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sal_si_puedesTitle: Full Circle
Rating: NC-17
Warning: slightly angsty at the beginning, but everything is going to be fine in the end, promise!
Beta:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
annie00732 - Thank you so much, sweetie!!!
I wrote this as part of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
merryviggorli 2009, as a present for agardenafter, who asked for I would be madly in love with a non-traditional anniversary fic of some kind. Whether it's the anniversary that's non-traditional (say, the publication of one of Viggo's book or gallery show) or how they celebrate it that's different, I'm good either way.'.
Full Circle
Viggo,
I can't believe how many years have passed! Ten years! You know, I can still smell the crowd, that mixture of sweat and perfume, and then, of course, you. I can still feel your heartbeat through that thin shirt of yours and your breath against my face and I-
Orlando pauses, sighing. He drops the pen and watches how the black ink leaves a random pattern of tiny blots on the still empty part of the page. Slowly, he runs his fingers through his hair. A stabbing pain in his chest makes him wince. This is no good.
He rises from his chair and walks toward the hall.
***
Fragmented.
Viggo nods.
His fingers play with the cream-colored pendant, gliding over the surface of the smooth material aimlessly. He feels fragmented. Maybe sore. Definitely raw. He hurts. In a way. There is no peace, no calm, just this annoying need to move, to scratch, to tear and to split. He exhales slowly, centering his thoughts around the pendant. It has become warm in his hands, almost hot. Almost like all those years ago under the bright blue skies of that day he still longs for, deep inside.
'I'm discrete,' Viggo thinks. 'I'm a discrete particle. I've been split. There has been a collision, and I've been split. I'm missing parts and pieces. I'm spinning in circles. Endlessly.'
His fist closes around the pendant, its hard edges cutting into his palm. He tightens his grip, inhales deeply and squeezes his eyes shut. Spots of light, discrete particles, dancing in the dark. He brings his fist to his mouth and touches it with his lips. It still hurts. It had always hurt, ever since…
Viggo contemplates getting up and pouring a glass of wine, but he feels too tired. He might write a poem later or paint for an hour or two or just deal with some office stuff. Or maybe Henry might come over, if he gives him a call. He might do that later, but not now.
He only wishes he didn't feel so tired.
***
Orlando's hands tremble as he dials the number for the third time. He listens to the tone of the numbers as he dials but ends the connection before it is fully established – for the third time. His heart is beating wildly, and he has started to sweat.
He takes a deep breath and dials again.
***
Viggo sits up with a start. He must have fallen asleep. His fist has opened, the pendant has dropped to the floor, and his neck hurts. He rubs his eyes. It has begun to darken outside, and the telephone is ringing in the kitchen.
He rises from the sofa and walks slowly across the living room. He counts the seconds. The phone keeps ringing, it must have rung six or seven times already, and he isn't sure it will still be ringing by the time he reaches it.
***
Orlando listens to the beep-beep-beeping. The phone on the other side of the line must have been ringing for minutes now. He knows the house is large, larger than one would think at the first approach along the driveway. It's spacey and wide. It will be dusky now, almost dark at this hour, but during daytime it is filled with light.
He imagines shuffling footsteps on a hardwood floor. Fine creases around weary eyes. A low chuckle perhaps.
His breathing calms. He knows that someone will pick up eventually. He's nervous, but he feels sure about this. Something has to be done.
***
"Yeah."
Viggo's voice is husky. He hasn't spoken in quite some time, days maybe. He's hummed tunelessly while painting last night, but otherwise he has been silent.
He listens to the static and to the slow breathing on the other side of the line.
"Hello?"
His hand comes to rest over his heart.
"Hello?"
***
The words send bolts of electricity through Orlando's body. His hand grips the receiver tighter and he clears his throat.
"Viggo, don't hang up."
He swallows.
"It's me, Orlando."
Pause.
"Viggo?"
"Orlando?"
Viggo's voice is faint, distant. He's far away, Orlando knows that, but the sound of all that distance cuts to the quick.
