Title: At Fang's Point (parts 1-4)
Author: sandyg
Type: RPS
Pairing: Orlando/Viggo. The POV switches between 1st person Viggo and
Orlando. Little experiment for me. More main characters will be introduced:
Elijah Wood, Johnny Depp, Eric Bana, Rutger Hauer, Sean Bean; so forth and
so on. Lots of little guest roles too.
Rating: PG-13 for now
Warning: There's going to be consensual incest between cousins.
Disclaimer: I know nothing. It's all pretty lies.
A/N: After months this is finally finished. Boy, am I happy! And I narrowed
the age difference between Orlando and Viggo to only 12 years. I needed
that little AU touch.
Summary: Tale is set in 1899 Victorian London. The normally traditional
Viggo's obsessive love drives him to find his long-lost young lover. Little
does he know what's in store for him.

*******

CHAPTER 1: Fog and Despair
VIGGO

The pub's walls oozed pale moisture from the ghostly, wound-like cracks
scattered across its ancient facade. A few shuffling gray forms lurked
outside, their low mocking comments striking me as I slowly opened the
filthy door. Yes, on this bitterly damp night I tried one last time, making
one last attempt to see if this unfamiliar world's cruel dredges offered me
any hope. I punished myself until the foggy air I breathed accused me in
mockingly acidic tones. I didn't know if my search provided reassurance or
hope... at times I wondered why I still obsessively picked through London's
spectacular squalor. I fought against those dark times and pushed on,
constantly searching for...a dream? A bitter memory? A specter?

Upon entering this decrepit tomb I cautiously glanced at the burly,
black-haired barkeep. This would prove another useless mission yet I
promised myself once back at the hotel I'd receive a generous reward: a
large brandy or two... or three...

The swarthy young barkeep presented me the classically sullen stare. An
impressive mental collection of such abrasive stares already existed deep
in my soul. His ugly look made a fine addition to the rancid pile. Other
inhabitants glanced my way, stared blankly then returned to their
respective poisons.

In my haste I ignored the required small talk. My exhaustion defeated the
trivial effort. "Have you seen this man?" As I spoke I offered the barkeep
my sacred talisman, a tattered photo taken in a saner life. "He was sighted
in this area some time ago."
While the ruffian peered at the photo a despairing sigh invaded my mind.
This morose hole echoed every other filthy pub in this exquisitely decayed
area, built on hopelessness, spilled drink and certain death. I didn't
belong here.

Neither did my lovely Orlando.

The swarthy man scratched his flaking chin. In another world he might have
been almost handsome, yet here he merely blended into the suffocating rot.
"I don't rightly know, sir, we get many a lost soul in `ere, if ye know
what I mean...."

There it was, the same leering, subservient grin laced with supreme
contempt. His narrowed eyes examined my expensive garb; I swore I heard him
calculating how much my suit would fetch in the rag market. I wondered what
price my fresh corpse would fetch at a medical school? Damn, before
continuing my mission I must visit a street market and purchase worn
clothing. Time to stop making myself a fool in my eagerness to begin my
search, not thinking ahead to the dire consequences. I looked rich and
hence I must be hated. A simple, dreadful truth which I completely
understood.

Enough. In answer to my new tormentor's dismissive grin my forbidding stare
sharpened. Years of dealing with servants crafted my regal stare. If need
be I humbled people with it. My stare is nothing I admire myself for; it's
a completely inbred trait, much like insanity.
In response to my sudden harsh stare the cretin whined and abruptly dropped
his defiant glare to the filth-encrusted bartop. "Well, like I said, ye
know so many come in `ere not wantin' to be seen...'e might `ave been in
`ere but, well."

Ah, now comes the subtle bargaining. I understood this part all too well.
"Maybe this will help you remember," I breathed coldly. A few coins
clattered against the bartop's stained wood. How many times had I resorted
to bribery over these past years? Ahh, what did it matter? I possessed
enough funding to waste on this possibly useless pursuit.

The coins barely hit the scarred wood before the barkeep claimed them. I
briefly wondered how many pockets had given up their meager wealth to those
quick young claws. This time a fawning smile graced my bought friend's
coarse lips. His fingers tugged at the photo's fraying edges. I released
the image with reluctant slowness, allowing the man to bring the beloved
face up to his bleary eyes. Earnest squinting occupied seconds until the
filthy hand delivered the flattened memory back into my conspicuously clean
grip. That's something else I must remember; make my smooth, upper class
banker's hands as foul as possible.

"No sir, I never seen `im. Although he looks a little bit like ye. Yer both
`ave `igh cheekbones."

I bit back bitter words before they filled the stifling air. How clever the
barkeep was to notice such an minor detail! I murdered my frustration and
managed a calm reply. "Yes, he's my cousin... Orlando Bloom. He's been
missing for a few years but now he's been seen in London. I'll check back
later. If you see him I'm sure you'll remember his face. He's, well,
noticeable. Oh, and there's a extra reward for finding out where he lives."

What might pass for an intelligent expression sharpened the man's grimy
countenance. "Well then, my fine sir, I'll keep me eyes peeled as
potatoes!"

"I'm sure you will." As peeled as that rotted potato you call your brain
cruelly tripped through my bitter mind. Some strange part in me, the part
that found anthropology fascinating in college, now wanted to ask how could
human beings could sink so low? This decrepit creature contained my same
basic genetic make-up but what went so miserably wrong? This cloying area
contained similar dismal creatures and I couldn't accept them as my human
kin. The rich banker within me screamed get the hell of here before someone
killed me due to my well-bred looks. Yes, I recently read the Dutch
reporter Jacob Riis' book on New York city slums, and read Thomas Henry
Huxley's words on these very London slums but the words never prepared me
for the appalling reality. Never. Words could never truly expose humanity's
desperate rot.

Of course when in New York City I avoided these dangerous areas. Instead I
contributed to the proper social charities. Here I had no choice. My London
search drove me straight into the teeming filth. Ha, once I thought myself
open-minded but lately my travels proved me quite wrong. I hated, God, I
totally detested the ignorance. I hated these miserable people with an
instinctive ease, yes, I loathed everything they represented. No wonder
they hated me with equal ease. In their needy eyes I was a repulsive,
wealthy monster. Were they wrong to hate me? Of course not.

Darkness' advent inflated escaping to my civilized hotel. Quick steps
across filthy cobbles strewn with unimaginable rotted scraps carried me to
the more civilized street where my carriage and hired driver anxiously
awaited my return. "Mr. Mortensen, at last! I was worried about ye, sir!
`Tis almost dark and no one of good breeding should be around this area
after dark. It's bad enough you're here in the light," scolded Ian, my
elderly coachman.

"I lost track, Ian... I lost track of the time," I murmured. Damn, if only
I could loose track of everything.

Once I rested safely against the cushioned seat a frustrated sigh tore
free. "Four years, damn you, four years of chasing! Where the hell are
you?" I whispered to the dark night, my eyes morosely gazing at the
desperate scenery crawling past the carriage's narrow windows. "Where the
hell are you?"

The stately old hotel's appearance jarred me from my despondent reverie.
The servile bell cap and staff proved as annoying as the crooked young
barkeep for the opposite reason. Since I wanted refuge in my expensive room
I rebuffed the bell captain's bowing overtures with a rudeness that would
normally appall my over-bred senses. No, fine breeding didn't enter this
grim picture.

Wait. A grimace twisted my lips. Before I mounted the stairs I realized I
needed their fawning services. After offering the bell captain a tight
smile I requested a simple meal be brought to my room as soon as possible.
He bowed in his overwhelming gratitude to serve their wealthy American
guest, yes sir, thank you sir. Yes, their rich guest wanted solid British
food in his uneasy stomach before he succumbed to his dreamy brandy.

