Author's Name: Lostiawen Fic Title: Destiny's Hands (1/10) Email: changeling@planetx.org Author's site: http://www.planetx.org/~changeling Rating: NC-17 Pairing: VM/OB Genre: RPS Feedback: Yes, please. Archive: Please ask first. Disclaimer : This is a work of fiction, none of this really happened. The author is not associated with or is implying anything about the sexual preferences or the lives of the people depicted within. Summary: An encounter with the supernatural changes a bitter drama student's life forever in a tale of love beyond death. Warnings : AU, romance, sap, some angst, creepiness. Author's Notes: Dedicated to those who have lost a loved one. Thanks to Linda, who's chatty Orli in "Pure Love" and "Infinite Love" was such an inspiration for my Orli. *mwah* Posted May 15, 2003 ***** All right, Bloom, just grit your teeth. There's nothing scary about an abandoned house. Only half of it is twisted and gutted. The other half is fine; it's just been abandoned for a while. Ugh, it doesn't help that the whole package is looming like a bloody great gargoyle over the surrounding area. At least there's a full moon out, so I can see inside the charred half. Bollocks, why did I ever take that daft bet? Because you're a 20-year old git who had to brag that _you_ weren't afraid when this haunted house was mentioned. Being completely sotted probably didn't help, either. So, of course, I let my mates talk me into spending the night here. Sometimes I wonder why I even bother to hang out with them in the first place. I still remember cackling as they recounted the story about this house, seeing as how it's relatively close to Guildhall. Apparently, a reclusive artist died in a fire here. He never finished his last painting and his ghost still haunts this house, taking its revenge on whatever poor sod comes by to stay the night. The last person who spent the night here, some poor bird, was discovered dead the next morning, every single bit of blood drained from her body. The ghost apparently sucked it out and used it as paint for his unfinished picture. It still gives me a slight shiver when I think about it, but I'm sure it's just complete rubbish, which is why I opened my big yap. Yes, that's me. Orlando Bloom, cynic extraordinaire. If you ask me, the whole world's just going down the crapper, so why not live fast and hard? It's not like I'll make a bit of difference or a lasting impression. Okay, that's not completely true in my case. I don't do some of the nastier drugs, and I use condoms, but frankly, when I go, I want to go quickly, not wasting away in some hospital. Brr, just gives me the chills just thinking about it. Now where was I? Right, ghosts and ghost stories, a big pet peeve of mine. I get the wind up about them because I firmly believe that there is no afterlife. We become worm food when we die, and that's the end of it. I also get irritated because some of them have to do with some bloke who killed himself in despair over some lost love or whatever. Ugh. And that's another sticking point with me. I hate all of that romantic mushy stuff that people seem to get into. It's all just a sham anyway, the hearts and flowers are just the warm-up motions so that you can get into someone's knickers, so why not just cut out the middleman and go straight to shagging? It's certainly served me well enough. And that's all anyone really wants to do. Shag. Love is just a myth perpetuated by people too daft to know that all relationships will eventually fail. I know I sound bitter, but I realized at an early age that I only fancied blokes. I know that we supposedly live in an age of tolerance, but tell that to the teen-aged bastards who picked on anyone who acted the least bit poncy. I managed to hide it pretty well, going balls- out on sports and pretending to flirt with every single bird who crossed my eyesight, but the fact that I even had to do it in the first place really narked me. Amazing how the threat of getting your teeth kicked in because of your sexual orientation puts the damper on romance. So, I just shag away, no attachments, no regrets. All right, enough philosophizing, it's making me morose. Time to get back to business. I find a window that leads into a not too burned out section of the house. I manage to climb in without slipping and landing on my face, which is an Olympic achievement for me, since I tend to be a bit of a klutz. I've broken more bones during my lifetime than I can count, except for my back, fortunately. And who knows how long it'll be before than one goes? I swear, if I wind up paralyzed, I'm just going to end it all, because there won't be any point to going on. Such cheerful thoughts. I haul my backpack and my sleeping bag in with me. I pick my way over to one of the rooms on the non-burnt side. Lots of unsteady floorboards creak underneath me. Damn, there are a lot of cobwebs here, too. No signs of rats, though. And it's eerily still here. Fuck, maybe there's some truth to this story after all. Oh Bollocks, I can't chicken out now. I'll have a look around, see if there's someplace warm to stay the night. At least the moonlight is making it easy for me to see. Bits of broken furniture, lots of cobwebs, and...Ah! An undamaged section of floor. Picking my way across, I wander into the non-dodgey section of the house. The doors are rusted open, and I pick the first one that leads into a non-drafty room. Hmm, it's a bit dark in here, but there's still some moonlight pouring in through a small window. I see that this room is relatively bare and a fine layer of dust is covering everything. And there's dust and cobwebs everywhere in this pile in the corner. Hullo? There's something else underneath here. Looks like a canvas sheet. Smart one there, Orlando. It is a canvas sheet, and it's covering something. Oh god, maybe there's part of a dead body here. Now I'm being paranoid. There's no rotten smell, and the shape looks awfully flat. Probably some furniture. Remember, challenge your fears: don't let them get the better of you. Still, I can't help holding my breath as I pull the canvas off. Nope, not a dead body. Worse. An unfinished painting on an easel. Christ. This is not happening, this is not happening... I shut my eyes and take a few deep breaths. It's just a painting, you silly bugger, no need to get the wind up about it. Relax. It's not going to eat you. After a few moments, I get the courage to open my eyes and look at it. The tension in my back eases when nothing happens. I start studying the canvas. It's not a bad piece of art. It looks like someone was doing a picture of some bloke in a reclining position. Hmmm...curly hair, brown eyes. And it's a nude. Now I have to move it into the moonlight to see the rest. Wonder how well this guy's hung... Shit. ShitshitSHIT! My heart is going like a jackhammer again. The picture is unfinished, but half of the face has been filled in. And it's mine. Same eyes, same cheekbones, everything. Okay, don't panic...breathe...that's it. Must be a rational explanation, remember, you don't believe any of this supernatural crap... Oh, wait a minute, Bloom, is there any reason why your friends couldn't have this done ahead of time? They're actors, after all, they know other creative types. Cheeky bastards. That's it. They planted this here to scare me. There's no blood on the canvas, which is a big cock-up on their part. They should have added it if they wanted to frighten me enough to welsh on the bet. Well, I'll show them. I happily roll out my sleeping bag, whistling to myself. As I settle in, I blow a kiss to my portrait and say, "Good night, you handsome devil, you," before I try to sleep. Emphasis on the try. I wind up tossing and turning a lot. Small noises keep me awake because I'm completely amped. I eventually give up and look at my watch. Bugger, 3am in the morning. Alright, time for some help. Pull the vodka out of the pack and have a good swig or three...ah. Now to light up the joint...mmm, niiiice...much better... put the joint out before you get too woozy...good... feeling very light now...drifting... *** Hmmm. I must be dreaming now. I remember fading out, and now I'm standing out in the middle of the field. And I'm not stoned. I don't recognize this area, but hey, that's dreaming for you. And it's perfectly sunny and the birds are even bloody singing. Gah. Can I get any more twee? Oi, it looks like there's someone a distance away. Well, I can't very stand here with my thumb up my arse, so I may as well go to greet him. Christ, it's hard to walk in this dream world. I feel like I'm trying to made headway through a bunch of molasses. The figure is getting clearer now. It's a bloke, I can't see his face because his back is to me, but it's definitely a bloke. He looks to be about my height, broad shoulders. He's wearing a short-sleeved shirt, and wow, those forearms are nicely sculpted. Mmm, and those trousers are cupping a fairly nice arse. And he's studying something on a canvas. Figures. I wonder how many picture-related themes will be popping into this dream? Wow, Mr. Nice Arse has got amazing hands. Strong and powerful looking. Mmmm, I like this. Been a while since I had a great wet dream, and this one is warming up nicely. Okay, time to get closer. Christ, this is difficult. It seems to take forever before I'm practically right behind him. He's still looking at the picture, and he's completely oblivious to my presence. That's fine, though, I can get some quality ogling of that smashing bum. Now that I've had a chance to really study it, I have second thoughts. It's not a nice arse, it's a _damn sexy as hell_ arse. Now I _have_ to cop a feel. Bugger, snails can move faster than this. Well, I might as well look over his shoulder while I'm trying to move and get a gander at... Oh, fuck me. He's looking at the same painting I saw before I fell asleep. I must have made a noise, because he turns around... and, oh, wow... He's got chiseled, beautifully rugged features framed by longish, sandy brown hair. But it's his eyes that capture my attention. Intense, cobalt blue eyes that drill right through me. He looks like he's in his late thirties, but that doesn't turn me off at all, which is surprising for me, since I tend to prefer blokes closer to my own age. He smiles gently at me and my heart does several flip-flops. Fuck, I'm behaving like a giggling schoolgirl, get a hold of yourself, Bloom! "I've been waiting for you," he purrs. Bollocks, that low voice...so achingly sexy and husky... it's making my cock hard just listening to it, and my heart flip-flop again. Shit, why am I having trouble breathing? He reaches out with his left hand to stroke my cheek. Fuck! I feel like I've just stepped on a live wire. Even my hair's tingling. Argh, I think my knees have gone weak. C'mon, Bloom, stop that right now! I'm saved from further embarrassment when he pushes down on my shoulders. Taking his cue, I sit down on the grass, and he starts stripping me. Oi, I can actually feel him touching me. Alright! I love tactile wet dreams. About fucking time that we get to the hardcore stuff...Oh yeah, baby, that's right, strip my jeans off and check me out, look at how I'm ready for you... Now grab my cock...Hey! Instead of paying attention to me, my dream man moves my limbs around so that I'm in a reclining position and stands over my stomach. Okay...I'm confused. I can't really shag or blow him from this position. Maybe he just wants to jerk off on me? I'm not in the mood to get splattered on, so I try to pull him down on top of me. Bollocks, did I mention how bloody difficult it is to move around here? Gah. I bet Sisyphus had an easier time than I'm having. He stops me with a "Hold still," in that come-hither voice of his. Damn, the huskiness of it is making my cock stir some more. Hell, he could probably read a grocery list in that lethal purr, and I'd probably come from listening to him. Hmm, I can just hear him saying "whipped cream," wrapping that throaty voice around each syllable. Yummy. But I'm on familiar territory now. Lust good. I'm content to stay in this position if I can get a shag out of him, or hey, even a nice blowjob. Mmmm, blowjob. And hey, if I have to just lie here to get it, that's fine, too. I usually have to do all of the work, so this is a nice break. Besides, sooner or later the multitude of really hot, hung, and horny men with rope, whipped cream, and ice cubes will pop by, and I can have a proper wet dream. Did I just alliterate? I'm so clever... Surprisingly, all that happens next is that my dream man swings the easel around so that he can paint me. How utterly dull. And now he's squeezing some paint from a tube onto a palette. Bollocks, we need some more hardcore action here. I open my yap to protest when he looks at me. Oh god, those ice blue eyes. I can't stop looking deep into them. I feel like I'm getting pulled in. Fuck me, but the way he's looking at my face is just...wow. Those intense eyes...not just studying me, but it feels like they're drilling straight into me. Usually when I get stared at, I get sized up like a piece of meat. But this is different. I feel like I'm the only thing that exists for him right now. Hmmm, getting a nice warm feeling inside. Ugh, hearts and flowers time again. Slap yourself again, Orlando. Shit, tell me I'm not blushing. Oh no, I _am_ blushing. Someone shoot me now. Damnit. Come on, Orlando...breathe, get control of the situation. Don't want him taking advantage of you getting soft in the head. But bugger, this _is_ a dream. Why not let myself go for once? Hell, it gets tiring fighting against the entire world, so why not? Hmm, kinda nice to not have to worry about anything. Christ, never thought I could stay in one place for this long, but I can't get enough of the way he's looking at me. Eventually, he stops and says quietly, "Come here." I stand up and walk sluggishly towards him. When I'm close, he cups my face and strokes my cheek with a paint-spattered finger, leaving a streak of brown pigment. He's looking at me with so longingly that I feel butterflies flapping in my stomach. Oh god...oi, what's with the sad expression on his face? Does my breath stink? He whispers, "We don't have much time," before he leans in and captures my lips. Christ, I've never been kissed like this before. Every nerve comes alive as he wraps his tongue around mine and slowly explores my mouth. The blood rushes to my head, and I feel like I'm getting sucked out through his mouth. I feel myself surging into a complete, dick-dancing, buzzing high. But he's slow and teasing, too, drawing me out, melting me into a nice warm puddle inside. Oh my god, I feel dizzy now, and...wow...forget about breathing, forget about everything except those lips... His big hands tangle in my hair, and he continues to steal my breath away. I feel empty when he reluctantly pulls away. Empty? This is definitely not Orlando-ish. Then I feel his hard body pressing against mine, almost as if he's trying to merge with me. Now a familiar ache goes through me. Yes, that's good. Hormone crazed lust good. Much better than that weird puddly feeling. Oh yes, press up against me, babe, need to feel your hot body...mmm, he's hard as a rock, and impressively so. Oh god, is that whimpering coming from me? I don't care. I want to get him starkers and sink into him, _now_. Wish I could say something, but my voice won't work for some reason. Bugger it all. So I grind against him, hoping he'll get the hint. He smiles and leans in for another kiss, but I feel faint, and it looks like he's far away now. This is not fair, I don't want it to end so soon! I cry out, "Who are you?" Guess I found my voice. Damnit. He begins to fade from view quickly, and I hear him whisper softly, "Come back to me, I'll be waiting." Everything then goes black. I come gradually back to consciousness, it's light out, the sleeping bag's completely open, I'm lying on it without a stitch of clothing on, and I'm already wanking my raging hard-on. Christ, need to come so badly... Those full lips, yes...Oh god, I bet they would look wonderful, wrapped around my cock and sucking the life out of me. And I'd love to fuck that tight little arse of his, love to hear that sexy as hell voice of his screaming my name as I ram into him over and over...yessss, oh I'm close now, so...YES! Oh, man...good thing I'm lying down, because I'm really dizzy now. Christ, what a dream, and what a mess. Damn, looks like I shot on my chest and I actually hit my face. Time to call Guinness. Mmm, maybe I should spend more nights in haunted houses, that was one of the best wanks in my life. I'm vaguely disappointed at the lack of sex, though. My wet dreams usually have something more graphic happening. But that look of his...I feel tingly again, but it's not the same tingle I feel whenever I'm horny. It makes me feel warm all over and a bit wobbly. Ugh, I must still be knackered. I'm actually contemplating mush. Give yourself another mental slap, Orlando. Remember it's all rot...