Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The wound is where the light enters us. (Maya C. Popa)

~*~

1. “Have you met someone yet?”

It was on a Tuesday that Orlando’s life changed. It changed for the better, at least eventually, but of course he couldn’t know that when he locked his front door to leave for work. It felt like any other Tuesday to him and only in hindsight, thinking about this day months later, would he smile fondly at the memory, wishing he could tell his younger self to just hang in there: It would all work out in the end.

Usually, Orlando walked to the public library where he worked. Reynards’ other inhabitants found that highly suspicious – in their mind it was either too hot or too cold or too wet or too snowy to walk. Orlando was used to every kind of unpredictable weather – it was in his English genes. Apparently, not even moving across the globe had cured him of his stiff upper lip in regards to the weather. In Orlando’s opinion the sun gave you a tan, the rain made you hardy and the snow crunched wonderfully under your boots.

In addition, his morning walk provided him with the perfect opportunity to get some reading done – in the form of audio books at least. He was a librarian after all and he used every chance he got to work his way through as many new releases as possible. Working at a library meant he had to have a recommendation ready for every occasion. When someone came up to him and asked for a book to read during his vacation in Florida while he was out fishing, Orlando should be able to provide (All That I Have). Just as he should be able to provide when an old lady came to him who had just lost her husband and desperately needed a book to pick her up (Dangerous Ages). At the moment, he was listening to Stoner, a modern classic, because he was trying to deepen his knowledge of American literature (he still felt out of his depth there). But he also had The Lion of Midnight on his waiting list, the newest historical novel by P. N. Thorne, as well as The Queer Principles of Kit Webb, a romance. A lot of people who came to the library only ever read genre fiction. Historical novels were very popular with a lot of the library’s regulars, but Orlando had yet to find someone in this small town who liked queer romances as much as he did.

Reynards was a small community in the north of Idaho nestled between two mountaintops. The sign by the road said Enjoy the sights of Reynards, but no one in Reynards quite knew what those sights might be. Surely the impressive mountains that hugged the small town on two sides and that invited hikers and nature lovers to explore to their heart’s delight. But apart from that? Maybe the diner that looked like it had been transported from the 1950s. Or maybe the Main Street with its many picturesque houses that were painted in pastel colours. Reynards was an old mining town that attracted tourists with a museum, mountainbike trails and rivers full of fish. During tourist season the town almost doubled in size – at least that was how Irene told it. Orlando had no first hand knowledge yet, because he had moved to Reynards only last October when he had landed the job at the library.

Secretly, Orlando thought that he, too, was one of the local sights. The town certainly viewed him as a fascinating alien object. Wherever he went he was met with absolute disbelief that he had left university in London behind to instead move to a town of no importance in the nook of nowhere. He chose to laugh at these people, telling them that he loved the white-picket-fence life he had here. But sometimes, usually after phone calls with his mom, he wasn’t quite sure whether he wasn’t making the biggest mistake of his yet young life.

His mother called him from her small terraced house in Canterbury at least once a week. When he had told her last night that he didn’t really have the time to talk to her she had argued: “But I want to know what’s going on in your life. You never tell me anything.”

Feeling guilty, Orlando had started recounting his last work week to her. “I finally feel like I’m getting the hang of things. I have my bachelor and everything, but putting all this theoretical knowledge to the test is something else entirely.” Irene, his boss, had come down with a fierce cold and Orlando had covered for her as much as he’d been able. It had given him a good feeling, he’d felt useful. But apparently, his mother was of a different opinion. “Don’t let yourself be exploited. You really shouldn’t work so much. Do you remember the Hansons?”

Orlando remembered the Hansons. “Sure.”

“He came home late every day and at some point they didn’t have any family life to speak of. His wife left him, poor thing. I could totally understand her. It’s not really a relationship if one is always absent, is it?”

Orlando wasn’t quite sure how this related to him. He wasn’t in a relationship. And he wasn’t exactly overworked either – he loved what he was doing. “Right, mom. I’ll keep that in mind.” He didn’t argue with her, he never did.

“Have you met someone yet?” his mom was asking.

The question came up every time they talked, like clockwork. It made him uncomfortable every single time. “No, mom. I’m not really looking. Still trying to find my footing here.”

It was true, he had only moved here seven months ago. His flat was mostly habitable, but it was still missing at least one Billy-shelf and a few bits and bobs in the kitchen. He was slowly getting to the point where he felt like he’d finally arrived. But up until now he’d been so preoccupied that he’d not even thought of dating.

“I don’t know why you’re having such a hard time finding a nice girl,” his mother continued. “You know, just last week a young woman moved in across from us. I think you’d really like her. Maybe you two could meet up when you come and visit me.”

And that was the reason why his mother’s questions about his love life made him uncomfortable. He wasn’t looking for a girl and his mom knew that. She knew it very well, she just chose to ignore that knowledge. “I don’t think I have the cash to spare to come home anytime soon,” Orlando said and thankfully, it was the truth.

His mother sighed into her phone. She sounded exasperated. “You do what you must, Orlando.”

Her phone calls always left Orlando feeling guilty and inadequate. He felt like he had abandoned her, like he wasn’t a good son, because he lived so far away from his family. Usually it needed Ben to draw him out of his sour moods. Ben was the first and best friend he’d made in Reynards. He lived next door and they often at least traded a few words when one was leaving for work while the other came home.

“It’s your life to live,” Ben often said. “Don’t let your mom blackmail you into coming home. You like it here, don’t you?”

The way Orlando understood it, Ben had moved out when he’d been seventeen. His mother’s boyfriend at the time had been verbally abusive and had basically pushed him out of his mother’s life. Ben was the most independent person Orlando knew. He just wasn’t sure whether he could ever be like Ben.

But Ben was right: Orlando did like it here. He liked his job, felt at home in his small flat and had the impression that he was slowly becoming part of a community. He didn’t want to give this up. Imagining having to move in back home made his stomach churn. Maybe he’d never be as independent as Ben, but at least he’d grown out of needing his mother’s approval.

Or rather: He was working on getting to that point.

~*~

Orlando turned into Main Street and smiled at the picture-perfect sight. He lived in a newer part of the town and the building that housed his flat was as nondescript as humanly possibly. The Main Street however was part of the historical centre of town. The road was straight and wide and the buildings on both sides were well-maintained and overly pretty. Most houses were two storeys high. The buildings had been painted in different pastel colours and housed small shops, cafés, the tourist information and the destination of his walk – the public library. Reynard’s library was a corner building that had been painted in a saturated terracotta. The window panes were crispy white and on the window sills potted geraniums blossomed all summer. Above the entrance the words Public Library were written in a font that Orlando associated with the local saloon in every single western he’d ever seen. But he kept that notion to himself. The townspeople were very fond of their prettily renovated centre and he didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes with his outlandish European attitudes.

The library opened at ten in the morning, but the general hubbub only started when the kids arrived after school to lend or return books, to use the computer or to do their homework. Around the same time the elderly populace tended to show up, leaving the later hours of the afternoon to the younger folks who came by after work.

Reynards’ library was tiny in contrast to what Orlando was used to from London or even Canterbury, but Irene was always trying to make the most of both the limited funds and the limited space. The library had a bit of everything and catered to the needs and interests of its patrons. The office and front desk were on the ground floor. It also held a bit of space to sit, drink coffee and read (the local paper or a book). The newest additions were on shelves right next to the front door whereas the rest of the books as well as the kids section complete with beanbags and a few toys were on the second floor. Yes, in contrast to other libraries this one was small. But it was the one where he worked and that alone made it special to him.

“Morning, Irene!” Orlando called out when he entered. Irene was in the process of switching on the computers in the lounge area. When she saw that Orlando was putting down a cup of coffee on the front desk she hurried over. She didn’t like the coffee that the library’s ancient coffee machine provided, which was why Orlando tended to treat her to a cup from the place down the road that she liked so much.

In Orlando’s mind, Irene was a godsend. It was largely due to her that he felt welcome and at home in Reynards. She was in her late fifties, a tall and imposing women with an outgoing nature who tended to approach every visitor like they were some long lost relation finally come home. Irene was an incorrigible social butterfly who seemed to know everything about everyone in town. And quite obviously, she had taken Orlando under her wing.

“Morning, darling,” Irene greeted and sipped at her coffee. A blissful smile graced her face, making her look ten years younger. “My hero.”

He took a bow. “I aim to please.”

“You don’t aim, you succeed.”

“You flatter me,” he said in his best British accent, because she loved it when he sounded all posh.

Irene reacted just as he had expected. She fluttered her eyelids at him. “Please go on,” she said in a tremulous voice.

Orlando laughed. “I don’t know what else to say.” He enunciated every word very carefully like he was reading from a Shakespeare play.

“Just get the phone book from the office and read from that. I really don’t care.”

Orlando laughed harder. “I wonder what your husband would say to that.”

“I’m married?” Irene asked as if this fact came as an absolute surprise to her.

“Yes,” Orlando said, still in his best James-Bond accent. “Twenty-two years.”

“Spoilsport.” Irene pouted. In the end she pushed a plate in his direction. “I made us cheesecake. Have a slice. You look like you could use some homemade food.”

Orlando dutifully took a slice. Irene loved baking and she brought muffins, cupcakes and all kinds of cakes almost weekly for the regulars of the library. Orlando wasn’t a total loss in the kitchen, but he admittedly didn’t see much sense in cooking for only himself. He’d never say no to one of Irene’s baking adventures, though. They were always delicious.

As expected, things were slow in the morning. One of the older regulars came in to use the computer. A mother and her five-year-old got some picture books from the kids’ section on the second floor. But mostly Irene and Orlando had plenty of time to order new books, shelf returns and get some of the administrative work out of the way that came with running a library.

In the afternoon, the place slowly filled up. Irene had gone up to the children’s section, because she usually read from a book for all the kids who showed up. Irene was a gifted entertainer and her young audience loved it when she impersonated all the characters and did background noises, too.

Irene was just launching into a tale about a young boy befriending a dragon when a man entered the library. The library had quite a few regulars, people who came by weekly and with whom Orlando was on a first name basis. On the other hand, a lot of the patrons only came by when they needed something – a cookbook or a guidebook for their next trip. The man who had just entered belonged to neither the first nor the second group: Orlando had never seen him before.

Orlando had no talent for guessing people’s age, but if pushed he would have assumed the stranger to be somewhere in his early forties. He was tall, with a healthy tan on his face and arms. His hair was a darkish blonde, the fringe just a tad too long which gave him a boyish look. He had high cheekbones, an adorable cleft on his chin and blue eyes. He wore a pair of faded jeans and an equally faded t-shirt that hovered somewhere between grey and dark red.

The stranger was very handsome and Orlando tried not to stare openly. He was so preoccupied with looking his fill that he noticed the dog that stayed glued to the man’s left knee only on second glance. He was just about to point out that dogs were not allowed in the library when the man put his hands on the counter, looking at Orlando expectantly.

Orlando first looked at the strong hands resting on the counter top and then gazed up, right into those blue eyes. That move was probably his undoing, because he felt pulled in by the man’s gaze. He had kind eyes, even if they seemed a little guarded and cautious. Orlando swallowed and broke eye contact. The dog was all but forgotten.

“Hi,” the man said and something in Orlando’s stomach did a somersault. The man’s voice was raspy and soft – a seductive voice that wasn’t mean to carry far. It felt overly intimate in a public place like this.

Orlando remembered his manners, but only barely. “Hi, how can I help you?”

“I’m here to donate some books.”

“Okay,” Orlando replied. “That’s very kind.” It truly was, but in most cases it was also a wasted effort. They mostly got paperbacks in various stages of decomposition, but Irene made it a point to take any and all donations. They could sift through them later and decide what was worth saving.

Orlando looked at the man expectantly, waiting for him to produce the books he wanted to donate. There was a lengthy pause that threatened to turn uncomfortable. The man cleared his throat. “Umm, would you mind lending me a hand?” he asked. “The box is a bit unwieldy. I’ve got the car parked right outside.”

“Sure,” Orlando said and came around the counter. Normally, people didn’t bring books in quantities that required boxes and he hoped this man wasn’t going to get rid of his late mother’s collection of bodice rippers.

The man turned around and made to leave, the dog followed along. Orlando hurried after them.

As promised, the man’s car was parked right in front of the library’s entrance. It was one of those huge American pick-up trucks that you almost never saw in Europe. Orlando smiled inwardly, imagining something of this build on a Welsh road.

The box was rather heavy and they had to shuffle a bit until they both had a secure grip on it. Orlando steered them in the direction of the entrance and tried to open the door with his foot. They didn’t speak and again the silence between them threatened to become uncomfortable. Orlando wasn’t quite sure whether the other man even noticed that the situation lacked small talk.

Frantically, Orlando searched his mind for something to say. In the end, he decided on the obvious. “I feel carrying books together should not be done without proper introductions.” He subtly tried to steer them in the direction of the office. “I’m Orlando.”

“I’m Viggo,” the man said. He concentrated very hard on the box and didn’t even look at Orlando. “And my friend’s name is Charlie.”

At hearing the name, the dog wagged its tail. It endeared Orlando to this man that he would think to introduce not only himself but his dog as well. “Nice to meet you two,” he said. “Okay, we can set the box down on the desk. I’ll sort through it later.” With a thump the box found a resting place on a part of the desk that wasn’t covered in books, papers and potted plants. Orlando had never been the neatest office worker in the world.

The man – Viggo, Orlando reminded himself – looked around the office as if searching for something to say, but the space didn’t seem to inspire him much. He rubbed his neck, clearly a nervous gesture. “Umm, I guess I better be going. Wouldn’t want to steal any more of your time.” He made to turn around and Orlando got the impression that he was rather desperate to be going. Which was a shame. Orlando wouldn’t mind learning a bit more about him than just his name.

Orlando needed a way to keep him here a while longer. “Don’t you want to browse a bit? We just got a whole bunch of new books, mystery and thriller mostly. They’re over there, on the New-In shelf.” He pointed at the shelf in question once they had exited the office again. “Maybe you’ll find something to your liking?”

Viggo shook his head. He looked everywhere but at Orlando. “I’m not a patron, I just come by to donate books from time to time. I don’t often have occasion to drive into town.”

“Oh.” Orlando bit his lip. This meant that Viggo would simply walk out of his life again if he didn’t do something and fast. An idea came to him. “Oh! But we also have Libby!”

Viggo shot him a glance, he seemed preoccupied. “What?”

Orlando launched into a lengthy explanation. “Libby. It’s an app. You can borrow books and audio books if you have a library card. So you don’t have to actually come here to get something to read. You just need the app. Even if you’re not in town often, you can still profit from your library membership.” Of course Orlando would prefer Viggo coming here to get books, but maybe one thing would lead to another if he could only get Viggo to register.

“I see. I’ll think about it then,” Viggo said.

“Come on,” Orlando said. “I’ll give you the quick tour.”

Viggo glanced at his wristwatch before looking at the door. “I really should be going.”

Orlando wouldn’t be deterred. “The tour really is quick. The place isn’t all that big. Just let me show you around for a bit.”

Viggo looked like he meant to say something. He appeared eager to leave, but at the same time he stayed rooted to the spot. He seemed to come to a decision eventually. “Okay,” he said quietly. “If it doesn’t take too much time.”

Orlando beamed at him. “Reynards’ Public Library in ten minutes or less, coming right up,” he joked, but somehow the joke fell flat. Viggo wasn’t laughing. The count of awkward moments between them was steadily rising. Orlando didn’t mind, because it looked like Viggo didn’t even notice how their conversation stumbled repeatedly.

“On the ground floor we have the front desk, the lounge area, the computers and the aforementioned Just-In shelves.” Orlando made a grand gesture. “Use of the computer is free for patrons. We have printers and a copy machine, too.”

Viggo absentmindedly nodded along. Orlando walked up the stairs. “On the second floor we have the general fiction and all the genre fiction. Fantasy is really popular with the younger readers. We’ve also got a good selection of mystery and thriller. Historical fiction is over there.”

Viggo followed with his eyes to where Orlando was pointing. “Can we have a look?” he asked almost timidly.

“Sure,” Orlando latched on to Viggo’s suggestion, happy to finally have an opening. “You like historical fiction?”

Viggo nodded while browsing the shelves. “Yeah.” He pointed at The Cavalier in the Yellow Doublet. “I didn’t even know that this had been translated into English. But it’s part of a series, it seems like you’re missing the parts before and after.”

Orlando looked at the book in question. “I hate when that happens,” he admitted. “I’ll check whether we have the rest of the series on Libby. If not I’ll order it. Thanks for letting me know!”

“Sure thing,” Viggo said almost absentmindedly while browsing a little more. “There’s quite a bit here I don’t know.” He sounded surprised.

That was even more of an opening for Orlando. “You know, registration is free. It always helps out the library if membership numbers go up. Even if you don’t come by often, you’d be doing something for the community.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really,” Orlando said. On the far end Irene held her small audience enthralled. Her back was to Orlando and Viggo, but they could both see her wave her arms animatedly. “Let’s not interrupt Irene. She really takes her little readings seriously. But as you can see, over there is the children’s section. To the side is the non-fiction, but I admit our selection is a bit lacking.”