***
"Orlando?"
Viggo slowly sits down on a kitchen chair.
"Are you okay?"
Viggo notices how small his voice sounds, how frightened, almost scared.
After a couple of seconds of silence, he speaks again.
"Orlando? Are you all right? Please tell me you're all right…"
***
"Shit, Viggo, yes, I'm fine. Everything is good. Shit, sorry. Didn't mean to scare you. Sorry. Shit." Orlando takes the hem of his shirt between the index finger and the thumb of his left hand and begins to worry it.
"Sorry, Viggo."
He reaches for the glass of wine that is standing before him on the table. He takes a sip and sets it down again.
"It's been ten years. Well, almost. Well, it will be. Next week."
"I know," Viggo mutters. "I've just been thinking about-"
***
Viggo pauses. He knows that Orlando is biting his nails. Or maybe he's biting the skin next to his nails. Either or. He can hear it through the silence.
"How are you, Orlando?"
He runs a hand through his hair and closes his eyes. He sees brown curls. He longs to touch them, to run his fingers through that hair, to touch, to feel. He hasn't thought of it in a long time, hasn't let himself and he knows why.
It hurts like hell.
"What have you been up to?"
***
"Work, mostly. Ashley and I have split up. But work – work's good. Exhausting, though."
He sighs. It's been a very long year.
"Mum's feeling better. She's been sick for a long time, but now she's better. Sam's great, too. She's getting married in a couple of months. I'm an uncle now, can you believe that?"
He shakes his head. He can hear Viggo wait in the growing darkness of his house.
"You?"
***
Viggo shrugs.
He rises from his chair at the kitchen table and walks over to the fridge. He takes out a bottle of beer and opens it. He then brings it to his lips and takes some deep gulps.
"New book coming out next month," he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He has to repeat that because Orlando doesn't understand the first time around.
"Poetry, some things from the last couple of years. I've tried my hand at-"
"I miss you, Vig."
Orlando sounds like a small child. A bit petulant, nervous, shy, frightened, yet full of hope. Only children can sound like that, Viggo thinks, and remembers the first time they kissed, lifetimes ago.
"Yeah, I know." Viggo whispers. His mouth is dry, but he can feel how a faint smile creeps onto his face.
"Me too, Elf Boy. Me too."
***
"Me too, Elf Boy. Me too."
"God, Vig, there are so many things… Remember when my bow broke on my second to last day? Pick-ups, I remember that day so well. Everything was good then, wasn't it? Everything was still so very good. I never thought back then that we would… that one day we would… I never imagined that you and I ever would…"
Orlando has risen from his chair and has begun to pace the living room floor. He walks over to the window and stops. Gazing out at the street, he tries to collect his thoughts. He remembers blue skies, a blue shirt, thousands and thousands of people and the most intense happiness he's ever felt. He remembers being king of the world and in the arms of the most wonderful man he had ever met. He remembers warm breath against his cheek and the promise of the future. That's what Wellington meant back then, that's what it still means – a promise.
"Do you remember what happened, Vig? Do you even remember what went wrong? Because I don't."
"Orli…"
Viggo's voice is all warm now. Hesitant, but warm. And Orlando can hear a distinct tone of blazing blue in it.
***
"Orli…"
Viggo's thoughts travel back in time. He does remember, but he doesn't understand. Just like he didn't understand back then if he's honest with himself. He said he understood, he told Orlando that he'd understand, but if he is honest with himself he has to admit that he didn't. That he still doesn't.
"Maybe we should get together one day and ta-"
"I've bought the house."
The words seep through slowly. Viggo's heart aches and he squeezes his eyes shut.
***
"I've bought the house."
Orlando knows that there are tears glistening in Viggo's eyes now. He knows that tears shot into Viggo's eyes the moment he spoke those words. He knows that because there are tears in his own eyes as well, because there are tears silently rolling down his cheeks. He knows that, because there are tears in his eyes every time he thinks of the house. He knows that, because the moment he signed the contract for the house, there were tears in his eyes just like now.