*whack*...ah, much better. All I need are several stiff drinks and a good shag with some delectable, sexy men, and I'll be my old self again. I pull out some tissues out of my pack to wipe myself off. Tissues have become a permanent fixture on me, since I've got a libido that won't stop. Wonder what that says about the women who always seem to carry tissues in their handbags...hmm, didn't know that I couldn't strip myself so efficiently in my sleep, could be a useful skill, that. Wonder if I could sleep-shag, too. As I finish cleaning up I notice that the picture has been added to. Shit. No, you're hallucinating. Right. Or are you? Only one way to find out... I'm shaking as I touch the newly added spot. Wet paint comes off on my fingertips. Impossible. The boys just went over the top with this prank. I'm sure of it. Breathe. Focus. Okay, wipe the pigment off on another handy tissue. Now dress and pack up. Your mates are just having you on, that's the ticket. There are no such things as ghosts. Okay, time to scramble out of the window and get back to Robert's flat. Make that _run_ back to his flat. I'm sure Robert's the wanker who set me up. His girlfriend is quite the artist. He also enjoys seeing me make a fool of myself. Prig. I run to his door and hammer on it. Comeoncomeoncomeon, answer it. Robert finally opens the door, far too slowly for my taste. I bust in past him. "Bloom!" he says, his eyes are still vaguely woozy from probably having too many pints last night. "How went your night?" Oh right. Like he doesn't know. "You should know, you git. Amazing job with the artwork, but Julie should really get my good side next time." "Wha'?" he looks completely stunned. Smashing acting job, I must admit, better than his usual work. "What are you talking about, Orli?" All right, I've had enough. "Stop taking the piss with me, Robert. You planted that painting in that haunted house to frighten me. Well, it didn't work, mate. Pay up." "I didn't do any such thing. And neither did anyone else." His eyes finally focus. "What's that on your face?" What? No, he's seeing things. Bugger, where's a mirror? I have to look. There's one, look at it, don't panic... Shit! This can't be happening...you're high, you're hung over, you're... "Orli, why is there a streak of brown paint on your cheek?" --- end part 1 Author's Name: Lostiawen Fic Title: Destiny's Hands (2/10) Email: changeling@planetx.org Author's site: http://www.planetx.org/~changeling Rating: NC-17 Pairing: VM/OB Genre: RPS Archive: Please ask first. Feedback: Yes, please. Summary: Orlando goes back to the house. Disclaimer : This is a work of fiction, none of this really happened. The author is not associated with or is implying anything about the sexual preferences or the lives of the people depicted within. Warnings : These are warnings for the whole fic - AU, romance, sap, some angst, creepiness. Author's Notes: Dedicated to those who have lost a loved one. Thanks to Linda, who's chatty Orli in "Pure Love" and "Infinite Love" was such an inspiration for my Orli. I forgot to credit her in Chapter 1, so I'm doing it now. *huggles* Posted May 21, 2003 ***** I must be barking mad for coming back, but I can't let it rest. I'm sure that there must be some rational explanation for what happened. Maybe someone spiked my alcohol or my weed. Maybe there's someone lurking around here and I just had some weird half-asleep remembrance of him feeling me up. But most of all, I refuse to let this scare me. Nope, not going to happen, not to me. So here I am, standing in the yard outside of the house again. Talk about deja vu. Well, sort of. It's daytime right now. After visiting Robert, I ran back to my flat, cleaned up, stocked some supplies, and came straight back. This time, I'm prepared. I brought a mirror with me, just so that I don't go running around like a berk with paint on my face again, several books, some food to nosh on, water, a torch, and some ghost-disproving material. I'd say "ghost-busting material", but I'm not really trying to bust a ghost, just prove that it's some wanker having me on. Hmm, do female ghosts have busts? Come to think of it, do male ghosts have cocks? Oh right, my dream man did have a very lovely feeling one...Christ, slap yourself and belt up, Orlando, he's _not_ a ghost, just some pervy bloke who gets off on scaring the hell out of poor, innocent, young things. Well, just poor, young things, in my case. You know, I really should have asked someone to come with me, but I'm sure they would have laughed their arses off. Besides, I have to know the answer for myself. And anyway, it's about time I got around to reading "Lord of the Rings". I didn't have the patience for it when I was younger, so I thought I'd give it a try again. This house definitely looks less imposing in the daylight, but I still feel a tingle of fear as I see the painting of myself. I force myself to stare at it until my heart slows down to a reasonable speed. Okay, I can deal with it now. I'm good. Right. Don't think about how it looks exactly like you...kill that thought, Orlando. Do something else useful: like, checking the dust around here? You could see if another human being was here last night. Of course, that's before any useful evidence was erased by some smeg-head named Orlando flailing around in the morning. Guess I was in a panic when I packed up. Bugger. It's not like I can deduce anything, anyway. Orlando Bloom, Super Klutz Investigator, just doesn't have a good ring to it. Guess it's time to sit, crack open "The Fellowship of the Ring," and just wait. Man, this book's a hard read. Wish I could have some nice thought-provoking alcohol to make it go faster, but I want to be alert tonight. Shit, Frodo's _still_ in the Shire. How many pages has it been? Ugh. It's a wonder that this book has become so popular, it reads like a fucking dictionary. Nothing happens, of course, while I wrestle through pages and pages detailing life in the Shire. So, why in bloody hell did it take Gandalf 17 years to get back to him? What was he doing, smoking an entire field of pipe-weed? Bugger this book, I'll read it later. Hmmm, it makes a nice, satisfying thud when I toss it into the corner; maybe it has a future as a fly swatter. And still no ghost...I mean, bloke, lurking around. Fuck, I'm a git. Bloom, you thick bastard, nothing's going to happen right now. If anyone is going to barge in, he'll do it in the evening. You've seen enough horror movies to know how it works. Bad Orli, no biscuit. So what do I do now? I mean, besides sitting around with my thumb up my arse again. You know, even though I got the shit scared out of me when I woke up, I really liked being with Mr. Nice Bum. I'd love to have another shot at him again. Hmm, ghost or no ghost, he did have a wicked mouth. Loved the feel of my dream man's mouth on mine, wonder how that talented tongue would feel on my cock...uh oh, trousers are getting much too tight. Unfortunately, I need to hold off on doing the five knuckle shuffle. There's no rubbish bin around here, and leaving spunk-encrusted tissues around for hours is just too nasty. Blowjobs are nice and clean. Too bad I'm not flexible enough to suck myself off. Maybe I could get his lips wrapped around my prick tonight...mmm. Oh, stop it already, Orlando. There's a good boy. Pat yourself on the head. No, the one on top of your neck. Shit, maybe ignoring my cock is going to be harder than I thought. All right, what can I do to kill time until evening falls? I can't wank, I can't drink, I can't get high...guess I should have taken up knitting or something. *snort* Oh, that's a good one. Wait, I have a fantastic idea: I could go into Orli-exploration mode. On the surface, there's nothing amazing about the rest of the house. It's pretty much abandoned and empty. But man, it's kind of creepy that there are no insects or vermin around here. You'd think there'd be something around, at least some sodding cockroaches. Ignore the fact that your hair is standing up slightly, Bloom. Okay, I'm done exploring and I'm back to where I started. Now what? I guess I could recite some lines from Shakespeare while I'm waiting. With different accents. Ah, better, but something's missing...wait, I could try leaping about a bit, too. Now this is fun...ouch. Tripped on something and fell down. Shit, I should watch where I'm going or I'll kill myself before evening. Hmmm, if an Orlando dies in a haunted house, and there aren't any insects here, will my corpse just lie around and rot away? Argh. Now you're getting weird. Okay, back to doing the lines... Finally, it's dark. Time to turn in. But first, a few precautions. I tap around the walls and listen. Okay, nothing hollow. No hidden passageways. Good. I'm putting my sleeping bag right in the middle of this room. No easy access to it from the window, door, or walls. Because I don't want to be sleep-stripping anyway, I take off all of my clothes, and neatly arrange them so that they're around my sleeping bag in a certain pattern. Starting at the walls and working my way back towards the middle, I sprinkle flour all over the floor, making sure that I cover every inch. There. If anyone tries to come into this room, he'll make a mess in the flour. And if he wants to screw with my sleeping body, he'll have to move my clothes around or step on them. Okay, now time to turn in for the night. Well, that was the original concept at first. I wind up tossing around again. Guess I'm still wired. Argh. Well, I don't really want to stare at the ceiling, so I look around the room. Of course, the only thing to stare at is that picture. With the moonlight on it, it looks pale and it kind of glows. Almost...like a dead man. _That_ was definitely a mistake. Okay, Bloom, close your eyes and try not to think about it. Got it? Good. Crap, what was that noise? Deep breath. Settle down, Orli. Okay, try to sleep. What was that? Nothing. Hasn't it been a while? Check the watch. Shit, I've been doing this for hours. Bugger. Maybe I should count naked men jumping over a fence to put me to sleep. Ha ha. Great. No, you're not nervous Orlando, not at all, nope, not really. And denial is not a river in Egypt. Christ, did someone just drop the temperature a bunch of degrees? It's suddenly colder than a witch's tit in here. I see my breath and I'm glad that I'm in a sleeping bag, or my nuts would be shriveling up. Shitshitshit. I feel like someone's just walked over my grave. And I'm not alone. _Something_ is out there. I pull out the torch and click it on, pointing it toward the door. Fuck. Nothing there. I sweep the room with it, and I don't see a thing. I definitely don't remember this happening. On the other hand, I was stoned and drunk last night. I don't think I would've noticed a lorry running me over. Oh god, is that chill getting closer? And then I _feel_ it. I feel something cold touching my face, so bitterly icy that it feels like I've plunged my head into a newly thawed pond. The torch drops from my hand, and I try to catch it, but my fingers won't respond. In fact, my entire body won't move. I'm paralyzed. Shit! No! The iciness is seeping into my blood, and now it's flowing through me. Cold encloses my face, and now it's going down into my throat, following the flow of my blood, spreading out into my chest through my veins. God, it almost hurts...heart's beating like a frightened rabbit's... Bugger! Move your arse, Bloom! Do something! Christ, it's creeping over my torso, my hips, sliding down my legs...my teeth are chattering now as the chill closes over my feet. I feel another icy bite against my lips, turning them blue. BOLLOCKS! Something frigid is prying my mouth open, slithering inside and probing...NO! Suddenly, the biting numbness against my tongue turns into a vaguely familiar hot tingle dancing through my mouth...and now I feel a lovely warmth spreading through my face and curling through my body. It kind of feels like the slow, fuzzy feeling I get when I'm buzzed. My brain feels extremely woozy now. It's as delicious as the cold was terrifying, and I wind up sinking into it. /Sleep,/ I hear a familiar low, husky voice saying. But I don't hear it in my ears, it almost echoes in my brain. Strange. /Go to sleep, I'm here./ I can feel his voice rumbling through my body now, and it's sooo nice...I feel myself drifting away... When my vision clears, I'm in a field again, and I'm completely starkers. Note to self: whatever I wind up sleeping in, I'm going to be wearing when I dream. Do not, repeat, do not wear any embarrassing knickers to bed. Ugh, and the birds are still tweeting. Gotta work on changing that next. I take a gander around, and my lovely stranger is looking at the painting again. He's closer this time. Maybe about 7 meters away or so. And now my brain catches up to the rest of me. Guess he is a ghost...no! Get a hold of yourself, Orlando. There must be a rational explanation for what just happened. But I saw it with my own eyes, or rather, felt it with my own skin. That chill must have come from him. Ker-ching! Ghost 1, Orli 0. Bugger, they do exist...don't panic, Orli. Face your fears. Concentrate on something else. Think of anything... breathe, that's it...he used to be human, remember...okay, I'm good. Wait a minute...What the _fuck_ did he do to me? First, I can't sleep, then he creeps me out, and now I'm in dreamland? Thanks a lot, you sod; I love having my head messed with. Good, Orli. Get narked. Anger good. "Oi!" I yell. I try to walk, but my limbs still feel immensely heavy, which makes me really brassed off. He turns around and smiles. Wow...it's a dazzling smile, one that lights up his entire face. His eyes are shining with joy as he approaches me again. I feel myself melt and go all sort of mushy inside. Fuck! Orlando, you're supposed to be angry. Don't you dare fall into the twee trap. "Hello again," he purrs, taking my hand and pressing the palm to his lips, causing little shivers to shoot through my body. Train of thought derailing...where was it...um, don't you dare fall into...right...no falling, I can do that. Oh god, is he tracing the lines in my palm with his tongue? He is...wow...Fuck! Focus, goddamnit! Think of something frightfully nasty. Margaret Thatcher naked, now there's a horrifying sight...ugh, yuck...okay, good...focus...huh, he's murmuring something to me. I wind up concentrating on his voice, trying to go beyond the sexy husk. Mmm, tongue...bugger, concentrate! Oh man, his accent is mostly Yank. Mmm, yank. Just what I want him to do to my...shit, Orli! Right. Huh, there's some sort of overlay to his accent. Accent...right...wait, what was I thinking about? Right, I was thinking about how that feels good...his tongue