Once secured behind the ornate oak door I stretched out with my promised
massive brandy. I offered my glass a flawed grin and downed a healthy gulp,
welcoming the liquid's stinging song. Over the past few months its
seductive song had become much too welcome. After another sip I mockingly
saluted the beautiful, dark-maned vision taunting my soul. "Perhaps if I
drink enough I'll see you again, eh?" I breathed. Brandy number two danced
its way into my glass with alarming ease.

After brandy number two I paced back and forth across the suite, an
activity that helped my tortured mind review the past week's fruitlessness.
The mere thought of returning into the Whitechapel morass filled me with
dread, yet the grim task must be done. I knew Orlando hid there: I knew my
cousin lived somewhere in that teeming mass of decadence and poverty. What
truly bothered me was why did Orlando remain there? Why would Orlando, a
gently-bred, spoiled heir, hide in London's dangerous slums? Of course
Orlando had lived with my Aunt Ada and Uncle Emerson in London until he was
six but still, my Uncle Emerson's post as head archeologist for the British
Museum let them live in wealth. Once he moved in with my family after his
parent's tragic death Orlando grew up in supreme luxury. He adored being a
rich boy. I of all people knew my lover was a sensual, coddled, naturally
regal brat.

More importantly, why would my Orlando hide from me? What truly happened to
my beloved cousin? We loved each other... at least I still hoped that to be
true. Yet I felt it, yes, I still felt my wild Orlando's enduring love. I
didn't understand how I felt the gentle emotion but I did.

These questions burned through my mind as effortlessly as the brandy burned
down my throat. After the letters ceased coming from Turkey the first two
years consisted of searching and listening to the endless reports of
private detectives as they combed Turkey for any small clue. God, why
hadn't I gone there and hauled Orlando back home while I had the chance?
You knew the answer, you cruel idiot; you still blamed Orlando for so much.

Now I also blamed myself for being a callous fool.

Bah. Yes, I waited until after Orlando vanished to foolishly visit Turkey.
When I arrogantly ignored the advice to stick to civilization during the
vicious Turkish night I was set upon by bandits on a remote country road.
That violent phase of my search landed me in British military hospital,
downed with a broken arm and a nearly shattered skull. Oh, how I hated that
brutal country for swallowing my dear lover and nearly taking my own life.

After Orlando accessed our one secret joint bank account I knew he sent me
a signal and I finally traced him to Paris. Now these last two years of
nothing but scattered "perhaps" and vague sightings tossed my last hopes
into despair's cruel maw. This time Orlando had been sighted in London,
sighted where the Ripper performed his ghastly work only a few years ago. I
traveled to see for myself, trusting London a little more than Turkey. Not
much more, but at least I spoke the language in those slum pubs.

I should expect this bitter treatment from Orlando, the selfish brat. What
more should I expect from the adventuresome witch who seduced me when he
was only 18 and I a ripe old 30? Now years later I scrambled on my damnable
chase around the world. I realized I slowly lost any stable perspective
about the chase since my intense loss and love drove me on. Yes, my love
and loss combined with the guilty memory of our last night, after... damn,
no, Viggo, there's no time to remember such sad details now.

I contemplated the caressing brandy once more. Just another two glasses
would surely produce the desired effects: a blessed numbness that became
more and more necessary for sleep. Nothing else made sense so why not give
in to my illogical need? I possessed few vices; in my mind a wicked temper
and an increasing dependence on brandy headed the list. I am sure others
regarded being in love with my male cousin as a shade more serious vice.
Instead I accepted my consuming love. A subtle kink in my well-bred world
allowed such a forbidden love to exist.

A drunken snicker parted my slack lips. Hell, it's not as if I turned into
my drunken Father. No, dear Father wouldn't look for his shoes let alone
search for a disgraced cousin for four years but when in a foul mood my
aging Father would drink enough brandy to paralyze an elephant. I am sure
his mood proved fouler these days, it fueled by my lengthy absence. Yes, if
I kept this search up for too much longer Father would order me back to New
York, he demanding my return to my tedious vice-president's position at the
family banking empire. Only my dear Mother kept furious Father from
disowning me. Poor Mother; I think she sensed something between Orlando and
myself that she couldn't comprehend due to her gentle breeding but in her
heart she knew I must be left alone to search. She knew. The rest of the
family thought I was mad... if they only knew the real truth. If they only
knew why I searched for the man who instilled a lustful disease into my
heart and soul. I know Father suspected my relationship with Orlando but he
would never admit the stark truth. Never. Ha, admit his stable eldest son
loved another man let alone his own young, renegade cousin? No, he'd rather
kill me. Poor strict Father would prefer that had I died back that British
military hospital.

Damn, a new tension headache sought admittance into my crowded head. These
moments occurred frequently after that damaging blow against my skull's
base.

A subtle knock sounded on the door, jarring me from my tangled thoughts. I
admitted the discreet waiter into my room. He served my food and after
eating mechanically I grasped the brandy decanter and headed for the
luxurious bedroom and blessed oblivion.
Trouble was I never dreamed anymore. Being parted from my Orlando had
killed my dreams.

---
CHAPTER 2: Miranda is Always Open for Business

VIGGO

"Mr. Mortensen, I may be out of line, but where you're asking to go is
about as dangerous as it gets, begging your pardon, sir." Ian gazed at me
with an expression reflecting my own dread. Upon reading my sad eyes Ian's
face softened before he shook his thick white hair. "I just wanted you to
know that, sir, because I'm right worried about you. In my humble opinion
you are taking too many chances here, young sir."

"I appreciate the worry, Ian, but I am performing my search in a methodical
fashion and I must search this district next. Unfortunately I must do the
footwork; I don't trust anyone else to be as meticulous. Yet see? Today I
dressed properly for the role." I lifted my arms, displaying the tattered
black suit I had created just this morning. Since the idea of haunting one
of the disgusting London markets didn't appeal to me I merely took my older
black suit, rubbed dirt into the fabric and attacked it with my razor. The
destruction felt quite therapeutic. Ha, when I left the hotel my worn garb
gained me many a puzzled look. "Believe me, Ian, I must search alone."

Loyal Ian stared at me, a mix of pity and anxiety staining his confused
blue eyes. He was used to dealing with arrogant nobles looking for sport in
the decayed streets but I suppose this one strange American haunting the
slums for another reason puzzled him in a different manner. "Very well, my
young sir, but please be ever so careful, if you don't mind me saying so."

I nodded and found a grim smile for him. The poor man had put up with me
for the past months so I valued him. Yes, when my search ended I planned on
making Ian wealthy enough to retire. "Ian, my loyal companion, I appreciate
your true concern but I must search alone. Indulge me." As I spoke I swung
my body into the carriage's cushioned grasp.

The careful descent into the disreputable district where hovels represented
homes filled my soul with fresh despair. The Shoreditch area lived up to
its reputation as the Calcutta of England, the horrible streets teeming
with the desperate poor and the forgotten. A doctor could fill multiple
hospitals with the sick people I saw during our drive. When the congestion
on the narrow, cobbled streets worsened to a dead stop Ian deposited me at
a filthy corner. I told him to leave. Of course the loyal fellow argued
with me but I assured Ian I could walk over to the City of London walls
after this stop. I told Ian to pick me up before the forbidding Tower of
London in an hour. I didn't think I could stand this area for longer, plus
I certainly didn't want the fine old gent's life on my hands by making him
wait for me here. After Ian finally relented he moved the carriage away as
swiftly as he could through the bleak humanity.

The fetid swarm depressed me. I noticed a few people glanced my way so I
forced my refined face to reflect the painful area's atmosphere. I kept my
light gaze fixed against the filthy cobbles but my senses remained
screamingly alert. Yes, ha, getting knifed in the back might slow my
search.

Near Boundary Street I entered another crowded, gray-hued pub, the
disgusting space packed with the lost at midday. Once through the door I
pushed past filthy bodies and arrived at another darkly scarred bar. I
swore a gruesome factory churned out these crude bars complete with the
already decayed appearance. The sour air's stench filled my constricted
throat with a silent gag.