"Do you want to come? I'm leaving in three days, going to take a plane from London. I'll be there on Thursday. So - do you want to come?"
He holds his breath. He knows what the answer will be, there is no other possibility, but still – Viggo certainly takes his time answering, the old bastard.
"Viggo?"
***
"Viggo?"
Viggo sighs. He has already decided. He had decided before Orlando even called. He had decided even long before they separated after the Return of the King premiere. He had decided the very first morning he woke up next to Orlando in that warm wooden house at the seaside.
"Yes. Yes, I'll be there."
He clears his throat and takes another sip from the bottle.
"Let me check the planes and then get back to you."
***
***
Orlando sits on the driver's seat and taps the steering wheel with his fingers. Every now and then he glances at his watch. Any minute now.
He doesn't want to get out of the car. In his mind, he has already walked around the house, down the stairs and along the beach. He has already wandered through the rooms, up the stairs and out onto the sundecks. He has already breathed the clear, fresh air of the summer evening. He has opened the fridge and taken out a bottle of beer. He has walked out onto the lower sundeck again and down the wooden stairs. He has sat down on the old withered trunk in the shadow of the house and taken a deep swallow from the cool bottle.
He glances at his watch again. Viggo is late. Maybe his flight has been delayed or maybe he has taken just another turn around the corner. Maybe he has just decided to drive through Wellington for a while before he comes to the house and to Orlando. Maybe he's stopped a few miles outside of town to have a smoke or to refill his petrol tank.
Orlando takes out the picture from his wallet and smoothes it with his hand. It's a little scattered by time, there are faint creases and fingerprints on its surface.
He smiles. Viggo is so close to him in that picture, it's only Viggo and him, Viggo's scent and his bright blue shirt and his breath against Orlando's skin and the sun over the city of Wellington. They owned the world that day and they owned each other, and Orlando loves the memories so much.
'The best day,' he thinks and closes his eyes.
His mind drifts ten years into the past. Ten years ago to the date, nothing could have gotten to him. He inhales and smells – Viggo. He smells the sweat and the heat of himself, of the crowd around them; he smells Barry's aftershave and Viggo: Viggo's breath, Viggo's skin, Viggo's unique scent.
'Viggo,' he whispers and flinches as a sharp knock against the window disrupts his reverie.
Rubbing his eyes, he turns sideways. There he is, Viggo, his Viggo in all his splendor. Messy hair and all.
Orlando's heart stops, misses a beat and then begins to flutter madly in his chest. Viggo! He's here; he really came! After all those years, today of all days. It's the anniversary of Orlando's happiest moment ever, and he knows no better way to celebrate it.
"Hey, old man!" Orlando grins and opens the driver's door. He climbs out of the car and looks at the man standing before him.
"You look-"
Viggo takes a step closer.
"Yeah, you too."
Orlando beams. Viggo is almost close enough to touch. Orlando can almost smell him again.
"So good to see you, old man!"
Viggo nods and opens his arms and they embrace. Orlando buries his face against Viggo's neck and Viggo can feel Orlando crying. He strokes Orlando's back and mutters calming sounds, a tuneless melody.
A lullaby, Orlando thinks, and tightens his hold on Viggo, the old picture still clutched in his hand.
"What happened?" He mutters against Viggo's skin.
"I don't know." Viggo's voice is soft in his hair.
"What did we do?"
"I don't know."
"What were we thinking, Viggo? What the fuck were we thinking?" Orlando's voice has turned into a hoarse whisper.
"I don't know." Viggo shakes his head and inhales deeply. The soft curls are gone, but the smell, the smell of Orlando's hair is still the same.
Orlando lets go of Viggo and wipes his nose with his sleeve. He runs his fingers through his hair and straightens his back. A wide smile spreads across his face and he hands Viggo the photograph.
"Look, that's us, ten years ago today. We were so happy."
Viggo smiles.
"Hasn't changed much then, has it?"