against my palm. Mmm, and now he's rubbing his cheek against the area he licked...nice. Damnit, focus. "I'm so glad that you're back," he whispers. He wraps his arms around me and buries his nose in my hair...aah... feels good... "I've been waiting so long to have the chance to hold you." His tongue traces the whorl of my ear. Oooo, instant Orli-puddle. "To cherish you," he whispers in that drop-your-trousers- and-shag-me-now voice. Definitely turning in an Orli-puddle now. No, no Orli-puddle. Orli-puddle bad. Orli-puddle way too twee. Anger good. Focus...Margaret Thatcher...push him away...shit, that's hard to do...damn heavy air...okay, good...brain clearing up now that he's not so close. Now give him the bollocking he deserves. "Sod it, why the hell did you have to scare the shit out of me?" That's good, Orlando. Use your theatre training to get more projection in your voice. "I'm sorry, angel. That happens whenever I touch someone. I tried to make it as short as possible." Now I'm feeling really stroppy. "Bullshit. Can't you turn it off?" Good seethe to the voice, take a bow, Orli. "Can you stop breathing?" he replies mildly. "That chilly touch is a part of me. I can't get rid of it." Oh. Then he smiles a warm-hearted, generous smile to show that he's not angry at all with me even though he has every reason to. Now I feel really guilty and really, really small. Is there a nice rock for me to crawl under? Shit, no rock. Before I shrivel away from shame, he gathers me in his warm arms again and holds me close. Mmm, I'm definitely growing fond of the feeling of his nose buried in my hair. Fuck, why is it so hard to think? "It's all right, angel. We can only see each other when you're dreaming." He kisses me lightly and then runs his thumb over my lips, sending shivers through my body. "You looked like you were having trouble sleeping, so I helped you along." "Christ, couldn't you have done it without touching me?" "No. I needed to make some sort of extremely close contact with you or it wouldn't have worked." Oh, bugger, that cold sliding into my mouth must have been his tongue. Wait, why the hell would he want to see me again? And I still don't know why the painting looks so much like me... Christ, Orlando, it's obvious. He did it because he wants a piece of your arse. Figures. He wants to take advantage of me just like everyone else. Guess ghosts aren't so different from people in real life after all. You've had blokes try to impress you in the past by playing guitar or whatnot; this is no different. Ah, some focus is back. Good. "So why did you create this particular painting?" I ask rather stroppily, gesturing towards the easel. "Why does it look like me?" "It is you." "Bollocks, we've never met before. How would you know?" "Because I've dreamed about you. Because I've dreamed about the two of us being together even before the day that you were born." Bam. Okay, reality has left...repeat, reality has completely left the room. ----- end part 2 Author's Name: Lostiawen Fic Title: Destiny's Hands (3/10) Email: changeling@planetx.org Author's site: http://www.planetx.org/~changeling Rating: NC-17 Pairing: VM/OB Genre: RPS Archive: Please ask first. Feedback: Yes, please. Summary: Some explanations are in order. Disclaimer : This is a work of fiction, none of this really happened. The author is not associated with or is implying anything about the sexual preferences or the lives of the people depicted within. Warnings : These are warnings for the whole fic - AU, romance, sap, some angst, creepiness. Author's Notes: Dedicated to those who have lost a loved one. Thanks to Linda, who's chatty Orli in "Pure Love" and "Infinite Love" was such an inspiration for my Orli. The "shag me rotten" expression was taken from Cassandra Claire's "Very Secret Diaries of Aragorn, pt. 2" And sorry that this part was delayed a bit, my chatty Orli muse wouldn't shut up, the bastard. :) Posted May 25, 2003 ***** Okay, I'm already having trouble dealing with the fact that he's a ghost. But being able to see the future? And with me? Brain is refusing to understand this. Stop gawping with your mouth open like a fish, damnit. Say something, Orlando. "Th-that's impossible." Shit, guess I was more upset than I thought, can't even talk properly. Then it hits me that he's having me on. "Oh, that's a good one, mate." I start laughing, but then I stop dead. Bugger. His eyes tell me he's 100% serious. And judging by that look, I've also just carved his heart out with a spoon, stomped it into pieces, and pissed on it for good measure. Argh, I'm such a wanker. "I'm sorry," I mutter. I look for the rock that I wanted to crawl under before, and the bloody thing _still_ hasn't appeared. "It's all right, angel. I know this is hard for you to understand." Christ! Does he have to be so understanding? Now I feel like complete scum. He cups his rough hand against my cheek again. Great, don't do that, I'm a complete arsehole. No...I can't bear to look at him after what a blithering pillock I've been. I think I'll stare at the ground, thank you very much. Shit, he's putting a finger under my chin and tilting my head up. Oh god, those beautiful blue eyes...I'm drowning in them...and the butterflies are back in residence. "I've always known that we would meet in this house," he says softly. "I began having visions of you when I was alive." He gestures towards the canvas, "You were in this pose on the grass, and I tried to capture it, but I never finished my work." My heart's thumping again. "The fire." He nods. "I was in another room and the smoke filled my lungs before I could get out. As I was dying, all I could think of was that my fondest wish was never completed." He looks incredibly sad. "And now I'm bound here until I can fulfill it." God, I'm so confused now. "But there's no such thing as being able to predict the future. There's no rational explanation for any of this." Shit, my voice is squeaking. "Why does there need to be one? Can't you just believe?" he asks. His voice lowers to a husk, "Can't you just let yourself go?" His lips are hovering just above mine, and our hot breaths are mingling together. Can't think anymore with him so close, with his wonderful scent intoxicating me, with his mouth hovering just over mine. His presence is so overwhelming that my tongue darts out to nervously lick my lips, and I wind up swiping it across that tantalizing mouth in the process. Oh, SHIT! You could've used the electricity that just jolted between us to power a city. Need to feel it again... As if he's sensing my thoughts, he closes the small distance between us, and I open my mouth hungrily to meet his. Christ, he kisses like a fucking typhoon. My head spins as he claims my mouth, my lips, and my tongue. He continues to kiss me until I can't breathe and my cock is so hard that I swear that all of my blood has rushed there. And again, I feel the tenderness underneath his urgency, his tongue caressing mine like I'm the most precious thing on this planet. Wow...those lips...wait, wasn't something bothering me? So hard to think...fuck it, I just want to feel this...mmm... Ooo, he's pressing his erection against my thigh. So hard... god. Mmm, I grind against him eagerly, feeling the cloth graze against my cock. I need him. Now. "Let me take care of you," he says. "Yes..." I try to grind my cock against his, but he holds me in place. Guess he has other ideas, damnit. I hate waiting, I want to shag him _now_. His eyes are glinting with amusement as I grunt in protest. "Patience," he says. Fuck that. "I want to enjoy you," he purrs as he kisses his way up my jaw. He pauses to twirl his tongue in my ear, killing any more arguments from me. My knees go all wobbly, and he turns me in his arms so that my back is against his chest. "I want to savor you," he breathes in his sexy as hell voice while he nibbles his way down the back of my neck. Damn, I didn't know I was so sensitive there. Each nip shoots a little bolt of fire through my body, and the lick afterwards with his hot tongue just makes me weak inside. He begins to tweak my nipples as he laps at the hollow of my neck. Christ, that feels good. I moan softly, feeling the press of his shirt against my back, and his hard prick against my arse. Wish he weren't wearing trousers... Oh god, more contact, please...I feel completely on fire, my brain going into a complete meltdown as he touches me. He's teasing my nipples into hard peaks, gently rubbing them between his two fingers, making me ache in the pit of my stomach. He plants tiny kisses slowly down my back, while caressing my chest and stomach with his big hands. God, I feel like I'm being wrapped in a decadent cocoon. Butterfly-light touches from his lips burning my back, his warm, slightly rough hands spanning my front...I can feel my cock pulsing eagerly in response. Christ, he's killing me. He picks up one of my hands and sucks on a finger, that deadly tongue twirling and wrapping around the sensitive pad. I make a little noise in my throat, and I flip over so that I can push my hips against him. He gives me a throaty laugh. "Just wait," he says. Wanker. He's not the one being teased. "Easy for you to...ohhh," I rasp, my complaint cut off as he sucks on another finger, swallowing it completely. He proceeds to lavish attention on every single digit, licking his way up the sensitive inside of my arm. As I'm trembling, he kisses his way across to my other arm, and gives it the same slow, teasing treatment. He covers every single centimeter of remaining skin in front of him with those maddening nips, licks, and kisses, ignoring my nipples and my cock. I'm completely shaking by the time he's covering the last area, the inside of my thigh. My body's so tightly wound up now that his lips are scorching me like little brands. "Please..." I gasp as he licks away at the small patch of skin, completely ignoring my crotch. I'm trying to talk, but I'm so muddled that stringing any sentence together is almost impossible. Christ! He's finally decided to pay attention to my nipples... god, his tongue is so fucking hot against them...so wet... Oh yes! He's using his teeth now...tugging on them...mmm, so good... "Yes?" He asks me playfully. Bastard. Fuck, he keeps running that scorchingly hot tongue over the tip of my nipples, looking at me with that sinful glint in his eyes... brain...work... "Need...need to come." "How badly to you want it?" he purrs. Sodding tease. I try fighting through the thick atmosphere to take care of myself, but he easily grabs my hands and stops me. Then he starts tracing patterns on my skin with his tongue and nibbling on me, keeping me on the edge until I want to scream. "Fuck...finish me off...oh god, please..." I plead. I'm whimpering shamelessly now, completely helpless in his grasp, and I could give a flying fuck about how desperate I sound. He finally stops and reaches down for my cock. Yesss... Oh. My. God. I just felt every nerve come alive and dance, like my whole body has turned into one large extension for my prick. Fuck, I've never felt this good before. His blue eyes lock with mine as he wanks me, and I see the complete tenderness in his gaze. Oh god, I'm just sizzling inside. This is so amazing that talking soon becomes overrated, and all I can do is make small, strangled cries as he strokes me. "That's it," he purrs in my ear. "My beautiful angel. Let yourself go. Let yourself feel it." Oh god, that dark, throaty voice, making me ache all over, making my cock throb almost painfully. I moan and fight through the heaviness, bucking into his hand. Mmmm, he's squeezing my prick deliciously, milking it until I start leaking at the tip. I quiver as he smears the wetness around with his thumb, making me feel as if I'm going to burst. He's still looking at me intently, watching me come apart. It's too much. "Please," I manage to choke out thickly. He starts pumping me in earnest now, and I start crying out loudly. "I love the feel of your hot cock in my hand," he coos, "I want you to watch you come in thick, hot spurts and then I'm going to lick it off my fingers." Oh god, that dirty talk, that husky voice...mmmm, bringing me so close...so...oh god...what is he doing with his hand... Christ...my blood's pounding in my ears as his hand dances wickedly over me...jesusfuckdamn feels so good...ooooh god, he's sucking my nipple again...feels like a fucking furnace...and he's still lookly hotly at me...so hot...so...OH FUCKING GOD! FUCK! Christ, that was sensational...I'm glad he's holding me because I can't stand up. Wow, we're both a mess...I coated my stomach, and got a good deal on his hand...shit, did I really produce that much come? Oh man, he's licking his fingers clean now and it's sexy as hell to watch. "You taste wonderful," he purrs as he kisses me back. Mmm, that tastes good. Brain going bye-bye now. What was I doing? Right...talk to him, Orlando. Oh god...he's cleaning my stomach off, Christ...now, what was I thinking about? "Let me paint you some more," he says in his come-hither voice. Paint me? Right, that must have been it. That sounds like a great idea. Now, how do I sit down? Oh good, he's helping me. I take up my pose on the grass, still a bit flummoxed by everything. Ah, this is nice...not as nice as his hand...god, that was incredible. Do they give out knightships for handjobs? Bollocks. *slap* Get a hold of yourself, you cunt. Where are your manners? You haven't taken care of him yet. Fuck, I may shag indiscriminately, but I'm not a cad. I try reaching for him, but that daft molasses-shit atmosphere still keeps me from moving very fast. "It's all right," he says quietly. "Just enjoy." I'm stunned. This is definitely unusual. Whoever I take a tumble with usually expects some payback. And for some reason, I'm feeling like a right bastard for getting all the attention. I should have my head examined, because me getting all the attention is normally a dream date. Must be something in the atmosphere. That's it. He paints for a bit, and I start feeling that warm twee feeling as he gives me that look. Damn, not again. Need to distract myself...I try to open my yap to ask him more questions, but he hushes me up. Bugger. Guess he needs me to stay still. Oh well, I'll ask him afterward. It's really not easy sitting still and trying not to feel mushy inside. Somehow, I manage, mostly because I'm still trying to figure out everything he's told me so far. Eventually, my dream lover puts down his brush. He then walks over and scoops me up so that he can give me another one of those dizzying kisses. Ooo, I could get used to this... *slap* Shit, why do I keep forgetting myself? "We don't have much time again," he says quietly. Bugger. "But I have so many more questions." "Patience." Fuck patience. "What..." "Shh, don't talk." He melts me again with his lips. Christ, that mouth should be illegal. "You're about to wake up," he says huskily. I see him pull something out of his trouser pocket, but his hand is closed around it, so I can't get a good gander at whatever it is. He gives me another toe-curling kiss as he slips the object into my hand, wrapping my fingers around it before I can have a proper squint. Hmm, it feels cold in my palm. Before I have time to think about it some more, he presses another kiss to my closed fingers. It sends a thrill from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes. "For you to remember me by," he purrs. I feel that fading away feeling again, and I try to ask him something, but it's suddenly too hard to talk. Damnit, I still need some more answers! My dream man says soothingly, "I'll be waiting for you to come back. I'll always wait for you." He's fading off into the distance, and I finally manage to make my mouth work. "Wait! What's your name?" I hear him softly say, "Viggo," before the field fades away and goes black. I can feel