Title: “Virginal” – Part 2 Author: WillowRiver Email: willowbythepool [at] gmail.com Feedback: Yes, please! :D Pairings: Orlando/Sean Bean/Viggo Rating: This particular chapter is no more than a PG-13 Summary: Still in shock after the perfect-date-turned-nightmare, Orlando begins to disintegrate, falling victim to his own dark thoughts. Part of him wants to tell what happened and be comforted… and another part of him wants to wallow in silence and misery. Which will prevail? Warnings: Angsty… if that even requires a warning ^_^ There was absolute silence in the apartment, the sort of silence that can only be found at 3:07 in the morning. The stillness was so profound that Orlando could hear the clock ticking out in the hallway, the nearly imperceptible sound of the bubbles bursting in the bath, and the beating of his own heart. Orlando sighed. He was too spent, too numb, too *everything* to manage any more tears. The hot bath water had eased away the worst of the physical pain for now, but it caused the scratches that crisscrossed over his torso to become even redder so that they screamed their existence. “Look at us,” they said. “Look at what we represent. You can still feel it, can't you? You can feel his nails raking over your body. No... not YOUR body. Your body belongs to HIM now. He took you for his own. You were too stupid to see it coming and too weak to stop it when it did come.” That brought the tears again. Stifling a whimper even though there was no one there to hear it, Orlando sank deeper into the water and gathered the surviving bubbles over his body in an attempt to obscure the marks on his skin. “We're still here,” the scratches and budding bruises said to him. “And we'll still be here on Monday when you go back to work. Everyone will see. Everyone will see and everyone will KNOW.” "No," Orlando sobbed, defeated. He raised his pruned hands from the water and pressed them to his face, ignoring the sting of the soap that found its way into his eyes. How could this have happened? What did I do wrong? Before he could follow that painful trail of thought, Orlando heard what sounded like a car door slamming shut. His heart skipped a beat. Had he remembered to lock the door after Sean left? What if he was coming back? Alarmed, he climbed out of the tub and groped for the towel he had folded and lain atop the toilet seat. "Shit!" was all he could manage as his foot slid out from under him on the wet tile. He wanted to cry again at the bone-jarring thud, but more important was for him to get to the door before Sean made it up the steps. Orlando scrambled to his feet, not even bothering to wrap the towel around his face. He just needed to get to the door. He could see before he'd gotten halfway across the living room that the door was unlocked. Shit! To his horror, the knob began to turn. In a panic, he slammed himself against the door just as it had begun to open. "Go away!" he shouted, hoping that he sounded more threatening than afraid. The voice that came from the opposite side of the door was a familiar one... but it wasn't Sean's. "Orli?" The American accent belonged to Elijah. "Hey, it's just us." Simultaneously relieved and embarrassed, Orlando closed his eyes and rested his brow against the chilly door. He could hear his three roommates talking together in indecipherable voices. The scratches. Orlando glanced down at the scratches on his chest; he didn't even want to know the condition of his back and neck. Not to mention he was naked. "Shit, um, hold on." He left the chain on the door while he rain to his bedroom, grabbed his egg- plant colored robe, and wrapped it around his shivering frame. At last he unlocked the door and pulled it open. "What took so long?" Elijah asked, his twinkling blue eyes assuring Orlando that he was teasing. Billy, Dominic, and, to Orlando's surprise, Sir Ian followed Elijah into the flat. Orlando closed the door after them. "I was taking a bath," he replied hastily, pulling up the collar of his robe to hide any bite marks that he was sure *had* to be there. Billy flashed a grin at him. "Okay, then explain that 'go away' to us. Don't ye love us anymore?" ”Tell them!” a part of Orlando said, but another part answered, “How can I tell them? They adore Sean... like I once did...” "I... I wasn't expecting you blokes back tonight. I guess I was just a little paranoid." "I told the Hobbits they were more than welcome to sleep at my place," Sir Ian began as he looked around the living room. He was too polite to say anything, but Orlando had seen Ian's immaculate living quarters and could only guess at what was going through the older man's head as he took in their low-brow bachelor pad; "but they insisted on not leaving you here alone. They've had some drinks, so I brought them home." He turned his gaze to Orlando, and Orlando was grateful for the dim lighting. "You don't mind bringing them by later to pick up their car from my place, do you?" Orlando shook his head. "No, no, of course not." The Hobbits were all over the place, peeling off jackets and kicking off shoes and raiding the refrigerator for snacks. "Why is it so dark in here?" Dom asked, coming back into the living room and reaching for the lamp. "I... I knocked over the lamp." He laughed nervously and ran a hand over his short mohawk. "I'm such a klutz." Sir Ian was observing them all with a look of amusement. Orlando finally remembered his manners. "Ah, I'm sorry--have a seat. Would you like something to drink?" Ian held up a hand. "No, thank you. I need to head back. Old men like me need our sleep," he added with a chuckle. Orlando suddenly felt annoyed at the Hobbits for keeping Ian up all night. "You're more than welcome to sleep here," he offered. "You can take my bed; I'll sleep on the couch." Normally Orlando would not have offered to give up his bed due to the havoc spending a night on the lumpy couch would cause his back, but he felt a desperate need for Sir Ian's comforting presence. "You'll do no such thing," Ian replied, making his way to the door. "But it is sweet of you to offer." He leaned forward and kissed Orlando's cheek; it was all the younger man could do not to flinch away. Sir Ian seemed to have noticed something odd in Orlando's behavior, for he stopped in the frame of the door and studied him so intently that Orlando wanted him to leave as much as he wanted him to stay. Elijah bounced up from the kitchen and wrapped an arm around Orlando. "Thanks for a great night, Ian!" "Good night!" the other two called. Sir Ian's gaze lingered on Orlando for just a moment longer, then softened into a smile as he bade them all good night. "So," Elijah pried, poking Orlando in the ribs in a manner that was more than a little bit annoying at 3:30 in the morning, "how'd the date go?" Orlando squirmed out of Elijah's one-armed embrace, wanting anything but to be touched at the moment. "It was fine," he answered noncommittally. Anger began to roil within him. "Oh, that's no good," Billy chimed in. "Come on. Details!" "There's nothing to tell." Orlando glanced at the sofa. He had removed the covers of the throw pillows and thrown them in the wash along with his clothes--his clothes smelled like *Sean*--and turned the bloodied cushions over. Other than the missing throw-pillow covers, nothing seemed out of place. He stared, hard and unblinking, at the back of the couch where Sean had bent him over and... and... ...and raped him. His breath caught in his throat. Had it really happened? Of course it had. The pain of his torn flesh told him that it had been no nightmare. With a start, Orlando suddenly realized that there were three sets of eyes watching him, waiting for him to tell the raunchy details of his date. He resented them for that. "I'm going to bed," he snapped, then stalked off to his room, locking the door behind him.