Oh yeah, something about untapped potential, lingering glances, hands that teased, silences that filled the room. Orlando threw his backpack down in the spare bedroom of Viggo's beach house -- not that he had any intention of sleeping there. No, don't go there. Not here for that. He strolled to the back deck, sprawling along weather-beaten wood. Breathed a healthy lungful of sea-salt air, watched white waves break on an endless stretch of rock and sand... And, most importantly, watched the lean, graceful lines of the man standing at the shore. Viggo's back was to Orlando, smooth muscle rippling in a faded t-shirt, surf splashing along his rolled up jeans, breeze matting his hair in wet clumps. He looked like a selkie. Untamed. He looked good enough to eat. Alright, maintain. Not here for that. Just here to spend the day with your good friend, Viggo. Not that he really is your good friend. That would imply closeness, vulnerability. Orlando couldn't afford to be vulnerable. This was simply an experiment. * * * If there was one thing Orlando hated doing, it was waiting. Some people -- Viggo, for example -- great, thinking about Viggo again, let's just be as obvious as we can, shall we? -- had a capacity for infinite patience, for breathing in slowly and letting everything sink in...sink in, withdraw, sink in... Do not start thinking about sex, or sinking into Viggo's body, or about slender hips and sweat-slick skin... Too late. Right. Focus. Deep breath. Train of thought, yeah. Catch the fucker and stay on this time. Okay. Steady on. Breathe. Twelve past nine. Could time possibly be passing by any fucking slower? Viggo'd said 9:30, right? At the party the night before. Hadn't he? Fuck. Orlando wracked his brain, tried to remember what had actually been said in the quiet and solitude and stillness of Viggo's studio. Tried to remember if they even had said anything beyond 'nice painting and 'I want you' -- breathless murmur on Viggo's lips -- lips that had been bruised and raw from the sting of Orlando's kiss. A taste that had haunted Orlando's every waking moment until there'd been nothing left except the promise of more. Had Viggo even said anything about tonight? Or was that simply wishful thinking? The product of Orlando's overeager imagination, the culmination of a glorious kiss after a perfect day at the beach, and why the fuck had Viggo backed off? Orlando could have satisfied his curiosity right then and been done with this whole thing, but no. Viggo had to go on about the difference between wanting and wanting and all of this blahblah whatever about taking advantage and all Orlando had wanted to do was throw Viggo down on that tattered sofa and take. Right, right, okay, get a sodding grip, Bloom. Settle down. Think. Had anything been said about tonight, or was Orlando simply wasting his night? A night he could be spending getting pissed with the Hobbits, instead of sitting here at his kitchen table, waiting for Viggo's car to pull up in the drive. Fuck, fuck, too hard to think. Easier to concentrate on sidelong glances between takes, on silences that filled the room, on the promise in a lingering touch across a crowded table. Easier to concentrate on the ebb and flow of an attraction that wasn't quite tame, couldn't be civilized. Orlando wasn't much for civilization, anyway. Breathe, breathe. Right. Just remember to...ohfuckyes. Headlights cutting through the curtains. Viggo. Orlando glanced at the clock. 9:23. Viggo was early. * * * "He watches you all the time." Orlando glanced up at Dom, but finished tying the laces of his jerkin. "Who?" "Viggo. He's been staring at you for five minutes." "Yeah, and? He stares at everyone. That's just his way." "Not like he stares at you." Hmm. Something to consider. Not that Orlando was. He looked over at Viggo when Dom walked away, found himself caught in a pair of light eyes that seemed to sear into his very soul. Flayed him open. Fuck. * * * "Fuck, why'd we wait so long?" Orlando murmured between grinding kisses, pushing Viggo back against the kitchen counter. "Cause I thought -- oh fuck -- do that again," Viggo groaned, lean hips bucking into Orlando's hand, which was currently sliding under loose jeans, finding heated skin. "You mean this?" Orlando punctuated the question with another languid swipe of his tongue along Viggo's adam's apple. "Yessss." The word was hissed between clenched teeth as Viggo moved restlessly under Orlando's ruthless assault. Orlando thought perhaps he could do this all night...but didn't want to push his luck. Curiosity, nothing more. "Turn around," he breathed, soft, sibilant whisper in Viggo's ear. * * * He wasn't gay. He wasn't. Thoroughly straight. Which, of course, explained the kiss. And the fact that he couldn't keep his eyes off of Viggo. Or why that kiss -- the perfect, crystal-sharp memory of that kiss -- continued to haunt him. Or why the scent of the sea made him hard. "You're staring," Dom murmured as he walked to the other end of the pool table. "Let it be." Dom took his shot, nailing the 12 ball in the back corner pocket, and passed Orlando's way again. "Go and talk to him," he said. "Dom --" "Or at least stare up close." Alright, that could work. Orlando passed his cue off to Karl with a joke about pool sharks and wandered, casual-like -- nothing to see here, folks, move along -- to the crowded table where Viggo held court like the king he portrayed. That was the thing about Viggo. Everyone listened. Orlando caught Viggo's eyes and smiled, low and intimate, the rest of the pub fading away. Just the two of them. Gazes meeting and holding a shade too long for friendship, too hot for romance. This wasn't about romance. Romance was for lovers. Orlando didn't want to be Viggo's lover. He just wanted the man out of his system. * * * "I've got a better idea." And Orlando had no response for the dark promise in Viggo's voice, no recourse for the sharp pain -- fuck, how the hell did people do this? -- at Viggo's first deep thrust inside him. No time to tell Viggo it wasn't just about curiosity, no time to say 'hey, wait, slow down, I've never' -- because Viggo was moving, hot and thick and full inside him, each brutal thrust of hips a reverse benediction, a sacrament gone black. Orlando twisted, mewled, didn't notice when pain became pleasure, when he started thrusting back, when his white-knuckled grip on the kitchen