myself waking up now, and I pry my eyes open. Even though I'm expecting it, my heart still thumps as I carefully open my hand. There's a small pendant cradled in my palm, a silver teardrop with a yellow stone set in the middle. Now what, Orlando? *** Well, there's only one thing to do when cornered with something of this magnitude: get seriously monged. So here I am, in a pub late Sunday morning, drinking everything I can get my hands on. Goddamnit, why me? I'm not special, I'm not an extraordinary guy, I'm not anything. Now, I have a ghost fancying me. Let's be honest, it's more like he's fixated on me. And I'm still having a hard time swallowing all of this "we're meant to be together" rubbish. Fuck, Viggo was talking about fate, wasn't he? Sod him, I know exactly what my fate should be: it's to get so royally pissed that I have a nice blackout about this whole thing. "Hello, Orli. A bit early to hit the pints, isn't it?" someone says beside me. I jump three feet in the air because I didn't even see him coming. Bugger. Yup, I'm definitely upset about Viggo. And not monged nearly enough. Well, it's someone I recognize vaguely from one of the parties, but hell if I can remember his name. One of those mates of a mate of someone who I've only barely met. Shit. Blond, nice body and arse, but no bells are ringing. I think his name is Dave or Chris or something common. Christ, he's looking at me expectantly. Time for standard answer number 3. "A bit. But I think I prefer your wonderfully shaggable presence." He sidles closer to me. "Why don't we go somewhere more quiet?" he purrs as he stealthily grabs my crotch. My cock immediately leaps to attention. Hmm, haven't had sex in the gents yet. That's what I need: a nice, hard, nasty shag with someone to take my mind off of the weirdness in my life lately. Especially since I've been feeling a bit...I don't know...off, since I left the house... Viggo's house, really. *slap* Your mind is wandering, Orli, concentrate on the sexy bloke with you. I give him my best shag-me-rotten smile, and gesture over to the toilet. My hook-up picks up on my signal and we head over there. I'm groping him as we bustle into a stall...right, now I remember why I never have sex in the loo: it's really disgusting in here. I really don't want to know what that brownish-coloured stuff on the wall is, and I think the germs here are about to unionize. That's quite odd, it's never bugged me before. Why now? Fuck it all, don't think about it, you need to forget about Viggo. As I close and lock the stall's door behind us, that rum feeling starts up again. Oh, fuck it, concentrate on having a good time, Orli. The blond grabs a hold of my cock again. Oh, those fingers do feel nice. Shit, just remembered..."Erm, I don't have any lube." Or a condom for that matter. I usually pack them before I go out to the clubs, but I wasn't really expecting to be on the pull this morning. Fuck, maybe _those_ should become a permanent fixture, also. Fortunately, my hook-up is very understanding. "Then we'll just have to make do," he says before he unzips my fly and pulls my cock out of my knickers. I see my prick rapidly disappearing into his mouth. Mmm. He's got a good thing going there with his tongue, lapping around my entire cock and applying lots of suction. Wait, now I remember his name. It's John. Nice technique he's got there, definitely not someone I've had it off with before. Yes, I can identify any bloke I've been with by his blowjob technique; each one of them is distinctly different in how he does it. Man, that would make a smashing idea for a blind taste test...have a bunch of hot men taste _me_ first. Then I could put on a blindfold and try to identify them by how they suck me off. Goddamnit, you're being rude, Orli. Why is your mind wandering? Pay attention! Right, mmm...he's running his fingernails over my balls...not as good as Viggo's hand, though. Oh god, that hand... Christ, why the fuck am I thinking about Viggo now? That's frightfully impolite. Concentrate, Orlando. Yum, nice hot tongue lapping at the slit of my cock, heat all around me...yes...oh, that's good...yes, lots of suction... mmm, I bet Viggo would use a lot of suction...and that wicked mouth...oh my god, and it would be a hundred times more amazing that his hand...yeah, Viggo... John stands up and looks pretty narked at me. "Who the fuck is Viggo?" Oops. Guess I was thinking aloud, sod it all. Quick, Orli, improv an excuse. You're an actor, after all. "I meant to say 'we should go', but you scrambled my head so much that it came out as a garble." Ooo, smooth save, Bloom. Does he buy it? He glares at me. Shit. Okay, time for plan B. I quickly unzip him and purr, "Let me make it up to you, luv," before I pull his cock out and start sucking him. Unfortunately, my thoughts keep straying to Viggo. I want to have Viggo in my mouth, and I want to taste him all over. I want to have him squirm under my tongue, and this time, I'll be the one making him beg...Shit! Can't get him out of my mind. And for some reason, I really feel like I shouldn't be here with John. This feels...wrong. "I'm sorry," I mutter as I stop. "I'm too sotted to do this." "Never expected you to be a cock-tease, Orli," John growls as he tucks himself back in and zips up his jeans. He storms out of the loo, and I can't say I blame him for being upset. What's going on? I've _never_ felt this way about a hook-up. More importantly, I can't get Viggo out of my sodding mind. Bollocks, what's happening to me? ---- end part 3 Author's Name: Lostiawen Fic Title: Destiny's Hands (4/10) Email: changeling@planetx.org Author's site: http://www.planetx.org/~changeling Rating: NC-17 Pairing: VM/OB Genre: RPS Feedback: Yes, please. Archive: Please ask first. Summary: Orli tries to sort things out. Disclaimer : This is a work of fiction, none of this really happened. The author is not associated with or is implying anything about the sexual preferences or the lives of the people depicted within. Warnings : These are warnings for the whole fic - AU, romance, sap, some angst, creepiness. BIG HONKING WARNING : This chapter contains imagery that might be very disturbing and violent for some people. You have been warned. Author's Notes: Dedicated to those who have lost a loved one. Thanks to Linda, who's chatty Orli in "Pure Love" and "Infinite Love" was such an inspiration for my Orli. And thanks to Elizabeth for acting as my sounding board for this part! *mwah* The "Catherine" I mention here is in no way associated with Kate Bosworth. I just needed a common name, and that's what popped into my head. Posted June 1, 2003 ***** I can't explain my behavior yesterday, and today isn't much better. I'm rapidly becoming obsessed with Viggo. He's filling all of my thoughts. I keep fantasizing about him constantly. I fantasize in class, I fantasize while I'm in the bath...hell, I even fantasize about him while I'm waiting in an otherwise boring queue. The more I try _not_ to fantasize about him, the dirtier the fantasies get when they come back, usually at the most embarrassing times. So, I've finally given up and I just let them fill my mind. Unfortunately, I don't have much in the way of loose trousers in my wardrobe, so I've been trying to keep the embarrassing stiffies down by wanking. Which means that I've had to do it an awful lot lately, much more than when I was in my teens. I don't know if this is a good or a bad thing, but I think I've just taken the gold medal for jerking off. My poor cock has probably developed calluses by now. Maybe I should ask it how it's holding up, but I have a feeling the answer will be "Sod off and use lube next time." Wish I could tell my brain to go bugger itself. It's decided that all of my fantasies should have me bottoming. I _never_ bottom. No way am I losing control and letting myself be that vulnerable with another person. God, am I sick or something? Nope, no fever. Mad cow disease? Hmm, no. The last burger I touched was well before the first herds had ever been infected. Bubonic plague? Christ, now you're reaching, Bloom. I also feel like total shit because I couldn't get much sleep last night. I woke up in a cold sweat, with my heart hammering. I don't know what it was I dreamed, but I do know that it was something horrible. At least Viggo didn't pay me another visit. Guess I actually have to be at his house for it to work. Shit, speaking of which, did Viggo do something to my mind? He was able to make me sleep...but then he said that he needed to be in close contact to do it. Of course, that's assuming I should trust him in the first place. I'm still disturbed by the unOrlando-ish twee thoughts I keep getting when I'm around him. He must be fucking with my head in order for me to think that way, and I'm not convinced that these sodding fantasies aren't his fault. And then there was that little incident with John... On the other hand, if he really wants to screw with my brain, he should make me come back to him. I haven't felt any strong compulsion to go back to the house, so maybe he isn't doing anything. Unless that's what he wants me to think... Christ, I am staying _away_ from that house until I figure out what the fuck is going on. ************ Well, so far, this has been a charmer of a week. It's Tuesday, 2 days since I last saw Viggo, and I've only probably gotten about 6 hours of sleep. Not even having a joint has relaxed me enough. My dreams woke me up again. Christ. No nightmare has ever kept me from falling back asleep. What the hell is happening? "Orlando! Pay attention!" Bugger, mind's wandering again. I just fluffed my line. Concentrate, Orlando. You don't want Neal, your teacher, to get his knickers in a twist. Why, oh why, did he insist that our exercise for today would be to act out a random scene from the play we've been studying? Yes, I know, it doesn't sound too bad, but my classmates get to pick the scene, and I don't get to pick my partner. We have to draw lots to see who we're working with. And of course, I got stuck with Catherine. She hates my guts because her boyfriend dumped her and then slept with me a week later. She somehow thinks it's all my fault, even thought it's well known that I never involve myself with anyone. My classmates decided to pick the sex scene, knowing _exactly_ how uncomfortable this would make the two of us. Sadists. And Neal's a big believer in Method acting, so he insisted we both take off our shirts and sit on a mattress he borrowed from the props department. After all, we can't really do anything convincing if we're clothed. I'm sure everyone took that into account, too. Bloody wankers. Well, never let it be said that I don't suffer for my art. "Orlando!" Right, I have a line. Gotta be Seductive Orli now. Catherine's doing her hesitation thing, because her character's still unsure as to whether or not we should shag each other, and I have to convince her that this is right. "Elanor, believe me, you're all I could ever want." Huh, wish I could figure out what was up with the nightmares... "That's a really nice delivery, Orli. Could you make it any more unconvincing?" she says dryly, low enough so that Neal can't hear her. "It's not like I've got a great source of inspiration in front of me," I whisper back. Score. Two points for Orlando Bloom. She's furious, and she looks like she's going to punch me. "Catherine! Orlando! Your scene." Okay, focus. I try to look at her smolderingly as she does her lines. Ugh, okay, put the script down and start snogging her...well, try to act, Bloom...don't think about your problems... Christ, why can't I have a nice, dirty, Viggo fantasy right now? "Orlando, Could you make an attempt to look passionate? At least close your eyes," Neal says. Shit, guess that was a pretty sad excuse for a kiss. *slap* Come on, Orli, focus. Catherine whispers, "Too used to sucking things instead of kissing them, Orli?" She should talk. I heard some very nasty stories about her from her ex. Before I can give her a proper comeback, Neal says, "All right. Try kissing her again, Orlando. And put some feeling into it. Pretend that she's someone that you really lust after." Right...close eyes...think of Viggo. Okay, much better...press lips together...think of his firm lips and not these kind of dead-fish lips against mine...ugh, and Viggo wouldn't wear enough perfume to kill a horse...crap, why does lipstick have to taste so bad?...well, don't think about it...oh Christ, I have to stick my tongue in her mouth now...can't we just fake it?...no, Neal won't think it'll look convincing unless we actually do it...ugh...well, Bloom, you've done worse...think about something scabby to distract you...like the time someone dared you to lick a frog and you took him up on it...well, that makes pushing my tongue against hers at least bearable...shit, she had bangers and mash for lunch...disgusting...I feel like rolling my tongue up and taking it out to get dry cleaned... okay, now we fall back onto the "bed"...ugh, now I've got to clutch her to me and roll the two of us over...god, if I do that, I'll pick up her perfume and smell like a cheap tart... Christ, the things I have to do...well, here goes..."Ouch!" Oi! That hurt. "Sorry, Orli," she says innocently. "I didn't mean to jab you in the balls." Sure you didn't. Bitch. "All right, that's enough for today, people," Neal yells. I jump off the mattress like it's full of lice and get dressed. Damn, wish Viggo were here with me. Love to have him pin me to the mattress while he fills me with his big cock... "I don't really appreciate the compliment, but I guess I was the lucky lass who changed your mind," Catherine says. Huh, wha? Oh, sod it all, I've got a massive hard-on and I'm wearing tight jeans today. Fucking bollocks! _Now_ I get the dirty Viggo fantasy. My brain needs a massive spanking and a good talking to. Shit, I think I've turned a shade of red that doesn't exist yet. Guess I get to name it. Hot, Bothered, and Hung Orli Red? Bloomin' Git Crimson? My classmates have just noticed the bulge in my jeans, and they're snickering. Someone kill me now. No, really. Just take a knife and stab me dead or something. I don't think I'll ever live this down. Please? Nope. No luck, of course. "So, do you fancy me now?" Catherine says, batting her eyelashes. "Although I do prefer lads whose little black books don't read like the telephone directory." Pot. Kettle. Black. Her ex dumped her because she cheated on him. And this wasn't the first bloke she did it to. In fact, the joke making the rounds at Guildhall is that Catherine can only shag other people's boyfriends. And although she protests otherwise, she's quite indiscriminate. At least I'm honest about not wanting any attachments. "If I ever go straight, it won't be with a slag who thinks that the Kama Sutra is an Indian restaurant," I bite back at her. Okay, she's brassed off. Serves her right. "Break it up, you two," Neal says. We look sheepishly at him and mutter our apologies. I finish throwing my shirt on and I rush back to my flat. God, they're going to take the piss for days about my little display. I need some time alone. I take a cautious sniff as I pull my shirt off. I was right, I now reek of eau de putain. I'm going to need at least two washings before this crap will come off. And I need to brush my teeth to get that residue of meat and gravy out. Hmm, hot bath sounds good. Something relaxing... I turn on the taps and jump in once the water's at a good level. Aaaah, much better...tension's leaving...mmmm...feels good to rub soap on my chest...wish Viggo were here to do this...getting me all nice and lathered and slippery... he'd probably open me up with his fingers first... I grab some of the silicone-based lube that I have sitting on the corner of the tub and pour some onto my hands. I work a finger in slowly...ah, yes, just like that. Oh