Orlando leans forward and places his hands on his knees. He closes his eyes and tries to catch his breath.
"It's a bit much, you know." He lifts his head and glances at Viggo. "You're making me dizzy."
Viggo reaches for Orlando's face and pulls Orlando against himself.
"Come on, let's get inside." He wraps his arm around Orlando's waist and leads him to the door. He watches as Orlando searches the pockets of his jeans for the key. He doesn't let go of him until Orlando is ready to stick the key in the keyhole to unlock the door. He then reaches for Orlando's face and places a soft kiss on Orlando's lips.
"Elf Boy."
Orlando closes his eyes and smiles.
"This is so easy."
Viggo kisses him again and chuckles. "Come on, open the door, Elf Boy."
They walk through the rooms and corridors slowly, holding hands. Their gazes wander along furniture's surfaces and curtains. They sail on dusty rays of light into passed times. Glances and glimpses of moments that are long gone.
In the living room they pause in front of the huge sea view window. Orlando turns towards Viggo and reaches for his face.
"Why did you come?" He strokes Viggo's cheek gently, as if he isn't sure he is really touching the other man. As if he isn't sure the other man is real.
"Because." Viggo smiles. "I couldn't not come. You know that. If you try and remember carefully, you must have known that all along. It's the only thing that made me able to leave all those years ago. I knew we would be back here in no time."
Orlando closes the distance between himself and Viggo and takes the other man in his arms.
"I love you, Viggo. I love you so much. And I'm so sorry."
Viggo smiles and kisses Orlando's forehead. "Don't be."
"All those years we wasted. I love you and I'm so sorry."
"I love you, too, Orlando. You must have known that. Try and remember."
"When I bought the house," Orlando whispers. "When I bought the house I thought it would be like coming home. It wasn't."
Viggo closes his eyes.
"I was home in that picture. Next to you. Ten years ago. My home had passed and I-"
Viggo opens his eyes again and reaches for Orlando's face. "Shhhhhhhh… don't say that. It's our anniversary today. It's the anniversary of that day. That's why we're here, right?"
Orlando nods.
"Why is this so easy?" He looks at Viggo with huge, black eyes.
"Because we let it be easy. Because we want it to be easy. All the things we have to work out, everything we have to talk about – we deal with them tomorrow. Today is for us. Just for us." He kisses Orlando gently. "I've missed you. I've missed you so much."
He presses his body against Orlando's. "I want you."
Orlando reaches for the back of Viggo's head and brings their mouths together. They kiss hungrily, their tongues dancing, exploring each other’s mouths. Orlando moans into the kiss and presses his groin against Viggo's. "I want you, too."
Viggo smiles and breaks the embrace. "Let's go upstairs," he murmurs. "It's still there, is it?"
Orlando nods. "Yes."
They walk towards the staircase and climb up the stairs holding each other’s hands.
They undress in a hurry, knowing that there will be enough time for slow and savoring later, later that night, the next day, the rest of their lives.
Their bodies are on fire, and they can't touch each other enough. Viggo's hands are all over Orlando's body, and Orlando's tongue touches Viggo everywhere. Orlando's eyes are wide open when Viggo enters him. They are fixed on Viggo's face, on the strand of hair that falls into Viggo's face and covers his left eye. Behind that strand, in the shadow of the early evening, is Viggo, is all the tenderness and love and hunger and passion in the world. Is his home.
They fuck for hours that night. They do take their time to make love slowly and gently, too, in the small hours when night turns into day. Words of love and promises change lips in between bites and licks and kisses. When they finally fall asleep in each other’s arms, they are covered in sweat and love-bites.
***
Orlando wakes with a smile on his lips. He can feel Viggo's eyes on his naked skin. As he opens his eyes, he sees Viggo propped up on his elbow, smiling down on him.
"You are so beautiful." Viggo runs his finger along Orlando's lips.
'I've come full circle,' Viggo thinks, and he knows Orlando's thoughts.
'I'm home.'