“Maybe you’ll find something interesting in my donation,” Viggo provided.

“Oh?” Orlando steered them back in the direction of the stairs. Before Orlando could speak further, they were interrupted by a teenage boy coming up to Orlando. “Orlando. Do you have the new P. N. Thorne?”

Viggo tried to smile politely at the boy, but it came out a bit crooked.

“What’s the title?” Orlando asked.

Before Miles could answer, Viggo decided to help out: “It’s called The Lion of Midnight.”

“Oh yes, now I remember” Orlando said. “I shelved it only yesterday – fresh off the press, as the saying goes. But I don’t know if anyone has already borrowed it. Let me check that for you.”

He looked apologetically at Viggo. Viggo interjected: “Not his best book. If you don’t mind me saying.” He looked at no one in particular while saying that.

“You’ve already read it?” Orlando was impressed. “It has only been out for ... like ... two weeks or something.”

Viggo shrugged. “I’m a fast reader.”

“All the more reason to get a library card.” Orlando wasn’t one to let such an opportunity pass unused.

“Touché. I ran right into that one, didn’t I?” Viggo actually smiled. It transformed his whole face.

Something intangible passed between them, something that left Orlando with a tingling feeling somewhere deep in his stomach. Before the moment could stretch, Miles interrupted again. Apparently, he was feeling left out. “The book, Orlando?”

“Of course. I’m sorry,” he said in Viggo’s direction. “Duty calls. But if you wait a few minutes, we can talk a little more. And I can get you that registration form.”

“I better be going,” Viggo said and Orlando realised that whatever moment they might have had, was past. Viggo seemed to be searching for something else to say, but couldn’t think of anything. “Bye, Orlando. Thanks for the tour.” And with that, he turned to the door and was gone.

Orlando followed Viggo with his eyes and watched him open the car door. The dog hopped in and Viggo shooed Charlie over to the passenger seat before getting in himself. A moment later, the engine rumbled to life and the car was gone.

Orlando felt a pang of regret. He’d been living in Reynards for half a year now. He had found a job and friends in this town. He hadn’t found love, though, probably because he hadn’t been actively looking. But it had been a long time since he’d felt such instant attraction and he regretted that this chance had slipped past his fingers.

Miles tapped his foot and Orlando hurried over to the computer to check whether The Lion of Midnight was available. Miles was a huge fan of the series, so of course he would want to read captain Matthew Quinton’s newest adventure at the earliest opportunity. He was one of those avid readers who regularly scoured the shelves with the historical novels for new releases.

“No one has checked it out yet, you’re good to go.” Miles didn’t need to be told twice. He turned on his heels and made for the stairs.

Chapter Text

2. “Do you think I’m boring?”

An hour later, Irene re-appeared from the children’s section. “Did you slay the dragon?” Orlando asked and Irene gave him a reproachful look.

“Slay? Your grasp of the young adult genre is tenuous at best,” Irene admonished. “You really have to broaden your horizon.”

Orlando chuckled. “I know you read from Eragon. I was just joking.” Though, Irene wasn’t entirely wrong. He read from a variety of genres, but he hated young adult with a passion. “We had a book donation while you were entertaining the kids. I thought we might check it out and decide what to keep. I haven’t looked at it yet, maybe it’s all rubbish.” Secretly, Orlando hoped that wasn’t the case. He was rather curious what kind of books a guy like Viggo read.

As soon as they opened the cardboard box and began to sort through the books, it became abundantly clear that the content was not only mostly brand-new, but also in mint condition. Irene picked up The Wall and The Interestings. “It seems you had the honour of witnessing the annual visit of our most elusive citizen.”

Orlando raised an eyebrow at her. “You know him?”

“Tall, blonde, good-looking? Though it would be saying too much if I claimed to know him.”

“He said his name was Viggo. He didn’t appear elusive at all.” Though, on second thought, Viggo had definitely been socially awkward.

“Yes, Viggo Mortensen. He purchased the Crowley Ranch a few years back; has made the place habitable again pretty much all on his own, at least that’s how I heard it. He comes to the library once or twice a year to make a donation.” Here she lifted another book from the box – Quackery, a Brief History of the Worst Ways to Cure Everything. Both Irene and Orlando raised an eyebrow at the title. “He has quite the eclectic taste, as you can see.”

Orlando peered into the box. There were quite a few novels in there, mostly new releases. And in between there was the non-fiction Viggo had promised. “He said he’s not a patron. I tried to convince him to get a card.”

“You and me both,” Irene laughed. “I’ve tried for years now, but he prefers to keep to himself. He comes to town to make his donation, but that’s about it. As far as I know he doesn’t socialise with anyone from Reynards.”

That sounded disheartening, because it meant Orlando would only see Viggo when he made his next donation – whenever that might be. “Maybe he prefers his own company.”

Irene shrugged. “Maybe. Seems awfully lonely to me, though.”

Orlando couldn’t argue with that.

~*~

Orlando spent Friday night with his best friend and neighbour Ben in their usual haunt, Noble’s Barn. When Ben had first introduced Orlando to the bar, the name had sent Orlando into a laughing fit. Ben had only looked at him quizzically and Orlando had since then found out that no one else found the name funny. Apparently, in the past Noble’s Barn actually had been the barn of some guy named Noble.

Nowadays, the Barn was the place you went to to unwind from the work week and to meet people. They had beer, they had really good fries, some decent burgers and the music was loud. What else could you want?

“You see that one?” Ben said and pointed at a petite blonde in tight jeans and a tank top which was definitely too little clothing for a night in April. “She’s hot.”

Yes, well. There also was the small matter of girls. The Barn was the preferred hunting ground for most of the younger people in and around Reynards. Ben came here again and again in the hope of finding true love. So far it hadn’t happened, which didn’t stop him from trying. Orlando on the other hand held out no hope that anyone to his liking would suddenly show up here. He came along, because the beer was cheap and Ben was his friend. It was his duty to support him in his endeavours.

“She’s … pretty,” Orlando offered.

“Somehow I get the feeling your heart’s not in it,” Ben cut in.

Orlando chuckled. “Don’t know what gave you that idea.”

“Call it a hunch.” Ben frowned. “You know, I’m sorry that you always have to listen to me whine about girls.”

Orlando shook his head. “It’s okay, that’s what friends are for.”

“You never reciprocate.” Ben took another swig from his beer.

Orlando shrugged. If Reynards had such a thing as a gay scene, he had yet to find it. Truth be told, he had lived here for half a year and had been so preoccupied with settling in and finding his footing that he hadn’t really thought about guys. Though now … after Viggo had shown up at the library on Tuesday that might have changed. The older man had been on Orlando’s mind all through the remaining week.

“Would it make you feel better if I whined about guys?” Orlando asked.

Ben lifted his bottle of beer. “Hit me. If I’m allowed to talk about girls all the time it’s only fair that you’re allowed to talk about boys.”

Orlando had to laugh. “Actually, there might be someone. Though, I wouldn’t call him a boy.”

“Do tell!” Ben fluttered his eyelashes in a perfect imitation of his sister Annie.

“He came by the library this week to donate some books. A really nice guy. We talked a bit.” Orlando didn’t mention the little detail that it had mostly been him doing the talking.

“You got his number?” Ben asked.

“No. We didn’t … I mean … he didn’t come on to me or anything. I don’t even know if he’d be interested. I only know that his name is Viggo. Irene told me that he bought a ranch a few years back.”

That peaked Ben’s interest. “The one a few miles out of town that’s been standing empty for a decade?”

“She called it the Crowley Ranch. Don’t know if that’s the place you mean.”

“Oh, it definitely is. Hard to imagine that no one told you the story yet. The place is a bit of a scandal around here. I would imagine Irene jumping at the opportunity of telling you such a juicy story.”

“What story? Is it haunted or something?”

Ben chugged another beer. “You Brits and your haunted castles! Of course it’s not haunted. It just has a bit of a reputation around here. It was built sometime in the 1960s, if I remember correctly, and it was never actually a ranch. Oh, and no one named Crowley ever lived there.”

“That’s so weird.” Orlando laughed heartily. “Why is it called Crowley Ranch then?”

“It was supposed to look like ranch house and had quite a bit of land attached to it. Rumour has it the land was used to grow pot. The guy who built the ranch was some kind of esoteric cult leader. He had a foreign name no one could remember, so it became the Crowley Ranch. As in Alistair Crowley. The name stuck, even though the place was abandoned for quite some time.”

“That sounds totally fucked up. Who would buy such a place?”

“Well, your beau apparently.”

“He’s not my beau.”

Ben glanced at the blonde girl that had peaked his interest a few minutes ago. Then he looked at Orlando. “But you’d like him to be.”

~*~

Two weeks passed during which Orlando looked up every time the door of the library opened, because he hoped Viggo would change his mind, come back and fill out the registration form. Orlando had developed quite the elaborate fantasy surrounding that idea.

Suddenly, Viggo would be there and say something like: “Couldn’t stay away.” Orlando would get him a library card and then he’d show him around, recommend him some books. They’d start talking and this time it would feel easy and comfortable. In one version of the fantasy Viggo was a perfect gentleman. He’d ask Orlando out on a date and they’d take things slow. They’d exchange phone numbers and Viggo’s hands would linger just a second too long when they said their goodbyes. In the other version of the fantasy Viggo would push him against one of the shelves in the deserted corner on the second floor that housed the small collection of foreign language books. No one ever came there, which Viggo seemed to instinctively know. His hands would be everywhere at once, hot and promising, and his kiss would be demanding. It would feel so good. Orlando remembered Viggo’s face, the tiny scar on his upper lip, his blue eyes. He’d love to know what Viggo’s skin tasted like.

“Earth to Orlando, earth to Orlando,” a voice said very near to his ear. Orlando blinked. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to space out while at work.

“Yeah, sorry? Was just trying to come up with a better way to shelf the cookbooks.” He was lying through his teeth and both he and Irene knew it.

“Why?” Irene asked. “What’s wrong with Dewey Decimal?”

Damn her for always being right. “Let’s not get all academic. You wanted something?”

“Changing the subject is an amateur move, but I’ll let it pass. Though, I’d love to know what you were thinking.”

Orlando wisely kept his mouth shut. Irene was a wonderful person, but she was still his boss. He’d rather cut out his tongue than share his sexual fantasies with her.

When Irene noticed that Orlando made no move to enlighten her she sighed and went on: “I’ve been going through those spreadsheets, but they’re giving me a migraine. Can you take over and I’ll run the shop? I show you where I’ve left in the file.”

“Sure thing, Irene.” Orlando hated spreadsheets as much as the next person, but his eyes were thirty years younger than Irene’s, so she did have a point.

When he emerged from the office two hours later, his head swimming with numbers and calculations, Irene welcomed him excitedly. “You won’t believe who just left!” she exclaimed.

“Dunno,” Orlando said, blinking his eyes tiredly. He made a wild guess. “Hugh Jackman?”

It seemed highly unlikely, but it would explain Irene’s exceptionally good mood. “No, silly. Though … wouldn’t that be grand!” Irene seemed to imagine the scene, promptly losing her train of thought.

“Who, then?” Orlando asked once it became apparent that Irene was lost in her own fantasy.

“You remember Viggo Mortensen? The one who donated the big box of books?”

Orlando’s heart skipped a bit. Of course he remembered Viggo. “Sure,” he said in a voice that – hopefully – didn’t betray his nerves.

“He came by to finally get a library card. Filled out the form and everything.”

Orlando’s heart dropped into his stomach. Viggo had truly come back and Orlando had been in the back labouring over spreadsheets. That was just his kind of luck. “What did he say? Did he say anything?”

“He seemed a little surprised not to find you here. But he was very charming. Even asked me to recommend a place to eat. Maybe he’s finally decided to mingle with the rest of us. It’s high time, too. I’m sure it gets lonely on that ranch of his.”

“Maybe.” Orlando tried to do some quick thinking – which was not his forte. “What place did you recommend?”

Irene looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “Larry’s, of course. What else would I recommend?”

Larry’s was just across from the library, a cozy restaurant with a few select dishes. The menu wasn’t extensive, but whatever Larry served was done to perfection.

Orlando debated with himself whether Viggo asking for a dining recommendation was a secret message to him or just coincidence. Sure, people had to eat and it was a perfectly normal thing to ask a resident of a town for a good restaurant. But what if Viggo meant for Orlando to join him there? What if he’d asked Irene because he just knew she would tell Orlando?

Upon closer inspection, it was likely that this was no more but wishful thinking on his part. But it didn’t hurt to try, though. He’d never forgive himself if he let this chance pass by unused.

~*~

When he entered the restaurant, he spotted Viggo right away. It was a bit early for dinner and the place wasn’t exactly crowded. Viggo had chosen a table by the window not far from the entrance. He looked ill at ease somehow, as if he’d rather be elsewhere. Orlando would have liked to observe him a while longer, but Viggo noticed him when the door closed.

Orlando didn’t get a chance to use any of his well-prepared lies (“Oh, don’t I know you from somewhere?” or “I just felt like quickly grabbing something to eat.”), because the moment Viggo’s eyes were on him, the older man’s face lit up resulting in Orlando’s stomach doing another somersault.

Viggo stood, clearly in a move to invite Orlando to join him. Orlando hurried over and shook the hand Viggo was holding out to him. He had dry hands and a good handshake – firm, but not crushing.

“What a coincidence,” Viggo said, though he didn’t sound surprised at all, “that the one person I know in this place shows up here.” Viggo wasn’t a very gifted actor, but he would hear no complaint from Orlando. “I was just about to order something to eat. Feel free to join me?” He made the last sound like a question.

“I’d love to.” Orlando sat down, relieved. This was exactly what he had hoped for. Viggo had gone to Larry’s in the hope that Orlando would follow. Viggo had come back to the library, because he was interested in Orlando, just like Orlando was interested in him. Orlando needed a moment to process his luck.

From under the table Orlando felt something soft push against his knee. Hot breath puffed against the denim of his jeans. This didn’t feel at all like Viggo’s thigh brushing against his own and in any case Orlando didn’t reckon Viggo was the overly forward type. Orlando lifted the tablecloth to peer under the table. Charlie looked up at him, tongue hanging out in excitement. For all intents and purposes the dog looked ecstatic.

“She remembers you,” Viggo said by way of explanation.

“She? I thought that dog’s name was Charlie?”

“It is,” Viggo smiled and again Orlando felt that Viggo should do that more often. It suited him. “Long story.”

“I’d love to hear it.” Anything to keep Viggo talking, to keep him smiling at Orlando. Orlando scratched the dog behind the ears. “I remember you, too, girl. You’re a pretty one.”

“Labrador Retriever,” Viggo explained. He sounded relieved that they had found a topic of conversation right away and readily latched on to it. “Highly intelligent and lots of will to please. They make for good service dogs, police work too. And Search & Rescue.”

“I’ve always wanted to own a dog. Somehow, it never happened, though.”

“Why not?” Viggo looked at him, his blue eyes intense and curious.

Orlando shrugged. He hadn’t given the question much thought. “Shied away from the responsibility, I guess.”

Viggo nodded. “It is that, yes. But I feel Charlie is taking as much care of me as I’m taking care of her. Give and take, you know? Over the years I’ve found that this is true for any animal you take in. You give them food and shelter. Pats and cuddles, too.” Here he looked fondly at Orlando who was still patting Charlie under the table. “You love them, but they will love you back tenfold.”

There was obvious affection in Viggo’s eyes while he talked about Charlie. Orlando hung at his lips “That sounds wonderful. But it’s also a lot of commitment. What if I want to travel? Someone would have to take care of the dog then.”

Viggo looked at him speculatively. It seemed he was testing the waters. “Do you? I mean … travel? Are you away a lot?”

Orlando thought about it. He had been the one to bring it up, but in reality he hadn’t seen much of his new home. “To tell you the truth: No. Not since I moved here.”

That peaked Viggo’s interest. “About that. How come you ended up here? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Orlando had expected the question. Everyone asked it sooner or later. Before he could answer they were interrupted by the waitress, taking their order.

“Where were we?” Orlando asked once the waitress was gone.

“You were about to tell me how you ended up here.”

“Ah, that. I guess the accent’s still there?”

This produced a chuckle from Viggo. “Yeah, it’s there. Sounds very out of place, too, here in Idaho. Not that I’m complaining.”

Orlando joined in the laughter. “It’s not a very complicated story. I grew up in Canterbury and went to university in London. Hence the accent.”

Viggo nodded at that.

“I went to San Diego for one semester. And then I ended up liking it so much that I decided to stay. Getting the job at the public library was a lucky break.” This was only half of the story of how he had ended up here, but the whole truth wasn’t an appropriate topic for a first date. If this even was a first date.

“This is not San Diego, though,” Viggo intervened.