god, feels good to brush my sweet spot...I slide in two more fingers while I use my right hand to wank myself. Mmmm, so good...Viggo would be merciless at this point...he'd wriggle his fingers around until I begged him to shag me...yeah, then he'd bend me over the side of the tub and plunge his magnificent cock into me, fucking me until I screamed. Oh...yes, just like that...ohhhh, Viggo. VIGGO! Christ. I feel wobbly now. Maybe _now_ I'll have a good sleep. Mmm, and I smell like myself again. Life is good. I dry off, do a quick brush of the teeth, and everything's back to normal. Ah, the day's looking up now. Just as I'm thinking of jumping into bed, the phone rings. Shit, guess I should answer it... "Hullo?" "Orli! Robert here! Thought you'd like to go motorbiking this afternoon." Fuck, does he remember me acting odd on Sunday morning? I'm really not in the mood to deal with any more needling. Better beg off this time. "Sorry, man. I'm completely knackered." "Since when has that stopped you, you mad bastard? We can knock some pints down afterward, and it'll be my treat." Bollocks. I can't turn down free beer. Well, let's see if he remembers anything... "Christ, you still owe me for the bet, you twat. And so does everyone else. I knew I should have collected when I dropped by your flat." "We'll pay up Saturday night. So, are you in or out?" Fantastic! He completely forgot about it. Of course, he _was_ pretty hung over. "In." "Thought so," he says. "Where are we going?" "The usual spot." I smile. We found a perfect area with a lot of open countryside a while ago, near the outskirts of London. "See you in a bit," I say as I hang up. I throw on some jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and grab my heavy jacket and helmet. I'm probably being daft, but I need this. Sleep's overrated, anyway. *** Robert gives me two fingers as I tear past him. I laugh as I gun my bike up a steep hill. It's a bit dodgy here, but I don't care. I just love jumping over the hills at mad speeds, getting that adrenalin rush as I fly through the air. Aaahh...I'm completely buzzed. No worries about class, about the nightmares, or about Viggo. Viggo...he'd probably be narked that I'm doing this, because he seems to be the calm type. Wonder if my antics would make him angry? Angry enough to make him throw me onto the ground and pin my arms above my head? Angry enough so that he would kiss me until my lips were bruised? Would he fuck my mouth to punish me? Hmmm...oh shit! Just hit a slippery patch on the ground. Shit...starting to tip...fuckfuckfuck...Christ, got it straightened out, but just barely. Robert pulls up next to me and flips up his visor. I do the same. "You alright, Orli?" "Yeah, man, I'm golden. Sorry, my mind's been wandering a lot lately." He claps his hand on my arm. "It sounds like it's time to hit the pub." We bike back to London, and knock back quite a few at the pub. I'm nicely pissed by the time I stumble back to my flat. I strip and flop onto my bed. Now maybe I'll sleep...mmm...drifting... Unfortunately, I have the nightmare again. Even though I can't remember it, I get the feeling that I've been having the same one for the past few days. Shit, I'm shaking. There's no way I can go back to sleep. Bugger, I've only been out for a couple of hours. Fuck, what do I do now? I could read, but I'm too edgy to sit properly. Shit, I could use another good hardcore fantasy of Viggo to distract me right now. Come on brain, produce one? Please? Fine, hold out on me, you twatting bastard. See if I feel guilty the next time I kill millions of your cells on my next drinking binge. Viggo...shit, I still have unanswered questions about him. How did he become a ghost? Fuck, wish I had done more than watch the occasional horror movie. My ghost knowledge is pretty shoddy. Wait, I remember that Edward was rabbitting on about ghosts last Saturday at the pub, and that's why we started talking about Viggo's house. Of course, I told him that he was talking out of his arse. Christ, what did he say? Think, Orli. Shit, I can't remember. It's not too late in the night to ring him, but how do I get the information I need without letting him know about Viggo? He'll really take the piss if I actually admit that ghosts exist. Hmm, if I can somehow steer him onto the subject of ghosts, he'll yabber on for hours once he's certain that he's got a captive audience. But how do I do it? Fuck. Think, Orlando. No other ideas? Well, there's no way around it, Bloom, pick up the phone and dial his number. "Hullo?" "Edward? It's Orli." "What's up? Other than embarrassing yourself in class?" "Sod off, you cunt." Bugger, I forgot that one of his mates shares that class with me. Now he's going to needle me for hours. How do I steer the conversation over to ghosts? Oh wait, I have it..."That's a fine way to talk, you bastard, you owe me." "So, how did it go, Orli? Did the ghost come after you?" Good, hooked him in... "No, man. Spending the night at that house was a complete doddle." "Are you sure there was nothing there?" Edward sounds a bit disappointed. Figures, ghosts and the supernatural have always fascinated him. Never thought I'd actually be encouraging it. "Well, man, it was amazingly creepy. And I might have heard something odd. Why?" "From what I hear about the bloke who died, he seemed like prime ghost material." Score! "Uh, why do you say that?" "Well, ghosts are basically souls who can't go on to the afterlife because something drives them to stay here," he answers. "Really?" I say, trying to sound as casual as possible. Quick, grab a pen and jot this down, Orli. "Yes, you wanker. For instance, one way a ghost can get formed is if a person dies and the poor sod doesn't get interred correctly. The soul becomes restless and wanders around until its remains are given a proper burial." "Uh huh." Come on, Edward, keep going. "And you know what else?" "What?" Score again! I can tell by the sound of his voice that the floodgates are now open. "A ghost can also get created when someone is murdered: it stays in this world until it fulfills its need for vengeance. And sometimes, a person comes back as a ghost because they have some sort of unfinished task holding them here. Once it's done, they go on to the afterlife." Edward then starts going on about other stuff; I try to write some of it down and pay attention, but he's throwing out terminology that I've never heard of. I occasionally mutter something to keep him going, trying to pick out the bits that don't sound like gibberish. "...and some ghosts can affect people in the real world through their dreams..." Note that one down, Orlando. Hmm, didn't something similar happen in "Nightmare on Elm Street"? I think I prefer my ghost, though, _much_ sexier and he gives handjobs to die for. Shit, I know what you're going to think next, Bloom, just _don't_ go there. Eventually, Edward notices that it's getting late and he stops. We say our goodbyes and hang up. Shit, my head feels like it's going to explode because it's stuffed full of too much information, like Keanu Reeves' character in that awful movie from a few years ago. God, what was the name of it? The only line I even remember is Keanu shouting, "I want a ten thousand dollar-a-night hooker!" Hmm, wonder if the rentboy I played could get that much? Maybe I could re-enact that role for Viggo? I could proposition him, and do a sexy lip lick to reel him in. Wonder what he would ask for...Bugger! *slap* I need to ignore my own advice for now, and concentrate on something other than fantasies about Viggo. Okay, let's look over the list...Viggo doesn't seem to be the violent type, so vengeance goes out the window. Hmmm, maybe he wasn't buried properly? That doesn't make much sense. The house wasn't completely destroyed in the fire, so he probably left a corpse. That leaves the unfinished task. Hmm, Viggo did mention that he was bound to the house until his fondest wish was fulfilled. Can't think of what that would be...shit, you thick bastard. The painting. He can't rest until he finishes the painting of me. Fuck, now what? I really can't leave him to wander around the house forever. But on the other hand, I'm still not sure if coming in contact with him is healthy for me. Either way, I'm busy with classes, so I'll think it over and figure something out by Saturday. Unfortunately, the rest of the week goes by in a haze, because I haven't been able to sleep at all. Every time I try to rest, the nightmare returns, and I get so wound up from it that I can't go back to bed. I slog through each day, keeping myself going through sheer bullheadedness. It's Friday night now, and my mates want to hit the clubs. Robert has come by to fetch me, but I can barely focus on him. Fuck. I need sleep. Badly. "Christ, I can't go. Just leave me here," I say to him. "Orli, are you ill? This is the highlight of your week. There are some very shaggable men waiting for you," Robert says. "Bugger off. Go without me." "On the other hand, you do look like complete shit." Wanker. Typical Robert response. God...the walls seem very, very far away right now. "Orli? Orli, I asked you a question." Hmm, wha? Robert looks concerned. "Christ, you're out on your feet. Come on, let's get you to bed." Why is he pushing me towards the bedroom? Right...I need sleep...fuck, I can undress myself, can't I? No...I can't. God... so tired. Ah, lying on the bed now, much better. "Try to get some rest, mate," Robert says as he leaves. Wish I could...drifting again... It's dark now. Darkness around me, surrounding me, choking off my senses, then I feel pain, feel the bones in my back shattering...pain shooting through my body...I'm strangling on my own blood...filling my mouth...can't breathe, hurts... can't move...No, pain everywhere, daggers through my body.. fuckithurts... "NO!" Shit! Another nightmare. And this time I remember, just all too vividly. Oh, Christ, I'm shaking and my heart feels like it's going to thump out of my chest. I need to take a walk, clear my head. God, I can still smell the blood...and my head is still fuzzy. In fact, I think I just made it worse. I'm still groggy from not enough sleep and the nightmare...so tired...which makes the blood seem that more real...no, don't think about it. As I walk on the pavement, I think I see a dog in pain. Poor thing's writhing in agony, but it's not making a sound. That's odd. I try to get closer, but it disappears from sight. What the fuck? Huh, I'm near Viggo's house. Didn't know that I had wandered here. Oh god, blood is dripping down from the moon. I can see each drop forming, glistening perfectly as it hangs there... shit, no! Stop it! God, I feel so out of it. I don't quite feel like I'm here... wait, what's that? Oh, bollocks. Looks like a few drunks are following me. And they're bigger than I am. The blood, blood is flowing everywhere...they'll make it flow...Bugger! Stop that and try to get away! I cross the street, trying not to look nervously over my shoulder. Please, please leave me alone...Fuck! They're following me and keeping up. They'll kick my arse and my bones will crack, and the pain won't end, blood will be dripping from their hands...no, fuck, there's no place to go...no place to run...wait, I could try to lose them in Viggo's house. Fuckfuckfuck, they're gaining...ignore the knot in your stomach. Christ, run faster, Orli. RUN! Oh shit, my heart is in my throat and I can't breathe. They'll grab me and beat me up or worse...heart pounding... they'll stick knives into me and laugh...and I'll scream and feel the blood in my lungs and throat and...no! Thank god, there it is, I hope I can get through the window in time. Oh god, Bloom, this is no time to do your klutz thing. I'm caught... shit, tug hard, get loose, c'mon you stupid piece of cloth comeoncomeon...shit, no, now my blood's dripping off the ceiling...slow drip like a faucet, leeching the life out of me, each drop beading...no...fuck, tug again...Yes! I'm free. Thank god, I'm in. Now maybe if I hide they'll go away...oh no, I see the shadows coming closer... closer...I can hear my heart thudding faster. Fuck, my temples are pounding. Ohshitohgod, I'm outnumbered and there's no one here, no one but Viggo. Bugger, work voice, work! Come on, damn you... "Viggo! Help!" Oh no...my voice is just coming out as a painful whisper. I'm too scared to shout, too scared to scream. Please, _please_ let him hear me. Suddenly, I feel a ghastly chill permeating the area. It's much worse than the one I felt earlier in the week. This one makes my skin completely crawl, and I feel like there's freezing cold insects burrowing down into my veins, skittering through my body. It passes by me and the dickheads following me suddenly stiffen up. Looks like they feel it, too. The air actually looks hazy around them. The cunts who tried to mug me are looking confused, and then they start partially dissolving, writhing in pain before they scarper away on their good legs...Fuck! I'm glad they're gone... Oh god, I think I'm hyperventilating. Getting dizzy... bugger, my hands are shaking...don't think about it, Orli...don't think about them punching you in the face...shit, I can't...god, I feel like throwing up...what? The cold's completely gone now, and my face now feels a little... fizzy. I feel a tingle against my lips, and I open my mouth gratefully to Viggo's kiss, feeling his comforting warmth flood through me. /Sleep,/ I hear him whisper. Yes, sleep... When I come to this time, I'm in his arms. "Angel," he says as he holds me. "Are you all right?" Damnit Orlando, think of an excuse...any excuse. Improv... fuck, I can't. I'm too knackered, too upset, too confused. I still feel like I'm going to lose my lunch at any second, and my body won't stop trembling. I shake my head mutely. He hugs me tighter. "Everything will be fine," he says soothingly, stroking my back, "I'll always be here for you." He nuzzles my hair and whispers, "I'll always protect you while you're in this house." I sink into Viggo's embrace, shuddering with relief. ------- end part 4 Author's Name: Lostiawen Fic Title: Destiny's Hands (5/10) Email: changeling@planetx.org Author's site: http://www.planetx.org/~changeling Rating: NC-17 Pairing: VM/OB Genre: RPS Feedback: Yes, please. Archive: Please ask first. Summary: Comfort and smut, ghost-style. Disclaimer : This is a work of fiction, none of this really happened. The author is not associated with or is implying anything about the sexual preferences or the lives of the people depicted within. Warnings : These are warnings for the whole fic - AU, romance, sap, some angst, creepiness. Author's Notes: Dedicated to those who have lost a loved one. Thanks to Linda, who's chatty Orli in "Pure Love" and "Infinite Love" was such an inspiration for my Orli. My net connection is incredibly wonky right now, so if e-mail to me bounces, either post to the group, or try again later. I assure you that I am not going away until this is done. Posted June 12, 2003 **** Viggo holds me tightly, stroking my back and my hair. Fuck, I'm still shaking like a leaf...I'm too drained to do anything but huddle in his warm arms. Feels so good let him hold me, having him stroke my hair. I feel safe now. I have no words to express my overwhelming thankfulness that he was there to rescue me. I feel my eyes getting watery. Bollocks, don't you _dare_ start crying now, you twatting bastard. Don't be a wuss, Orli. You learned long ago that wusses get their arses kicked. Deep breaths, okay, good. At least my stomach has settled down now. And thank god, my limbs don't feel like they have fourteen stone weights attached to them anymore. We eventually sink down to the grass, and Viggo just continues to hold and caress me, waiting until my body stops twitching and my breathing goes back to normal. He changes his grip on me and says, "Let me take