, he brought a second glass and placed it next to his but that second glass remained empty both times.

*****

He let his keys fall to the floor and kicked the door shut behind him. Clutching the grocery bag in one arm, he pressed the button on his answering machine. On his way to the kitchen he kicked off his shoes and heard Exene's voice telling him that Henry would spend the weekend at a friend's house. He left the kitchen door open to listen to the other messages. Beep. Perceval Press, something about a new title they were going to publish soon. Viggo rushed back into the hallway just in time to write down the date and location the message stated for a meeting later that day. Beep. Elijah about some clubbing adventure both knew he wasn't going to be part of. Beep. A brief pause.

"Hi Viggo, it's Orlando." Viggo froze.

The sound of Orlando clearing his throat.

"Yeah, well... We shot the scene yesterday and-"

That sound again.

"It actually went quite well and I just wanted to let you know."

Another pause.

"Yeah, anyway. Take care. Bye."

Beep.

Viggo's hand flew to his mouth. He touched his lips and shook his head. Orlando must have called him in the middle of the night. He checked the answering machine for the time of Orlando's call. Not but thirty minutes ago. He glanced at his watch. The middle of the night in Europe. Not but thirty minutes ago. With shaking fingers he dialed the number of Orlando's cell phone. Wiping his mouth one more time he cleared his throat like Orlando had done not half an hour ago. Somewhere close to Orlando a phone had to be ringing. And ringing.

After six or seven of those electronic tones Viggo closed his eyes and decided to end the connection. Just one or two more then he would disconnect-

"Viggo."

Orlando's voice, as clear as if he were standing next to him. Orlando must have seen his number on the display of his phone.

"Viggo, wait, wait! Don't hang up. Don't hang up, I'm here."

A second of hesitation. The chance of turning everything into surreal memory - passed.

"Vig?"

"I'm here, Orlando."

"You got my message."

"Yeah. I just came home from grocery shopping. There were other messages as well, from Exene and the company and from Elijah. Well, I won't go out with him, not to that club, well, he knows that but he just keeps ringing and inviting me along even though he knows I won't go and, well, then yours. Your scene, you said it went okay?"

Viggo heard Orlando chuckle. "It did. Much to everybody's surprise. Much to *my* surprise. But... It was like I wrote. I couldn't stop thinking of you."

"You were thinking of me?" Viggo tightened his grip on the phone. His mouth felt dry and heat was spreading down his spine from his hairline. Suddenly, his fingers felt slightly sweaty and he could hear his blood rush through his body.

"Yeah, thinking of you and of what we... of our... of the..." Orlando swallowed. "Rehearsal."

"Oh." Leaning back against the wall, Viggo closed his eyes and exhaled.

"And... and. And then I had to make something up. God, it was so embarrassing! I mean, I had to screw up. On purpose. To interrupt the shooting."

"Yes? Why?" Viggo opened his eyes and frowned. "You said it went well."

"Because I couldn't, I mean, because I didn't want them to... I didn't want Diane and the others to noti-" Viggo could hear how Orlando reached for a glass and took some greedy swallows. "Because I got hard thinking of the rehearsal, Viggo. Thinking of you."

"Shit." The word had escaped Viggo's mouth before he could stop himself. "Sorry, Orlando. I didn't mean... I-"

"Yeah, shit indeed," Orlando interrupted. "And Diane probably thinks it was because of *her*... She wouldn't look me in the eye the whole day. I guess you can say shit." Viggo heard a long sigh on the other end of the phone. "Not that I feel like explaining things to her, mind you," Orlando added defeatedly. "Christ, Viggo. What were we *thinking*?"

Viggo cleared his throat. "Well..." he muttered, "as for me - I stopped thinking once I felt your pulse underneath my fingers."

"No, honestly, Vig. How naïve could I be? I have been acting for *how long* now? I feel like such a stupid amateur," Orlando vented on. "How *could* I let myself connect that scene to us like that? I mean, how *could* I let us-"

"Shhhhhh," Viggo coaxed, trying to calm the agitated young man whose voice kept yelling into his ear from across the Atlantic. With his back still against the paneling in the hallway, he slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor. "Hush, Orlando. Everything is okay. Everything's going to be all right... Just calm down, okay? Don't worry. It's all right. You don't have to..."

"But it's *not* all right, Vig." Orlando's voice was still slightly high pitched and he was breathing irregularly. "How am I supposed to-"

"You're not. Not at the moment. Just calm down, okay? Shhhhh-shhhh. Relax. I want you to relax, Orlando. Can you do that for me? Close your eyes and breathe. Just breathe."