*** fin ***
<\lj-cut>
Rating: NC-17
Warning: slightly angsty at the beginning, but everything is going to be fine in the end, promise!
Beta:
annie00732 - Thank you so much, sweetie!!!I wrote this as part of
merryviggorli 2009, as a present for agardenafter, who asked for I would be madly in love with a non-traditional anniversary fic of some kind. Whether it's the anniversary that's non-traditional (say, the publication of one of Viggo's book or gallery show) or how they celebrate it that's different, I'm good either way.'.Full Circle
Viggo,
I can't believe how many years have passed! Ten years! You know, I can still smell the crowd, that mixture of sweat and perfume, and then, of course, you. I can still feel your heartbeat through that thin shirt of yours and your breath against my face and I-
Orlando pauses, sighing. He drops the pen and watches how the black ink leaves a random pattern of tiny blots on the still empty part of the page. Slowly, he runs his fingers through his hair. A stabbing pain in his chest makes him wince. This is no good.
He rises from his chair and walks toward the hall.
***
Fragmented.
Viggo nods.
His fingers play with the cream-colored pendant, gliding over the surface of the smooth material aimlessly. He feels fragmented. Maybe sore. Definitely raw. He hurts. In a way. There is no peace, no calm, just this annoying need to move, to scratch, to tear and to split. He exhales slowly, centering his thoughts around the pendant. It has become warm in his hands, almost hot. Almost like all those years ago under the bright blue skies of that day he still longs for, deep inside.
'I'm discrete,' Viggo thinks. 'I'm a discrete particle. I've been split. There has been a collision, and I've been split. I'm missing parts and pieces. I'm spinning in circles. Endlessly.'
His fist closes around the pendant, its hard edges cutting into his palm. He tightens his grip, inhales deeply and squeezes his eyes shut. Spots of light, discrete particles, dancing in the dark. He brings his fist to his mouth and touches it with his lips. It still hurts. It had always hurt, ever since…
Viggo contemplates getting up and pouring a glass of wine, but he feels too tired. He might write a poem later or paint for an hour or two or just deal with some office stuff. Or maybe Henry might come over, if he gives him a call. He might do that later, but not now.
He only wishes he didn't feel so tired.
***
Orlando's hands tremble as he dials the number for the third time. He listens to the tone of the numbers as he dials but ends the connection before it is fully established – for the third time. His heart is beating wildly, and he has started to sweat.
He takes a deep breath and dials again.
***
Viggo sits up with a start. He must have fallen asleep. His fist has opened, the pendant has dropped to the floor, and his neck hurts. He rubs his eyes. It has begun to darken outside, and the telephone is ringing in the kitchen.
He rises from the sofa and walks slowly across the living room. He counts the seconds. The phone keeps ringing, it must have rung six or seven times already, and he isn't sure it will still be ringing by the time he reaches it.
***
Orlando listens to the beep-beep-beeping. The phone on the other side of the line must have been ringing for minutes now. He knows the house is large, larger than one would think at the first approach along the driveway. It's spacey and wide. It will be dusky now, almost dark at this hour, but during daytime it is filled with light.
He imagines shuffling footsteps on a hardwood floor. Fine creases around weary eyes. A low chuckle perhaps.
His breathing calms. He knows that someone will pick up eventually. He's nervous, but he feels sure about this. Something has to be done.
***
"Yeah."
Viggo's voice is husky. He hasn't spoken in quite some time, days maybe. He's hummed tunelessly while painting last night, but otherwise he has been silent.
He listens to the static and to the slow breathing on the other side of the line.
"Hello?"
His hand comes to rest over his heart.
"Hello?"
***
The words send bolts of electricity through Orlando's body. His hand grips the receiver tighter and he clears his throat.
"Viggo, don't hang up."
He swallows.
"It's me, Orlando."
Pause.
"Viggo?"
"Orlando?"
Viggo's voice is faint, distant. He's far away, Orlando knows that, but the sound of all that distance cuts to the quick.