I controlled the ill-timed gag. My very life depended on my self control.
"Mate! Excuse me... `ere, mate, I need to talk to ye," I called in a
horribly faked accent. Ha, I sounded appallingly stupid.

The massive barkeep threw me a suspicious glare before he moved away from
chatting with his cronies. My new collection benefited from his hard, nasty
look. Familiar bile rose in my throat. Since his slow, lumbering approach
peaked my anger I tried controlling my natural repulsion. When the wretch
stared at me I kept my cultured voice low, desperately trying to maintain a
lower class accent, yet I knew by how he looked at me I failed miserably at
my task. "I'm lookin' for this `ere man... `ave you seen `im recently?"

The huge barkeep continued staring at me, his piggish eyes granting me no
quarter. His small, brown eyes developed a look he must practice on
feeble-minded dolts. "And what if I `ave? What's it ta ye?"

You annoying pig! "Please, mate, `ave you seen `im?" My despairing mask
slipped through my facade. In this dangerous area it wasn't smart to appear
too eager. It also wasn't a smart idea to make enemies. Hell, it wasn't
smart to draw breath here but so be it.

The large man coughed, his chest heaving in effort. The physical act moved
something evil in his thick throat. I instinctively recoiled and quickly
hoped the foul mucus stayed within his hulking anatomy. "Mmm, I may `ave
seen `im," he admitted.

Yes, fine, here we go again. I pulled out a small fortune in coin and
carefully tucked the metal discs into the man's half-torn pocket. My
fingertips crawled in dread. I dropped the fake accent and lied about my
finances. I had more but by now I knew how to barter. "Please... that's all
I have left. This man is my cousin. He's been missing for years and I have
been searching for ever so long. Can you tell me anything useful?"

Luckily my generous financial oiling loosened both the barkeep's tongue and
his noxious flem. After elaborately spitting on the crusty floor he leaned
towards me. Hell, his callous stare raked over every pore. Oh yes, he knew
how much I detested him. He felt my hate drifting from my pores and he
returned the foul emotion in full force.

Too bad. The murderous feeling welling within me escalated. I defiantly met
his mocking stare until he grinned and leaned away from me to spit with
full vigor. Bastard.

Another unhealthy greenish gob hit the floor before he muttered in mocking
tones. "Mmm, yeah, it was a while ago... `e came in `ere and just sat.
Didn't order anythin', didn't say anythin'. `e went and sat in that there
corner and stared at everyone. Seemed to be sizin' everyone up, `e did.
Just stared and stared. `e gave a few of the workin' girls the jitters...
there was somethin' not right about `im, even though he looked to be a
ladies man wid `is `andsome face and pretty long `air. But too pale, `e
was, too odd. `e looked weird, and I don't like strangers in me bar, so I
finally told `im to piss off and stop botherin' me payin' customers.

"Then `e stared at me like I was so much dirt and told me `e was doin' no
harm... I remember `im because he owned a real la-di-da voice: `is voice
didn't match `is clothin'. `e dressed like a beggar but sounded like some
toff... like ye do, mate, only at least `is British accent wasn't faked,"
he added softly, his cold eyes nailing me with pure contempt. "I told `im
to get the `ell out and when `e ignored me I grabbed `is arm. `e shook me
off like I were a wee brat. Liked to send me into the wall, `e did. Then `e
just stared at me real cold like, got up, and walked out of here right
regal as ye please. I thought about chasin' `im and setting `im straight
but like I said, there was somethin' wrong with `im."

My heart tripped in excitement. "My God... how long ago?" My urgency flew
out of control. I didn't care what the sullen barkeep though of me; this
man had seen my dear Orlando. "How long?"

My informant shrugged. As he thought his fat, filthy finger toyed with a
knothole. "Maybe a month er two... twas late at night, that I do remember.
Late, and we was real busy. That's why I didn't like `im sittin' there
scarin' customers off wid `is queer manner. I never saw `is pale, pinched
face again, and I'm fookin' damned glad of it," he sneered before spitting
onto the filthy floor with complete disgust.

My anger flared into my brain. Damn, this man spat at my precious Orlando.
Come now, Viggo, have control, oh sweet control. You needed this wretch's
help.

My breath caught. Sighing I desperately shook my head before attempting
words. "Perhaps two months. if you see him again... oh, you won't. He won't
return here. I thank you."

I didn't have to pretend re-adopting my despairing mask. The expression
slammed over my aristocratic features with alarming force. Turning blindly
I pushed my way out, my soul somehow ignoring the low taunts following me.
As I heaved in a great gasp I leaned against the outer crumbling wall and
shut my eyes in fury, yes, raw fury against that filthy scum, against
Orlando, and against myself for my own self-torture.

"`'Ere, mate!" A woman's shrill voice pierced my fierce agony. I recognized
her from the bar; she obviously looked for afternoon trade. Her pale, taut
fingers grabbed my ragged suit coat and tugged. "Mate, I `eard some of yer
story in there... let me see ta piccie," she urged.

I intently stared at her filthy yet pretty face. The woman looked to be in
earnest so I produced my lone talisman. The whore instantly greeted
Orlando's flattened photographed features with a violent hiss. "That's ta
one, that filthy fookin' bastard!"

My mind reeled at her angry words. Now what? "What! What did he do?"

As she wrinkled her tiny nose in revulsion she managed to almost drape
herself over my shoulder. "I... well, luv, I only `eard the tale, but I saw
`im in there: `e went off with Cate, who stopped `im just as `e left...
silly Cate told me she thought `e were ever so `andsome but I thought `e
seemed too strange, looker or not. Not all there... I told Cate not to go
wid `im but she did. I don't see `er for the next two nights and when I do
Cate's all sick like... pale and droopy." The woman angrily poked her
finger into my innocent chest. "Cate claims `e did it to `er... she felt
fine but just before they reached `er room `e started tryin' to snog `er
and `e bit `er... ye could still see the right nasty marks on `er poor
neck. All black and blue they was, wid little red `oles... I thought if `e
bit `er, then `e probably gave `er whatever `e `ad, the fookin' bastard,"
she hissed, she spitting for added emphasis.

At this bar spitting seemed the proper dramatic action for showing real
contempt. I ignored the doxy's insulting action; I had enough trouble
understanding her appalling accent plus her less than fresh scent nearly
made me gag. My anxious stare held her curious gaze. "But that was months
ago? A few months?"

The whore offered me a vigorous denial. The act dislodged her frayed
bonnet. As she jammed the ancient concoction back on her tangled blonde
hair she frowned in memory. "Faugh, luv, nawww, only like a month ago if
that... I've not seen `im since but if I did I certainly wouldn't go near
`im, the bloody loony. Imagine bitin' a poor workin' girl like that... `e
didn't even pay `er, the filthy swine! Makes `er right sick and then runs
off on `er. The nerve of `im!" she snapped with great indignation.

Controlling my fury I stared at the whore's thin face then I confusedly
shook my head. What did this madness mean? "Something is wrong with Orlando
then... I knew it," I whispered desperately. "I knew it!"

I swiftly pushed my remaining coins into the woman's small right hand then
I slid my private detective's card into her left fingers. "Here... if you
see him, send word to this man."

At seeing the financial bounty my confidant's light blue eyes widened but
when she saw the office's name they instantly grew cautious. How amazing,
the filthy doxy could actually read. "Ohh, right, like I'll go prancin'
into this office and tell `em. Ooowweee." Another glutinous spat followed.
Charming.

"Please! Information is important to me; look, if you're frightened of him
don't talk to my cousin Orlando. But let me know, please, if you or any of
your, ahh, friends see him. There's a generous reward for any solid news."
My sad desperation burned all too real and I didn't care if this voracious
woman saw it or not.