Viggo listened to the other man forcing his breathing to steady. He could hear the effort Orlando was putting into calming himself and he could imagine Orlando's shaking hands vividly. "Hmmmm... Yeah, that's better, hmm? Why don't you just relax a bit and just listen while I tell you... about... hmm, let's see... Ah, I've got it - let me tell you about what's going to be in my show in Cuba? You know some of the paintings, some from the series I started last year, and there's this photo I took back in New Zealand. You know, that black and white photo with the-"

"It's not helping, Viggo", Orlando whispered. "God, your voice. I can't...

Viggo fell silent. He took a deep breath and ran his free hand through his hair. Tilting his head backwards he said: "You're right." On the other end of the line Orlando sighed. "You're right. We shouldn't have done it." He could hear Orlando draw a shaking breath.

"Vig...?"

"Not that way. You're right. We shouldn't... I shouldn't have taken advantage of you like that. Keyed your scene to *our* bodies, you know?"

"Do you... Do you regret-"

"No," Viggo interrupted. "No, Orlando. I don't regret what happened between us. Only the *way* it did. The consequences. It should have been more personal. More between us. I'm sorry."

"You didn't take advantage of me. I *wanted* you to. To touch me. To kiss me. To," Orlando swallowed. "To make me come. I wanted you to do all that. Your hands felt so good on me, Viggo. Your lips, your skin, your voice - they felt so good on me. Inside of me. Your taste. I can still taste you when I close my eyes and lick my lips - or my fingers. I can still taste you on my fingers."

Viggo closed his eyes. He brought his left hand to his mouth and let his fingertips brush over his lips. His lips opened and the tip of his tongue touched the inner side of his middle finger. Slowly, he moved his hand downwards, and his tongue left a wet trail on his skin before the fingertip began to stroke his lips again. "Salty. Hmmmm... I remember your taste as well, Orlando. You tasted salty. And sweat. There was sweat on your body..."

"Yes, salty. I remember that, too..." Orlando's voice was low and husky, and there was a ruffling noise in the background.

Viggo couldn't repress a hiss as he brought his tongue between his middle and index finger. Holding the phone between his ear and his shoulder, he let his other hand sink to his lap. When his knuckles made contact with his jeans-clad arousal, his muscles tensed. He turned his hand around until it was cupping the bulge between his legs while Orlando's voice kept murmuring memories into his ear. "Orlando... we shouldn't... you just... We'd better-"

"Let me, Viggo. Please, let us... Your hands on my skin felt so good, Viggo. I remember how hard I was when you touched me through my jeans. How badly I wanted to come. How you made me feel a need to come like I've never felt before. How you made me ache for your touch. How your hands felt against my skin when you finally *did* touch me. Your hands under my shirt, caressing me... Like... like I'm touching myself now..."

Viggo's erection throbbed against his palm. His hand had begun to move, to slide over the straining cloth of his trousers, rubbing his cock through the rough material. He felt the heat radiating from his groin and the growing need for skin against skin.

"You're touching yourself...?" His own voice seemed alien to him, hoarse with desire and lust.

"Yeah," Orlando breathed, "touching myself..."

"How? Where? Tell me..." Viggo pressed his palm against his arousal, images flooding his mind. "Tell me," he moaned again.

"I'm in my room, sitting against the headboard of my bed. I'm wearing boxers and a t-shirt. My hand is under my shirt, running over my chest and my nipples... lower... over my belly... and to my nipples again... teasing them... pinching..."

"Wish it could be my hands touching you like that... Would rub your nipples with my thumb, make them so hard... would roll them between my fingers, lick them, lick them, take them between my teeth... and with the tip of my tongue..." Viggo's own nipples were hardening under his fingers. The sensation of the rough texture of his thumb worrying them sent shivers and waves of arousal through his whole body. "Wish I could touch you now... feel your smooth skin against my palms, your body close to mine... I want to run my hands down your back, trace your spine with my tongue... from the nape of your neck downwards... and further down... my hands on your hips, your cock against the sheets..." His hand went to his crotch again and with trembling fingers he unbuttoned his jeans.

He could hear Orlando panting at the other end of the phone. "Christ, Viggo... Would you... would you... your fingers, your tongue... lower?"

