Gift fic for [ profile] vampirebitch

Dec. 25th, 2013 04:15 pm
[identity profile] posting in [community profile] viggorli_xmas
Title: An Unexpected Turn of Events
Author: [ profile] alilacia
Rating: PG-13/R
Genre: Alternate Universe
Beta reader: None, I'm afraid. Just me and a spell checker.
Notes: For the 2013 Viggorli Secret Santa. I hope you like it. Happy Holidays everyone!

It was cold and it was raining lightly. The worst of the downpour had happened earlier and Orlando was still wet. Shivering, Orlando hunched up as best as he could against the droplets dripping along his skin. Hands full with shopping bags, an utterly fed up Orlando ducked into the cover a nearby archway provided and rested all four bags on the floor.

The doorway he was standing in was actually the entrance to Lemvigh-Müller A/S, a steel and engineering wholesaler, one of the businesses on the northern stretch of Nyhavn that didn't revolve around the tourists. To his right was a restaurant, not one Orlando had been to, but apparently it had a decent local reputation. In the last few moments about ten people had trickled in so the grub couldn't be that bad. Either that or it was the beer. Danes did love their beer after all.

Ow,” he hissed quietly, shaking feeling back into his numb fingers. He'd forgotten his gloves at home; a fact he was now ruing and shoved his hands into his pockets, heedless of the damp. Orlando looked longingly for a moment at the open restaurant doorway – and the outdoor tables with blankets provided - before remembering the bags wilting at his feet. He could eat now and lug this lot around for longer or he could just get moving, take the metro home, and enjoy the leftovers from last nights dinner.

Quietly, Orlando stood for a moment and looked out over the rain-slicked harbour.

Nyhavn was not somewhere he came to often.

It was constructed between 1670 and 1673, by request of King Christian V, by Swedish war prisoners from the Dano-Swedish War that had ended ten years prior to the commission. At the time it was a gateway to the old inner city at Kongens Nytorv. It was also notorious for beer, sailors and prostitution.

Orlando couldn't comment on the prostitution but sitting down here for a pint was common for both the tourists and locals.

Sailors still used these waters too and were usually found in various sizes of boats, ferrying tourists along the water on regularly scheduled tours. Rarer were the local fishermen, especially in the winter, but Orlando could see some of them from where he was standing. Not that there were any fish here in Nyhavn. No, you had to head out to the Baltic for that.

The boats here were impressive, Orlando acknowledged, nodding at one of Lemvigh-Müllers employees that darted into the warmth behind him. Nyhavns northern side (all the odd numbers) were filled with town houses, all painted different colours, and most were now restaurants or bars full to the brim with tourists in the summer. But the southern side (all the even numbers) was something to look at. This was where you found the lavish mansions and the museum ships owned by the Danish National Museum.

By now Orlando had feeling back in his fingers so removed them from his pockets and bent down a little to grab his bags. Already the weight bit into his skin slightly. That's what you get when you leave it to the last minute and buy everything on the same day, Orlando thought ruefully with a shake of his head.

Strains of music filtered down amidst the cries of seagulls and general chatter. Some of the fishermen were coming back from a morning out on the water, Orlando was guessing, while others were just setting their boats up. If it had been any other day then Orlando probably would have ordered a beer, tipped the musicians when they reached where he was sitting, and sat comfortably for several hours with a blanket over his legs and a good book in his hands.

But the cold and rain meant his only thought right now was to get home. That desire drove him to move quickly through over the slick stones and he didn't realise there was someone else there until a shoulder crashed solidly into his own. Breath escaping with a rush, Orlando lost his footing and the bags clattered around him as he landed heavily on his left hand side.

Sore and momentarily dazed, Orlando dimly registered the sound of rushed Danish – Er du ok? Vent her. Jeg vil fange ham – the smell of fresh fish, and hands helping him up to a sitting position. Rugged hands quickly placed wrapped presents and food back into the bags and the sight nudged Orlando into motion. Though dismayed at the sight of the wet and dirt over the once pristine contents, he gathered up the last items and turned to thank the person only to see the back of a heavy coat over a pair of jeans striding away quickly.