"Aw right... say, mate, in your own manly way ye're as `andsome as `e was
but ye seem normal. Are ye busy now? I `ave plenty `o time." As she
released a suggestive purr the doxy pushed her thin body against me in a
lewd manner. Her expert fingers slid down my stomach and fondled my
cringing cock.

Dear God no. I reeled from her foul whisky breath, attempting to keep calm
and not shove her away. Once my Orlando had taken me to sublime heaven so I
could hardly accept this woman's filthy hell. "I have no time now...
please, I must keep looking for my cousin. But I thank you. You have been
so very helpful and kind."

A lewd wink added the subtle promise of decayed sex to her words. "Well, if
ye change yer mind, my `andsome dollie, I'll be `ere. Ask fer Miranda O.
The `O' stands fer open fer business." Her fingers casually assessed my
cock. "Mmm, luv, ye are a right nice `andful. I'd `ave fun wid ye. Are ye
sure? On the `ouse. I dawn't get the chance to do such `andsome gentleman."

After she giggled Miranda's thin lips first kissed my tense cheek then she
licked my lower lip. As our flesh made contact I panicked and frantically
wondered what common diseases Miss Miranda carried in her blood. Calm,
Viggo, remain calm. My body rested against the wall then I held my hands up
in supplication. "No, really, I appreciate the offer but.
farewell, Miranda." Roll to the side, yes, once free I hastened away from
her grasp, wildly pushing past the living dead who crowded around me. God,
I prayed she didn't come after me with a knife.

As I pushed along my mind finally forgot Miranda and pulsed with one
blazing thought: Orlando had been seen here a month ago! Orlando lurked
close, yes, he seemed closer than ever before. I felt him. My logical
nature scoffed my feeling off as my fevered imagination, yet something
inside my soul knew this dark, decaying street offered me ultimate answers.

Only what did the two stories mean? What could be wrong with my Orlando?
The physical strength bothered me. Orlando was a slender creature, he
blessed with gifted artist's hands. Those lovely hands were hardly capable
of pushing a burly barkeep against the wall. Wait, and pale; Orlando wasn't
pale, no, his glorious flesh shone with a dark golden glint. The savage
bites on the neck defied my reason; my impulsive Orlando ran wild, yes, he
gave into his passions, but he'd never deliberately harm anyone. Especially
not a woman. That aspect made no sense at all. Why would Orlando seek out a
female whore? His sexual tastes ran quite the opposite. I could vouch for
that since I was the only person Orlando usually harmed through his heroic
thoughtlessness.

Ahh, neither strange tale made sense. My broken thoughts crowded my brain
so fiercely that another dizzying migraine impended. Above my mind's din
one thought screamed as of a month ago my precious Orlando walked these
very streets. The knowledge was more than all the years of search ever
gained me. Yet part of me thought this latest hope could be false. How
could Orlando hurt a woman? How? Why?

No. Stop. I chose to ignore my own rioting thoughts. I had to lest I went
mad.

Ian picked me up before the imposing Tower, he escorting me back into to
town where I grimly searched a few more reputable pubs along the strip.
More fruitless results. As darkness fell I raced back to the carriage,
frustrated and bitter beyond anything I thought possible. "So close... damn
your selfish soul," I half snarled, allowing myself to be drawn back into
London's more welcoming environs. God, if and when I found my lover I'd be
hard put not to strangle him.

Wrong, how very wrong.

Yet I couldn't help my rage. Not after all these years of torment.

I deserved to be angry.

After another bland British meal and too much brandy I set about trying to
imagine my lover again. Ahh, yes, tonight something called to me. My
fingers unzipped my trousers and shoved the annoying material from my
rolling hips. My thick cock stirred against the free air. No, those weren't
my fingers stroking my cock. Those fingers belonged to my dream, my long
lost demon love. Yes, only Orlando stroked my cock so skillfully. Only his
moist lips knew where to nip, suck and nuzzle until I vocalized in rapture.

Why wouldn't he return to me?

Stop asking and accept the fantasy. Yes, Orlando's long fingers stroked
your heavy balls. His talented lips kissed your eager cock. As usual the
sweet demon made you gasp in pure delight.

Orlando always made me come. He always completed me.

My flexing fingers rapidly coaxed my cock into completion then I stared at
nothing but cherished memories.

My torment had reached its limit.

Now what would I do?

---
CHAPTER 3: Love Never Dies

VIGGO

"Mr. Mortensen? I need to talk to you." An annoying knock at my door pulled
me from a deep, drunken slumber. Hacking out a disoriented cough I rose
from the couch, sickened to see I had drunk myself to sleep right in my
suite's grand sitting room. And, oh hell, why was my naked cock coated
with. ahh, yes, how fine, before I passed out last night I pleasured myself
with pretty fantasies. Disgusting. Damn it, I was falling apart.

As my brain tried remembering my place in society I raked horribly shaky
fingers through my tangled, dark blond hair. When I finally spoke I felt
dismay at how thin my normally husky voice sounded. "Yes, hold on a
minute!" Too bad, my urgent morning piss came first. After I finished my
watering I tucked my now limp cock back into its proper place inside my
trousers and tried not looking as hungover as I felt. Useless effort. My
eyes narrowed in sick loathing. Good morning, self-hatred. Glad to see you
still sat on my right shoulder.

Once I yanked open the suite's carved door my vicious glare attacked the
tall, willowy dark-haired man until sudden recognition sank in. Weaving. Oh
my God, there stood Hugo Weaving, my well-paid and highly astute detective
who kept watch in case information drifted my way.

I gasped in awe; we'd only met a handful of times and he'd never come here
before. "It's you... Detective Weaving! You heard something!"

Mr. Weaving vigorously nodded at me. I stood back and allowed him entrance.
My bloodshot eyes anxiously studied Weaving's thin face. Hmm, his own
narrowed eyes regarded me with a hint of cold contempt then he remembered
his place in my world and adopted a blank stare. I felt no annoyance since
I knew I looked every inch the decadent moneyed toff, staggering about
displaying a wretched hangover. I felt completely foul. If Weaving knew
what else I had done last night he might think even less of me. Then again
these pale, aesthetic types could be deceiving. Hell, for all I knew
Weaving might pirouette naked around his flat while singing "La BohŠme."
The thought made my lips twitch.

As if sensing my change in mood Weaving darted me another tight stare. I
composed my emotions and politely gestured toward the unslept-upon arm
chair.

Once seated my esteemed contact's face adopted a grim expression. Ha,
Weaving held a true knack for looking dour and dismal. I swore he practiced
his dramatic look. No wonder I associated him with opera. After I slouched
down on the couch I awaited his opening aria. "Mr. Mortensen, you told me
to come right over if anyone came by so here I am. Sorry if I disturbed
your rest." His light eyes flicked across my face again. "This morning a
filthy urchin carrying a huge bucket of attitude marched into my office and
claimed he saw the man you sought. The nervy brat, who calls himself Billy
B., works in a flophouse and a woman there," as he paused to peer at his
notes, "Yes, a Miranda O., talked about the handsome American looking for
his dangerous, dark-haired cousin. As she spoke the wench drunkenly waved
around my business card and claimed you offered her a reward. Sprightly
Billy is intrepid; when Miranda passed out early this morning he snuck into
her crib and nicked the card. Since Billy can't read the stubborn lad asked
around until he found someone who would tell him where my office was
located. Naturally I felt suspicious so I asked the brat special questions.
Billy's definitely seen your cousin: he described Mr. Bloom without being
shown the photo. When I showed Billy the photo he swore on his mother's
grave, ha, if he knows who she is, that was the man he saw. Billy claimed
he saw Mr. Bloom from time to time only at night along a..." Mr. Weaving
halted again and peered at his notebook. "Grovers Alley. A bad piece of
street, if you can call the shambles a street. More like a hole. I checked
the area out before I came over, and it's ugly ruins. Boarded up houses,
yet that's what this lad claimed. The fetid creature stressed he'd never
seen the odd man in the day. It's almost a hobby with this Billy, trying to
spot the pale man who haunts the ruins. I gave the ornery imp part of the
reward you left because he started cursing and swearing he wouldn't leave
until I did; he actually threatened to claim I attacked him. Outrageous
creature. But still, sir, Billy saw this man only last week."