“No, definitely not. I liked the big city, don’t get me wrong. But after a while it became a bit much. I’ve always wanted to live somewhere smaller. I applied for the job at the library specifically because it was in a small town. But the size of the community was also the reason why Irene had a problem finding someone. So in the end, they decided to hire the weird British guy.”

“You’re not weird,” Viggo interjected. “Maybe a bit unusual for your age to not want all the hubbub of the big city. But you won’t hear an objection from me. After all, I’m living here as well.”

“What big city did you flee from?” Orlando asked conversationally, but he saw something flicker in Viggo’s gaze at the question and wondered if he had overstepped somehow.

However, Viggo answered, even if the answer was a bit tight-lipped. “New York. Same reason, really. I needed somewhere more quiet.” He shrugged and Orlando got the impression that they were both not telling the other the whole story.

“You can certainly find that here. Irene told me you live on a ranch a few miles out of town.”

“Nothing ever stays private in a small place like this, does it?”

Orlando couldn’t read Viggo’s reaction. Was he stating a fact or did he think Irene was putting her nose where it didn’t belong? “Do you mind that she told me?”

“No,” Viggo said. “Just an observation. I always suspected that people were wagging their tongues at the fact that the big city guy bought a derelict old ranch house.”

“I don’t know whether it’s common knowledge that you moved here from New York. But a friend of mine had a lot of things to say about your ranch.”

“How so?”

During the next minutes Orlando informed Viggo about the history of his property. It seemed to truly amuse Viggo. “None of that was mentioned by the realtor. I wonder why,” Viggo chuckled once Orlando had finished.

“Do you think they had big orgies there or something?” Orlando dared asking.

“It was the Sixties. So why not? No orgies there now,” Viggo assured Orlando.

“Oh, good. I’m just a librarian.” He looked at Viggo worriedly. “Do you think I’m boring?”

Viggo shook his head. “Why would I think that? Because you work in a library? You’re not boring. You’re just living a perfectly normal life.” The last was said with something like longing.

When the waitress brought their food, conversation flowed easily between them and Orlando could hardly believe that they had only known each other for half an hour. Orlando told Viggo a bit more about his move to the USA and Viggo elaborated on how he had renovated the house. Apparently, it had been in pretty bad shape when he’d bought it.

Once dessert was served, Orlando fervently hoped that this wouldn’t be their last dinner together. Apparently, Viggo’s thoughts went along the same vein. “You know, I became a patron of your library today. Someone told me that it supports the local library. It’s my duty to the community or something of the like.” He waved a hand as if he thought this was mere hearsay. “Anyway …” Viggo faltered, not quite knowing how to go on. “I was wondering … Mhm.” Apparently, he didn’t quite know how to go about it.

Orlando remembered their first awkward conversation in the library. Viggo’s social skills were definitely rusty, probably due to the fact that he spent his time out on that ranch. Orlando had to help him out here a bit. He couldn’t let Viggo do all the work. “How about we grab something to eat when you come to the library next? We could talk a bit more?”

Viggo seemed relieved. “I’d really like that.” He started fidgeting nervously with his wristwatch. It looked like he had inherited it from his great-grandfather. Orlando noticed that Viggo wore a silver bracelet next to the watch. It was a simple chain with a little tag attached to it. There was a small symbol embossed on the tag, but Viggo’s fidgeting prevented Orlando from actually seeing what it was.

The bracelet gave Orlando pause. Viggo didn’t wear any other jewellery, so it must hold meaning. Maybe it was a family heirloom, same as the watch? Orlando drew his eyes away from Viggo’s hands before the silence between them could stretch uncomfortably. “It’s settled then. When you visit the library we get dinner together. The fish here is also very good, you should try it.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Viggo said and Orlando was pretty sure he wasn’t talking about the fish.

Chapter Text

3. “One time’s more than enough.”

From then on Viggo came to the library roughly every second week. It didn’t take Irene long to notice that he preferred to talk to Orlando for recommendations and general small talk. She was a very perceptive woman after all.

“I think he likes you,” she said conspiratorially after Viggo’s second visit. At that point she didn’t yet know that Viggo and Orlando met up at Larry’s when Viggo was in town. It took a few more weeks for that information to reach her. By then she tended to disappear into the office when Viggo showed up to give them something at least bordering on privacy.

“He really likes you,” she said about six weeks later, emphasising the really in a way that suggested she thought Orlando was a bit slow.

“I like him, too,” Orlando dared saying and he felt himself blush. It really should be none of Irene’s business who Orlando liked. But she was so easy to talk to and she made it so easy to confide in her.

“Still going to Larry’s?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Mhm, if that makes you happy.” She sounded dubious.

Well, yes. And no. Their dinner dates (though neither of them called them dates) had become something of a tradition. They paid alternately in a sort of silent agreement to not let them look like dates.

Orlando’s initial interest upon meeting Viggo had turned into attraction in an almost subtle manner. He loved how soft-spoken Viggo was, loved that he was such a good listener. Orlando appreciated how easy it was to talk to him. He even adored the fact that Viggo always brought Charlie along who was the best-behaved dog Orlando had ever met. Only … Orlando had to admit that Irene had a point. The fact that they went for dinner again and again frustrated Orlando. Granted, Viggo had lived alone on that ranch for years and was probably quite content to have someone to talk to during dinner. But Orlando couldn’t get rid of the feeling that they weren’t progressing. He enjoyed his time with Viggo, but he desperately wanted to take things to the next level – whatever that next level might be. He wanted more from Viggo than just conversation and started to fantasise about the shelf with the foreign-language books again.

While they were sitting in their usual spot at Larry’s, talking about the books Viggo had gotten from the library because Orlando had recommended them, Orlando’s mind started to wander. He had waited for Viggo to take the next step even though he had only a vague idea what he wanted that next step to be, but nothing had happened so far. Viggo seemed quite content to share this time with Orlando. They had gotten to the point where they snatched food off of each other’s plate if it tickled their fancy. But they hadn’t touched. Viggo didn’t put his thigh against Orlando’s under the table. He didn’t take his hand – and God forbid that he would try kissing Orlando. And yet Orlando wanted nothing more than any or all of these things happening.

It had to be today, his mind decided, and if Viggo didn’t move things forward Orlando had to take matters into his own hands. He was just trying to gather his courage when he noticed movement from under the table.

Charlie, who usually stayed between their feet under the table, got up and pushed her nose against Viggo’s knee, giving a low whine. Viggo’s whole body tensed up for a moment and his hands turned into fists, but then he forced a smile upon his face. He fished something out of his jeans pocket and gave it to the dog. Probably a treat, Orlando thought, though he couldn’t fathom why Viggo would reward the dog.

They had already finished their dinner and Viggo was drinking the rest of his water. He put the glass down with finality and looked at it intently. “I’m sorry,” he said, seemingly addressing the glass, and Orlando’s heart plummeted into his stomach. Maybe they hadn’t progressed because Viggo had realised that he wasn’t truly interested in Orlando? Maybe he felt Orlando was boring after all.

“I’m sorry,” Viggo said again. “I totally forgot that I have another appointment.” He looked distractedly at his watch. “Like, right now. I really need to be going.” He rubbed his forehead in a nervous gesture that Orlando had never seen on him.

Orlando narrowed his eyes. Something was off about Viggo, but he’d be damned if he knew what it was. Viggo was nervous and uncomfortable, even more than during their first meeting at the library so many weeks ago. But at least he wasn’t breaking up with Orlando. “We’re still on for Wednesday in two weeks?” Orlando asked, because he needed to say something. He needed some kind of reassurance that they were still dating-not-dating. He needed to know that his chance hadn’t passed.

“Sure thing,” Viggo said while standing up. Charlie sprang to her feet as well. Viggo looked at the door and then back at Orlando. “Sorry,” he excused himself yet again. “I didn’t think.”

Orlando shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. My treat today.”

Viggo nodded absentmindedly, as if he had already forgotten that somebody had to pay for the food. “See you around, Orlando.”

He left, Charlie as always glued to his left knee, and Orlando followed him with his eyes, cursing himself. What had just happened? He had wanted to take a chance tonight and Viggo had slipped through his fingers. Their goodbye had felt awkward and stilted. Orlando had never really been good at that seizing the day stuff. He was more the please push me in the right direction kinda guy. It seemed he had found his match in Viggo. Both of them were waiting for the other to make a move. Maybe next time they should take Irene along. Orlando was sure she’d be able to get the ball rolling.

Once Viggo had left and Orlando had paid there was no reason to linger any longer. It was mostly dark outside and Orlando still had a twenty-minute walk ahead of him. He felt the sudden urge to get home and drown his sorrow in some hot cocoa and a cheesy romance.

He exited Larry’s and went down Main Street until he was back at the library. There he turned left into a smaller side street that he had to follow until he reached a junction half a mile away. Not far into the street, a truck was parked that Orlando recognised as Viggo’s black Silverado.

Maybe Viggo had left it here and had walked to his other appointment. It was a possibility. The centre of town wasn’t that big and Viggo didn’t look like someone who shied away from a nice little evening walk. It was perfectly natural to see the car here, Orlando told himself. He still peaked inside, if only to get an impression of whether Viggo was the overly orderly type of car owner or the one who had old take-out boxes flying around everywhere.

He looked inside and noticed that the car looked well lived-in, even if it wasn’t excessively messy. Movement in the back caught his eye and he squinted. The windows in the back where darkened, keeping him from seeing very well what was going on in the car. But something – or someone – definitely moved in there.

In Orlando’s mind there were only two possibilities: Either someone was stealing the car (though if that someone was in the backseat he was going about it all wrong) or Viggo had left Charlie in the car. Neither sounded very plausible. Reynards was a very quiet community, Orlando couldn’t imagine someone stealing a car here. And Viggo leaving Charlie behind made even less sense – Orlando had never seen Viggo without his dog. In a spur of the moment move Orlando tried the door – it opened without resistance.

He peered inside and froze. Viggo was in the backseat while Charlie was on the floor with her head on the seat. Viggo looked up at Orlando and gave him the most hostile look Orlando had ever seen from him. He looked surprised (and not in a good way), annoyed and like Orlando was the last person he wanted to see.

It probably would have been prudent to shut the door again and pretend that this little encounter had never happened. Clearly, Viggo wanted to be left alone. And Orlando did shut the door – from the inside, after he sat down next to Viggo.

Silence stretched between them, obviously Viggo didn’t feel like gracing the person who had effectively invaded his personal space with conversation. It was up to Orlando to find something to say. The first thing that came to mind was: “How did your appointment go?”

“Fine,” was Viggo’s short answer. When he noticed that Orlando made no attempt to leave, he asked: “What are you doing here?”

“I was just about to ask you the same thing,” Orlando said.

“It’s my car,” Viggo pointed out the obvious. There was something like barely contained anger in his voice. “I’m allowed to sit in it.”

That was true, but … “Yes, but usually the driver is in the front and the car is moving.”

Viggo sighed when he realised that Orlando wouldn’t back down. “I just needed a moment.”

That caused Orlando to truly look at Viggo, at least as much as was possible in the dim light. He looked … off somehow, even though Orlando couldn’t really put his finger on it. He was fidgety for one, not something Orlando had seen much from Viggo. The older man rubbed his thigh with his right hand and then put his hand over his eyes. He seemed paler than usual, but that could be a trick of the light. The car was parked under a street lamp that gave off a harsh, white LED-light.

Orlando tried to make sense of what he was seeing, tried to make sense of the agitated vibe Viggo gave off. He hadn’t been like this during their dinner. No more than fifteen minutes ago he had been his usual self oscillating somewhere between boyish charm and nervous awkwardness. Maybe Viggo suffered from migraines. Maybe he had taken an Advil and was waiting for it to kick in before driving home. It was entirely possible.

“Viggo, are you alright?” he asked. Charlie, who was sitting on the floor, pushed her nose into Orlando’s thigh and rolled her eyes at him as if to say: Do you really have to ask? Does he look alright to you?

“It’s fine, Orlando,” Viggo said through clenched teeth. “Don’t worry.”

It didn’t escape Orlando that Viggo wasn’t answering his question. He was trying to appease Orlando, but he was doing it with empty phrases. It didn’t do anything to calm Orlando down. If anything, it had the opposite effect.

Viggo leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs and letting his head hang. Charlie nuzzled his hair affectionately. The first tendrils of panic started to squeeze Orlando’s stomach tight even though he didn’t quite know yet why he was panicking. Viggo’s obvious restlessness had him on edge, that was for sure. Something wasn’t right here. “I wasn’t worried when I got in. I’m worried now. What’s wrong, Viggo?”

Viggo leaned back again, his head against the headrest. He closed his eyes and breathed very deliberately. In through the nose, out through the mouth. He didn’t grace Orlando with an answer. The knot of panic tightened around Orlando’s insides.

“You don’t look so good.” Orlando tried to sound calm, but he failed miserably. “Should I call ...” What? An ambulance? A friend? As far as Orlando knew, Viggo had no friends. At least not in Reynards. “... someone?” he finished lamely.

“No, that’s not ...” Viggo paused for a breath. He inhaled and then slowly exhaled, his eyes were still closed. “Not necessary. You can just leave.”

Absolutely not. Under no circumstances would Orlando leave Viggo to his own devices in a situation like this. “I’m not going to leave you alone. You’re not feeling well, just tell me how I can help.”

Viggo had his hand buried in Charlie’s fur. He was kneading her pelt as if he was trying to calm or distract himself. “You can help by leaving. I was doing just fine without you.”

That stung, but Orlando refused to back down. If he left now he wouldn’t sleep a wink tonight. He put a very tentative hand on Viggo’s right shoulder. It was their first real touch apart from a handshake and Orlando mourned the fact that it was happening like this, in a situation fraught with tension. “What’s wrong, Viggo?” he tried again. He needed an answer. He wouldn’t be able to help otherwise.

Viggo opened his eyes and rubbed his forehead. Up until now he’d held his own. He’d kept Orlando at arm’s length by sheer force of will. But now he seemed to deflate. The fight went out of him and for the first time since Orlando had sat down next to him Viggo turned his head and looked at him. His eyes were wide, the pupils huge in the darkness. His gaze, though seemingly directed at Orlando, was far away. It gave Orlando the chills.

“I’m …,” Viggo started and then trailed off. Apparently, he had lost either his nerve or his train of thought. Viggo started to move his right hand as if it had fallen asleep. He wiggled his fingers, made a fist and then stretched out his hand. He repeated the movement and stared at his hand. Orlando waited, but Viggo didn’t speak further.

The panic reached Orlando’s spine. It curled around it in a most unpleasant manner and squeezed. “Viggo?”

Orlando saw Viggo blink, but he didn’t answer. He just kept wiggling his fingers. Orlando needed an answer from Viggo. He tried again. “Viggo?” He paused. “You’re scaring me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Viggo licked his lips. He was still staring at his hand when he finally answered. “Oh, dammit. I have epilepsy, okay? I’m going to have a fucking seizure.” He looked up at Orlando, only for a moment. It was dark in the car, but the hurt and the shame were clearly visible on Viggo’s face. He couldn’t hold Orlando’s gaze. A second later, he was concentrating on his hand again. The repetitive movement went on, constant and uninterrupted and Orlando wanted to scream at Viggo. To. Just. Stop. It. The panic was doing flip flops in his stomach, at least it felt that way and Orlando couldn’t think, couldn’t make sense of this while Viggo’s nerve wrecking fidgeting went on.

Viggo’s words trickled in, formed a complete thought in Orlando’s mind and he retrieved his hand from Viggo’s shoulder as if burned. “What?” he asked. He voice was full of fear.

“Won’t say it again.” Viggo closed his eyes wearily. “One time’s more than enough.”

Orlando couldn’t argue with that logic. Whatever he had Viggo expected to say, it wasn’t this. He knew the word, of course. He knew what it meant. It meant that people fell over, out of the blue, and that they convulsed violently. Orlando thought of people shaking on the ground, foaming at the mouth, eyes wide and empty. This wasn’t Viggo. Viggo was the kind, socially-awkward guy who had come back to the library to see him again. That Viggo didn’t have epilepsy. Not even this version of Viggo in the car, annoyed and short tempered with the tic in his hand could have epilepsy. He just couldn’t. Viggo was fine. Viggo had to be fine.

Orlando looked sideways at Viggo, looked hard. Viggo’s head was against the headrest again. His lips were as pale as the rest of his face and Orlando realised this sickly pallor couldn’t be caused by the street lamp outside. The movement in Viggo’s hand went on. Charlie licked his hand from time to time and Viggo attempted to grab her. His jaw started working. It looked like he was chewing. Or maybe he was tasting something weird on his tongue.

Viggo wasn’t fine. Quite clearly he wasn’t fine. “What can I do?” Orlando asked quietly.

“Nothing,” Viggo drawled. He lifted his head from the headrest and licked his lips again. “Just don’t touch … anything.” Only now did Orlando notice that Viggo wasn’t exactly slurring his words, but he was certainly talking slower than usual. Viggo seemed to think. “No ambulance.” There was another pause and Viggo closed his eyes wearily. “Promise me.”

Everything in Orlando screamed to not promise something like that. “I want to help you.”