care of you," before he scoops me up into his arms. I'm still too buggered to argue, so I just wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face against his chest, inhaling his scent. Mmm, it's nice and soothing, and I just let myself drift. He carries me over a small hill in the distance, and the daylight suddenly gives way to a full moon and a star-filled sky. What the fuck? Oh right, I'm dreaming. There's no logic here. But I like this a lot better. Hmm, maybe I'm a closet Goth? I've always preferred being out at night and I like ruffled garments. On the other hand, I'm not really into wearing black and I can't stand techno. Guess that shoots that theory down. Viggo interrupts my thoughts by putting me down on the bank of a stream, which is a bit of terrain that I've never seen before. He strips me pretty quickly, which is fine, because I still feel out of it. I'm glad he's scooping me up in his arms again, because I don't think I could stand or walk right now. Without batting an eyelash, he walks into the stream fully clothed until he's about chest deep in it. I'm about to make a comment when he puts his finger on my lips to silence me. "Just feel," he murmurs softly. Mmm, yes, the water is amazingly warm, like a bath. Aah. This must be some strange dream-water, because neither of us gets the least bit wet; however, it feels like I'm wrapped in some wonderfully warm, soft blankets. Viggo puts me down and gradually works his fingers into my tight muscles, not saying a word. Oh god, this is heavenly. He knows exactly how much pressure to apply, and my knots just give way immediately. I'm melting into a little Orli puddle. Hmmmm, love this. Could just lie here, swaddled in warmth, feeling him massaging me. Eventually, he finishes, and he carries me out of the stream, laying me out on a blanket that has mysteriously appeared on the shore. I have no idea where it came from, and frankly, I couldn't give a shit right now. He pulls me to his chest, holding me tight again and nuzzling my hair. "My beautiful angel," he breathes into my ear as he strokes my bare spine. Fuck, he's causing each little centimeter of my skin to tingle when he does that, and I feel my cock stirring in response. I need to see his face, now that I don't feel afraid anymore. I push lightly against his chest, I need to thank him for rescuing me...oh sod me... My brain must have been completely out to lunch, because I didn't see how breathtaking he looked under the moonlight. But now I can see how it's turned his skin a pale silver, highlighting those perfect cheekbones, and turning the blue of his eyes deeper and richer in colour; making them look both molten and icy. He's gazing at me with such adoration that I feel like I'm drowning in those depths. So beautiful...Oh god, I need him, I need to feel more of him, I need to feel alive again, and burn the last of that fear away. I lean in and kiss him furiously. Yes, I need this. I need Viggo rolling me over and gaining control. I need him possessing my lips, taking what I have to give. I let out a throaty moan as he wraps his tongue around mine, branding me as his. I practically rip his clothes off his body while we continue kissing like there's no tomorrow. When we come up for breath, I freeze. Bugger all, he's got a sweet body. Broad chest, well-defined muscles, six pack stomach, arse just as sexy as I imagined, and...oh fuck, he is _hung_. Viggo must have caught me gawping again. He smiles his warm smile and he starts nibbling on my neck. I'm completely on fire now. Nothing matters, just the feel of his tongue and teeth on my skin...oooo. Feels like each little nip is electrifying the nerves underneath my skin as he travels down... I reach for him, and start stroking his stiff cock, feeling the heat of it in my hands. He moans as I twist my hand along the length, but then he grabs my arm and pulls it away. "No," he breathes, "Let me..." Before I can say anything, an open bottle of wine appears in his hand. He rolls me onto my back and pours some on the hollow of my neck. Shit! That's cold! Oh god... his hot tongue lapping it up...feels like fire and ice rolled into one...I can almost feel his tongue beneath my skin. I'm burning up now, I feel as if I've been placed in the middle of a bonfire. Fuck...I can't do anything now except react to him. He's pouring the wine down my body now, and following the pale liquid path down with a series of licks. The piercing heat of his tongue is leaving fiery trails on my skin. I'm moaning loudly now, and I wrap my fingers in his hair, holding him against my body. The wine has pooled in my navel, oh shit, Christ...heat and cold and wet hit me all at once. He drifts lower, pouring some wine over my sun tattoo, before tracing the lines of it. I can feel the hot path of his tongue sizzling the chill of the wine away. Fuck, so good, so very good... I'm thrusting upward, whimpering softly. God, I need more. Viggo smiles at me before taking a long swig out of the wine bottle. Before my fuddled brain can figure out what he's doing, he inhales my cock in one swallow. FUCK! The icy bite of his mouth just surrounds me, making every bit of my erection temporarily numb, and then it fades into pure molten heat, boiling my blood through my cock. Shit...god, I'm losing myself. Feels like I'm becoming part of the heat in his mouth... oh my god...Christ...YES! He sucks me until I stop shaking, and then he licks me clean. He crawls up my body to kiss me, and I roll my tongue around the tang of white wine mixed in with my taste and Viggo's. Delicious. He continues to kiss me, tangling his hands in my hair, sensuously exploring my mouth, and pinching my nipples between his fingers until I'm squirming. God, he feels so good...better than all of my dirty Viggo fantasies...he's slowly twirling his tongue on my nipples, and my cock stirs back to life again. Shit, that tongue is lethal, I can feel the little shocks starting up through my body again...I look into Viggo's eyes, and they're alight with so much naked lust that my throat goes dry. Oh god, he's making me burn...another blowjob is not going to be enough...I want... no, I _need_ him. In me. I need to feel if that cock is half as wonderful as his tongue. Need it so badly that I can taste it. "Viggo, take me." "Are you sure?" He rasps, sending shivers through me. "Yes." I feel his finger drifting down the cleft of my arse and I tense up. Shit, there's no lube around here. "It's okay..." he says soothingly, "we don't need anything extra. You're dreaming. Just believe..." Okay, breathe, Orlando...don't need lube...shit, I can't do it...doesn't help that I've never had anything thicker than a few fingers inside of me... "Let me in, angel. Don't worry..." I'm shaking now, and he kisses me deeply. "Just relax..." he says as he drifts lower, pushing my legs up to my chest. I feel his hot breath against my arse...is he going to... oh god, yes, he's licking me. Yes...SHIT! ohmygod, his tongue is pushing inside, so wet, so hot...ohgoddon'tstop.... don'tstop...getting so close...oh, Christ, he's stopping... Shit. His eyes are burning as he crawls up the length of my body. I'm about to whinge when he leans in and kisses me again, silencing me. I'm becoming so addicted to the feeling of his tongue seizing hold of mine, his taste, his scent...Christ! He just pushed a finger fully into me and there's no hurt, just...oh god, that feels so fucking good...feels like every centimeter inside of me is lighting up to respond to his stroking...yes...oh yes, he's just added another one. Mmm, god, I can feel the heat from his fingers curling their way inside me... fuck, he hasn't even touched my prostate and I'm seeing stars already. I start pushing back against his hand. "Viggo...do it. I trust you." He positions himself and gives me another one of those devastating kisses as he sinks smoothly into me. CHRIST! His cock is scorching me inside and I can feel it throbbing. Shit, and now the heat is spreading through my body, seeping through every cell. Oh god, and now he's moving...Holy. Fuck. Each stroke is just roasting me, and every nerve ending is feeling fizzy and light, tingling and dancing and sending a pure rush to my brain. Oh my god, I've never felt this kind of a high. It blows past motorbiking over the hills or snowboarding at top speed. I'm climbing higher...I almost feel like I'm flying... So goood...yes, he's hitting my sweet spot just right... I'm melting...I grab his hips and urge him faster. I want him to fuck me into the ground. Shit, no. He's teasing me. Pulling out fully before he slides back in. Ooooh, I feel like my bones are dissolving. Feels so good... He's murmuring softly to me, "That's it...just let it go..." as he thrusts slowly within me. I'm clawing at his arms, trying to get him to slam into me, but he draws it out, working me until I'm a quivering heap underneath him, and the two of us are moaning as he slowly sinks into me. I'm totally losing my grip on things. All that matters now is his hard cock sliding into me, stroking me within, sending me soaring... "God...Viggo...please! Harder. Please!" He suddenly picks up the pace, pumping me as hard as he can. I can practically taste each stroke in my mouth, and they're sending sparks straight down to my cock. Oh shit...oh god...harder...yes...oh, god yes...OH FUCK! VIGGO! My brain explodes into a thousand lights, and then I'm floating...from somewhere far away, I notice that Viggo's thrusts are getting a little more ragged, so I start sucking on his neck and clamping down on him, urging him to come. He soon moans loudly, "Angel!" Shudders go through his entire body as he orgasms. Whoa, that's odd, I can feel his cock pulsing, but I don't feel anything filling me. He tenses above me, mouth open in a silent cry, and then he collapses on top of me. Shit, the stars are really pretty tonight... so that's what it's like getting shagged...god, that was incredible...I don't think I've ever come before without having someone touch my cock...sod it all, I think my brain just went missing...wonder where it went...oh, _bugger_...I feel shivers even when he's pulling out. Mmmm, Viggo's cleaning my stomach with his tongue now. So considerate. He wraps his arms around me and pulls my head back onto his chest. I normally don't cuddle after a shag, but I really don't want him to stop holding me protectively. And I'm too out of it to tell the mushy feelings to sod off and stop telling me that this feels right. Well, it almost feels right. Something's...off about this. Is it his chest hair ruffling against my cheek? No. Hmm. Is it his breath tickling my hair? No. Hell, now I know what it is: there's no heartbeat thundering under my ear. Viggo's also not breathing heavily or sweating, even though he spent a considerable amount of time shagging me senseless. Oh well, it was still amazing. Argh! There must be an evil twee gremlin in my head, because it's now telling me that I should want more. Put a sock in it, you twat. But then the gremlin laughs at me when I look up into Viggo's face. He immediately takes my breath away. Fuck all, he looks gorgeous...hair tousled from our recent shag, his eyes a deep azure colour now. Viggo smiles that dazzling smile of his and picks a yellow wildflower from the grass. He runs it slowly over my kiss-swollen lips. "My sweet angel," he says reverently, turning me into an instant Orli-puddle again. "You're so beautiful when you come." Oh god, I'm blushing again. "Um, thanks, old man. You're not too much of a slouch, either." Gah! Could you sound any less daft? Bugger, at least I didn't confess that he was the first person to shag me. Viggo suddenly looks concerned. "Is something wrong?" I ask. "You were extremely tired when I touched your mind. What happened?" Sod it all, he knows. "I can't sleep. I'm having horrible nightmares every night." Christ, never knew my voice would sound that tiny. "I went walking...and then those men..." I choke off a little sob. No, don't you _dare_ start again, Orlando. He holds me closer. "As long as you come here, I can keep the nightmares and any other threats away." Viggo's soothing voice soon calms me down, and he makes no remarks about the fact that I'm being less than manly. God, how long has it been since I could be a little weak around someone? Shit, it sounds like a great deal, but there's still this matter of this fixation he has on me. Fuck, well, grit your teeth and clear it up, Bloom. Hopefully, he won't get too brassed off. "Viggo...I'm not sure that I can come here again." "Why not?" "I can't give you what you want. I-I've never been one to form attachments." Viggo looks sad, but he cups my cheek and says softly, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have made you uncomfortable like that. I won't mention it again." I shuffle my feet a bit. Why the fuck do his beautiful eyes have to pierce right into me like that? "Please don't stop visiting me, I enjoy being with you," he says, stroking my neck. His voice lowers to that sexy husk, "And I enjoy touching you." Shivers start shooting through my body again. Fuck, after that session of shagging, I don't think I could keep my hands off of him. "I still owe you one. I want to do something for you in return," I reply. "You can model for me." Whoosh. I'm glad he asked first. Not that I wouldn't offer, but I don't want to make it look like I'm following along with this fate crap. Unfortunately, I think the evil twee gremlin is here to stay, but I'd rather deal with it than the bloody nightmares. "All right. I'll spend my nights here and pose for you if we keep having mind-blowing sex." I see him give me a mysterious little smile as he says, "All right, angel." Wow, that was easy. But now I have to ask..."Viggo..." "Yes?" "Um, where did the wine bottle come from?" He smiles. "I exist partially in the spirit world and partially in the dream world. It's trivially easy for me to manipulate the environment." "So, you can do anything you feel like here?" He nods, and I feel a complete shit-eating grin coming on. This is going to be fun. ---- end part 5 Author's Name: Lostiawen Fic Title: Destiny's Hands (6/10) Email: changeling@planetx.org Author's site: http://www.planetx.org/~changeling Rating: NC-17 Pairing: VM/OB Genre: RPS Archive: Lirimaer, Aniron, Mirromere, CIB. All others please ask. Feedback: Yes, please. Summary: Orlando gets a startling revelation. Disclaimer : This is a work of fiction, none of this really happened. The author is not associated with or is implying anything about the sexual preferences or the lives of the people depicted within. Warnings : These are warnings for the whole fic - AU, romance, sap, some angst, creepiness. Author's Notes: Dedicated to those who have lost a loved one. Thanks to Linda, who's chatty Orli in "Pure Love" and "Infinite Love" was such an inspiration for my Orli. And I apologize in advance for how large this chapter is, but a lot of stuff happened and I didn't want to interrupt the flow of things. It'll be worth it, believe me. Posted June 14, 2003 ****** Well, true to Viggo's word, he's been able to keep the nightmares away. I was so knackered that I pretty much spent the day in the dream world without any extra help from him. The problem was that I didn't want to spend the day just sitting in the field, so I thought about asking Viggo to twat with things so that I could have some fun. I wasn't too sure about how I was going to ask him without sounding like a spoiled brat, but he figured it out first and offered to shape the dream world into whatever suited my fancy. I immediately asked him to let me try bungee jumping and skydiving, two sports that I've been dying to have a go at. The field faded, and I found myself in the cargo hold of a plane with just Viggo there, and no visible pilot. Viggo explained to me that he couldn't create people or