Thanks mate,” Orlando muttered in the general direction of the pillock that banged into him. “Merry Christmas to you too.”

Feeling more than a little miffed at the rudeness of the person that hit him in the first place and that his helper hadn't stuck around long enough to be thanked, Orlando levered himself to his feet and once again ignored the soreness of his fingers to gather up his things.

Vent,” Orlando heard from behind him, but didn't turn around. There was a muttered curse and the sound of slightly laboured breathing before a hand gently curled around his right arm. “Vent.”

What is it?” He was being curt, but at that moment Orlando didn't care. There was grit and god-knows what else in his hands from the fall to be cleaned but all Orlando wanted was to go home, have a shower, and deal with everything later. He didn't want to deal with any more Danes, not today.

The first thing Orlando noticed was the blue eyes that looked into his own. Then came the smell of fresh fish and Orlando looked down to the hand that was held out, recognising the coat, and gave a start when he spotted his wallet in the mans hand. “Hey, that's mine,” he accused, dropping the bags to the floor, grabbing it from the loose grip and shoving it inside his pocket with a hiss.

The man didn't look offended but instead shrugged and let his hands fall back to his side. “Pickpockets. I'm sorry if anything was taken.”

Orlando suddenly realised what had happened earlier and quickly pulled out his wallet again. Cursing, he realised that some of the notes he'd had were gone but others were still there; haphazard and crooked. As though the thief had been interrupted. “Shit, I've been rude,” Orlando said as he closed it and placed it gingerly inside his scuffed jeans pocket. “Thank you. For helping me, for getting my wallet back, for coming back with it and not keeping it.” The adrenaline was wearing off now and Orlando could feel keenly the cuts and scrapes on his body. “I need to get back home and drop these off. Get cleaned up. But I want to thank you properly. How about I take you out for a drink some time? Coffee, beer, anything.”

Desperately hoping that didn't sound like he was asking him out for a date – for heaven's sake, he had no idea if the good Samaritan was even interested – Orlando wasn't sure he entirely succeeded as the other mans lips tilted into a brief smile.

Do you have far to go?” Good Samaritan asked instead. Orlando looked up, mentally doing the calculation at about an hour to get home if the metro, train and bus all lined up with minimal delays. “That's far,” he said, looking down at Orlando's hands and the bags drooping on the floor. “I live just over here. We can get your hands sorted there and you can head back home.”

Orlando bit his lip, weighing the caution at going anywhere with a stranger – even a good Samaritan – versus his own desire to get to know the, frankly gorgeous, man a bit better. So he nodded and before he could say anything, Good Samaritan lifted all the bags up and jerked his head back in the opposite direction to where Orlando had been going.

Just over here,” turned out not to be one of the buildings stretched out in vivid colours but one of the fishing boats. Orlando blinked at it as he hopped onto the boat after the other man. “Not what I was expecting to be honest.” His boots skidded a little underfoot but not enough to make him loose his balance.

Good Samaritan shouldered open a door and gestured for Orlando to go first.

The stairs under his feet were creaking but otherwise strong and the room Orlando found himself in was bigger than he expected. There was a small paint-flecked table (covered in books, used mugs and wood shavings) paired with a chair. To the right of that was what seemed to be a kitchen area: small portable stove as well as a kettle and what looked like a bowl for washing up.

Just off to the side, through another door, Orlando could see a bunk with a folded up jumper, newspaper and some sort of weird looking mug resting on top.

Footsteps sounded behind him, followed by the rustling of his bags as they were placed up against a wall, and Good Samaritan shrugged. “It's handy keeping my work and business in the same place.” The thick coat he'd been wearing was hung up on a row of coat hooks Orlando hadn't noticed and Good Samaritan gestured for Orlando's. “Here, let me take that from you and we can look at your hands.”

You're a fisherman? Thought so,” Orlando commented, watching the fabric of his coat sway into place and drip momentarily on the floor until Good Samaritan toed a layer of newspapers and plastic underneath them.