“Mhm,” came Viggo’s non-committal response. He opened his eyes again, but to Orlando’s untrained eye he seemed to be far away. “Don’t ...” Viggo trailed off again, the sentence was left unfinished. Viggo’s lips moved, but he didn’t speak.

“Viggo?” Orlando asked carefully when the silence stretched. “Viggo?” he tried again, desperation in his voice. “Can you hear me?”

There was no answer. Orlando started to sweat.

Chapter Text

4. “Are you okay?”

Chapter Text

5. “I’m not my illness.”

Orlando was an early riser, but the excitement of the previous night caused him to sleep in until eight. Around six he heard small feet scamper down the stairs and opened one eye. Charlie came down, turned into the living room to nuzzle his face and then jumped at the front door to open it. Once the dog had helped herself outside, Orlando promptly fell asleep again. But when it neared eight o’clock and morning light streamed in through the rather large window to his left, he couldn’t pretend to be asleep anymore.

He got up. By the light of day he gave himself a tour of the ground floor. He found a bathroom, a spare room that only housed unopened boxes and a kitchen. All of the rooms were tastefully furnished, but nowhere could he find an item that didn’t serve a practical purpose: There were no potted plants on the window sills, no pictures on the walls and no knick-knacks on the mantelpiece. There wasn’t even a candle on the coffee table in the living room. The space looked barely lived in. The only thing adding at least a slightly individual touch were the many mismatched throw pillows and blankets on the sofa.

After spraying some cold water on his face in the bathroom in the – vain – hope of killing the bags under his eyes, Orlando went to the kitchen. In the middle of the room was an island where one could either prepare food or sit and eat. The beams of the ceiling were showing – just like in the living room. But what impressed Orlando most was the panoramic window that opened the view to the back of the property. A screen door opened to the back porch. Further back was a pasture with two horses peacefully grazing. Slightly to the right Orlando could see a barn with a horse trailer and a tractor parked next to it. Behind it all the land sloped gently upwards, covered in dense forest.

Orlando stood transfixed. He had thought he’d gotten used to the beautiful landscapes, to the majestic mountains and the vast endlessness of nature. But this still took his breath away. He stood in front of the picture window and stared outside, trying to take it all in. Eventually, he stepped outside and breathed in the fresh mountain air. He loved Kent, he truly did, but England didn’t have landscapes like this. It felt like he’d stepped into a movie.

“Wow,” he said reverently. He lacked the words to describe the beauty he was seeing.

By the time he heard movement from upstairs it was almost ten and he had just figured out which of the many buttons on the coffee machine he had to press to be graced with a hot beverage. He opened a few cupboards and eventually found a bag of toast. With his cup of coffee in one hand and his slice of toast in the other he sat down at the island to wait for Viggo.

He heard Charlie’s claws make a click-click-click noise on the floorboards and then the dog was in the kitchen with him, greeting him enthusiastically. She seemed happy that he was still there. Orlando scratched her behind the ears. “Did you bring Viggo, too?” he asked. A little pang of fear gripped him when he spoke the older man’s name out loud. He didn’t know what to expect. He realised that they had quite obviously moved past their dinner dates, but not in a way he could have anticipated. He wasn’t sure if what had slowly developed between them during the last weeks had been able to survive last night. Was he scared? Hell, yes. Was he the type to run away from the things that scared him?

Never.

Viggo entered the kitchen in a much more sedate pace than his dog. He was in boxer shorts and a white t-shirt than hung too big on him. To Orlando, Viggo looked okay. Yes, he looked like he’d just gotten up – all bleary-eyed and ruffled –, but if Orlando hadn’t been there last night to witness the seizure, he’d not know from Viggo’s appearance this morning that anything was wrong. Viggo rubbed his neck and froze when he looked up and saw Orlando. Quite obviously he had expected to be alone.

“You’re here,” Viggo said stupidly. He tried to gather his senses. “I thought you’d gone home.” He stood in the door to the kitchen like he didn’t know whether to fight or flee.

“I couldn’t very well steal your car,” Orlando voiced his own thoughts from last night. “I crashed on the couch. I’ve had worse during my student years.”

“Okay.” Viggo visibly tried to get a grip on the situation. He looked down on himself and seemed to come to a decision in the end. “Give me a minute to put on some clothes and I’ll drive you home.”

That took Orlando by surprise. “You’re that desperate to be rid of me? Don’t you think we should …,” he searched for the right word, “... talk first?”

“About what?” Viggo asked. He looked Orlando square in the face, daring him to bring up last night. But Orlando wasn’t fooled. In reality Viggo wanted nothing less than talk about what had happened. He was at least as scared as Orlando. If anything, he was more scared than Orlando.

That realisation helped Orlando. He took a deep breath and tried not to let Viggo’s attitude get to him. “Last night? I think we should. Talk about it, I mean.” Orlando kept his voice level.

“Not much to talk about,” Viggo quipped. “I have epilepsy. I had a seizure and I’m sorry you had to see that.” He didn’t sound sorry at all. He sounded like no one but Orlando was to blame for what had happened last night. And yes, Orlando would readily agree that he wasn’t all blameless. Viggo had repeatedly asked to be left alone and Orlando had brushed off his wishes. On the other hand, Viggo could have been more forthcoming. He should have told Orlando. It wasn’t Viggo’s fault that he’d had a seizure. What was his fault was the fact that Orlando had gone into it blind, without any idea of what to expect or do.

“I do think we should elaborate on that further,” Orlando tried again. “I just figured out how the coffee machine works. Do you want me to make you a cup and then we talk?”

Viggo took that in the worst way possible. “What do you think? That I’m some kind of invalid who can’t make his own coffee? I can manage.”

The more agitated Viggo became, the calmer Orlando got. Viggo lashed out every chance he got, like a wild animal in a cage. But Orlando refused to react in kind. “I know,” he answered. “I can see that.” He let his eyes roam: He looked at the kitchen, the beautiful view and finally at Viggo. He had been so worried about him last night, but in the light of day he had to admit that Viggo was more than capable of taking care of himself. “For old times’ sake, what do you have to lose? Let’s eat together and talk. I haven’t had breakfast yet.”

That Orlando wasn’t rebuffing Viggo’s accusations took all the steam out of him. He looked down on himself again and huffed. “Okay, you win. But I need some real clothes first.”

Orlando took a sip of his coffee and secretly smiled into his mug. He didn’t mind at all seeing Viggo in the ratty clothing he’d obviously slept in. “Sure. In the meantime, I put some food on the table.” As an afterthought he added. “And I’ll get you that coffee.” It was a gamble, but a little pushback didn’t hurt.

Viggo looked like he might hit something, but then he thought better of it and left without further comment.

Charlie stayed with Orlando instead and to Orlando it felt like a small victory.

When Viggo came down again ten minutes later, he was in jeans and a plaid shirt that looked like it had been made to be worn inside a house like this. Apparently, he had also used the time to find his manners.

Viggo let himself fall into one of the kitchen chairs and drew the coffee mug nearer to his plate. He looked into the dark liquid as if it held all the secrets to the universe. “Whatever,” he whispered and then took a sip. Orlando thought that he heard him actually sigh in bliss when the coffee hit his palate.

“That coffee’s really good, thanks,” Viggo offered.

Orlando gave him a smile. He knew a peace offering when it was dangled in front of his eyes. “You’re welcome.”

“Sorry about earlier,” Viggo went on. “I’m not much of a morning person.”

“You don’t say.” Orlando actually laughed at the admission. He refrained from pointing out that it was almost half past ten and rather late to still call it morning.

“We’re good?” Viggo asked, apparently not sure how to interpret Orlando’s reaction.

“We’re good,” Orlando agreed. He would have liked to ask Viggo if he was okay, but he didn’t want to chance another eruption of Viggo’s temper, especially not now when they had finally found some common ground again. He would just have to trust that the fact of Viggo being there meant that he was feeling recovered. Orlando grabbed another piece of toast, more than ready to finally have his breakfast. Viggo took the cue and joined in.

They ate in silence for a while. Viggo seemed to relax more the longer they sat without them having the talk. Orlando let him be for a while. If Viggo needed a bit of time to find his courage, Orlando was more than ready to comply.

When Orlando was at his third cup of coffee and Viggo still had offered no explanation on his own, Orlando decided he needed to get the ball rolling. “You didn’t have another appointment yesterday, did you?”

“No,” Viggo answered. “I left Larry’s and went straight to the car.”

“How did you know what would happen?”

Viggo looked surprised. “I thought you would have put two and two together by now: Because of Charlie. I thought you knew that she’s a service dog.”

“No!” It was Orlando’s turn to be surprised. “How should I know that? You never told me.”

Viggo looked at him. “No, because I thought Irene had told you. When I brought Charlie to the library for the first time, she politely informed me that dogs were not allowed. I showed her the permit. Since you never asked to see it I assumed Irene had told you that Charlie had one.”

That news came totally out of the blue, but the longer he thought about he, the more Orlando had to admit that it made sense. “It never came up,” he said by way of explanation. Irene had never told him. She had probably assumed that Viggo had shown Orlando the permit, just like Viggo had assumed that Irene had told Orlando about the permit. And all this only because Orlando had been so preoccupied by his interest in Viggo that he had never gotten around to ask about Charlie. “So, how does that work? She knows you’re about to have a seizure?”

“Yes, she gives me an extra ten to fifteen minutes. To … you know … get inside. Lie down. That sort of stuff.” Viggo shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal.

“So she really takes care of you, like you said.”

“She does.” Viggo looked at Charlie fondly, who had stretched out on the kitchen floor and seemed to be fast asleep. Viggo looked at Orlando and Orlando got the distinct impression that he’d needed their talk about the dog to test the waters and get his courage up. “So,” Viggo said. “If you really want to know, I’m going to tell you the story.” He didn’t look convinced that he was doing the right thing, but he was ready to determinedly plough ahead regardless. Orlando had the same feeling every time he had to go to the dentist. He could relate.

“I just want you to know: I’m not my epilepsy. I’m not my illness. This is something that happened to me, but no more than that.”

Orlando nodded. “You’re not an invalid. You can make your own coffee,” he said, deadpan, before he could stop himself.

Viggo threw him a dirty look, but played along. “Exactly.” After a pause, he asked: “What do you know? About epilepsy, I mean.”

Orlando shrugged. He didn’t feel like embarrassing himself with his absolutely inadequate knowledge. Maybe he should have used the time in the morning to have an extensive chat with Dr. Google instead of pressing all the buttons on the coffee machine. That way, at least he would have been somewhat prepared for their conversation. “What everyone knows, I guess.”

Viggo nodded. “So, not much.” He didn’t seem to mind that he had to start at the very beginning. Viggo took a moment to think about how to best tackle the subject. “Maybe I should start by telling you that what you’re thinking is certainly part of it, but it’s only one end of the spectrum. Depending on where in the brain a seizure starts and depending on where if at all it spreads, epilepsy can look very different for different people. It can be the tonic-clonic seizure you are thinking of. Or the grand mal, in layman’s terms – the one where someone is on the ground, having convulsions. But it can also be more subtle than this. It can be the person who sits next to you in a café who looks spaced out. Or it could be the guy on the street stumbling along, not reacting to your questions and looking like he’s drunk.”

Orlando nodded, just to encourage Viggo to keep talking. If anything, he had expected something along those lines after witnessing Viggo’s seizure from last night. It had been frightening, but it had been different from what he had assumed would happen.

“For me, it started with absence seizures when I was a kid. At least I think that’s what it was. We moved around a lot back then and no one actually took the time to take me to a doctor or get a diagnosis. It was always: Oh, Viggo is daydreaming again. And yes, it might have looked like it, but it wasn’t daydreaming. An absence seizure is a sudden loss of consciousness, usually only for a few seconds. Half a minute, tops. You space out, stare into space. You stop doing whatever you are doing. And then suddenly you’re back and you don’t even know that you missed a few seconds.” He snapped his fingers and took another sip of his coffee.

“Those sort of faded out at some point, which is not at all uncommon. I had a friend at school who hung around the local airfield where we lived. He took me along and I kind of got hooked. Started flying at fourteen and at twenty-three I had my commercial license. In case you don’t know: One needs to pass a medical exam to get a commercial license. That wasn’t a problem for me, but then again they don’t hook you up to an EEG. I’ve no idea whether they would have seen anything on it back then, though.” Viggo shrugged.

Amidst all of this information, Orlando latched on to the thing that baffled him the most: “You’re a pilot?”

Viggo looked at Orlando and there was an edge to his voice. That part apparently hurt. “I was a pilot. Naturally, no one will let me fly a plane now.”

“But you’re driving.”

“Not quite the same, but yes. I’m driving.”

Orlando didn’t want to sound like the devil’s advocate, but he had to ask. “But isn’t that dangerous? What if you have a seizure while driving and you lose control over the car?”

“I have Charlie. And even if I didn’t, I always have an aura.”

“An aura?”

“Yes, it means that I know a seizure is about to happen.” He paused. “To be precise, the aura is its own seizure, but let’s not confuse you with details that are of no importance.”

“No, no!” Orlando tried to bring together what Viggo was telling him with what he had seen last night and didn’t mind the details. In his mind, only more knowledge could push the fear aside. If he knew what was going on, surely he would no longer be frightened. “You’re not confusing. Use as much detail as you like.”

Viggo smiled ironically. “Okay, just stop me when I lose you. I know this is a lot of information to digest.” He paused and gave Orlando a last chance to back out. Orlando only looked at him expectantly. Viggo took the hint. “Alright. The aura is a focal aware seizure, meaning that it starts in only one part of the brain – in my case the temporal lobe.” He tapped the left side of his head, somewhere above his ear. “And there is no loss of awareness. Which simply means that you’re conscious during the seizure, you know what’s going on.”

Orlando mulled that over, coming to his own conclusion. “That means when we were talking last night in the car, you were already having a seizure?”

“Yes,” Viggo said simply.

It explained some of Viggo’s odd behaviour, but … “Oh my god, I’m sorry I was such a pest.”

Viggo chuckled. “You said it, not me!”

“And what happened after ...” Orlando pondered how to describe it, pondered if he should even attempt to describe it. “That was a different seizure? A second one?”

Viggo nodded. “Yes. At some point the aura turns into a focal seizure with impaired awareness. It’s a bit of a mouthful, but that’s the correct medical term.”

“That means ...?” There was a question on Orlando’s face. He understood the words, but not the implications.

“It means you lose awareness at some point.” Viggo shrugged. “You black out, basically. Shouldn’t have been long, though. Right?” He looked at Orlando for confirmation.

“Felt endless,” Orlando mumbled. At least he now knew that Viggo truly had been unconscious.

Viggo looked guilty. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not a pretty sight.”

“No!” Orlando interjected. “No, that’s not what I meant.” Well yes, it hadn’t been a pretty sight. What had hurt the most was his inability to do something. He’d been pushed into this situation without any warning and that had made him feel like he was endangering Viggo. He hadn’t known what to do when Viggo had looked like he definitely needed someone to do something … He couldn’t remember having ever been this scared. If something had gone wrong – would he even have been able to tell?

Before Orlando could put his thoughts into words, Viggo interrupted him. Apparently he didn’t want to pursue that particular train of thought. “I think we’re jumping ahead in the story.”

Orlando tried to backtrack. “Right. You were a pilot.”

“I was. I flew cargo for an airline based in New York. You don’t have to put up with drunk passengers and still make the same kind of money. Good money – it bought me this house. You work longer hauls, but you’re at home for longer stretches of time as well. So I lived in New York, was in a relationship, worked a job I loved. In hindsight, it was pretty perfect.”

There was longing in Viggo’s voice. Longing for something he’d lost. The fact that they were sitting here talking meant that it hadn’t stayed perfect for Viggo. “Then the airline got bought by a venture capital firm. They started to squeeze us out like a ripe lemon, trying to make as much cash with as little human capital as possible. They let go about half of the pilots who flew passengers. It was a stressful time. Not that flying in and of itself isn’t stressful, but it’s another kind of stress. So. We were having a meeting, don’t really remember about what. There were about thirty to forty people in the room. And I had a seizure, seemingly out of nowhere. Amongst all these people.”

Viggo looked down and played with the spoon Orlando had put next to his plate. “I had felt off, but at the time I didn’t know what to make of it. I didn’t know that what I felt was the aura. And then I had a tonic-clonic seizure. A grand mal. I remember thinking that I had to get out of there, that I needed some fresh air. And the next thing I knew I was in an ambulance and they were shipping me off to hospital, sirens blazing.”

“That must have been frightening,” Orlando said quietly.

Viggo looked up at him. “It was. Still don’t like ambulances.”

“That’s why you didn’t want me to call one?”

“I didn’t?” Viggo looked surprised.

“You don’t remember?” Orlando asked in return.

Viggo searched his memory and looked uncomfortable all of a sudden. “No. Was probably the tail end of the aura. Amnesia is not uncommon.”

Orlando wanted to ask Viggo what the last thing he remembered was, but he didn’t want to interrupt Viggo’s train of thought again.