animals, but he could create pretty much anything else, and that it was impossible for me to get hurt in this realm. Just to check, I hurled myself out of the plane as soon as he finished talking. I got a great rush, but it still felt a bit off, since it was dream-falling and not real falling. Still, I loved it. I loved it so much that I must have thrown myself out of that plane at least a couple of dozen times. The bungee jumping was just as thrilling. Damn, I can't wait for the chance to try both of them in the real world. I tried surfing, but dream-water just doesn't behave quite right, so I gave that up and I decided to go swimming in the Arctic instead. Then after that, I scaled Mt. Everest and snowboarded the whole way down it. Man, that was such a rush! Eventually, I got tired of playing, so I posed for him a bit, and we talked. Turns out that Viggo was born in the States, but his Dad moved his family to Denmark when he was a teenager. He became a part-time artist after he graduated, and he got married to a singer while he was in his late twenties. He and his wife split, however, and he wandered about the world, working odd jobs, until he came to England. Then he took up residence in this house and became a full-time artist and photographer. I told him about how I was born in Canterbury, and about Sam and me mum. I also told him about how I dropped out of school at 16 and moved to London, studied theatre, did plays and small parts, and how I'm now at Guildhall. It was nice, though, talking with Viggo. He looked like he was really listening to everything I was saying, like everything was important. And he gets this great expression on his face when he's listening to me. And no, that is not a twee thought, thank you very much. I had Viggo wake me up when it got dark so that I could get some food, something to drink, and take a piss. I returned to his house shortly after to sleep. That is, I returned so that my real body could sleep. In my dreams, though, I literally spent the whole night getting shagged. Fuck, do you know that he requires almost no recovery time? I'm glad that all of the penetration is in the dream world, or else I'd have a hell of a time sitting down. And shit, the places we've shagged in. I still can't believe some of the things he came up with. I had to do some shopping on Sunday, but I was back at Viggo's as soon as I could. I spent the day really cutting loose with my imagination; doing stuff that I never could in the real world, like riding a roller coaster while I'm perched on the outside of the cars. I tried to see how far I could fly by exploding a lot of dynamite under my arse, danced on the moon completely starkers, and jumped a racecar over the length of the Great Wall of China. And that was just for starters. Once I was tired of playing, we shagged for a good bit more before I actually felt like I could sit still enough to pose again. While I was lying on the grass, I actually got the bollocks to grill Viggo for some answers. Shit, some of my questions were downright rude, but I had to know. I'm still remembering the smile on his face when I asked them... "Viggo, how in the fuck is everything you're painting here appearing in the real world?" Oh yeah, nice and polite there, you pillock. "It's because I'm actually painting it there." "Huh?" Oh, _that's_ a brilliant reply, Bloom. Have a cookie. "When you're dreaming in this house, the gap between where I exist and where you exist is weakened. But I can see into both worlds simultaneously. So, while you see me painting here, I'm actually painting in the real world," he says patiently. Well, that explains one thing. But where the fuck does he get the stuff to paint with? "So, uh, where is the paint coming from? You don't use blood for the base, do you?" "I have some paints and supplies hidden in this house. Objects I'm closely tied to aren't affected by the passage of time." He looks amused. "Blood for paint?" Argh, why did you have to blurt that out? You might as well have asked him, "Don't ghosts usually kill people instead of shagging them?" He then lets out a long belly laugh. Christ, he's breathtaking when he's happy like that. Shut up, gremlin. "Where did you get that idea?" "I heard that some poor lass spent the night here and you sucked her blood out and used it to add to your last picture." "Did anyone ever tell you her name?" Oh. No, they didn't, which means that it's an urban legend. Damn, now I feel like a git for falling for that one. "No." Viggo paints me for a bit more, and I'm too embarrassed to open my yap for oh, about another sixty seconds. "Viggo?" "Yes?" "Where did the molasses-shit atmosphere go?" He arches his eyebrow, "Molasses-shit? Angel, you need a refresher course in biology. Unless things have changed a lot since I died, molasses doesn't produce waste products," Fuck, Viggo, take me literally, why don't you? Cunt. Oh, great, he's laughing again. And despite what it looks like, I am _not_ pouting. Ignore the gremlin; do not pay attention to his sparkling eyes. "I mean whatever that daft stuff was that kept me from moving. I don't feel it now." "I enter your dreams because your mind lets me. The more open you are to my presence up here," he says as he gently taps his forehead, "the easier it is for you to move." "So, if I completely decided that I didn't want you in my head, I wouldn't be here?" "That's correct. You can lock me out of your brain. And I would be completely invisible to you." Well, that explains why only certain people see ghosts. If I hadn't been stoned and drunk that first night, he probably wouldn't have been able to visit me. Then we veer off into talking about ourselves again. I'm rapidly becoming comfortable around Viggo. He never judges me, and it's really nice to hang around someone who won't do that. A lot of people have far too many preconceived notions about me, which is why I'm pretty particular about whom I have as a mate. And other than the second time I visited him, he's been steadfastly mentioning anything to do with the dreaded four-letter l-word or f-word. I enjoy his company immensely, and I really hate to leave him in the morning. "Orlando, pay attention!" Oh shit...right, I'm in class now. If I'm not thinking about some of the discussion I had with Viggo last night, I'm having a bloody hard time concentrating because I keep thinking about the world-class shagging I got last night. Sod it all, I'm not sure that I can go back to ordinary blokes. When you're with someone who can do _anything_ to his world, real world sex just doesn't cut it anymore. And the dirty Viggo fantasies have disappeared. Still haven't figured out where they came from in the first place, but I don't give a shit. The real thing is _so_ much more mind-blowing. I sort of pay half attention to the lecture and then I scarper out of there as fast as I can. As I go out the door, though, I see Robert waiting outside. "Hold it right there, Bloom. I haven't talked to you for a few days, and you haven't returned any of my calls." I haven't? Oh bollocks, I haven't. And the last time he saw me, I was in pretty sad shape. "Erm, sorry mate. Been busy." "Doing what, Orli? You were completely knackered on Friday." "Um, I don't really want to talk about it." I try to leave, but Robert's grabbed a hold of my wrist. Shit. "Bollocks. We are going to lunch, and you are going to tell me." He hauls me off to a little hole-in-the wall Indian restaurant so we can talk. After the waiter takes our order, he says quietly, "All right, Bloom, spill. I tried to check on you Saturday evening, but you wouldn't answer the phone. I figured that you had found a hot date, so I waited until Sunday to ring you again." "I'm sorry, I was in and out a lot." "You gave all of us quite a scare. If it weren't for the landlady saying that she saw you on Sunday, we would've called the police." Okay, Orli. Time to put those acting lessons to use. "Sorry, man. I was completely asleep until Saturday evening, and then I remembered that I had an appointment to go to." "An appointment?" "Yeah, some nutters artist-type needed a model. I had an interview with him and he offered me the job." "That still doesn't explain why you weren't out on Saturday night." "Like I said, he's nutters. Only wants me to work nights." Robert shakes his head. "So when do you sleep? You look pretty radiant for someone who's started a new night job. And you can't have been working that late. Not unless he's some sort of psycho." Bugger...quick, think of an excuse, Orli. Robert is staring at me. "In fact, if I didn't know any better, I'd say that you found a really nice piece of arse. You've got that completely smug look plastered across your face." Whew. Better play up on that. "Okay, you wanker, you found me out. I only pose for an hour in the evening, and then I spend my nights over at his place. He's an incredible shag." "Really?" "Really. He's got a body to die for, a very large prick, and he's completely insatiable in bed. And, fuck me, he's got a great imagination...he should open a school for some of the stuff we've done." "Care to spill on details?" Shit. Normally I would, but I can't really tell him that I shagged Viggo in the middle of a volcano last night, can I? "No, you wanker. Get your own hot artist and find out." He grins. "Already got one. Just remember to throw him our way when you get sick of him." "Sure," I say, faking a laugh. This is an old in-joke between us, but it's kind of ticking me off now. No way am I going to get bored with Viggo anytime soon. I _like_ being able to do anything I fancy. And I am not being twee. This is just so new that I'm sure it'll be a while before I tire of it. Shit, _how_ many hours will it be before nighttime? **** I appear in the field in his arms without a stitch of clothing on. Since I'm going to be naked for most of my time here, I decided last night to cut out the middleman. I see that Viggo approves, if that hungry look means what I think it does. I wrap my arms around his neck and press closer. "So," I purr in his ear, "what's on the program tonight?" "Not in the mood to play in the dream world?" he asks, those beautiful blue eyes taking my breath away and making my cock tingle. I trace my tongue along his ear, hearing his breath hitch. "No. I want to spend it with you and whatever your dirty little mind can come up with." "Then I think we should catch up on our astronomy." What? The field suddenly fades and we're tumbling in space among the stars, completely weightless. God, it's beautiful out here. Viggo gives me a little push and I drift closer to them. The dream-stars are little glittery pins of light that flutter like tiny butterflies. I can't resist reaching out and capturing one in my hand, and I grin madly as it sends a little sizzling tingle through me as I cup it in my palm. Viggo drifts up to me and opens my hand, letting the star flit out into space. It leaves a small trail of multi-colored light, and before I can reach out and touch it, he leans in to kiss my palm, touching his lips to the still-tingling area. Oh god, his mouth is so hot, almost burning. He starts slowly kissing his way up my forearm, each little kiss electrifying me down to my cells. As usual, my cock leaps immediately to attention. I spread my legs, hoping he'll get the hint, but he continues his slow ascent up my arm. I see his clothes turn into a cascade of sparkles before they flow off his skin in a shower of flashing lights. Showoff. I want him to stop teasing me, so I start wriggling, and I almost squeak in surprise when we go tumbling into space. A soft mattress suddenly appears to stop us, and after we bump into it, he sets us upright. Viggo gives me a throaty laugh. "You'll have to be careful. Every time you move suddenly, we'll roll head over heels." Smug bastard. If he weren't so sexy I'd give him a bollocking. "So how are we going to shag?" He laughs again as he positions his cock at my entrance. "Action and reaction. If I push one way, you'll have to push back in the other direction." His eyes glint dangerously, "I want to see how long you can keep it up." Hmmm, a challenge. I wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck. "As long as you can, old man." "Good." I lower myself onto his cock as he pushes upward, and we both hiss in pleasure. Oh god, I don't think I'll ever get tired of feeling him fill me. He starts stroking me slowly inside, and I fall into easy rhythm with him, matching him effortlessly. As always, every single nerve from the roots of my scalp down to my toes lights up as he lazily thrusts into me. I'm tempted to quicken the pace, but it'll send us tumbling, and being with Viggo has taught me to slow down. He pulls out as far as he can before he slides back into me, making me lose track of everything bit by bit with each fluid stroke. We stay locked together for what seems like ages, floating slowly in mid-air, languidly pushing against each other until I feel like I'm going to burst. He continues to draw it out until the barest whisper of his lips against my skin makes me shudder. I start whimpering, and he changes his angle so that he's hitting my sweet spot. My cries increase, and he continues his slow, steady pace, not letting up until I come with a soft moan, shuddering as I spill hot liquid across my stomach. Viggo's not far behind me, and he thrusts hard into me twice before groaning out loud as his orgasm washes over him. His last thrusts sent us tumbling again, and I laugh giddily. Sex with Viggo is addicting, whether hard and fast or gentle and slow, and I just feel so alive afterwards. He eventually puts us back on the field and I say. "You bastard, forcing me to go slowly." He kisses me gently on the lips. "I didn't hear a complaint from you, angel." I grin cheekily at him. "I wasn't complaining. I was just commenting." I wrap my arms smoothly around him and purr, "Let me pick the place for round two." Viggo smiles and kisses me again. "Your wish is my command." *** Morning breaks too soon for my taste, but I do have real world obligations. I get back to my flat and do my usual morning routine before I rush off to class. Today, we're doing an interesting exercise. We have to put a new spin on some classic old characters, and we have props available to help us. I picked Robin Hood, and it looks like I'm first. I pick up the prop bow from the table, and my vision starts swimming...when it clears, I see what looks like Viggo, but it's really hard to focus on precise details. I somehow know it's him, but I can't say why. And he's a real person, not a ghost. I try to look down, but somehow I can't, like I'm looking through a telly screen. Ooookay, try the peripheral vision. Waitaminute, that's my hand, and I'm holding a bow and arrow. Looks like I'm posed to shoot something. He's photographing me. And I'm wearing some sort of costume, but I can't make out details. I hear a voice saying, "You should really get out more, Viggo." Crap! That's my voice! And I feel...different. Like I want to leap around for no reason, like everything around me is just sodding _fantastic_. What in the fuck? Viggo says, "I see no reason to. I'm fine here." "That's what you think. When was the last time you got out and painted the town red?" "Orlando! Will you please stop talking? I don't know why I agreed to do this." Hmm, I feel mischievous all of a sudden. "It was your idea to take pictures of me, old man. Tell you what, I'll keep my mouth shut if you let me take you to dinner and out to a club for a night." "No." I feel myself putting it down. 