Orlando looked around again and he was alone, but the rustling from an adjacent room said where his helper had gone. In the corner, the kettle started bubbling and Orlando hoped Good Samaritan had turned it on, otherwise this boat was haunted. The thought made him snort and shake his head at the absurd notion, even as he still glanced around quickly that nothing else was amiss.

The name's Viggo,” a voice called and Good Samaritan appeared at the doorway, holding a battered green box with a smaller bowl balanced on it. This was soon filled up with a mix of fluid from the boiled kettle and a bottle of spring water. He gestured for Orlando to take a seat and dragged over another chair Orlando hadn't noticed before opening the box with a metallic scrape. Inside were various items such as antiseptics, bandages, needle and thread and a compass.

Orlando,” Orlando replied, shuddering in more than just pain when his hands were gently lifted out flat onto the table. He bit his lip at the sight of all the cuts and grazes as well as the knowledge that his left arm, side and face was feeling a little sore from where he hit the ground. It was likely he was torn up there too and wasn't sure if he could take the feeling of Good Samaritans – Viggo's – hands on his own, much less his body. It had been a while. More than a while. And Viggo was certainly handsome and triggering things Orlando had thought long buried.

Strong fingers gingerly lifted Orlando's hand over the bowl and the steam drifting up against his skin felt lovely. The water running over his skin made him bite his lip again and combined with the feeling of Viggo's fingers gently brushing a cloth over the cuts caused Orlando's eyes to drift closed.

This might have proved to be a mistake though.

In the dark, everything was heightened. The motions of the cloth shifted from clinical to sensual and Orlando was keenly aware of the sensation of Viggo's other fingers resting at his wrists. With each scrape of the fabric, Orlando had to hold back a moan that wasn't caused entirely by the pain. The sensations shifted to his left hand, gently prodding, massaging and the warmth from the touches seemed to spread over Orlando's entire body. Christ, he hoped Viggo couldn't feel his racing heart.

Suddenly the smell of antiseptic filled the air and there was a muttered “sorry,” that was almost lost over the long hiss Orlando couldn't keep back. Blimey, that stuff stung. It was only the knowledge that this was needed and the strong grip at his wrists that kept him from doing more than just jerking his hands back a little.

It helped though to calm the sensations running through his body and Orlando's eyes opened with a start to see Viggo looking apologetically back at him.

S'okay,” Orlando ground out, resisting the urge to curl his fingers or at least wash them in that bowl of water nearby.

I spend my days fishing in the morning,” Viggo started quietly, as though he was unwilling to completely break the moment between them, and Orlando could have kissed him for the distraction. “At around lunch time I return to the harbour and usually pick up a bite to eat at the local eateries. Or I'll cook here.” A toothy grin emerged and Orlando found himself smiling too. “Doesn't get much fresher.” The grin faded into quiet contemplation for a while and Orlando found himself lost for words as Viggo placed the cloth to the table and the other mans fingers traced up Orlando's skin to hover near his jumper sleeve.

Go ahead,” Orlando whispered thickly, pain forgotten in the wake of Viggo's touch feathering against his skin. The fabric of his jumper creased into the hook of his elbow but all Orlando focussed on was Viggo.

Later, before the temperature drops too much, I'll sit out on the harbour and sell my flowers.”

Intrigued, Orlando looked at the room again but couldn't see any lying around or in vases. With a brief smile, Viggo directed his attention to where a stack of carved roses rested in a corner. It was then that he noticed the block of wood, half finished, with the lily curling out of the tree (“Cottonwood,” Viggo supplied, seeing Orlando's look) as if to greet the day.

They last longer than normal flowers, the tourists love them, and I find it calming to sit and carve most evenings.” Viggo's fingers dragged warmly against Orlando's skin, drawing his attention back with a rush of heat. His eyes closed, half-lidded, and looked at Viggo's face. Though it didn't help the situation, Orlando was pleased to see something that looked like answering lust in Viggo's eyes. I'm seeing things. No, no. Don't take advantage of someone just trying to help. Orlando's eyes closed all the way, biting a lip as the cloth tenderly ran over his other arm, and Viggo's fingers traced distracting circles on his other hand. I'm imagining it or he's doing this on purpose.