“Ambulance,” Viggo repeated, to get back on track. “They took me to the hospital, but sent me home again. Anyone can have a seizure, you know? You don’t have to be an epileptic for that. For a doctor to even suspect epilepsy, you need to have two unprovoked seizures. Meaning, the first is just the test drive. They get out the big guns after the second.”

“And they did?”

“Oh, they did. I had a second seizure two days later, even worse than the first. That landed me back in the ER and this time they didn’t let me off the hook so easily. They ran all kinds of tests: ECG, EEG, blood, CT, MRI – if they had a machine for it, they used it one me. Two weeks later I was home again with my diagnosis and an assortment of pills that would have rivalled the collection of my granddad’s. And he’s 87.”

“That must have been hard.” Orlando couldn’t even imagine being in Viggo’s shoes.

Viggo laughed, but there was no mirth in his voice. “That might me an understatement. I lost my job, naturally. The relationship cracked under the pressure as well. In the end, I simply fled as far as I could. Bought the ranch, moved out here and put my life back together.”

“I think you can be proud of yourself. You didn’t let that break you.” Viggo had come out the other end, and that impressed Orlando. He didn’t think he would have had the strength had that happened to him. Getting such a life-changing diagnosis, but pushing on regardless – that took a lot of guts.

Viggo apparently didn’t feel like he deserved the compliment. “Was a near thing. It doesn’t happen every day that your life is taken away from you.”

Orlando nodded. “You found a new life here. I think you couldn’t have picked a more beautiful spot.”

“It’s quite something, isn’t it?” Viggo wasn’t fishing for a compliment. Instead, he gazed out of the window as if he himself couldn’t believe his luck.

“It’s just …” Orlando didn’t quite know how to pose the question. “Irene said you keep to yourself out here. She’s pretty well connected in town and according to her you associate with no one.”

Viggo shrugged like he only noticed this very minor detail now. “The medications I have to take come with package inserts as long as my arm. They’ve overall made things better, but they’ve not made me seizure-free as last night so aptly proved. I haven’t had a grand mal in about a year, I think, but I regularly have focal seizures like the one yesterday. Something like that just doesn’t gel well with any kind of social life.”

“You don’t think people would be understanding? Have you tried?”

“I’ve seen my partner’s face when this all started. I’ve seen the pity in my parents’ eyes. That’s not something I want from people.”

This was getting him nowhere, so Orlando tried a different tack. “I try to tell myself that you liked our dinner dates. I certainly enjoyed them.”

“I did, too,” Viggo admitted with a small smile.

A thrill of excitement went through Orlando. “You were prepared to make an exception for me. But did you ever plan on telling me?”

Viggo didn’t have to think about his answer. “Yes. Didn’t quite know when or where. It’s not like I’ve ever given this speech before. But I never meant to lie to you about this. I just … people look at me differently once they know. I wanted to enjoy my shot at being normal with you for a little while longer.”

Orlando could certainly understand that. “Do I? Look differently at you?”

Viggo searched Orlando’s face. “You look like I’ve dumped a lot of information on you that you haven’t had time to process yet.”

“Okay, that’s fair, I guess. It is a lot of information. But I don’t want you to think that I treat you differently or that I pity you. I want you to have this shot at normal. I think ...” Orlando tried to find his courage, because he felt he had to give Viggo something in return. “I think we had a good thing going. A good thing that might have turned into an even better thing. It’s certainly what I wanted from the beginning, to tell you the truth.” He looked at his plate, because he was too scared looking at Viggo. “Don’t you think it could still happen? What you told me, it doesn’t have to change anything. Between us, I mean. You’re still the same guy who came to the library with a big box of books.” Orlando inhaled. It was now or never. “And I’m still the one who was smitten within a minute of meeting you.”

Viggo was silent and eventually Orlando looked up. The look on Viggo’s face was hard to describe. It was equal parts wonder and thankfulness, relief and anticipation. And beneath that there was something that looked like actual fear. So many emotions flitted across his face that Orlando wasn’t able to put a name to all of them. “Do you want to try normal with me?” he asked, because Viggo had yet to answer.

Now there was a smile on Viggo’s face of the like Orlando had never seen on the older man. It was brilliant and beautiful. “Yes, I’d very much like that.”

Chapter Text

6. “I think I have a confession to make.”

The rest of the day was spent exploring the house (Orlando discovered delightedly that Viggo had a library), visiting the horses and having a small walk around the property. When evening neared, Viggo became nervous again. He was skittish and short-tempered.

“What’s wrong?” Orlando asked when they were back in the kitchen and Viggo was scouring the freezer for some pizza they could heat up. “Are you …?” He stopped himself at the last possible moment. After their talk over breakfast no further mention of Viggo’s health had been made and Orlando got the distinct impression that Viggo had reached his quota of talking about this part of his life. Orlando had a million more questions, but he had kept quiet and had let Viggo talk about horses and books and the cold Idaho winters instead. He couldn’t ask outright if Viggo was feeling unwell. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, sure. Why do you ask?” Viggo held up a frozen pizza and arched an eyebrow at Orlando in a silent question of this one? Orlando nodded in approval. He was glad to be here, in Viggo’s space about to have dinner with him. If Viggo served him mouldy bread and salt water he wouldn’t have complained.

“You seem nervous somehow.”

Viggo put the pizza in the oven and leaned casually against the kitchen counter. “It’s just … are you really sure about this? I mean, we could eat our pizza and then I could drive you home.”

Yes, it would be nice to go home, get out of his stinky clothes and brush his teeth. But he felt that the peace he’d found with Viggo was a frail little thing. If he backed down now, he feared that his chance with Viggo might pass. He didn’t put it past Viggo to never let him in again and Orlando didn’t want to take that risk. “Do you want to?”

“I think I should at least offer,” Viggo said.

“You know, I’ve never been to a place as remote as this. I haven’t even checked whether I have reception here. You’re not going to eat me, are you? This is not going to end like Wrong Turn or Last House on the Left? Or Texas Chainsaw Massacre?”

That actually made Viggo laugh. “I admit to owning a chainsaw. It’s in the barn. But I promise I’m not going to axe-murder you.”

“Good,” Orlando said. “In that case I’d like to stay, please,” he said earnestly.

“Okay, your choice. But I do think we will have to talk about your taste in movies.”

“Oh no, let’s leave that for the next date.”

“So this is a date?” Viggo raised his eyebrows.

Orlando wasn’t smiling anymore. “If you want it to be.”

“Weirdest date I’ve ever had,” Viggo muttered under his breath while checking the oven for their pizza.

~*~

Around 11pm Viggo couldn’t hide his yawns anymore and they decided to turn in for the night. There was a short skirmish about the question who should sleep where. Viggo had a guest room, but it wasn’t furnished. That only left the sofa or Viggo’s bed. After some heavy duelling Orlando won the skirmish and neither he nor Viggo would sleep on the couch. No one was as surprised as Orlando by his own boldness. But now that they had officially established that they were dating, he felt the need to make up for lost time. He couldn’t imagine spending another night on the sofa downstairs.

Viggo searched through his drawers and procured another pair of boxer shorts and a washed-out Mets-shirt for Orlando to sleep in.

“You’re a fan?” Orlando asked, taking the shirt from Viggo.

“In another life.” Viggo shrugged in a fashion that Orlando quickly learnt meant Don’t ask further.

“Take the bathroom downstairs,” Viggo said, handing him a toothbrush as well. “You can put your clothes in the washing machine and we’ll give them a tumble tomorrow. You remember where the machine is?”

Orlando nodded. It was in the mudroom next to the kitchen. “I’ll find it, thanks.”

Viggo’s smart arrangement meant that they both could change in private: Orlando in the bathroom downstairs and Viggo in the ensuite of the bedroom. When Orlando came upstairs in his borrowed clothes, Viggo was already in bed. He had left the side of the bed that faced the window to Orlando. He himself slept on the side closer to the door. Charlie was by Viggo’s side of the bed, lying on a rug on the floor. Orlando was a quick study: He left the bedroom door ajar when he entered, which would allow the dog to come and go as she pleased.

Orlando tip-toed in, not knowing whether Viggo was asleep already. He slipped under the covers and turned onto his side in Viggo’s direction. He could faintly make out Viggo’s face in the darkness; he was lying on his back and had the cover drawn up to his chin.

They weren’t touching. It was a pretty big bed.

“You know,” Viggo said into the silence. “This is awkward. I think we skipped a few parts of the dating process. Maybe you’re not supposed to go from having dinner to sleeping in one bed in such a short amount of time.”

“We’ve been having dinner for almost two months, Viggo. We didn’t manage to get the ship out of the harbour. But now we’re finally underway and we’ve caught a good wind. I think we should use it.”

That seemed to amuse Viggo. “What’s with the naval imagery?” he questioned.

“My hold for the new P. N. Thorne came in this week. All this swashbuckling rubs off on me, I guess.”

“Let me know how you like it.”

Silence descended again. They were still not touching.

“Viggo?”

“Yes.”

“I think I have a confession to make.”

Viggo drew in a sharp breath. Then he turned onto his side as well so that they were facing each other. It was too dark to see much, but Orlando could just make out the white in his eyes. “I’m listening.”

“Okay, please don’t laugh at me, but I think I have to get this out in the open.”

“Umm.”

“I’m … well.” Orlando fumbled. He didn’t know how to best phrase what he had to say without sounding like an idiot. “I haven’t … you know.”

“Haven’t what?” Viggo asked. Clearly, he wasn’t catching on to what Orlando was trying to tell him.

Orlando closed his eyes and tried not to feel embarrassed. He failed quite spectacularly. “With a man.”

The silence between them stretched again and he desperately wanted Viggo to say something.

“Why would I laugh at you?” Viggo asked eventually.

Orlando decided not to answer that. It only would have made him sound even more insecure. “When I was still in school, all my crushes were boys. Nothing ever came of it, really. But I was always attracted to boys.” He sighed again and tried to decide what exactly he should tell Viggo about that time. “Somehow, I felt I should at least try out the whole girl-thing. So when I met Bri and she so obviously was interested in me, I went for it. It seemed to make everyone happy: Bri loved me. My mom loved Bri. And sometimes, I even could convince myself that this was what I wanted. That this was what sex was supposed to feel like. What love was supposed to feel like. It took a long time until I could admit to myself that this wasn’t making my happy, that I was lying to myself. And then I still needed another fourteen months to break up with her.

“When I lived in San Diego, I dated a few guys. Casually. There was never anything serious. A bit of kissing here, some groping there.” He shrugged under his covers. “But I never let it go any further. I think, deep down I was afraid that it would be meaningless again. Like it had been with my girlfriend. And I didn’t want that. It felt dishonest.”

“You wanted fireworks,” Viggo interjected.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Viggo asked.

“Thought you should know.” After a pause he added: “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that it’s unfair that I had to make my confession under the gruesome light of day while you can make yours under the cover of darkness.”

That made Orlando laugh and it killed the tension that had gotten hold of him. “Sorry about that.”

“You’re not sorry at all.”

“No, probably not.”

“Seriously, though. I think it’s a credit to you that you want the sex to mean something. That you don’t want it to be nothing but two people fucking.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Why would I? Can’t say that I was as mature about this when I was your age. But that says as much about me as it says about you.”

“I see,” Orlando chuckled. “So all the rumours about pilots are true?”

“Some.”

Orlando waited a little, but it seemed that Viggo didn’t mean to elaborate.

They were still facing each other and Orlando could still barely make out that Viggo’s eyes were open. “Viggo?”

“Yes?”

“Would you kiss me?”

~*~

At first Orlando couldn’t quite tell what had woken him, but once the memory of where he was came back to him, he knew what was missing: Viggo’s presence next to him. The other side of the bed was empty.

Upon his shy request, Viggo had indeed kissed him. As far as first kisses went, it had been near-perfect. Viggo had closed the distance between them and his left hand had come up to cup Orlando’s cheek. The silver bracelet had felt cool against Orlando’s skin. Their faces had been only an inch apart and Orlando had felt his heart beat madly in anticipation. Viggo would not be rushed, though. He had stayed in his spot, a mere inch apart, breathing in deeply.

When he had closed the remaining distance, his lips had been gentle on Orlando’s mouth. Gentle and almost shy. That first touch had been a question and everything in Orlando had said: Yes. Yes!Orlando had felt Viggo’s mouth against his, had felt two days of stubble tickle him, and all his senses had taken leave. If he had felt nervous before, it was all gone now. Now there was only anticipation and the trust that this would be good.

And it had been. Orlando had opened his mouth, had exhaled and Viggo’s tongue had brushed against his lips. He had moaned, or maybe that had been Viggo. The moment Viggo’s tongue had started to caress him he had closed his eyes in bliss, letting the first wave of arousal wash over him. Viggo had intensified his efforts, but at the same time he had kept the kiss slow. Slow and unassuming. It had only intoxicated Orlando even more.

Viggo had broken the kiss. “Is this okay?” he had whispered and his breath had brushed silken against Orlando’s lips, soft and intimate.

“Yes,” Orlando had whispered equally quietly as if the moment would shatter if they spoke too loudly. “Do it again.”

And Viggo had. They had kissed languidly and Viggo’s hands had wandered under Orlando’s borrowed t-shirt to feel more of his skin. He’d stayed above the waistband, though, and in an unspoken agreement they had not taken their first exploration further.

Under the cover of darkness they had touched and kissed, but they had not spoken further. Orlando had felt Viggo’s moan reverberate through his own body and it had made his fingertips tingle. He had sighed in bliss and had tasted Viggo’s mouth, thankful for this gift. Orlando had fallen asleep with his head tucked under Viggo’s chin and an arm slung about his middle. It had felt comforting. It had felt like a perfect fit.

And now the bed was empty. Orlando tapped his smartwatch for the time: 2:17am, the display announced. Orlando turned away from the window and saw that light was filtering into the room from the hallway. He pushed up on his elbows and looked down at the other side of the bed. Charlie was gone as well.

He turned onto his back and bit his lip. Viggo was probably downstairs. Maybe he was prone to craving a midnight snack. Or maybe he was having a seizure and he didn’t want to wake up Orlando. Either was equally possible.

He tapped his watch again: 2:24am. Should he go downstairs and check on Viggo? Then again, maybe he’d only be a nuisance again. Viggo had not truly rebuked Orlando’s statement that he had acted like a pest. Orlando hadn’t been a help, he had only been in Viggo’s way. Maybe Viggo was better off on his own. He didn’t need Orlando to rescue him.

He also didn’t need Orlando to crowd him.

2:26am.

He just knew he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep again until Viggo got back to bed. Light was still filtering in through the open door and Orlando strained his ears to hear something – anything that would let him know what was going on downstairs. There was nothing, the house was quiet.

He tried to remember how long Viggo’s seizure had lasted on Friday night and then he wondered how long he had already been gone when Orlando had woken up to an empty bed. He vowed that he’d go downstairs and check if Viggo wasn’t back by 2:45am.

He was hardly breathing he was concentrating so hard on any sounds from downstairs. Finally, at 2:39am, he heard footsteps on the stairs and breathed a sigh of relief. He turned onto his side, in Viggo’s direction.

Viggo entered the bedroom silently, obviously in an attempt to not wake Orlando up. He slipped into bed and tried to make the mattress dip as little as possible. He scooted up against Orlando again, his nose pushed against Orlando’s. It felt good to have Viggo’s solid presence close again.

“Viggo,” Orlando whispered into the darkness.

“Sshh, sleep, ’s alright.”

He felt Viggo’s breath hot against his face. Orlando lifted his right hand and let it rest against Viggo’s nape to draw him nearer.

Viggo’s skin was slick with sweat.

Chapter Text

7. “I think I can be happy with him.”

Monday came around too soon in Orlando’s opinion. Viggo had agreed to drive him straight into work, but if Orlando had anticipated in what a cranky mood Viggo would be on Monday morning, he’d probably asked for a lift on Sunday evening instead. Viggo hadn’t lied. He truly wasn’t a morning person.

When the Silverado drew up in front of the library shortly before ten, Viggo was almost back to his usual – mostly charming – self. “I’m going to miss you,” he said, sounding surprised by his own admission.

“I could come by after work, stay the night.” They had been over this last night, but Orlando wanted to offer one last time. He already knew what Viggo would answer, though.

“No. Go home, get some distance. Think. About everything.”

“It won’t change anything.” Orlando repeated what he had said before. Now that he’d had his first glimpse of Viggo, he didn’t plan on letting him go. Their weekend together had started off in the worst possible way, but it had ended with kisses and touches. Orlando hoped for more, he just knew it was worth it. “I’ll not change my mind if that’s what you’re aiming at. We’re still on. Our version of normal is still sailing on gentle winds.”

Viggo chuckled. “Aye, captain. Recommend me a book then, to tide me over. Give me something romantic.”

Orlando thought for a moment. The occasion called for something special. “Read The Kingdoms. Romance and lighthouses and the Napoleonic Wars. It’s sad and hopeful and beautiful all at the same time.” Just like you are, Orlando thought, but he didn’t dare say that out loud.