As my fierce headache abruptly worsened my agonized heart played along and
constricted in excitement. Damn, my desperate search might eventually cause
me physical collapse. "My God, oh my God, only last week? Weaving, how do I
find this road?"

"I can escort you, sir, I..."

I half shouted my protest. "No! I must go alone... just tell me how to get
there!"

Weaving looked astonished at my outrageous over reaction. As he stared at
me his thin, stern lips twitched in restrained annoyance. "Really now,
Mr. Mortensen, it's too dangerous! You don't know how bad London can be."

Damn this sanctimonious man! "Bah, Weaving, yes I do! I have been searching
London's stinking bowels for three months. Do you think I care about the
danger anymore? I must go there alone. I know I must or else my entire
search will be futile. Now please tell me or I will find someone who can!"

Poor Weaving offered me a long, puzzled stare before he adeptly sketched
the map in his book. When he handed the concise drawing to me I groaned in
aching dismay. Once again I'd enjoy Shoreditch's delightful charms; bah,
the grim news didn't surprise me at all. "Here, Mr. Mortensen, here it is;
I hope the information helps you. But for pity's sake please be careful. I
know you have been searching the slums but that doesn't make the potential
for doom any less faint. Trust me, this area is a true nadir."

I stared at the paper lifeline then my weary eyes traveled to Weaving's
steady gray stare. I owed this clever man so much. "Thank you: I... please,
Detective Weaving, you must excuse my rude outburst. I have been looking
for so long, for years, and the stress has taken a serious toll on my
nerves. I know Orlando will..., oh, I know I must be alone for my search."

Weaving inclined his head and woefully shrugged. "As you wish,
Mr. Mortensen. I can only pray for your safety and success." To my surprise
he gripped my arm and offered me a thin smile.

I blinked and awkwardly patted his pale hand. "I thank you, Detective.
Indeed I thank you for all your first-rate work." Ah, nice to know someone
worried about me. Yes, Hugo and Ian could form the "Worry About the Stupid,
Rich American" society.

Bah.

"Heavens Above, Mr. Mortensen, this place is."

My feet met the filthy cobbles. Once I steadied myself I held out my hand
to Ian in supreme pleading. Odd how I respected this old gent; he had acted
so good to me. "Ian, please give me five minutes. I must see this alley for
myself."

Poor Ian fingered his seldom-used whip and looked around in sick anxiety. I
didn't blame him for thinking someone might attack his spooked carriage
horse and slice the noble beast into horse steaks. Oh yes, little did Ian
know how rich he would be after dealing with me.

No. God no. Mute dread filled me. My pained eyes viewed the entrance to
Grover's Alley. My astute Weaving hadn't done the horror justice; the gross
alley looked more like a beast's dank mouth than like a road, it twisting
down into broken cobbles, revealing a grim wall at the throat's vile end.
The houses lining the narrow alley had once been serviceable homes: now
they only serviced the slinking rats. I had no idea what caused this area
to rot with such monumental verve. I only knew at this very second I hated
the alley with all my strong will.

Hesitant steps took me into the damp, boiling with decay air. Stunned
fascination filled my mind. My eyes studied the inky shadows playing along
the shattered facades. This area claimed no kinship with our stately New
York City home. It certainly couldn't claim any kinship with regal young
Orlando!

A soft curse finally escaped my tightened throat. "Damn no, Orlando, not
here. Not here!"
After skirting rotting refuse I tried peering into a twisted window frame.
The putrid atmosphere told me no one had occupied the house for years. Once
I crept down the short length I realized every house stood windowless. The
spectacle reminded me of more mouths, this time of vile, long dead infants
faintly crying into the blasted wilderness. My tormented mind hissed surely
hell could look no worse than this abysmal pit. Heaping trash sprouted
negative colors in a demented garden of the damned. Debris pushed against
the boarded doorways and whispered in the faint breeze. I swore something
spoke to me, yes, something I should never acknowledge.. My long-dead
artistic skills could capture this putrid scene until complete madness set
in. My talented Orlando could paint the view... if he truly haunted this
noxious display.

At the street's wretched bottom I paused and stared back up its blasted
tableau. My low voice startled me. "That Billy must be wrong... he must be
wrong. My fair Orlando would not live here. No!"

Choking back a frustrated sob I whirled back along the damaged cobbles. My
feet frantically sought the narrow opening. "He's wrong! He's wrong! Damn
the evil bastard," I cursed, fleeing to my carriage and refuge. The minute
I flung myself into the carriage's safety wise Ian raced us away.

I almost vomited on the seat.

God Above, I swore I felt something. I.

Madness.

ORLANDO

I looked up from my ancient Greek text and froze in complete attunement.
Impossible. Emotions long left for dead energized and sprung forward. My
eyes widened in amazement. My shaking hands almost ripped the thick,
leather-bound book right down the spine.

No!

But ahh yes, I felt him. By the Seven's Force, I felt... Viggo. Dear loyal
Viggo. My aching voice rose in a hoarse shout, the sound echoing through
the dusty corridors of my murky, underground burrow. "No! It...no! Sean!
Sean! Come now!" I felt my human student lurking nearby.

After a tense minute an agitated Sean blundered into my chamber, a
frightened look capturing his handsome face. "Dark one! What is it? I
wanted to tell you someone walked up and down the street like they searched
for something! I had just returned from the market when I saw a carriage
pull up at the alley's end. As I watched this man stared at each house
before hastening back up the street talking to himself. He looked most
upset."

My dismal heart knew who paced those foul cobbles. My heart, my soul, ahhh,
my tormented love knew. "Did you truly see his face? His wonderfully
handsome face? Did you see his burnished hair? Did you note he was similar
in height to me yet... human?"

"Yes, his hair was a dark golden blonde, my dark one, and he was your
height... he looked so upset... oh Hades, you felt him," gasped Sean.

"Yes, I felt him. I know who walked out there. Oh, I know." My entire body
screamed in painful sorrow. As I groaned in misery I clenched my eyes shut.
Viggo. Yes, mmm, I could almost taste his delicious flesh. My cock
tightened in agony. Just feeling Viggo's clean, proud humanity made me feel
so. dirty.

As I quivered in remorse Sean's long fingers comfortingly caressed my thin
shoulder. Sometimes I knew Sean touched me to soothe himself. I didn't
mind. I stared into the dank air and shuddered again. "Oh yes, after all
these years I can still feel my Viggo. I've caused him great pain... such
terrible pain! Yet he looks for me still. My poor Viggo, my dear cousin,
after all this time you've found me."

Silence collected in my make-shift study. My stunned eyes stared at
nothing. I remained in my abject position and forced dark sorrow against my
loyal Sean until he could no longer bear my anguish. I felt his fingers
flutter against my cheek. "Master Orlando... please, my dark one, should I
find your Viggo for you? Should I find out where..."

How generous of poor Sean. Although I always broke his fawning heart my
Sean still offered to help me. What had I done to the man? "No. No. I must
think. I must think on what to do. Ahh, how much pain do I wish to cause
him?" I mumbled. "After all the pain I've already caused Viggo, how much
more can he bear from me? How much?"

Damn, how I longer to run out into the sun and find my lover.

Foolish.

VIGGO

That evening a dark magnet called hope drew me back to Shoreditch's unclean
depths. As I walked along the streets through the disturbingly yellowish
fog I avoided the pubs, knowing these blasted holes would no longer be of
any use to me. The effort to appear casual nearly shattered my ravaged
nerves. I carefully stepped along the slick cobbles, joining the whores,
the pickpockets and the upper class decadents looking for mindless sorrow.
If they truly wanted sorrow I should let them share in mine. Ha, I
possessed sorrow to spare.