***
"Orlando?"
Viggo slowly sits down on a kitchen chair.
"Are you okay?"
Viggo notices how small his voice sounds, how frightened, almost scared.
After a couple of seconds of silence, he speaks again.
"Orlando? Are you all right? Please tell me you're all right…"
***
"Shit, Viggo, yes, I'm fine. Everything is good. Shit, sorry. Didn't mean to scare you. Sorry. Shit." Orlando takes the hem of his shirt between the index finger and the thumb of his left hand and begins to worry it.
"Sorry, Viggo."
He reaches for the glass of wine that is standing before him on the table. He takes a sip and sets it down again.
"It's been ten years. Well, almost. Well, it will be. Next week."
"I know," Viggo mutters. "I've just been thinking about-"
***
Viggo pauses. He knows that Orlando is biting his nails. Or maybe he's biting the skin next to his nails. Either or. He can hear it through the silence.
"How are you, Orlando?"
He runs a hand through his hair and closes his eyes. He sees brown curls. He longs to touch them, to run his fingers through that hair, to touch, to feel. He hasn't thought of it in a long time, hasn't let himself and he knows why.
It hurts like hell.
"What have you been up to?"
***
"Work, mostly. Ashley and I have split up. But work – work's good. Exhausting, though."
He sighs. It's been a very long year.
"Mum's feeling better. She's been sick for a long time, but now she's better. Sam's great, too. She's getting married in a couple of months. I'm an uncle now, can you believe that?"
He shakes his head. He can hear Viggo wait in the growing darkness of his house.
"You?"
***
Viggo shrugs.
He rises from his chair at the kitchen table and walks over to the fridge. He takes out a bottle of beer and opens it. He then brings it to his lips and takes some deep gulps.
"New book coming out next month," he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He has to repeat that because Orlando doesn't understand the first time around.
"Poetry, some things from the last couple of years. I've tried my hand at-"
"I miss you, Vig."
Orlando sounds like a small child. A bit petulant, nervous, shy, frightened, yet full of hope. Only children can sound like that, Viggo thinks, and remembers the first time they kissed, lifetimes ago.
"Yeah, I know." Viggo whispers. His mouth is dry, but he can feel how a faint smile creeps onto his face.
"Me too, Elf Boy. Me too."
***
"Me too, Elf Boy. Me too."
"God, Vig, there are so many things… Remember when my bow broke on my second to last day? Pick-ups, I remember that day so well. Everything was good then, wasn't it? Everything was still so very good. I never thought back then that we would… that one day we would… I never imagined that you and I ever would…"
Orlando has risen from his chair and has begun to pace the living room floor. He walks over to the window and stops. Gazing out at the street, he tries to collect his thoughts. He remembers blue skies, a blue shirt, thousands and thousands of people and the most intense happiness he's ever felt. He remembers being king of the world and in the arms of the most wonderful man he had ever met. He remembers warm breath against his cheek and the promise of the future. That's what Wellington meant back then, that's what it still means – a promise.
"Do you remember what happened, Vig? Do you even remember what went wrong? Because I don't."
"Orli…"
Viggo's voice is all warm now. Hesitant, but warm. And Orlando can hear a distinct tone of blazing blue in it.
***
"Orli…"
Viggo's thoughts travel back in time. He does remember, but he doesn't understand. Just like he didn't understand back then if he's honest with himself. He said he understood, he told Orlando that he'd understand, but if he is honest with himself he has to admit that he didn't. That he still doesn't.
"Maybe we should get together one day and ta-"
"I've bought the house."
The words seep through slowly. Viggo's heart aches and he squeezes his eyes shut.
***
"I've bought the house."
Orlando knows that there are tears glistening in Viggo's eyes now. He knows that tears shot into Viggo's eyes the moment he spoke those words. He knows that because there are tears in his own eyes as well, because there are tears silently rolling down his cheeks. He knows that, because there are tears in his eyes every time he thinks of the house. He knows that, because the moment he signed the contract for the house, there were tears in his eyes just like now.
