Part Two ~ Orlando's POV
by Ariel Tachna

The morning after the night before...

Orlando woke with a moan, screwing his eyes shut against the light streaming in the window. He'd had way too much to drink last night if the state of his head was any indication. Muffling a sigh, he slid his hand down his body to take care of his morning hard-on, only to find himself soft. What the hell? he thought before memories came rushing back to him. Memories of coming home with Viggo, of Viggo undressing him and tucking him in bed, of waking up next to Viggo during the night. The warmth of the beloved body was more than he could stand. He'd shed his boxers and taken himself in hand, imagining Viggo's hand instead, as he always did, except that this time, Viggo was lying next to him, the Ranger's scent surrounding him.

"Fuck, Orlando, are you wanking?" Viggo had demanded, waking up. Too aroused and too drunk to care, Orlando had continued, replying honestly. "Oh, fuck yeah… and it feels bloody marvelous. Wanna help?" Those words had escaped before he could stop them, but he wasn't about to call them back, not after months of dreaming. He pulled his legs up and open, one hand sliding between them to palm his bollocks before moving lower to play with the puckered entrance while the other formed a tight canal for him to thrust into.

"Didn't anyone ever teach you proper wanking etiquette? You just don't do this. I'm lying right beside you, talking to you, for fuck's sake," Viggo had said, his husky voice doing unspeakable things to Orlando's body.

"Oh God, Viggo," he gasped. "Why do you think I'm wanking? Fuck, talk to me. I don't care if you recite script changes. I'm so close and your voice…" Viggo's voice was Orlando's secret fantasy. He kept a copy of Recent Forgeries in his CD player so he could listen to it at night as he jacked off. Even when he was too tired to wank, he still played it, letting the sound of his obsession's voice ease the tension of the day and lull him to sleep.

He hadn't really expected Viggo to accept the invitation. If anything, he expected Viggo to tell him to sod off. What he got was an incomprehensible mixture of languages that sent him right over the edge. He came hard, screaming Viggo's name. He was drifting back off to sleep when he heard Viggo mutter, "Fuck, now what?"

"Now we quit ignoring what's between us," Orlando replied, though he knew he was too tired and strung out to have that conversation. Instead, he'd curled up against Viggo and fallen back asleep.

He'd curled up against Viggo and fallen back asleep. But Viggo wasn't here now, which meant he was somewhere in the house, brooding over what had happened last night. "Shit," he muttered, dragging his eyes open, squinting balefully at the over-bright sunshine. Scanning the room, he found the jeans he'd been wearing last night. He pulled them on and stumbled toward the kitchen, in search of Viggo and caffeine, not necessarily in that order.

He found the coffeemaker on and hot, so Viggo hadn't been gone for long, but there was no sign of the missing artist. Rubbing his hands over his face, Orlando sighed. He refused to let Viggo run from this any longer, not when the Ranger clearly felt something in return. He wouldn't have whispered so passionately last night if he didn't.

"Viggo!" he shouted finally. "Quit hiding and come talk to me!"

Read Part Three of The Wank written by Ariel Tachna