As my wandering steps carried me forward my illogical mind kept seeing my
beautiful Orlando in every solid shadow. Oh yes, I knew he hovered close to
me. I knew if Orlando indeed lived in that horrible place he now knew I
looked for him. I also knew it was useless to return there: I of all people
would never be allowed to see Orlando, unless he wanted me to see him.

Orlando... my peculiar Orlando knew things no one else did. He knew I
searched for him this night. He knew.

Would my lover let me know he knew?

ORLANDO

"Demons Below! My poor Viggo, ah, why are you here?" I hungrily stared at
my handsome cousin from my secretive position huddled against a dark alley
wall. My pained eyes examined every pore in his exhausted, sorrowful face.
Damn, I caused his proud face to look so tired and worn. Seeing my lover so
defeated tormented my fond memories of him yet the sight fed my unclean
memories. I whispered his name to myself. "Viggo, mmm, my beautiful Viggo."

As I leaned against the damp bricks for my mind feverishly argued the
merits of simply leaving this cloying city and escaping further notice. Yet
another part of my mind, the clinging human part, wanted my poor Viggo to
know I still lived. I wanted to end his desperate search. If moral,
society-concerned Viggo hated me, so be it; after avoiding him so basely
during all these years I expected my lover's hatred. No, you fool, think
clearly; if Viggo hated me he wouldn't search for me. He loved me, which
was far worse for him. And for me.

"Enough," I breathed. Straightening up I walked forward, all the while
fixing my gaze against Viggo's retreating back. Then I made my decision.
The friendly shadows disguised my pre-natural speed, yes, the narrow alleys
and moldering trash heaps provided my cover. I finally halted and peered
out, seeing Viggo walking towards my alleyway. A deep breath expanded my
tense lungs. Yes, enough escape; the argument within my conflicted soul
must end. As I waited and pondered a few last seconds a hoarse sob escaped
my lips. Enough. Stop torturing the man.

Slithering forward I slowly positioned myself at the alley's edge, knowing
the wan flickering gaslight would catch my high cheek-boned face and create
a beacon in the greasy yellowish fog. Viggo would see my intense paleness.
Yes, I would make my cousin come to me. Of course I could do it; I'd done
it before.

Come to me, my lover. I have tortured you for long enough. Yet in reality
the true torture was about to begin.

For both of us.

---
CHAPTER 4: Closer to Madness

VIGGO

This mocking night made me feel grim, stupid and needy. All I wanted to do
was return to my room and drink myself senseless. My mind pounded one ugly
thought into me; Orlando must hate me. He must despise me for what I
had.wait. Who hovered at the next alley's entrance? Dear God. Could it
be.as I froze in shock my tired eyes widened in amazement. So I hadn't gone
insane! "Orlando!"

My legs instinctively reacted. As I raced into the dank alley my feet
decided such haste didn't suit them. My gallop nearly tumbled me into a
heaped refuse pile; I skidded, staggered then my hands slammed the rough
stone wall and miraculously broke my fall. Ouch. Fool. Slow down, you
idiot. Must rest. Harsh breaths ripped from my aching chest. Hell, all my
drinking surely compromised, yes, admit it, Viggo, my middle-aged
abilities. If my body was a temple then I had openly defiled my living
flesh. Breathe. Focus. Stop running. Bah, I didn't fancy a broken arm or
worse.

During my deep breathing exercise my frantic gaze scanned the foggy
darkness. Wait, had I finally lost my mind? But I felt Orlando. I knew I
had seen his unmistakable face! Where had my lover gone? Nothing moved in
the fetid alley, not a rat, a cockroach. nothing. An agonized scream almost
tore free; wait, was that, yes, suddenly a darker shadow abruptly appeared
at the alley's lower end. The shadow slowly moved toward me.

"Orlando?" I called his name yet remained where I stood. The street lamp's
feeble glow ended just a foot away from my garbage-slick leather shoes.
Although I desperately wanted knowledge I refused to step into the inky
shadows.

His melodious voice suddenly sounded at my side. His voice provided a
subtle caress against my fog-damp cheek. "Viggo."

I whirled and stared into Orlando's beloved face. This was reality. My
lover finally stood before me! My overjoyed gaze hungrily devoured his
delicate features framed by his wavy, mahogany hair. Trust my rebellious
Orlando to affect such artistic hair in this age of masculine control. My
denied hands ached to grasp those long, silky lengths. My lips wanted to
taste every last inch. God, to see those unique, glowing red-brown eyes,
that adorable, slightly crooked nose, the bend courtesy of a horseback
riding accident. yes, ahh, I remembered watching my reckless cousin fall
from his alarmed horse. My strong arms had cradled poor battered Orlando
back to our seaside summer home and salvation.
During that summer Orlando had been 16, I 28. I think he loved me even
then. In those days the proper, sensible part of me dared not admit how I
felt about my beautiful yet daring cousin. Wrong. Very, very wrong.

Finally those oft-kissed full lips hovered before me and not merely in my
anguished memory or in a tattered photo. My gaze adored Orlando's exotic
beauty over and over again. I hadn't gone mad. His physical perfection
still existed for me. "Orlando, I'm not insane, it is you... my Orlando!"
My hands automatically grasped his bony shoulders, ahh, my large fingers
captured their slender grace so well. As I massaged my lover's shoulders
his long hair swept over my knuckles. "You sweet demon, you knew I searched
for you, you knew!"

A torn sigh escaped Orlando's full, tense lips. Somehow his ethereal gaze
acted like a frightened humming bird, yes, I swore my lover stared at me
yet he never directly met my own gaze. His gaze darted around my form with
alarming swiftness. The effect felt terribly disconcerting. "Viggo, when I
accessed our trust fund I knew if you still cared you'd look for me. I knew
nothing definite until yesterday, until I felt you explore that horrid
alley I mockingly call home. My brave, loving Viggo, tell me, why couldn't
you have left me alone? Why did you bother looking for me?"

Although joy raced through me my face still flinched with wild anger. My
punishing fingers gripped Orlando's shoulders with greater force. "What?
You dare ask me that wicked question? After how you left me alone? Orlando,
I swear you don't understand me at all."

To my surprise instead of growing angry in turn Orlando merely smiled and
nodded with his elegant sadness. "I understand you better than you think,
dear cousin, which is why I am surprised you hunted for me." Sensing my
confusion Orlando held up his long fingers and shook his head. "Forgive me,
Viggo, I didn't mean to sound so callous. No. But.wait, I don't want to
argue with you in this filth: the evil setting ill suits you. You aren't
safe in this morass and I want you to leave. Where are you staying, my
love?"
Orlando's soft words chilled me; his natural, instinctive use of "my love"
flayed my rapidly thudding heart. We studied each other until Orlando
expectantly cocked his head, he waiting for me to answer his simply query.
I finally stammered out a coherent answer. "At the Claridge, but Orlando,
I- I- Orlando, please..."

My passionate words halted. My desperate hand slid from Orlando's shoulder,
then my flesh swiftly caressed his icy cold cheek. To my shock Orlando
hissed like a coiled viper. Unnatural speed jerked his body away from me;
once again I thought of a darting humming bird. How did he do.my right hand
feebly hovered in the air where Orlando's beloved face once took shape. My
left hand still thought it clutched Orlando's boyish shoulder until my
surprised fingers curled on nothing. Oh my God.

As my wide eyes blinked in astonishment my fingers fell helplessly against
my thighs. Orlando's swift movement, his cold, terribly pale skin, his.what
the hell was going on here? My logical mind latched onto one thought.
"Orlando, my Orlando, you are ill. That whore claimed you made this other
whore sick; oh, lover, you're so cold and pale. Your skin used to look like
burnished honey. Please, what is wrong with you?"