“Will get to it right away,” Viggo said. “Would you kiss me goodbye?”

Their kiss was brief and chaste. Orlando marvelled at the fact that Viggo didn’t care at all who might see them. If half the town lined up next to the Silverado to watch them snog Viggo probably wouldn’t bat an eye. The epilepsy was another matter entirely, though. He wouldn’t shout that from the rooftops anytime soon.

Orlando vowed not to push it. He’d just go with the flow and take what Viggo offered.

~*~

At work, Orlando was distracted and Irene ribbed him endlessly for wearing the same clothes he had worn when he had left Friday afternoon. Orlando claimed that this was a mere coincidence. Silently though, Orlando panicked at the realisation how closely Irene seemed to watch him. She also mourned the fact that Orlando had failed to bring her a coffee and Orlando apologised profusely.

“Something’s different about you,” Irene said and clucked her tongue.

Orlando silently agreed. A lot had happened in the last few days. Out loud he said: “Maybe I’m coming down with a cold.”

“I’d love to come down with a cold more often,” Irene muttered, “if it made me look so glowing and happy.”

At least she stopped teasing him, which gave Orlando a chance to get through the day without blushing fiercely every ten minutes.

When he came home that day he was intercepted by Ben just as he was unlocking his front door.

“Man, I was so close to calling the cops on you. Where the hell have you been?” Ben demanded.

Orlando was so taken by surprise by Ben’s concern that he couldn’t think of a lie. He simply blurted out the truth instead. “I spent the weekend at Viggo’s place. It was kinda short notice.”

“Viggo?” Ben searched his mind for the name, but couldn’t place it. After they had talked about the Crowley Ranch all those weeks ago, Orlando had never brought Viggo up again. Apparently, Ben had successfully forgotten about him.

“The Crowley Ranch?” Orlando said to help Ben’s memory along.

“Oh, now I remember! Your crush. You spent the whole weekend at his place? How come? You never mentioned him again.”

“We’ve been dating, but we’re taking it slow. There wasn’t much to tell.”

“Never knew you to be so secretive,” Ben observed. He sounded hurt. “Best friends are supposed to tell each other about their conquests!”

Orlando shook his head. “Viggo is not a conquest.”

“You know what I mean.” Ben rolled his eyes.

“I know. But …” Orlando wanted to talk to Ben about Viggo so badly. But everything he could tell him would inevitably lead back to the fact that Viggo had epilepsy and he couldn’t tell Ben about that. It would be a phenomenal breach of trust. Viggo quite obviously felt very insecure about that part of himself. He’d never forgive Orlando if he ever found out. “ … he’s special. I like him very much, but we’re still trying to find out footing with one another. He’s got some issues he’s dealing with.”

Ben narrowed his eyes. “Don’t get entangled in anything that’s not good for you. Other people’s problems are not your concern. Trust me, it’s not worth it.”

Orlando wanted to argue that other people’s problems were his concern when those people were his friends. But for all his outwardly sunny appearance, Ben had his own baggage. At least that was what Orlando supposed after hearing a little about Ben’s family. They wouldn’t resolve an issue like that in the hallway of their building. “I hear you, Ben. But I’ll have to decide for myself whether it’s worth it.”

“Okay, fair,” Ben conceded. “Just keep that in mind.”

“I will,” Orlando said. “You’re a good friend, Ben.”

Ben nodded and Orlando entered his flat, closing the door behind himself.

For the first time in days he was alone. It surprised him how quickly he had become accustomed to sharing space with another person again after living alone for about two years. He sat down and let the silence of the room enfold him. No dog was snoring softly, no one was puttering around in the kitchen putting plates from the dishwasher into cupboards. He wondered what Viggo was doing right now and imagined him on the porch, his feet up on the railing. Some evenings were already warm enough for that.

Viggo had said he wanted Orlando to think about everything. And now that he was here, Orlando had to agree that it was probably a good idea. What he was about to do couldn’t be done with Viggo present anyway.

He switched on his laptop and started the browser.

Epilepsy he typed into the search bar and hit Enter. And then he went down the rabbit hole.

He learned that epilepsy was defined by abnormal brain activity. That abnormal brain activity manifested as a seizure.

He learned that there were two kinds of seizures: generalised seizures that started in both hemispheres of the brain and focal seizures that started in only one part of the brain (the frontal, parietal, temporal or occipital lobe).

He learned that a focal seizure could turn into a generalised seizure if the seizure activity spread into the other hemisphere.

He learned that epilepsy could indeed be caused by brain tumours, but also by strokes or infections of the brain. Most of the time, it could not be determined what the cause was. The general consensus seemed to be that it was genetic.

He learned that seizures could be triggered by things like lack of sleep or stress, but also alcohol or caffeine. He had never seen Viggo drink alcohol. And the Saturday morning coffee had been the only one. By Sunday he had switched to tea.

He learned that in about 70% of the cases, seizures could be controlled by medication. But that also meant that Viggo was part of the other third of patients where medication could not control the seizures.

He learned that there were other – surgical – options to treat seizures, either by removing part of the brain where the seizure activity started or by implanting devices under the skin. It sounded a bit like a pacemaker – just not for the heart but for the brain.

He learned about tonic, clonic, atonic and myoclonic seizures.

He learned about seizure clusters, which were probably the reason why Viggo had had another seizure Saturday night. He had not said a single word about it on Sunday and Orlando hadn’t pressed him, but in hindsight Orlando was convinced that Viggo had not gone downstairs at two in the morning to get himself a snack.

He learned that the recovery period after a seizure was called postictal phase. The postictal period was a state of altered consciousness following a seizure. It lasted for five to fifteen minutes, but in some cases could also take hours. During that period the person would be confused or tired, could have a headache or suffer from nausea. It explained Viggo’s disorientation after the seizure and it calmed Orlando down somewhat to learn that this was normal.

He learned that people with epilepsy where also prone to depression, anxiety and migraines.

He learned that anti-seizure medication apparently truly came with a package insert as long as your arm. The side effects ranged from fatigue and tiredness (probably the reason why Viggo slept in) to migraines to liver failure to depression and even suicidal thoughts. There were medications that caused serious behavioural changes complete with anger and aggression. Whatever Viggo was taking, chances were high that it impacted his life pretty severely.

Orlando shuddered. And then he read on.

He learned that seizures in different parts of the brain caused different symptoms. He found Viggo’s blank stare, the chewing motion and the repetitive hand movement amongst those symptoms. They were called automatisms. Up to 80% of the people with Temporal Lobe Epilepsy displayed those automatisms.

Lastly, he learned that a seizure usually terminated on its own. If Viggo remembered it or not – his plea for no ambulance had probably not only been caused by personal trauma but by simple practicality. It made no sense to call 9-1-1 for something that was over by the time an ambulance arrived. Only if a seizure lasted longer than five minutes or if another seizure started without the person having regained a normal level of consciousness in between, emergency care was necessary. Such a situation could be potentially lethal, leading to heart problems or irreversible brain damage. Mortality went up the longer someone went untreated.

After that he couldn’t read on. It was a lot to take in. By no means had Viggo made light about the situation – rather the opposite had been the case –, but maybe his blossoming feelings for Viggo had made Orlando blind to how serious this truly was. In his mind, it had sounded like something that could be dealt with. Something controllable. Reading about the side effects of medications that seemed easily as bad as the condition itself drove home in a rather gruesome manner what he had gotten himself into here. There were mortality rates, comorbidities and an increasingly specialised language the longer he read on. And there was the fact that as a bystander there was nothing you could do. His hope that knowledge would make the fear go away was crushed almost instantly. Seizures were frightening to watch. They were so frightening, because there was nothing to be done but making sure that the person experiencing the seizure didn’t hit their head or choke on their saliva. In most cases a seizure simply ran its course – like Viggo’s had done – whatever you did or didn’t do. And that scared Orlando anew. He’d felt panicked, frightened and out of his depth during Viggo’s seizure and he’d hated every second of it.

Think, Viggo had said. And Orlando was thinking. Would the good outweigh the bad? Was there any way to know beforehand?

He went to bed, all this new information flying around in his head. He couldn’t fathom how Viggo did it. Didn’t know how he managed to stay afloat with no one to talk to. Orlando couldn’t do it. He couldn’t mull this over all on his own.

He also couldn’t talk to Ben about it. He needed someone he could be open with and that meant it had to be someone unrelated to Reynards. Shortly after midnight he texted his sister: Can we talk?

Ten minutes later, his phone rang.

“What’s the emergency?” Sal asked. She sounded part amused and part concerned.

“Does there have to be an emergency? Can I not just feel the sudden urge to talk to my loving sister?”

“Sure you can. But it’s in the middle of the night in your place of the world and somehow I can’t believe that you were lying awake thinking: Gosh, I miss my sister.”

Orlando had to laugh, despite himself. “You’re way too perceptive.”

Sal sounded pleased. “Which is a roundabout way of saying that I’m right. So what’s the occasion? Why are you truly lying awake?”

Orlando sighed. He wasn’t quite sure whether he’d be able to say it out loud: Viggo has epilepsy. Viggo is an epileptic. He even shied away from the thought. “I’ve been lying awake thinking about Viggo,” Orlando said eventually.

“Oh?” Sal asked.

Sal and Orlando didn’t talk as regularly as Orlando and his mom did. But at least Orlando could be upfront with her. He hadn’t told his mom about Viggo, not even in a non-romantic way, because he had feared she would hear in his voice that he was interested in Viggo and would try to dissuade him. But Orlando had told Sal who had always been a strong supporter of him doing what he thought would make him happy.

“Have you been lying awake in a good or in a bad way?” Sal wanted to know.

“In a bad way, I guess,” Orlando admitted.

“Oh, fuck,” Sal said. “What happened? Last time we talked you were head over heels and I told you to just go for it and make a move! Was it bad advice? The way you talked about him, Viggo came across as a really decent guy.”

“He is and no, Sally. It wasn’t bad advice. It’s just …” He faltered. Viggo has epilepsy.

“Just what?” Sal asked.

“I spent the weekend at his place. We kissed,” Orlando started.

“But that’s great!” Sal said. She sounded genuinely pleased.

“Yeah, it is. It was really … well, the best first kiss I’ve ever had. Yeah.” Viggo has epilepsy.

“Damn it, Orli. Just spit it out. None of that is a reason to lie awake at night. At least not in a bad way. What are you not telling me? Why did you call?”

“I like him. I really do. A lot. But he told me that he has epilepsy. Viggo has epilepsy, Sally.”

There, he had said it. He had said it out loud and made it real. His admission was followed by deafening silence. The line seemed to be dead. “Sally?” he asked eventually. “Are you still there?”

Sal cleared her throat. “I’m still here. I just don’t really know what to say.”

“I see,” Orlando said.

“What does that mean, exactly?” Sal wanted to know.

Orlando could understand Sal’s question. Her knowledge about epilepsy was probably as sketchy as his own. “It means I saw him have a seizure. He had a seizure while I was with him.”

“Oh god, Orli!”

“He takes pills, pretty strong stuff from what I’m reading on the internet. But he still has seizures. They’re called focal seizures. Not quite as bad as the ones you’re thinking of. They’re still bad, though. Really frightening.”

“But he’s okay?” Sal asked.

Orlando laughed mirthlessly. “Apart from the chronic neurological disorder you mean? Yeah, he’s okay. I drove him home, he was pretty out of it afterwards.”

“And are you okay?” Sal said.

“I don’t know.” Orlando sighed. “I thought I was. But I came home today and started reading and it sounds bad. Really bad, in a serious life changing kind of way.”

“And you’re not sure whether it’s a good idea to get involved?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” It was hard to put his fears into words. “On the one hand, the more I get to know Viggo the more I like him. You wouldn’t believe how beautiful the place is where he lives. He even has a library, for god’s sake. I love spending time with him. We slept in one bed, Sally, and it felt so right. But at the same time this is a pretty big bomb to drop one someone and I’m not sure how to deal with it.”

Sal seemed to think. “You know I’ve supported you in this. I’ve rooted for you and Viggo from the moment you told me about him. But maybe it’s not meant to be? If you’re having doubts, maybe you should listen to your gut feeling?”

“Mhm,” Orlando said thoughtfully.

“I don’t know … I imagine pill bottles lying around everywhere. And regular doctor’s visits. Prescriptions. If you’re not careful you may end up as his caregiver and not as his boyfriend.”

It wasn’t really what Orlando wanted to hear. “Are you playing devil’s advocate or what? You always liked Viggo.”

“Just thinking out loud.”

Sal was right. She was only thinking out loud what Orlando had been pondering as well. How would this affect the relationship he and Viggo might have? How would this set them back? Did he really want to get involved with someone who had such a serious illness?

“It’ll be … different, I guess,” Orlando said carefully and maybe that was the heart of the matter. In his imagination Viggo had been perfect and the life he had imagined for them had been perfect as well. To now find that Viggo was imperfect far beyond snoring or having smelly feet – that threw Orlando off-balance.

“That’s for sure,” Sal scoffed. “I don’t know. You came out of your relationship with Bri pretty burnt. But this thing with Viggo sounds like you’re going out of the frying pan and into the fire. I want something good for you. I want you to be happy.”

In truth, that was what Orlando wanted as well. But maybe happiness wasn’t something that you got on a silver platter. Maybe you had to work for it – just like Viggo had worked for his ranch and the life he had built there for himself. Yes, Orlando was afraid. He was afraid of digging deeper into Viggo’s health and what he might find there. But he was at least equally afraid of letting Viggo go, of turning tail. Surely, there was a way to make this work. Surely there were people out there – people with epilepsy – who made this work right this moment. He wanted him and Viggo to be amongst those people.

“That’s just it, Sally. I think I can be. I think I can be happy with him. I want to try at least.”

“Oh, Orli,” she sighed. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I don’t think I can let him go,” Orlando admitted. “I’m in too deep already. I just got scared by what I read on the internet.” At least he hoped that was all it was.

“Okay,” Sal said. “Okay, it’s your decision. You keep me posted, alright? We’ll talk. And I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you two, I promise!”

“Thanks, sis,” Orlando smiled. “I love you.”

Chapter Text

8. “You like Viggo?”

On Wednesday, Orlando couldn’t take it anymore. He and Viggo had exchanged phone numbers, but Viggo had yet to call or send a text. Orlando assumed that Viggo had gone radio silent to give him the opportunity to do his thinking uninterrupted. What Viggo couldn’t know, of course, was the fact that Orlando had already come to a decision by Monday night. After that, all that was left to do for him was miss Viggo and imagine all the different ways in which their relationship could go forward.

On Wednesday evening Orlando finally caved. The first time he tried calling Viggo, no one answered the phone. The second time, it rang for such a long time that Orlando was about to terminate the call when it clicked on the other end. He breathed a sigh of relief. All kinds of scenarios had played through his head. Even without the added complication of Viggo’s epilepsy, there were a lot of hazards on a ranch. Orlando was pretty sure that the chainsaw wasn’t the only item potentially lethal in Viggo’s barn.

“Yes,” Viggo answered the call, sounding out of breath.

“Hi, it’s me.” He cleared his throat. “Orlando.”

“Hi.” Orlando could basically hear the smile in Viggo’s voice. “Sorry. I was outside. I left the phone in the house.”

“It’s okay,” Orlando said, when in all actuality it was not. What if something had happened? He bit his tongue to keep himself from voicing his concerns. He couldn’t just force his way into Viggo’s life and expect Viggo to accommodate him at every turn.

“Umm.” Viggo seemed to be thinking about what social standards dictated in a case like this. In the end, he decided on: “How are you?”

“I’m missing you,” Orlando blurted out. “When can I see you?”

There was silence on the other end. “Viggo? Are you still there?” Orlando asked eventually. Was he being too forward?

“I’m still here,” Viggo said. “You just … You took me by surprise, is all.”

Orlando understood quite clearly what Viggo was not saying: He had not believed Orlando would call. He had believed Orlando would cut his losses and leave.

“When?” Orlando repeated his question.

“Come by for the weekend? I could pick you up Friday after work,” Viggo suggested.

Orlando wouldn’t subject Viggo to another early Monday morning again, but it made him feel all warm inside that Viggo offered. “I’ll take my own car, don’t worry. Should I bring something?”

“Well, you already have your very own pair of boxer shorts and your Mets t-shirt in my drawer,” Viggo said and Orlando liked the mental image. “So, I don’t know. Your favourite shampoo?” Viggo offered uncertainly. Clearly, he couldn’t quite fathom what Orlando was aiming at.

Orlando sniggered. “I actually meant in terms of groceries. Should I bring something to eat? We could cook. Or is that supply of pizza endless?”

“It gets restocked from time to time.” Viggo laughed. “Don’t worry about food, the fridge will be full. But if you feel like anything in particular, bring it over. Or send me a text and I’ll put it on the shopping list. Oh, and bring an old pair of jeans and sturdy boots.”

“What for?” Orlando asked.

“I thought we could take the horses for a ride. Weather should be good.”