'Bout time, I was getting a bloody cramp from that bow. "Then you'll have to find another model." I hear a grunt. "All right, Orlando. God only knows why I indulge your whims." "It's because I'm irresistible." He snorts and I laugh. "Earth to Orli! It's your turn. Unless your interpretation of Robin Hood is that he's catatonic," I hear Catherine's voice saying. Wha? Bollocks, what was _that_ all about? I'm back in the classroom now, but I swear that it seemed like I was somewhere else during my little fade-out. "Shut up, Catherine, I was trying to get into character." Shit, hope this isn't going to be a regular thing. At least this isn't as bad as the nightmare. Anyway, I'm able to concentrate and give my performance of a tortured and conflicted and conflicted Robin Hood. I get some high marks and applause from everyone, even from Catherine. Hmm, I should definitely keep shagging Viggo, it's doing wonders for my acting. Anyway, things progress like this for a few months. I spend my nights over at Viggo's, have my fun and get shagged senseless, then I pose for a bit. Emphasis on the "bit". I'm sure any other artist would've been done by now, but after my little indulgences, we spend so much time shagging and talking that Viggo never gets to add much. And frankly, I don't give a toss. I was afraid of getting teased by my mates, but they haven't said a word. In fact, they seem happy for me. And I actually find myself opening up to Viggo. I wind up telling him lots of personal stuff that I just never had the courage to talk about before. He just exudes patience and understanding, so I don't feel like I'm just whinging. Besides, he didn't make fun of me during the time when I was scared shitless. If he can be supportive after that little display, then I know I can trust him to actually listen to my other worries. And dare I say it, I'm actually growing fond of him. No, not the dreaded l-word, but I do enjoy his company immensely. Unfortunately, the weird fade-outs continue to bug me during the daytime, and they're getting more intense. I'm not sure what they mean, but two things are constant: they're always from a first person perspective, and they always involve Viggo and myself. I've seen us slow dancing at a nightclub. I've seen us walking together on the beach. I've seen us kissing each other on a field, and shagging each other...And every single time, the details were fuzzy. All I know for sure was that Viggo was real, and that I was always a happy, bouncy Orli around him. Christ, am I having those visions that he was talking about? I really don't know what's going on, so I just let them be. For some reason, I feel uncomfortable about talking to Viggo about them. On the day before my birthday, my routine came to a screeching halt. I was sitting in class, going over another play. The main character grows increasingly psychotic, but what gets my attention is this bit from Neal: "Now, I know some of you will have trouble getting into the mindset of someone who's paranoid, so I have a method exercise that you can do. Try to stay up for a few days. If you have gone without sleep long enough, you'll not only hallucinate extensively, but you'll become paranoid. And the interesting thing about paranoia is that you fully believe that people are really out to kill you, no matter how irrational it may seem." Shit. That night when I found refuge at Viggo's. Now I see it clearly. I was hallucinating. I was hallucinating the blood, hell, I might have even hallucinated the people. And even if I didn't, my paranoia at the time probably convinced me that they were out to get me. Come to think of it, the dirty Viggo fantasies stopped completely once he started shagging me. And then there was my weird behavior in the gents: that didn't happen until after I let Viggo stick his tongue in my mouth. And shit, the nightmares didn't start until after I first visited him. Bugger! The arsehole _was_ fucking with my mind. After class, I find Edward as soon as possible, and drag him over to my flat so that I can grill him. "Edward, don't take the piss, man, but I have to ask you some questions about ghosts. Please, believe me when I say that it's important." He looks like he's about to be a smart arse, but I guess I look desperate, because he just says, "Shoot, Orli." "Can they screw with your mind? Like, can you get thoughts that are not your own?" "Well, yeah. But that requires that they get in really close contact with you first." "How close?" "Well, they have to touch you somehow. The longer the contact, the more of a hold they can get on you." Sod it all. That long, cold kiss Viggo gave me. Must've given him easy access to my head. I must've looked liverish, because Edward looks uncomfortable and begins looking about my flat. He spots the pendant with the yellow stone that Viggo gave me on top of my dresser, and he picks it up. "Orli, is this a gift?" "Yeah, man. From that artist I'm seeing." "Well, he must be sotted with you, because it's set with an Orlando stone." What? How did Viggo know? The entire time I've been with him, he's never called me by name. It's always been "angel". I blink, and suddenly the Orlando stone seems awfully familiar. I start seeing flashes again...I see Viggo fastening it around my neck...And then the room fades away as I'm assaulted by images. I'm falling again... someone's looking at me as I fall...I feel myself hit the ground and I hear a sickening crunch as the bones in my back shatter...blood everywhere, I'm drowning in pain... things go black...I see my bloody hand holding up the stone... and then another pair of hands takes it. "Orli?" I can see Edward talking to me, but I'm having trouble focusing on him. And then another image hits me. I see Viggo's hands taking the Orlando stone from me. And suddenly, I know that it was Viggo's face looking down at me as I fell. **** Shit. Shitshitshit. I know I'm being incredibly daft beyond all measure, but if he's going to kill me, there's nothing I can do about it. And I need answers. "Viggo! Goddamnit, where are you?" I feel a warm touch against my face. Oh yeah, right, Mr. I-Can't-Turn-This-Twatting-Cold-Off-Bollocks. Another lie. Arsehole. /Angel? What's wrong? You're early./ "Tell me something new. We need to talk, now!" /All right. Sleep.../ For once, the twee gremlin is not bothering me. Viggo looks really puzzled. "What's wrong, angel?" "I want to know why you're fucking with my head!" "I have no idea about what you're talking about." "Bugger off! You caused the nightmares, didn't you?" "No, I didn't." Fucking liar. "Tell me a new one. There was no one trying to kill me, was there?" "You called for help, and there were two people on the property, coming toward the house, so I scared them off." Shit, they were probably teenagers out on a lark. Fuck, what a mess... "You arsehole. After I met you, I couldn't even think of shagging anyone else without it bugging me, and I had sodding dirty fantasies about you night and day." Good, keep it up, Orlando. "Who else could do that to me? You probably did this all so I would walk right into your sodding ghostly hands. So that you could kill me." "What?" Bollocks, he's good at faking surprise. "You heard me. Does this sound familiar? 'I saw it in a vision.'" "Excuse me?" "I've been having fucking visions of us together in the future. And then you killed me. I saw your face before I fell to my death. And I thought that I could fucking trust you. That's a laugh." "Orlando, that's enough." Shit, he's actually starting to get brassed off now, but I'm not going to give in. I'm too narked. "Oh, _now_ you finally use my name, because your 'angel' has seen through you. Well, fuck you, Viggo. If you want to kill me, do it now. Better than getting my back broken. And take this back," I say, throwing the Orlando stone at him. "Orlando, shut the fuck up! If you want answers, I'll give you answers." "Then give!" He gestures towards my portrait, "I started this painting before I died 20 years ago. It's of a man who loved me, but who I couldn't bring myself to admit that I loved back." "B-b-but that's me, isn't it?" "His name was Orlando Worthington. I originally hired him as a model for Paris." He pauses for a bit and his eyes soften. "He fell in love with me, and I was too stupid to admit it back before I lost him." I suddenly feel cold. "Lost him?" Viggo holds up the pendant, "I gave this to him, and it became his favorite piece of jewelry." He sighs. "He broke his back and died, on January 13th, 1977 at 9 in the evening. He was 21." "But that's..." I can't finish the sentence. I was born a little after 9pm. And that would mean... As if he's reading my mind, Viggo says, "Yes. You're my Orlando's reincarnation." Shit. This is not happening. I repeat, this is _not_ happening. But then the images from my fade-outs come rushing back... and I can see them clearly now. Fuck, they're not images, they're memories. I am introducing myself to Viggo and I immediately fall in love as I shake his hand. I know that this man is the one. The one to complete me. He's wearing clothes from the '70s, and his eyes have a cold glint, like he's been hurt badly by someone. I see myself donning the Paris costume and posing with the bow. After I get to know him better, I persuade him to have dinner with me, and he drops some of that glum demeanor. More dinners...more chatting while I'm posing, and I eventually get him to open up. He had been unlucky in love before, but he was sure that his wife was his truest love. And she burned him. Left him for his best friend. He never recovered after that. Freezing his heart so no one could reach him. Memories cascade down...we're spending more time together... becoming friends...and I can see that he feels the tension, the unresolved attraction between us. I try to focus on the events fast forwarding past me, and I manage to pick one out. It falters, then plays at normal speed...we're slow dancing at a nightclub, now. "Isn't this better, old man?" "Not really..." Shit, I know that this is an act Viggo's putting on, and I want to thaw him. "Come on, let's get out of here," I hear myself say as I drag him outside. I take us walking out on a moonlit beach. It's breathtaking. "Viggo, do you believe in fate?" "I can't say I do, Orlando." "Well, I do. And I know we're meant to be together." "That's preposterous." "Can't you believe? Can't you let yourself go?" I say as I lean in and capture his lips...God, his kiss is so sweet. It's the perfect moment... Fast forward now, and I see us spending time together. Shagging. Laughing. But Viggo's too bitter, too unwilling to open up completely. I see him giving me the Orlando stone...but no matter what I try, he won't let me in to his heart... The memories are slowing down...it's raining out...and now I see us arguing... "Orlando, I can't love you..." "Why not?" "I just can't. I'm not the type to form permanent attachments anymore. Besides, I'm nineteen years older than you, and we're the same sex. We don't have a chance." "Bollocks! None of that matters! We're soulmates, Viggo, I can feel it!" "I'm sorry, Orlando." As he says these words, I feel my heart tearing in two. "How can you say that you don't care about the two of us? That you don't care about me? Am I just your rentboy? Is that all I am, just a great shag?" "Orlando, it's not like that..." I look into his eyes, and I see the true answer: he can never allow himself to return my love. I feel myself shattering inside. "Just sod off and leave me alone, Viggo. I'm sorry that we ever met." "Orlando!" I leave, storming out angrily into the rain. I know that a friend of mine is throwing a party tonight, so I go there to get drunk and high on everything and anything I can get my hands on. Just when I think I've just started to dull the pain, I see Viggo. Oh fuck, he's tracked me down. I stumble away from him, onto the balcony. "Orlando, stop this right now." "S-shod off, Vig." God, I'm so monged and fucked up that I can't tell which way is up. "Orlando, come back and we'll talk." "'ready did that." I pull the pendant off my neck. "And take thish bloody thing back." "Orlando, please." And he grabs my arm. "I shyaid, 'Sod off!'" I wrench backwards and crash against the railing. It gives away under my weight, and I tumble with it. Oh shit, I'm falling. Viggo leans over the edge, and I see the panic in his face as he tries to unsuccessfully catch me. "Orlando, noooo!" Just as I dreamed, I hear the sickening crunch as I hit the ground, feel the blood filling my lungs, and the overwhelming pain. I struggle to stay conscious, and after what seems like an eternity, Viggo appears at my side. "Orlando, please don't die, angel." I cough up blood. "Too late now, Viggo." I hold up the pendant in my bloody hand. Tears are filling Viggo's eyes as he takes it. "Give this to the lucky person who...can make you love again..." I have another painful fit of coughing. "Orlando, no, please come back, I..." I hear him say before the world starts getting smaller and turns black. I remember silently screaming when his last words to me got cut off. And I died still loving him. I then remember wishing with all of my heart and soul for a second chance. For another crack at making this right. And beyond all odds, it looks like I got it. At a price. The hurt Viggo inflicted ran so deep that I carried it over into this life. It colored all of my attitudes, making me bitter, cynical, and allergic to the concept of love. Until I found him in this house. Then my memories about him and my feelings for him tried to break through. All of the weird visions: the fade-outs, the nightmares, they were just flashbacks. "You remember," he says. "Yes..." I feel sick inside. As I'm still reeling, Viggo says, "I spent the next year in a haze. I was completely directionless. Then, I had a dream of you posing for me in a field. Even though there was nothing like it nearby, I knew that the field was somehow connected with this house." He pauses and gestures towards my portrait. "I started receiving the dreams nightly, and they were so clear that I was able to paint you from memory. And then the fire occurred." "How the hell do you know that I'm your Orlando's reincarnation?" "You're his spitting image. He lost his father when he was 4. He dropped out of school to pursue a drama career at 16. He had one sister who was two years older than he was. But even before we talked about your past, I knew as soon as I looked into your eyes." And he still hasn't said that he loves me. Shit, now I'm really brassed off. "Sod it all, Viggo, you're using me to assuage your guilt." "Orlando..." "No! You feel guilty that you caused my death, and now you're trying to make up for it. Taking me in, listening to whatever rot I had to say, being the only one I ever bottomed to. You don't care about any of it. And you still don't care about me. You just wanted a great shag." "Orlando, it's not like that..." "Fuck you! Fuck all of this! This is a sham!" Shit, I need to leave, but how do I get out? Wait, I remember...I concentrate as hard as possible on how ticked off I am, how I absolutely don't want Viggo around...Score! I feel that familiar fading away feeling and the dream world is rapidly going black. "Orlando, please! What are you doing?" "Locking you out." "You can't do this, I love you!" I hear him whispering faintly before I'm back in the real world. Oh, _now_ he says it. Fucking cheap trick. "No, you don't. Just sod off and leave me alone, Viggo. I'm sorry that we ever met." I say to the air before I stalk out. I don't hear a reply. Guess we never learned. History repeated itself, almost word for word. What a fucking waste of time. **** You know, my birthday shouldn't be so grim, but it is. I'm fairly depressed about the whole thing with Viggo. How could he do this to me? Oh yeah, and that reincarnation business, too. Gah, do the years from my previous life add to this one? Am I effectively 42? God, I hope not. My mates and I are having lunch at Edward's house. I hear Edward cursing as he joins us at the table. "What's up, mate?" "The sodding door on the roof terrace is warped. I can't get it open." I look up. "That's becaus