A stony look etched onto Orlando's sculpted features. "So that's how you
found me. A whore?"

"Not exactly. A young cretin who works in a flophouse watches your
appalling alley as sport. He looked for you to appear and when he heard of
my search he went to my detective and supplied me with the information."

Now Orlando's wide dark stare swept past me then he shook his head.
"Extraordinary. How ironic. Discovered by a clever street urchin. Ahh, he'd
best avoid me now. I don't take kindly to young spies."

"I gave the lad a reward for supplying me information. Now that I see your
precious face I will thank him in my prayers and try giving him even more
money." My strong voice dropped into a pleading caress. "Please, Orlando,
please don't tell me to leave you now! I need to know so much about you.
Lover, it's been four years since I've seen you, felt you, adored you-don't
turn me away. Please!"

To my dismay my pleading words received another firm negative head shake.
"Not now, my Viggo, no. No. I will tell you my story tomorrow night at
7:00. Please tell me what room are you in."

Orlando's soft, defiant words inflamed my controlled anger. Ha, after all
these years Orlando's inherent stubbornness still made me furious in mere
seconds. "Orlando, what is this madness? I want to talk to you now! I won't
let you go again, I won't! I love you too much to simply walk away from
you! Don't you understand my need?" My hands pulled my beloved close in a
tight, desperate grip. I pressed my lips against his cold, smooth flesh
and.

Once again Orlando easily yanked free, his slender body effortlessly
repelling my strong arms. He moved so swiftly that I staggered back and
felt the rough wall meet my back. My startled gasp mocked me. My God, I'd
never felt such power from Orlando before. Never. A dense silence flowed
between us, souring the already thick foul air. Facial muscles hardened and
filled with suspicion borne from new despair. "Orlando, you plan to run
from me. You cruel devil, you plan to run from me again!" I hissed
brokenly. My trembling fingers reached for Orlando again but Orlando
quickly stepped back and held up a tense, warning hand. The commanding
glare flaring in his wide eyes halted my pitiful pleading.

My lover's glare bore into mine without pity. "I will not run any more,
Viggo; I promise you I won't run. I swear on, ha, not my soul but how about
yours? I will be there at 7:00 tomorrow night, so either accept my words or
you will never see me again!" Orlando's harsh words belied the anguish
suddenly flooding his tortured eyes. "I still love you, Viggo, more than
you imagine. Yes, my love for you forced me to hide from you all these
years. I somehow doubt you'll still love me after..."

Orlando's face looked oddly still then his large eyes again stared at
nothing for seconds. Did he experience a bizarre fit? Before I questioned
him Orlando's sad gaze speared me. This time our gazes meshed in infinite
sorrow. Something tragic in my lover's direct stare made me shudder then
his voice captured misery. "Tomorrow. I will be there, my love. Again I
ask, what room?"

"408," I whispered. My mind howled in fresh agony. Damn, no, I must hold
Orlando, I must stop him, I must...

"Until then, sweet Viggo. Now leave this area immediately. Don't return to
this foul hellhole. You don't belong here at all. Your goodness makes you a
target." Thin fingertips coldly burned across my right cheek. Lips colder
than despair pressed against mine and massaged, ahh, somehow their softness
battled the sick chill and magically filled my adoring mouth with warm,
sun-lit memories. I tried embracing Orlando one last time, tried capturing
his slender grace against my body. I must halt him from leaving me again!

Instead my Orlando vanished into the fog-bruised shadows.

I stared, then blinked rapidly, unable to see a thing in the intense soupy
gloom.

"Orlando! You sly.Orlando!" I snarled in disbelief then my feet quickly
paced towards the alley's end. Damn the thick darkness! My fingers felt the
wall then once again I caught myself from falling forward. To my surprise a
narrow opening, barely more than a doorway, twisted to the right. A rat
scuttled over my feet, insolently peered at my helplessness, its eyes
catching the streetlight's far-off glint, then it raced off. God.

Bah, I knew pursuit would be useless. My fingers touched my shocked face;
how odd, no brittle ice crusted my cold cheek. Yet now my lips felt numb.
Orlando stole the sweet warmth with him.

After long seconds I turned away from the beckoning passageway and let my
feet slowly guide me toward the main street. As I plodded along a vast
emptiness erupted within my confused soul. Oh God, I let my Orlando escape.
My lover made me release him; I don't know how Orlando did it but somehow
he overpowered my mind. Years ago in New York City my beauty had mentally
overpowered me only this time Orlando's mental control felt astonishingly
stronger.

I couldn't comprehend our last few minutes. My desperate search finally
brought me to my cousin but I held a sick feeling our union wouldn't bring
the expected joy. A desperate groan welled from my soul then I returned to
the alley's mouth and stared back into the fetid darkness.

The thought ground against me; I had let Orlando escape. After four years
searching for him I let my fey lover escape me without any true
explanations. I let him leave me with a mere kiss and a promise. Of course
Orlando used those queer powers he cultivated and he proved the other tales
true: Orlando possessed exceptional strength, and was obviously quite ill.
Did I just feel the strength of a madman?

"You'd better be there, you beautiful monster," I breathed brokenly before
returning to my carriage. Another sick headache hovered nearby. Yes, the
brandy would flow tonight. Oh yes.

ORLANDO

"Are you sure you're doing the right thing, my dark one?" As Sean spoke his
fingers skillfully adjusted my worn cravat. Once he finished the mundane
task his strong fingers trembled in stress before he clutched them
together. Grave concern defeated his wide blue eyes.

The right thing? Ha, that ceased to be an option for me years ago. I slowly
shook my head. "No, I'm not. But damn, what a ruin this suit is, yes, what
a ruin I've become," I sighed. "Sean, I don't know what to think about this
night: after all these years either I will be reunited with Viggo or I
shall be hated by him. For all I know Viggo might think me insane. Oh,
wouldn't that be a fine event? I understand my dear cousin's moral
personality; it's why I've stayed away from him. For Viggo to look at me
with hatred again would prove too much for me, although in the very act of
looking for me there's the hope that... ahh, I don't know. My poor Viggo
still cares for me, yes, even after all I've done to him he still loves me.
I saw that in his eyes last night. I felt it in his fingers."

My hurried words faded into the cellar's dank air. I always talked too much
when nervous. The more taciturn Viggo often teased me about my unshakable
habit. Ha, I doubted that after the next few hours my poor lover would find
anything to joke about with me.
Sean's fingers soothingly stroked my thick hair. "Be careful, my beautiful
dark master, please be careful. Like you said, it has been years."

I gazed at this strange older noble who made himself my slave in the vain
hope I'd love him alone. Now Sean knew, yes, he fully accepted I did not
love him, yet his unhealthy passion still burned for me. So be it. Sean
kept me safe and guarded my secrets while I taught him my arcane magic. Was
it a fair trade? We both didn't care about fair.

"I am not worried about that at all, dear Sean, not at all. Viggo will not
physically harm me," I sighed before caressing his smooth cheek. My smile
felt twisted. "Beside, remember I am now far stronger than he. So stop
worrying about me. Now I must go."

The secret passage led me up to the decrepit house's ruined first floor. As
usual I haunted deserted back streets, moving as quickly as possible
without attracting undue attention. In minutes I strode into the City
district's comfortable wealth, tempering my unnatural stride. Claridge's
stately bulk finally loomed before me, the facade flickering with the gas
light's cheerful sputters. Inhaling one short breath I crossed the tidy
pavement towards a bright, elegant world I unwillingly abandoned years ago.

The uniformed door attendants eyed my tattered, unfashionable suit with
twin subtle sniffs but they reluctantly let me pass. As I fixed a mocking
smile on my lips I swept into dignified Claridge's grand foyer,
anticipating the warm reaction I'd receive within reception.