"Do you want to come? I'm leaving in three days, going to take a plane from London. I'll be there on Thursday. So - do you want to come?"
He holds his breath. He knows what the answer will be, there is no other possibility, but still – Viggo certainly takes his time answering, the old bastard.
"Viggo?"
***
"Viggo?"
Viggo sighs. He has already decided. He had decided before Orlando even called. He had decided even long before they separated after the Return of the King premiere. He had decided the very first morning he woke up next to Orlando in that warm wooden house at the seaside.
"Yes. Yes, I'll be there."
He clears his throat and takes another sip from the bottle.
"Let me check the planes and then get back to you."
***
***
Orlando sits on the driver's seat and taps the steering wheel with his fingers. Every now and then he glances at his watch. Any minute now.
He doesn't want to get out of the car. In his mind, he has already walked around the house, down the stairs and along the beach. He has already wandered through the rooms, up the stairs and out onto the sundecks. He has already breathed the clear, fresh air of the summer evening. He has opened the fridge and taken out a bottle of beer. He has walked out onto the lower sundeck again and down the wooden stairs. He has sat down on the old withered trunk in the shadow of the house and taken a deep swallow from the cool bottle.
He glances at his watch again. Viggo is late. Maybe his flight has been delayed or maybe he has taken just another turn around the corner. Maybe he has just decided to drive through Wellington for a while before he comes to the house and to Orlando. Maybe he's stopped a few miles outside of town to have a smoke or to refill his petrol tank.
Orlando takes out the picture from his wallet and smoothes it with his hand. It's a little scattered by time, there are faint creases and fingerprints on its surface.
He smiles. Viggo is so close to him in that picture, it's only Viggo and him, Viggo's scent and his bright blue shirt and his breath against Orlando's skin and the sun over the city of Wellington. They owned the world that day and they owned each other, and Orlando loves the memories so much.
'The best day,' he thinks and closes his eyes.
His mind drifts ten years into the past. Ten years ago to the date, nothing could have gotten to him. He inhales and smells – Viggo. He smells the sweat and the heat of himself, of the crowd around them; he smells Barry's aftershave and Viggo: Viggo's breath, Viggo's skin, Viggo's unique scent.
'Viggo,' he whispers and flinches as a sharp knock against the window disrupts his reverie.
Rubbing his eyes, he turns sideways. There he is, Viggo, his Viggo in all his splendor. Messy hair and all.
Orlando's heart stops, misses a beat and then begins to flutter madly in his chest. Viggo! He's here; he really came! After all those years, today of all days. It's the anniversary of Orlando's happiest moment ever, and he knows no better way to celebrate it.
"Hey, old man!" Orlando grins and opens the driver's door. He climbs out of the car and looks at the man standing before him.
"You look-"
Viggo takes a step closer.
"Yeah, you too."
Orlando beams. Viggo is almost close enough to touch. Orlando can almost smell him again.
"So good to see you, old man!"
Viggo nods and opens his arms and they embrace. Orlando buries his face against Viggo's neck and Viggo can feel Orlando crying. He strokes Orlando's back and mutters calming sounds, a tuneless melody.
A lullaby, Orlando thinks, and tightens his hold on Viggo, the old picture still clutched in his hand.
"What happened?" He mutters against Viggo's skin.
"I don't know." Viggo's voice is soft in his hair.
"What did we do?"
"I don't know."
"What were we thinking, Viggo? What the fuck were we thinking?" Orlando's voice has turned into a hoarse whisper.
"I don't know." Viggo shakes his head and inhales deeply. The soft curls are gone, but the smell, the smell of Orlando's hair is still the same.
Orlando lets go of Viggo and wipes his nose with his sleeve. He runs his fingers through his hair and straightens his back. A wide smile spreads across his face and he hands Viggo the photograph.
"Look, that's us, ten years ago today. We were so happy."
Viggo smiles.
"Hasn't changed much then, has it?"