counter turned into a scrabble for purchase as Viggo rammed hard into him again and again. Viggo's teeth closed over the juncture of Orlando's neck and shoulder, and Orlando welcomed the pain, the sharp clarity as he turned his head, met the brutal, fiery kiss head-on. Lips and teeth battled for supremacy as they moved. There was nothing soft in this, nothing of mere curiosity, of promises they knew better than to ask for. They breached the wall together, fell into taint and ruin with each other's names tumbling from bruised lips. Orlando was still trembling, slumped bonelessly against the counter when Viggo pulled out. "Satisfied?" Viggo asked, kissing Orlando's ear, the softness of Viggo's lips a sharp contrast to the bitterness of his voice. He was dressed and gone before Orlando could even formulate a reply. Not that he would have known what to say. * * * "I'm not gay," Orlando announced, pushing his empty glass into the middle of the table. "So, explain the kiss again." Dom grinned cheekily, and motioned to the bartender for another round. "Just a kiss, Dommie, just a kiss. Curiosity." Dom merely looked at him, waiting. "Alright, fine, it wasn't just a kiss," Orlando admitted, slumping back in his chair. "You know you spent the day with him just to get laid," Billy observed, sliding into the stool next to Dom. "Did not." Orlando glared in Billy's direction, then flashed a brilliant smile at the blushing bartender when she slid them their fresh pints. "He's lying." "'Course he is." "Oh, sod off, the both of you," Orlando grumbled, picking up his glass. "Dunno why I'm even here." "Beats drinking alone," Dom grinned, saluting Orlando with his glass. "Not by much." "What's the drama?" Billy asked, resting his elbows on the scarred wood of the bar. "You want to experiment with Viggo, he's willing, have at it." "Not that simple, alright?" Should've known better than to try and explain anything to those two. Everything was black and white with them...yeah, okay, and with him, too. But, black and white didn't work so well with Viggo. Viggo was more like a cloudy summer's day, where the air was charged with electricity and your hairs stood on end and the wind whipped around you, sucking you into a vortex so strong that it was impossible to break free. Not that you wanted to -- Orlando blinked when fingers snapped in front of his face. "Welcome back," Dom said. "Fuck off." Dom and Billy merely glanced at each other and grinned. "Definitely," Billy stated. "Oh, yeah," Dom added. Orlando decided he absolutely did not want to know what they were saying. He didn't want Viggo. The hell he didn't. * * * "Great party," Orlando shouted, running a hand along Viggo's hip as he squeezed past. He didn't wait for an answer, didn't need to. Simply waited for Viggo to follow him into the spacious studio at the other end of the house. "Why're you here, Orlando?" Viggo asked, not moving from the top step. "Dunno." Well, he did know, but it wasn't something he was going to admit to Viggo. Man had entirely too many advantages over him as it was. "Nice painting," he said instead. "It's not finished." "Right." Orlando could see that. Of course he could. "So --" He put his hands in his pockets, took a step away from the canvas "Um --" "C'mere." Orlando was moving forward before it even occurred to him to say no. Not that he wanted to. Say no, that is. Orlando bet no wasn't a word Viggo heard very often. "Tell me what you want from me." How the hell was Orlando supposed to think when Viggo was standing so close to him, close enough that Orlando could feel Viggo's breath, warm against his ear? Close enough to feel the burn. "I'm not sure," Orlando whispered, turning his head, staring into knowing, light eyes. Caught. Mesmerized. "I think you do know." "I'm going to regret this, aren't I?" "We both will." Viggo took that half-step, brushed his body against Orlando's. And smiled when Orlando simply moaned. "It'll be worth it." "God, I certainly hope so," Orlando breathed, before his lips covered Viggo's. * * * "Come on, let's go have a drink." Orlando could have refused -- he knew this. But, curiosity got the better of him. 'Course, that was his entire problem where Viggo was concerned. "Yeah, sure." They left the premiere party in silence, not bothering to say anything to anyone else, and walked along the crowded streets -- two anonymous men, in spite of the posters and billboards and magazines and fame. Orlando was grateful for the anonymity. And even more grateful for the silence that gave him a chance to think of something to say. Not that he and Viggo hadn't talked since that night. Impossible not to talk, given that they'd still been filming, still friends, of a sort. The problem wasn't them talking. It was finding something to say. Something that would take them back, erase the past, put them back on even ground. Orlando now thought maybe there was no such thing as even ground. And he definitely knew erasing the past was impossible. As was starting over. "So," Orlando said, once they slid into their stools at the bar and had two glasses of single malt in front of them. "Yeah." Viggo's eyes met his in the mirrored wall's reflection and the distance -- even though they were sitting side by side, thighs brushing -- helped give Orlando the courage to continue. "Guess we should talk about what happened." "Better late than never, I would imagine." Viggo smiled, but it lacked warmth. Something else Orlando'd gotten used to. "I'm sorry. Not for, y'know --" "The sex?" "Yeah, that. 'Cause, that was --" Orlando floundered again, clutched his glass like a lifeline. "Anyway, that wasn't the problem." "Then, what was?" "You were just supposed to satisfy my curiosity." "Oh." Viggo nodded, as if that explained everything. And maybe it did. Viggo always did have that knack of seeing past what wasn't said. "I'm sorry, too," Viggo continued, turning his head to meet Orlando's gaze head-on. "Yeah, okay." And, just like that, talking became easier. Fuck, if Orlando'd known it was going to be that simple, he'd have dragged Viggo off ages ago. Although, yeah, it was really about the timing. No, starting over wasn't an option for either of them. But the promise in clasped hands as they parted ways outside the pub said that maybe moving on was a possibility. All they could do was give it a shot.
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