Orlando hadn’t expected that. Viggo had taken him to meet his horses and he’d loved their inquisitive nature and their soft noses. But he had not expected that Viggo would offer that he could ride one. “We could?”

“Sure we could. So, bring something that can get dirty.”

Orlando wasn’t sure how to take that. “You think I’ll fall off?”

Viggo laughed again. “No, I think the horses will slobber on you. You’re pretty good with animals. They’ll love you!”

Orlando felt giddy with joy. “I’m looking forward to it,” he said.

“Me too,” Viggo answered and the smile was evident in his voice.

~*~

When Orlando drew up at Viggo’s ranch, a spotless red SUV was parked in front of the house and he frowned. Did Viggo own two cars? Did he have friends after all? Or was this a rental? Maybe the Silverado had suffered a flat tyre. Wouldn’t be a surprise with what counted as a road out here.

He grabbed his overnight bag and purposefully went inside. That no dog came bouncing excitedly in his direction left him disappointed, but he soon got distracted by the bouncy music coming from the kitchen. Or rather, it wasn’t so much the music itself that was distracting, but the voice that was singing along. It was decidedly female and didn’t hit a single note.

“Hello?” he carefully announced his presence and walked further into the house. “Hello?” he called a little louder when no one answered on the first try.

Orlando entered the kitchen to the sight of a tiny woman bursting around the room like a dervish. He guessed her to be in her early fifties. She had an immaculate short hairdo, even though the almost black colour looked a little too perfect to still be her own. She wore a perfectly fitted skirt and blouse. It would have surprised him if she even reached 5’1 – she probably didn’t even come up to his shoulder. She wielded a spatula in her hand and was conducting the music coming from the radio with it. She was so engrossed in what she was doing that she still hadn’t noticed Orlando.

“Hello,” Orlando said yet again and tried to make sense of this apparition.

She shrieked. “Dios mío!” The spatula went flying, but at least not in Orlando’s direction. He went over to the kitchen counter to turn down the music. By then the woman had gotten herself under control again. “Oh, you must be Orlando! I heard so much about you.” There was a hint of an accent to her English.

“Good things only, I hope.”

She came over to him and took his face in her hands, which was not the kind of welcome he had expected from a stranger. Orlando actually had to stoop low or she wouldn’t have been able to reach. She gave him a kiss on the left cheek, the right and then the left again. “Welcome, Orlando! So good to meet you!”

Quite obviously, this woman knew him. He, on the other hand, had no idea who she was. “And who might you be?” he asked. A woman as boisterous as this one didn’t fit at all with what he’d seen of Viggo so far.

“Viggo didn’t tell you,” she said and it wasn’t a question. “He’s an evil man, sometimes.” That, too, was stated as a mere fact.

Orlando couldn’t argue with her logic, Viggo truly was evil sometimes.

“I’m Rosa. I do some cleaning for Viggo. He told me you be over so I decided to do some cooking, too. He said you ate pizza!” Here she made a disgusted face, scrunching up her nose in a comical fashion. “Uhhh! I make you something good!”

She hefted her spatula and started turning it in a huge pot on the stove.

“Smells delicious,” Orlando offered carefully.

“Ha, of course! Mama made this all the time, back in Chile.” That explained the accent, but it didn’t explain how she had ended up in Viggo’s life.

“Ah, I’m looking forward to it.”

For the moment, she was done stirring the pot. She put the spatula away and came over to Orlando. Her easygoing nature was all but gone. She looked up at Orlando, speculation in her eyes. “You like Viggo?”

“Umm.” Orlando wasn’t quite sure whether this was an appropriate question for the housekeeper to ask. It was one thing to admit to his sister that he was interested in Viggo. It was a very different thing when a virtual stranger asked about his feelings towards Viggo.

Rosa didn’t share his concerns. She poked his chest with a tiny finger. “You like?”

“Yes?” he asked experimentally. His cheeks started to burn.

Rosa frowned. “Is this a question? Or your answer? Huh?” She poked him some more with her finger, emphasising each word with a little stab.

“Yes.” Orlando wondered how he had ended up in this situation. “I like Viggo. Very much.” His cheeks were basically aflame by now.

Rosa beamed up at him. “He likes you, too!”

“Oh?”

“Yes, oh!” Rosa chorused.

Orlando smiled at her, relieved.

“Ah, cariño! You be good to him?”

“I’ll try.” Orlando was not prepared for an interrogation like this.

“Try? Pfft. You be good to him. Or I feed you to the pigs,” she said seriously.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

The idea of this tiny woman threatening him was amusing – for about ten seconds. When Rosa took up the spatula again to stir the pot, Orlando started wondering: Who knew what she had put into the food? Drugs, sleeping pills … he’d be at her mercy. She’d definitely find a way to feed him to the pigs; she seemed to be a very resolute woman. Orlando decided to not end up on the wrong side of her.

“You do that.” She waved the spatula. “I’m not making joke. Viggo is good man.”

“I know,” Orlando nodded. “I know he is.” He tried to steer the talk away from his imminent demise. “Where is he?”

“Barn.” Rosa waved the spatula in the general direction of the barn. “He always argues when I cook. I send outside.”

“Aha.” Actually, Orlando would have liked to see that. “I’ll go see him. Okay?”

“Sí, sí. You tell him, dinner is ready in thirty. Okay?”

“Okay, will do, Rosa.”

He left his bag in the mudroom for the moment and went in search of Viggo. As Rosa had promised, he was in the barn. In the back, there were about a dozen bales of straw, the little square ones. They had been stacked up to create a surface about four feet high. Viggo was sitting on the straw, one leg drawn up and one dangling down. In front of him was a disorderly pile of leather ware and he was dilligently scrubbing away at it. Charlie sat in his back, which was why Viggo didn’t notice the dog’s wagging tail.

He hadn’t spotted Orlando yet, obviously concentrating fully on his task instead, and Orlando used the opportunity to look his fill. Viggo was in jeans again, they looked worn and washed-out. He’d put on a short-sleeved plaid shirt over a white tee. Even from his spot by the door Orlando could see the muscles in Viggo’s arms working as he cleaned the leather with long, purposeful strokes. He wore an expression of concentration on his face and looked absolutely delicious in Orlando’s opinion. Little flecks of dust shimmered in the air around him.

Orlando was loath to destroy the moment, but he couldn’t just stand there endlessly. He walked further into the barn and into Viggo’s line of sight. A smile bloomed on the older man’s face when he noticed Orlando, but before he could get up for a proper hello, Orlando was leaning down to brush a kiss against his mouth. The smell of leather tickled Orlando’s nose and Orlando smiled into the kiss. He had missed Viggo, had missed kissing him.

When Orlando ended the kiss he noticed that Viggo was wearing earbuds. He snatched one and held it to his own ear. “What are you listening to? I think I’ll die if it’s country.” There wasn’t anything wrong with country, but the situation already screamed way-out-west even without the music. Orlando didn’t think his heart could take more.

“It isn’t,” Viggo assured him and turned up the volume on his mobile so that Orlando could hear better with his one earbud. Viggo let the audio run for a moment longer until he saw recognition on Orlando’s face.

“You’re listening to The Kingdoms!”

“Yes,” Viggo said and stopped the audio book. “There’s this librarian I met. He has the best recommendations, it seems. I’m loving it so far, even though I’m not really sure yet what it’s actually about.”

“It’s not very straightforward, I give you that,” Orlando agreed. “But it’s totally unique. I’m so glad that you like it.” It always made him exceptionally happy when Viggo liked what he recommended. He sat down next to Viggo on the straw and sniffed his shoulder. “You smell good.”

“That’s unlikely,” Viggo objected. “I’ve been out here for a while now, getting some work done. I smell like hay, leather and horse shit.”

“Exactly! It’s a good smell, I like it.” He truly did. He pushed his nose against Viggo’s neck and inhaled deeply.

Viggo sighed happily. “Not that I’m not enjoying what you’re doing. But I think I need to point out that you’re weird.”

Orlando laughed. “Look who’s calling the kettle black. I’m not the one admitting to smelling like horse poo.” He sniffed Viggo again. “I stand by my opinion. You smell good.” I could get used to this, he thought, but didn’t say that out loud. This moment out here with Viggo, this little pocket of time, was sheer perfection.

“What are you doing?” Orlando looked over Viggo’s shoulder at the bundles of leather displayed on a blanket on the straw.

“I’m cleaning the leather. I thought if I’m to show you the wonders of horse riding I should at least make an effort. I’m too lazy about this as it is.”

“When are you done? Rosa said dinner is ready in thirty minutes.”

“In that case, I’m done right now. I’ll just put everything away and we can go back to the house. It’s best not to keep Rosa waiting and I probably should shower before we eat.”

“Suit yourself.” Orlando watched as Viggo put all the equipment away. When he was done, he took a weathered cowboy hat from one of the bales and planted it firmly on his head. He made to leave the barn.

Orlando followed Viggo with his eyes. “Oh my god,” he muttered under his breath and his heart skipped a beat.

“What?” Viggo called back to him, befuddled.

“Nothing,” Orlando squeaked. He looked at Viggo’s retreating form – jeans, plaid shirt and cowboy hat – and shook his head. He was definitely not in Kent anymore. Somehow, he had managed to secure himself a cowboy.

Back inside the house Viggo went into the kitchen first. He kissed Rosa on the cheek and lifted the lid from the pot to sniff the content.

She tried to bat his hands away, but wasn’t successful – even the spatula didn’t help. In a last ditch effort to keep Viggo away from the food, she resorted to attacking him with a flood of rapid-fire Spanish.

Viggo only laughed good-naturedly and sniffed at the food. Rosa’s Spanish complaints got louder. Orlando sat down quietly at the island in the hope that no one noticed his presence. His eyes went to and fro between Rosa and Viggo. Whatever was going on, it was quite the spectacle.

Viggo countered Rosa’s tirade with a few sentences, which only led to a new eruption from Rosa.

This went back and forth for quite a while. Orlando didn’t understand a word, but they appeared to be in a heated fight over the food. He couldn’t really imagine Viggo objecting to it – it truly smelled delicious. Orlando had no idea what could be wrong with it. Viggo seemed to notice his confusion. He shot Orlando a quick look and winked.

Viggo looked back at Rosa and attacked her with another round of Spanish. Orlando was dumbfounded. The heated argument trickled out and Viggo scampered off, presumably to get his shower. Orlando was left in the kitchen with Rosa.

“Is everything okay?” he hazarded.

“Ah, he’s lost cause!” Rosa complained. “Not know good food. I cook him good Chilean recipe and he says: is missing this and missing that. Bull-headed argentino.”

Orlando filed that away. “I’m sure he loves your cooking. I know I’m looking forward to trying it.”

“Ah, cariño. At least you know how to be nice to old woman. Maybe you put some sense into Viggo’s head.” She looked critically at the oven. “Is done. You take the bread from the oven in five. The pot is still hot. You all good.” She rubbed her hands on her skirt and then felt her hair to make sure it still looked good.

“You’re not eating with us?” Orlando asked. That pot held enough food for ten people.

“Ahhh,” she screeched. “You don’t need old woman chaperone.”

“You’re not old, Rosa.” The idea of a chaperone was amusing, though.

“Mmh,” she answered. “You remember what we talked about. And we be friends, cariño.”

“I remember.” He would probably never forget that comment about pig food. “And I’d like us to be friends.”

Chapter Text

9. “Can we do it again?”

Dinner had been wonderful. Viggo had even produced some beer from the fridge for Orlando – something that had definitely not been there the week before – while excusing himself from having a drink.

“You don’t drink?” Orlando had asked carefully. He remembered what he had read about seizure triggers on the internet and wouldn’t mind to get some more first-hand info from Viggo.

“Not anymore,” Viggo answered while he was cutting the bread.

“Not since … before?” Orlando asked ambiguously. He didn’t really know how to broach the subject. Somehow, he both lacked the courage and the right words. Still, he hoped to give Viggo an opening if he felt like talking, but the older man just shot him a warning look. They didn’t brush the topic again and the rest of dinner went smoothly.

When dinner was over and the dishwasher had been stocked, they retreated to the living room. Orlando was lounging on the comfortable sofa while Viggo was entering with two mugs. He placed them on the coffee table. “I hope you don’t mind. But I love some good hot cocoa.”

It was May, but the last nights had been unusually cold for the season. Orlando didn’t mind at all and took a sip. It was wonderfully chocolate-y – thick and sweet.

Viggo crawled onto the sofa as well, close enough to Orlando that their shoulders brushed, and started the movie. For a while they sat next to each other like this: close, but not overly close, sipping their hot beverage and watching Tom Hiddleston getting entangled with Mia Wasikowska. By the time the dilapidated English mansion in the movie started to crack at the seams, they had managed to snuggle up to one another.

Orlando was lying stretched out on the sofa. Viggo had his head on Orlando’s chest and was running his hand up and down Orlando’s arm with a feather light touch. The longer this went on, the harder it became for Orlando to breathe.

“Can you even see anything?” Orlando asked.

Viggo didn’t stop what he was doing. “The view is quite good from here,” he answered. He was clearly not talking about the movie and Orlando felt goosebumps appear on his forearms. The light caress went on. “You feel good,” Viggo said and he turned his head so that he could look into Orlando’s face.

This time, Orlando didn’t have to ask to be kissed. This time, Viggo understood all on his own what the moment required. Orlando only had to dip his head a little while Viggo scooted up and just like this their lips met. Viggo tasted of hot cocoa, all sweet and creamy, and Orlando licked his lips in delight.

“You’re yummy,” he said, eyes twinkling.

Viggo smiled and closed Orlando’s mouth with another kiss. Viggo’s body, lying half on top of Orlando, was a warm and solid promise. Orlando heard the musical score of the movie swell, but he couldn’t care less. His eyes were closed to better enjoy Viggo’s closeness. Viggo’s lips were soft on his own and his tongue shy again when it asked to be let in. Orlando opened up for Viggo at once, welcoming him with a moan, and Viggo’s hand, the one that had been caressing his arm came up to cup his face. Viggo’s thumb rubbed gently against Orlando’s cheek and his skin felt calloused and still smelled faintly of the leather cleaner he had used on the horse equipment. Their kiss became more heated and Orlando felt dizzy when Viggo’s other hand went downwards to find the hem of his shirt and crawl under it. He breathed deeply when he felt Viggo’s fingers whisper over his belly, his ribs, his sides. Eventually, they ended up on the small of his back, Viggo’s thumb stroking lightly. Orlando moaned and stretched like a cat. He hadn’t known he was so sensitive in that spot.

Viggo trailed small kisses along his chin and then went for the spot where his pulse beat madly under his skin. Viggo licked the skin, worried it between his teeth, and Orlando felt himself grow hard, felt his cock strain against his jeans. He held on to Viggo, his fingers digging into Viggo’s biceps and simply allowed himself to feel. It had never felt this way to be kissed and touched. It had never been this intense, this all-encompassing, probably because he had never before been this emotionally invested.

“Viggo,” Orlando moaned and he arched his back. He didn’t have a lot of room to manoeuvre, because Viggo was effectively pinning him to the sofa. Viggo kissed the little dimple where Orlando’s collarbones met. He dipped his tongue in and Orlando let his head fall back to open up even more to Viggo. He exhaled, all the air leaving his body seemingly at once. Orlando pumped his hips, hoping to find some friction, but all he felt was coarse cotton that strained almost painfully against his arousal.

“You’re in charge. Tell me when to stop,” Viggo whispered against Orlando’s throat and Orlando laughed hoarsely.

“Don’t you dare stop,” he whimpered. “Touch me.”

Viggo took pity on him. He pushed his hand against Orlando’s crotch and palmed him hard through the denim. Then he kissed Orlando again and this time it was hot and slick and demanding, Viggo’s tongue like a wanton snake in the cavern of his mouth discovering every hidden nook and cranny.

Orlando gripped Viggo’s arms harder and pressed up into the promising hand that rubbed against his cock. Viggo didn’t even need to do much at this point. He kept up the kiss, but Orlando pursued his pleasure all on his own and his hand came down to cover Viggo’s on his cock. Together they brought him to completion and he cried out his orgasm into their kiss, into Viggo’s waiting mouth.

His eyes were closed when he tried to get his breath back. He felt blissed out, somehow everything around him seemed dimmed. Inside him, though, everything was bright hot. Viggo had made him come. He’d made him come on his sofa and it had been brilliant.

“You look beautiful,” Viggo said reverently, trailing kisses down Orlando’s neck and leaving a feeling of burning lava behind.

“I can’t believe I just came in my jeans.”

Viggo stopped what he was doing. “Do you mind?” he asked, sounding uncertain.

At the moment, Orlando couldn’t think of a single thing that he’d mind less. “No, I know where the washing machine is.”

“You do,” Viggo confirmed and he took up his feather light kisses again, seemingly lost in thought. Orlando felt Viggo’s lips against his cheek, his chin, his earlobe, the corner of his mouth. It was a comforting touch. It was loving.

Orlando brought up a hand to Viggo’s face. “What about you? Let me.” His hand went to the hem of Viggo’s shirt, searching for a way inside. Viggo covered Orlando’s hand with his own, steering him away effectively. He kissed Orlando’s palm.