"Yes... lower... where your fingers are now... I'd kneel between your legs and let my tongue caress your crack... part it... taste you... God... I need to... and your cock against the sheets... so hard..." He slipped his hand into his briefs and moaned as his fingers touched his hot skin.

"Hard. Yes... oh yes. I'm so fucking hard now... want to... touch..." More ruffled sound through the phone. Orlando held his breath and the exhaled. "Yes... ah, so good..."

"I want," Viggo raised his hips and quickly shoved his jeans and briefs to his knees. Then he closed his hand around his erection and started to caress himself, "I want to do so many things to you... want to bring our cocks together... feel you throbbing against me... feel how hard you are... want to taste you... dripping... fingers... want to taste you between your... lick you, taste you... can't decide... want to do it all... want to make you moan..." His other hand went to his lap as well. He gathered some of the crystal liquid that was oozing from his cock on his fingers and brought his hand to his mouth, never stopping the languid movement with which he was stroking himself. "My fingers... I'm tasting myself... want you to taste me... want you to taste what you do to me..."

"God, yes!" Orlando cried out. "I want that. Want you... My finger... inside of me... now... so tight... Won't last... with you so close... want to surround you..."

"I will make you last... won't let you move... won't move... Let you feel the sheets... no more movement now... I won't move inside you... God, you're tight!" His hand stilled its movements and gripped his cock tightly. "Can feel you... clenching around me..." He opened and closed his fist again and again. "Trying to make me move... squirming underneath me... rubbing..."

"Vig, please...want to come..." Orlando's moans made Viggo's cock twitch in his hand, made it throb and ache and pulse and want more. "Please, let me move. Please move... so close... want to feel you..."

Viggo hissed and resumed stroking himself. He knew he wouldn't be able to hold back much longer. "Feel me... Orlando... want to hear you... come..."

For some moments there were only moans and erratic breathing in his ear. Viggo imagined Orlando touching himself, stroking his erection, bringing himself closer and closer to the brink. He gripped the phone again and sped up the movements of his hand. Orlando's scent filled his mind, the feeling of Orlando's body surrounding him, taking him in, tightening around him. "Close..." he gasped.

"Fuck, Viggo! Going to... can't..."

"Want..."

"Viggo... come... I'm... come... for me... yes... Oh... Yes..."

Viggo bit his lip and looked down to his lap. His hand was stroking his cock frantically and both cock and hand were glistening with precum. His hips bucked and shoved his cock into his fist again and again. He felt his body tense and his head fell back against the wall.

"With me... now..." He squeezed his eyes shut. All movement ceased and then there was an explosion. Hot, sticky liquid shot from his cock, splashed against his stomach and covered his hand. His cock pulsed and pulsed and tightened and throbbed, and there was nothing else but the scream in his ear and the heat and the liquid and his melting bones.

Viggo let his release wash over him, listening to Orlando moaning, riding out his own orgasm. He felt the tension leave his muscles and his consciousness returned to his cock, still pulsing in his hand.

"Orlando..."

"God... Vig. So much... so good..." A smile crept to Viggo's lips. For some moments the two men just listened to each others' breathing slowly calming down.

"Now, that was some phone call, Mr. Bloom." Viggo chuckled when he'd finally caught his breath. "If you could see me now... Trousers around my knees, sitting on the floor in my hallway, all sticky..."

"Wish I could," Orlando whispered. "Wish I could, Vig. I'd lick you clean..."

"Hmmmmm..." Viggo brought his hand to his mouth and licked some of his semen from his fingers. "I wish that, too..."

"Viggo, I-" Orlando hesitated.

"Yes?"

"Oh, I hate this! My mobile... the battery is running low and I don't know... I... sorry." Viggo could hear how Orlando took a deep breath. "I'll be in L.A. next month. For the Pirates premiere. Maybe..."

"Yes." Viggo answered after a short silence.

"I'll call you and let you know..."

"Yes, call me. I fly to Cuba tomorrow evening and I'll be in New Zealand for reshoots in three weeks but... call me."

"I will." Orlando sighed.

"See you next month, elf boy." Viggo cleared his throat. "And... thank you."

"Bye, Vig. See you."

Viggo hung up the phone and stretched his back. Then he kicked off his jeans and briefs and got up. He picked up his clothes and, shaking his head, went upstairs to the bathroom where he took off his shirt and stepped into the shower. His body still hummed in the afterglow of his release as he turned on the taps. Hot water poured over him and washed the remains of the phone call away.

"I wish that, too..." he whispered to the water and steam.


***tbc in Let It Go We Must***

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