Within seconds an officious clerk glared my way and swiftly moved to halt
my progress. His prissy voice dripped superior scorn. I felt his distrust:
heavens, we couldn't let this tattered, wild-looking, long-haired freak
into the refined hotel, could we? "Excuse me, sir, can I help you?"

"No thank you. I am here to see my cousin Viggo Mortensen in room 408," I
answered, fixing the man with my cold stare. I pushed a bit. Damn, his
haughty resistance crumbled too easily for any real sport.

The humbled clerk blinked rapidly before he vaguely gestured to the grand
stairs. "Oh, ah, well yes, why of course, sir, please go right on up."

"I shall do exactly that," I mocked, mounting the wide stair with a touch
of my graceful demonic speed. Hmm, I should act cautious since showing off
in public places could only lead to more trouble. I couldn't help it;
tonight I felt edgy and nervous. Nerves brought out my natural and
sometimes destructive impulsiveness.

Once up the stairs I found the fateful door. I sucked in another deep
breath before knocking. The door opened before I lowered my hand.

Viggo stared out at me, his wide light eyes filled with anxious relief. I
hated seeing him look so pathetic. "My lover, you came!"

"I promised you," I reminded, my gaze capturing my dear Viggo's eyes. His
complete anguish chilled me, making me feel defensive and bitter. "Come,
dear one, is that how little you think of me now?"

"Orlando, please, what do you expect? I hear nothing from you in four
years! Nothing except your little trust fund clue," he hissed in response.
Yes, even while feeling relief my elemental Viggo easily fell into his
simmering anger.

My cool eyes studied my eternally angry lover. "So, my dear cousin, do we
argue my questionable merits in the hall or may I enter?"

Viggo fiercely stepped back, his large right hand gesturing into the suite.
I moved into the genteel room's center and turned back, letting my
searching gaze glide over Viggo's handsome face. As we stood still for long
minutes our stares tangled in uncertainty. Ha, of course I could have
cheated but this was my Viggo.

"You always proved more adept than I at these little staring contests;
there, you win again, cousin," I whispered. Shaking back my hair I turned
away from my lover's glacial blue stare although I knew I could easily make
Viggo look away before long.easily. If I wished my gaze could even drive
him insane.

Before I could react Viggo's capable hands grabbed my slender arms. His
hands quickly yanked my body against his firm flesh. This time I returned
Viggo's desperate embrace. His mad embrace told me how much he still loved
me, wanted me, needed me. As I pressed into his familiar contours my
fingers lightly raked against his fine linen shirt. Careful, don't rip the
fabric. Over the years my nails had become abnormally sharp.
My lover's devouring kiss took me back years, yes, his perfect warm lips
transported me to a simpler, far less damaged era. God, I how loved this
beautiful, angry man. For a brief moment kissing him made us one again.

Our tongues touched and swayed. As I moaned in happiness my teeth gently
bit Viggo's full lower lip in our remembered sweet passion. Instead of
continuing in our erotic dance Viggo gasped then he jerked back, his light
eyes wide and confused. "Orlando, come on, tell me why are you so extremely
cold? I don't understand you. Dear one, is it your heart, your circulation
or your.tell me, what is it?"

Damn, why couldn't we just kiss like normal lovers? Simple answer, eh? As I
pulled free from Viggo's embrace my dark laughter poured from me. My body
collapsed against the small settee and trembled in sick mirth. By the
Seven, I knew I should have fed before arriving. Impulsive idiot. "Well, I
think my heart is still working; however, my battered soul may need a bit
more assistance. Come, sweet cousin, I have come to tell you want you want
to know: what happened to me these last four years. That's what you want,
isn't it, my thrilling life story?"

Viggo's tense body slowly sank to the settee then he leaned toward me. His
troubled gaze remained fixed on my pale countenance. I felt his beloved
eyes desperately searching for answers in my gaze. His fingers reached out
and caressed my thigh but went no further yet I still felt his warmth
invading my trouser's thin material. "Yes, that's what I want, Orlando.
Your story, yes, your sorry excuse for leaving me like you did and for not
telling me where you hid for all these bleak years!"

This scenario felt so wretched. "Well, my disappearance really wasn't my
idea, dear one, not at all," I mocked. "I never planned for any of this to
happen. However, you should be pleased with one vital thing. All your dire
threats about my careless actions came true. You might say my wicked ways
caught up with me, oh, did they ever," I laughed with grim amusement.

Of course Viggo didn't share in my mirth. "But Orlando, you simply left me!
How wonderful, I received the occasional letter from Turkey then nothing
until my web of detectives sighted you here after tracing you from Paris
due to our blessed trust fund. You damned well knew I'd be looking so you
gave me a clue. Then you traveled here, your birth city, and I took your
arrival as a sign you wanted to reach out to me. In my soul I knew
something was very wrong and now that I see you- you-" Viggo's husky voice
finally broke in despair.

"My Viggo, trust me, it is the same for me. I wanted to run from you anew
only you're right, I wanted to see you. I still want you, I still love you
so much, yet before this night is over I fully expect to depart from your
life. And my departure will be of your own command," I murmured, my fingers
gently stroking Viggo's strong warm flesh as his hand held my leg. Mmm, he
felt so warm and perfect.

As he gasped in anguish my Viggo grasped my cold hand. "No, Orlando, how
can you say such cruel words to me? I find you after all these years and
you think I will order you away from me? Now I must ask you what makes you
think so basely of me? Very well, enough of my words; you were always the
one who so loved your eloquent words. Now use your creative words to
convince me why this sad separation felt so necessary."

My voice broke into more bitter laughter before Viggo finished his
sentence. That laughter of the damned held no amusement; the acidic sound
made poor Viggo flinch. "Oh I shall, dear cousin, believe me, I shall.
Before tonight is over you shall know everything. I promise. But first you
need to accompany me back to my world of filth and disgust. I must show you
something that will determine this night's course. I realize my words will
only convince you I am mad, yet my actions will prove differently. So let's
endure the actions first, dear cousin. Come with me."

My fingers aiming a mocking gesture towards the door. "Come."

Viggo continued staring at me, his piercing eyes suddenly registering more
confusion. "Damn, that's what's been bothering me. Why do you still look
exactly the same as when you left me? Why? Lord, if anything you look
younger! Your skin looks so smooth and unmarred. How could that be?" His
one finger hovered toward my temple. "You had a small scar there from when
Janine hit you with a badminton racket. Now it's gone. You had a scar right
here from that fall from your horse." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Even
your slight laugh lines are gone."

"Perhaps the mad keep their youth longer. Perhaps we even heal our
traumas." As I offered Viggo a mocking smirk I rose and pointed at the door
again.

Now Viggo glared at me before rising. A sudden great sorrow washed across
my soul, making me feel petty. "My dear one, forgive me. I have been
without your precious company for too long. Actually I've been without
proper company for an extremely long time. I don't want to hurt you any
more than I have so let me show you my secret. After that you can either
choose to remain with me or you can order me to disappear from your life.
You may even want to kill me," I whispered.

"Dear Orlando, don't say such horrible things! You must be mad. I love you.
I love you!" he gasped.

I aimed one long-nailed finger toward Viggo then I stabbed my finger
against the tense air. "No, cousin. You loved Orlando, the familiar Orlando
you knew those years ago. Believe me, you may not feel that way after the
Orlando you meet tonight."

Viggo helplessly stared at me, his pale eyes tragic in their uncertainty.
My thin fingers caressed my lover's dark blonde hair away from his brow,
that beloved, intelligent brow. "My lover, how I have tortured you. How
cruel I am. Ahh, I never intended for all this to.oh dearest Viggo!" I
choked before I lunged close and desperately kissed my lover's willing
lips.

My long-damaged soul cried in pain. Please don't let me lose this man!
Please don't let him reject me again!

Please don't let Viggo hate me.

*****