There, all done,” Viggo's husky voice whispered and there was a sound of the cloth hitting the water bowl. “Good as new.”

Orlando's eyes opened and he tamped down on the rising lust. Slowly pulling back his hands, he opened his mouth to say thank you when Viggo glanced down at his lips. Heat surged, restraint fled, and with a muttered fuck it, Orlando ignored the lingering pain in his fingers to grab at Viggo's jumper and pull him closer, heedless of the table between them. Their lips met willingly, noses smushed against each other and teeth clacked together. The sound, combined with the feeling of the table pressing against sensitive places cause both men to pull back with a chuckle.

Sorry, I, uh...” Orlando ran his hands nervously through his hair before crossing his arms. “I don't normally do that to someone I've just met.” He backed up away from the table a little, watching Viggo warily as the older man stepped around the object and stopped before him. “I'm sorry if I read things the wrong way and cocked what could be a good friendship up and I-”

His words were stopped by a pair of hands running up his arms, skimming over the neck before stopping to rest in Orlando's curls. His heart sped up, his cock hardened, and he moaned as Viggo pressed him back fully into the wall.

Warm weight rested against him, breath fanned over his skin and stubble abraded for a moment before Orlando's entire world vanished to pure sensation. Viggo's lips were warm, chapped, and they brushed at an odd angle over Orlando's own before seizing Orlando's mouth in a proper kiss. Hands traced maddening circles in brown curls, making Orlando shake and shiver. A tongue slicked at the seams of Orlando's mouth and he parted his lips with a moan.

You didn't read it wrong,” Viggo rasped as he pulled back. “But...”

But?” Orlando panted, trying to get his lust under control. Viggo would be a good friend, that much he knew without a doubt. If nothing else he wanted to see where their friendship would go. In an ideal world, he would get both. The interesting man who rose with the dawn to fish and then spent his days carving flowers. Who thought nothing of chasing down a mugger to return what was stolen. The man who kissed like you were his whole world and nothing else mattered.

Viggo leaned in again, gentling the kiss this time and ran his hands from Orlando's hair, along his shoulders and stopped at the wrists. “I want to know you better. We could fuck here and now. God knows I want you.” He stepped back to put a little bit of space between them. “That would be a mistake though. I want to know more about the man who procrastinates enough to buy all his presents in one day and who values the quiet of standing in a harbour in the rain. Make no mistake though,” Viggo paused and glanced heatedly up and down Orlando's body. “I will one day lay you out on a bed and taste you until you moan, writhe, and gasp out my name.”


Orlando gaped for a bit, his waning erection returning with an almost painful surge. “You evil sod.”

Viggo just laughed and shrugged. “I've been called worse. Now,” he gestured to the dirtied up presents in the bags, “what's say we get those sorted and maybe go out for that beer you promised me.”

You keep wrapping supplies here too?” Orlando shook his head, banking the surging heat for a later date when they were closer, maybe even together, and then Viggo would see what it was like to be held down and worshipped until the world narrowed down to only the gasping of your breathing, the hands on your waist and lips sucking wetly.

Nah, I'm not that prepared for Christmas.” Viggo tugged on his coat and handed Orlando his own. He ascended the stairs and held the door open for Orlando who stepped through while putting on and buttoning up his jacket. “But there are shops around here who do.”

And so that's how Orlando found himself standing in Magazin while Viggo charmed the girl behind the counter into re-wrapping his scuffed up presents with new, festive paper with bows and ribbons. Normally he'd have been jealous but now Orlando found he didn't care. Viggo was doing this for him. And the memory of what had happened in the boat still lingered warmly.

They'd have their beer. Maybe Orlando would feel brave enough to invite Viggo back to his place for another drink. They might fuck. They might not. They might meet up again another time.

Thanks mate,” Orlando whispered to the air, to the mugger from earlier, and met Viggo's smile with one of his own. “Merry Christmas.”
The end.
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