Orlando leans forward and places his hands on his knees. He closes his eyes and tries to catch his breath.
"It's a bit much, you know." He lifts his head and glances at Viggo. "You're making me dizzy."
Viggo reaches for Orlando's face and pulls Orlando against himself.
"Come on, let's get inside." He wraps his arm around Orlando's waist and leads him to the door. He watches as Orlando searches the pockets of his jeans for the key. He doesn't let go of him until Orlando is ready to stick the key in the keyhole to unlock the door. He then reaches for Orlando's face and places a soft kiss on Orlando's lips.
"Elf Boy."
Orlando closes his eyes and smiles.
"This is so easy."
Viggo kisses him again and chuckles. "Come on, open the door, Elf Boy."
They walk through the rooms and corridors slowly, holding hands. Their gazes wander along furniture's surfaces and curtains. They sail on dusty rays of light into passed times. Glances and glimpses of moments that are long gone.
In the living room they pause in front of the huge sea view window. Orlando turns towards Viggo and reaches for his face.
"Why did you come?" He strokes Viggo's cheek gently, as if he isn't sure he is really touching the other man. As if he isn't sure the other man is real.
"Because." Viggo smiles. "I couldn't not come. You know that. If you try and remember carefully, you must have known that all along. It's the only thing that made me able to leave all those years ago. I knew we would be back here in no time."
Orlando closes the distance between himself and Viggo and takes the other man in his arms.
"I love you, Viggo. I love you so much. And I'm so sorry."
Viggo smiles and kisses Orlando's forehead. "Don't be."
"All those years we wasted. I love you and I'm so sorry."
"I love you, too, Orlando. You must have known that. Try and remember."
"When I bought the house," Orlando whispers. "When I bought the house I thought it would be like coming home. It wasn't."
Viggo closes his eyes.
"I was home in that picture. Next to you. Ten years ago. My home had passed and I-"
Viggo opens his eyes again and reaches for Orlando's face. "Shhhhhhhh… don't say that. It's our anniversary today. It's the anniversary of that day. That's why we're here, right?"
Orlando nods.
"Why is this so easy?" He looks at Viggo with huge, black eyes.
"Because we let it be easy. Because we want it to be easy. All the things we have to work out, everything we have to talk about – we deal with them tomorrow. Today is for us. Just for us." He kisses Orlando gently. "I've missed you. I've missed you so much."
He presses his body against Orlando's. "I want you."
Orlando reaches for the back of Viggo's head and brings their mouths together. They kiss hungrily, their tongues dancing, exploring each other’s mouths. Orlando moans into the kiss and presses his groin against Viggo's. "I want you, too."
Viggo smiles and breaks the embrace. "Let's go upstairs," he murmurs. "It's still there, is it?"
Orlando nods. "Yes."
They walk towards the staircase and climb up the stairs holding each other’s hands.
They undress in a hurry, knowing that there will be enough time for slow and savoring later, later that night, the next day, the rest of their lives.
Their bodies are on fire, and they can't touch each other enough. Viggo's hands are all over Orlando's body, and Orlando's tongue touches Viggo everywhere. Orlando's eyes are wide open when Viggo enters him. They are fixed on Viggo's face, on the strand of hair that falls into Viggo's face and covers his left eye. Behind that strand, in the shadow of the early evening, is Viggo, is all the tenderness and love and hunger and passion in the world. Is his home.
They fuck for hours that night. They do take their time to make love slowly and gently, too, in the small hours when night turns into day. Words of love and promises change lips in between bites and licks and kisses. When they finally fall asleep in each other’s arms, they are covered in sweat and love-bites.
***
Orlando wakes with a smile on his lips. He can feel Viggo's eyes on his naked skin. As he opens his eyes, he sees Viggo propped up on his elbow, smiling down on him.
"You are so beautiful." Viggo runs his finger along Orlando's lips.
'I've come full circle,' Viggo thinks, and he knows Orlando's thoughts.
'I'm home.'
*** fin ***
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