Gift fic for [livejournal.com profile] chaosmanor

Dec. 25th, 2014 02:40 pm
[identity profile] salable-mystic.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] viggorli_xmas
Title: implicitly
Recipient: [livejournal.com profile] chaosmanor
Author: To be revealed on 2015-01-01
Summary: Orlando has a place he goes when he needs to be alone. Sometimes, Viggo is there.
rating: PG, no warnings
disclaimer: they belong to themselves.



Orlando has a place he goes when he needs to be alone. He found it by accident, one day, when things were a bit much and he went for a walk to try to calm his racing thoughts. It's a park, not too far from his house, with lush green trees and a little pond that has a family of ducks living around it.

This is how he found it: he was walking, and there were cars backed up along the road for several blocks. He debated turning back, but he didn't want to deal with Liv and the Hobbits, so he kept going, one foot in front of the other. He slowed and lifted his eyes from the ground when he saw a police car parked across from him, one policeman inside and the other standing in the middle of the road, his hands up to signal the traffic to stop. Orlando stopped and looked about, because he did not see an accident and he didn't want to end up walking straight into it. There was a flicker of movement which drew Orlando's attention to the policeman's feet, and there he saw a mother duck and six little brown chicks crossing the road in single file.

Only in New Zealand, Orlando had thought, but when the traffic cleared, he followed the ducks into the park and sat by the pond until it was nearly dark and Viggo had come looking.


Viggo seems to know when Orlando truly needs to be alone and when he's just looking to get away, and when he needs someone to be there just for the sake of being there. Orlando is grateful for this, because Viggo is turning out to be a valuable friend, the longer they spend together. And that is not insignificant, at all; Orlando thinks that by the time this is over he'll have spent more time with Viggo than with his sister in his entire life.

He doesn't mind.


Tonight it's dark, and it's just the streetlights that reflect off the water. Orlando is tired, but he couldn't stomach being at home just yet, after three days away filming on the South Island; he needs to adjust to city sounds and not bunking in with the Hobbits after a drinking game gone somewhat awry.

"The ducklings have grown up," Viggo says, sitting beside him without preamble. It's true; they're just visible as shapes between the grass, still burrowing in around their mother as best they can, but they don't fit as neatly in the nest as they used to.
"I wonder if we'll be here to see their ducklings," Orlando says. It's a fanciful thought; they have six months left, and then the rest of the world is waiting. Viggo already has offers, Orlando knows, and he himself has been unofficially assured that he won't have much in the way of a break.

"Maybe they'll send us a Christmas card," Viggo says, but Orlando has only the energy to smile wistfully, briefly.

"Maybe," he says. He leans on Viggo's shoulder for a bit, just to reassure himself that he's not so tired as to be imagining him there. Viggo has showered since they got back; he smells of sandalwood and dirt, because that never goes away. His jacket is soft on Orlando's cheek, and he thinks that this moment could go on forever without him becoming bored.


"Come on, sleepyhead," Viggo says, after Orlando yawns for something like the fourth time. "Let's get you home."

It's not until Orlando is letting himself be helped up that he realises just how tired he is, as if all the adrenaline in his body had been used up and he was running only on the last of the chocolate bikkies he ate on the plane back. Viggo's not much better, from the way he's leaning on Orlando just as much, so Orlando wraps an arm around Viggo's waist; he twists his shoulder a little and slides his arm up under Viggo's jacket, for warmth, he tells himself. He lets his hand settle on Viggo's hip, between Viggo's worn t-shirt and the hilt of the prop sword Viggo still carries everywhere. Viggo's face turns in, nuzzles at Orlando's neck in that soft spot between the collarbone and the muscle, so Orlando strokes his thumb across Viggo's hipbone.

Orlando is grateful that his house is not too far away.


"Stay," he says, when the front light flickers on, sensing them there. "Stay," he says again, when Viggo pulls away, confusion and a question briefly marring the normally open expression. However, when Orlando finds his keys in his pocket, after a moment of fishing, Viggo is close behind him, a warm presence as he unlocks the door and pushes it open with his foot.

Normally, if Viggo came over, there would be beer and mate. Orlando even keeps some in the kitchen cupboard, because he's prepared like that, and, if Viggo ever asked, Orlando would admit to drinking it when nobody else was around. Tonight is not one of those times, for he doubts either of them will stay awake long enough for the water to heat, let alone crushing the leaves and allowing them to steep. Instead, they stumble to the bedroom, where Orlando has the largest bed available, and Viggo doesn't protest, though he's crashed on the couch once or twice a month since they arrived.

"Shoes," Orlando says, as he kicks his off; Viggo isn't wearing any, which shouldn't surprise Orlando but it does, as Viggo rouses himself long enough to unbuckle the sword and lean it against the foot of the bed.

"Sleep," Viggo says as he collapses onto the bed. He lies on his side and Orlando, much more delicately, sits on the bed and then lies back, adjusting until he decides that he's comfortable enough, his back only aching minimally. If he ends up lying so that he's under Viggo's arm, then it's an accident of intent, but one that he's unwilling to change.

"You're going to be a swan, Orlando," Viggo mumbles. Orlando lifts his head enough to look in Viggo's direction, but what light there is from the window doesn't show him enough to if Viggo is still awake.

"We'll always have us," he says, when he's sure Viggo's asleep.


For being tired, Orlando doesn't feel rested when he wakes to a horn being blown outside the house.

"Viggo," he says, nudging the warm lump on top of him. "We're late for call."

"Tell them to go away," Viggo says. Orlando doesn't move; he can't, not easily, with Viggo draped over him, and he isn't in a hurry to change that. The phone begins to ring, and there's a banging on the door that's loud enough for Orlando to fear for its integrity. Viggo lifts himself up with a groan that Orlando feels across his chest.

He could become used to this, he realises, right then. But Viggo reaches for the sword and leaves the room before Orlando can say anything, and the spell is broken.


Viggo steals a pen from Bean and starts writing words on Orlando's arm, before he gets pulled away to have his dirt applied, and Orlando thinks maybe he didn't have to use words for Viggo to understand.

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