“No, don’t. This was for you. Something I wanted to give you.” His kisses stopped and he put his head on Orlando’s chest again and snuggled up against him. His hand went down to rest on Orlando’s crotch and he gave a little squeeze. “It’s all good,” he said and then fell silent.

On the TV screen, the English mansion dissolved into a flood of red lava. Neither of them noticed.

~*~

Just as Viggo had assumed, the weather on Saturday was all but perfect. The sun was shining and little tufts of white clouds were being pushed across the sky by a gentle wind. Orlando got up shortly after six. He made himself a cup of coffee, grabbed a blanket from the sofa and sat outside on the porch, watching the horses slowly making their way across the pasture. He snapped a picture for Sally to show her how beautiful it was out here. He thought about their talk and about his own fears and insecurities regarding Viggo’s epilepsy. Orlando felt it loom in the background, felt it wait silently until it could rear its ugly head again. But if he had hoped that Viggo would be open with him, that they could build upon the trust they had established last week, then he was mistaken. Viggo didn’t bring it up. Orlando didn’t bring it up either, because Viggo so obviously didn’t want to broach the subject. But they couldn’t wish this away – at some point or other Viggo would have another seizure and Orlando would have felt better knowing from Viggo’s own mouth what he needed and didn’t need from Orlando if that situation arose. On the one side, Viggo’s silence helped Orlando pretend that they were nothing more but two men slowly falling in love. On the other side, it meant that Orlando started agonising over the what-ifs of a next seizure. He felt like was walking on a tightrope, waiting to see on which side he would fall off.

Orlando distracted himself from his gloomy thoughts by listening to the last hour of The Lion of Midnight and made a mental note to tell Viggo that he loved it. It had all the ingredients he loved in a P. N. Thorne – the adventure, the interesting characters, the historical backdrop. Matthew’s world was getting bigger in each book and Orlando loved the political machinations. He missed some of his favourite characters – like Cornelia, but Kit got a lot to do, which mostly made up for it in Orlando’s opinion. He was just the perfect sidekick. Orlando was already looking forward to Matthew’s next adventure.

By the time Viggo got up and they had breakfast the day was well underway. It didn’t matter much to Orlando, they had only one thing on the agenda: Orlando’s first ever ride on a horse. He had neither brought groceries nor his favourite shampoo, but he’d brought a bag of carrots for the horses and bribed them right away when they got to the barn.

Viggo took his sweet time showing Orlando how to groom and tack up. He told him how things were called and what they were for and Orlando was pretty sure he would forget about half of this in the next hour.

“This is Cody. He’ll always get you home. Wherever you get lost in the mountains, he’ll bring you home safely. He’s a godsend.” Viggo brushed the almost black horse with long strokes and Orlando tried to copy his moves on the chestnut he was grooming.

“And your little fellow’s name is Rascal. Because, well … I guess it’s self-explanatory.”

Orlando stopped what he was doing and looked at his horse with a critical eye. “And you’re giving him to me? I thought we had established that I’ve never ridden a horse before!”

“He’s a safe ride, Orlando,” Viggo assured. “He’s just a bit of a clown.” As if to prove his point Viggo came over to Orlando and Rascal and lifted his forefinger at the horse. At once, Rascal drew back his lips, showing all his yellow horse teeth. It was one big horsey grin.

“See?” Viggo gave the horse a treat and Rascal repeated his little trick in the hope of getting another. He seemed very proud of himself.

“Can I try as well?” Orlando asked.

“Sure, you have enough carrots to make him smile until the sun comes down.”

Orlando tried to make Rascal smile by imitating Viggo’s gesture. It worked on the second try. Orlando beamed. “That’s so cute!”

“The feature was pre-installed when I got him,” Viggo provided and lifted one of the saddles. “Okay. I’ll tack up Cody and you can watch. Afterwards you try the same on Rascal.” At Orlando’s dubious look he added: “Don’t worry, I’ll help.”

Once they had tacked up and Orlando had managed to mount he was already drenched in sweat. “I thought horse riding was just sitting on a horse. It shouldn’t be this exhausting,” he complained and looked down worriedly. There was quite a bit of space between him and the ground. “That’s pretty high up,” he added in a tremulous voice.

“You’ll get used to it,” Viggo promised. “We’ll take it slow. A nice little ride up the mountain. And I’ll keep you on a tight leash!” Viggo snapped a lead rope into Rascals bit to lead him by, which gave Orlando the freedom to concentrate wholly on himself for starters.

It didn’t take long for Orlando to get a feeling for the movement. It actually was quite relaxing – as long as he didn’t look down. Viggo had shown him how to hold the reins and where to put his legs.

“Okay,” Viggo said, once they were surrounded by forest. “Sit tall, don’t slump. And if you want, you can try to steer him. If you want him to go a bit to the left, put some pressure on with your right leg. You want him to go away from the pressure. Try it.”

Orlando did as he was told and Rascal drifted to the left. He tried the other direction and that worked as well. He beamed at Viggo. “Cool!”

“If you want him to actually turn, you do the same with the reins. If you want to go the left, you open your left rein and put the right to his neck. Again, you want him to go away from the pressure – the rein on his neck is the pressure. The leg can help.”

Viggo demonstrated the move and Orlando followed suit. Rascal turned to the left, even though Orlando wasn’t quite sure if he wasn’t simply following his buddy.

“Good! To stop him, sit deep in the saddle. Breathe out and tense up your lower back.” He steered Cody over and put a hand into Orlando’s back. “Right here. Breathe into the spot where my hand is. If you do it correctly, you won’t even need the reins. If it doesn’t work right away, draw back the reins – but only slightly.”

That was a bit much for Orlando. He needed a few tries until he could coordinate all parts of his body accordingly. Once Rascal had stopped, Orlando huffed, exasperated. “Wow, that’s harder than I thought.”

“It gets easier, I promise. At some point, the movement will become automatic and you don’t have to think about it so very much anymore. Get him to walk again,” Viggo instructed. “Some slack in the reins and a little pressure with both legs should do the trick. The idea is always to do as little as possible. If his reaction is more than you intended, do less next time. If he doesn’t react at all or too late or too little, repeat your aid with a little more force. Over time, you’ll get better at understanding each other. Rascal is not a car, he’s a living, breathing being. He’s your partner. The more time you spend with one another the better you’ll be able to communicate.”

“That sounds lovely,” Orlando said. It also sounded like a lot of commitment. Fleetingly, Orlando remembered the talk about dogs they’d had on their first date. Viggo had sounded similar back then – it was all about commitment and responsibility. He slowly started to understand what Viggo got out of these interactions: the satisfaction of achieving a form of partnership and working towards a common goal. It sounded increasingly tempting to Orlando, like something he wanted in his life.

And maybe, just maybe, it gave Viggo so much, because he didn’t have a human relationship in his life that even remotely came close. His animals would never look at him differently. Viggo gave them his love unreservedly. And they gave back. It was as uncomplicated and natural as nothing else in his life.

Orlando tried getting Rascal to walk again and it worked on the first try. Orlando was ecstatic. Rascal understood what Orlando wanted. All Orlando had to do was hug him a little more with his legs. It was all about finding a language they both knew. Orlando tried steering again, just to get a better feeling for what he had to do.

Viggo nodded at him, proud. “You got gas, you got brakes and you got steering. Congratulations, you’re a horse rider now!”

“I’m pretty sure there’s more to it,” Orlando said, but deep down he was proud of himself.

Viggo shrugged, the corner of his mouth was turned up. “Maybe. But those three things will already get you far. Up that trail, for instance.”

The next hour was spent riding through the forest. Five minutes into their ride, Orlando was already hopelessly lost, sure that he’d never find his way back on his own. Viggo pointed out little things along the way or other trails they might try at a later date and Orlando was thrilled at Viggo’s offhanded remark of there being later dates. It surely meant that Viggo didn’t think Orlando was a lost cause on a horse. Viggo would take him out riding again. Orlando just knew he’d caught the horse bug. The creaking leather, the sound of hooves on the forest floor, the snorts that came from the horses from time to time – it would have been a wonderful experience all on its own, but that he was allowed to share it with Viggo made this extra special. Viggo was even wearing his hat again and looked every bit the cowboy.

The only thing that dampened Orlando’s mood was Charlie. Of course he was happy that the dog had come along, but somehow he had expected her to run ahead and sniff every tree. He thought Charlie would have fun in the forest, but the dog stayed diligently by Cody’s side and never strayed even an inch from her spot.

It took Orlando a while to realise that Charlie was working. She was a service dog and Viggo had taken her along to do her job. She was here to alert Viggo in case he was about to have seizure. There mere idea sent a shiver down Orlando’s spine. Not only the seizure itself – that was bad enough. But out here, in the middle of nowhere. They were surrounded by forest. It was beautiful now, but he was sure that it would feel like an enemy the moment an actual emergency occurred. All kinds of horrible scenarios played out in his mind.

It fascinated Orlando that Viggo, on the other hand, didn’t seem bothered at all. To Orlando the situation appeared fraught with dangers – they were alone, far from civilisation. Help would certainly take its sweet time if they needed it. But Viggo seemed at peace and totally at home atop his horse. He’d always appeared a bit out of place at Larry’s – like he didn’t belong and would rather be elsewhere. But here, on their little hack, he apparently was in his element. Orlando shot glances at him, because it changed Viggo. He seemed taller, more self-assured. Orlando wondered whether this was the Viggo from before – before he had gotten sick and turned world-weary. Or whether this hidden outdoorman had always been a part of Viggo’s persona and he’d been able to let him take over once he’d moved out here.

“You’re quiet,” Viggo said eventually and shot him a glance.

“Just enjoying the scenery.” Orlando wasn’t even lying. It was truly beautiful out here. “And concentrating on the steering and braking.”

“You’re doing great. I think we should try a little trot,” Viggo suggested.

“Okay. What do I do?”

“Keep the reins lose, grab the horn with one hand and try to relax into the movement,” Viggo said and then clicked his tongue at the horses. At once things turned bouncy. Orlando grabbed the horn of the saddle tighter and tried to not be jostled around like a sack of potatoes. Viggo soon took mercy on him and reined in the horses. They were back at a sedate walk.

“Your very first trot!” Viggo praised.

“I think my brain splashed against my skull from the inside.”

Viggo laughed at the imagery, but he wasn’t deterred. “But your very first trot!”

“Yes!” Orlando said, suddenly comprehending. “Can we do it again?”

Viggo doubled over, laughing. “We’ll make a cowboy out of you yet!” he promised.

When the trail sloped gently downwards again, suggesting that they were definitely on their way home, Orlando broached the subject of Rosa.

“You didn’t tell me you had a housekeeper,” he started.

“Where is this coming from?” Viggo asked, surprised by the subject-matter.

“Just curious. She’s a marvellous woman.”

“She is that.”

“And she’s a little more than a housekeeper, I suppose?” Orlando ventured.

“Yeah,” Viggo agreed readily. “Her husband had a construction company, he was really good. Did all the work on the house I couldn’t do myself – electricity and such. I don’t really know how it happened, but at some point she simply installed herself in my life. Came over to clean, brought some homemade food from time to time. Her husband died … what? … three or four years ago. Heart attack. That hit her pretty hard. Ever since then we’ve only grown closer. Her son Raoul took over his dad’s company. He’s almost equally as good. He comes by when something major needs fixing.”

“And Rosa comes by when you need fixing?” Orlando dared asking.

Viggo decided to be generous. “Kind of. I think she’s made it her life’s mission to keep me from turning into a complete hermit.”

“Sounds like she adopted you,” Orlando summed up what Viggo had told him. It certainly explained that rather odd relationship those two seemed to have.

Viggo thought about Orlando’s words. “Yes, that might actually be true.”

Orlando became bolder. “You’re very close. Does she know?”

“Know what?” Viggo asked.

Orlando raised an eyebrow at him. Viggo shoulders slumped and Orlando wondered whether it wouldn’t have been better to simply keep his stupid mouth shut.

Viggo answered, apparently seeing no way how he could avoid the question. “She knows. That was a bit of an accident. She found me with a tonic-clonic on the kitchen floor. That must have been four or five years ago. I was outside when I felt the aura coming on, I don’t actually remember what I was doing. I went inside, but I got so woozy when I reached the kitchen that I decided to simply lie down there. I didn’t even realise she was scrubbing the oven. I think I took years off her life with that move.”

Orlando could relate. He’d been equally scared, but at least Viggo’s admission had given him a head start of two minutes. If it even had been that long. “Poor Rosa,” he said.

Viggo shot him a look and his tone was sharper than anticipated. “Wasn’t a fun experience for me either, I can tell you. She called 9-1-1, but by the time the ambulance made it out here, I was feeling fine again, at least almost. I could tell them where I was and what had happened and who was president, which was how I could convince them to not take me in. They let me be, thank God. Rosa, on the other hand, wasn’t so easily appeased. Ever since that day I have to send her a daily text to let her know I’m okay. She gets furious when I slip up for whatever reason and forget.”

“I like the idea,” Orlando tried, but Viggo rolled his eyes. “You can take care of yourself, I know.”

“Yes. But believe me, you don’t want to deal with a furious Rosa, I wouldn’t ever win that fight.”

That broke the sombre mood. Orlando laughed. “You still like picking fights with her, though.”

Viggo needed a moment to comprehend that Orlando was alluding to Viggo’s merciless ribbing of Rosa’s cooking. “All in good fun.” Viggo smiled as well. “It’s a long standing tradition. Bit of rivalry between Chile and Argentina.”

“You’ve been? To Argentina, I mean.”

“Lived there, actually. I told you, my parents moved us around a lot.”

“Oh. Wow.” That man sure knew how to keep the interest up.

“Look,” Viggo pointed ahead. “There’s the ranch. Want to go for another trot? We’re home in ten minutes.”

Orlando smiled. “Absolutely.”

Chapter Text

10. “Maybe next time, right?”

They found a good rhythm. Usually Orlando would spend his weekends at the ranch and they’d cook, go for a hack and make out on the sofa. Sometimes, Viggo would come to town during the week to visit the library and get some new books. Most of the time, his visits felt like bank robberies: He came in, made a dash for the shelf that held his desired book and was gone again. It was on one of those occasions that Irene finally caught up with them, because Orlando tried to get Viggo to stay for a few minutes longer by putting a reassuring hand on his forearm. Apparently, he stood close enough to Viggo that Irene picked up on it.

“Don’t tell me you and Viggo!?” she said once Viggo had left. Irene looked all excited and Orlando had no other choice but to confess. “How long has this been going on?” she wanted to know.

Irene liked Viggo, and not only because he regularly donated books. She was an outgoing person and Orlando had yet to meet someone Irene didn’t like. But that Orlando and Viggo were dating enamoured her to Viggo in a whole new way and from then on she turned up the charm tenfold whenever Viggo showed up.

It was obvious to Orlando that his visits to the library posed an almost unwinnable challenge to Viggo. Seeing how hard it was to put himself into that situation time and again, Orlando very nearly offered to get his books for Viggo. He stopped himself at the last possible moment, because he thought that it would benefit Viggo to get out of the house a bit – at least in the long run. And Viggo never asked Orlando to do this for him, so apparently he himself thought that this was something he needed to do.

By now, Orlando knew Viggo a lot better and he could tell easily what had escaped him during their first encounters: the clenched fists and the hard set to his mouth, the weary eyes and the general discomfort. Whatever he did and wherever he was, out of the corner of his eye Viggo was always looking for the exit, making sure he had a way out of the situation should he need it. It took a lot out of Viggo to purposefully put himself in those situations. Orlando couldn’t help but feeling flattered that Viggo had left his comfort zone for him. At the same time it made him sad that something as basic as leaving the house posed such an insurmountable task to Viggo. Orlando told Viggo things would get easier and he hoped he wasn’t lying. What plagued Viggo in those situations was nothing short of anxiety and fear. Orlando admired him for taking the step. He just hoped there would be a silver lining for Viggo at the end of this.

Orlando was young, his only relationship of importance had been with Bri. Yes, he was young and untried, but he wasn’t stupid. It didn’t take him long to realise that what Viggo feared most was rejection. After all, Viggo had all but said so: People looked at him differently once they knew. The only way to keep them from knowing was to keep them away entirely. At least that seemed to be Viggo’s reasoning.

He tried the same with Orlando. Viggo worked hard at their shot at normal. Viggo had let him in that first day, had opened up and had been honest with Orlando. He’d told him about the epilepsy and he’d let Orlando get a glimpse of what that meant for him. But after that Viggo had effectively shut him out again. Orlando didn’t see a single pill bottle in the house, which made him wonder where exactly Viggo kept his medication. And however Viggo did it, Orlando never witnessed another seizure. Viggo feared nothing more than Orlando’s rejection and therefore gave him no opening whatsoever to prove him right.

Orlando desperately wanted to talk things through with someone, but the only realistic option was Sal. He sent her pictures of the ranch, of the dog and the horses and even of Viggo (on the one memorable occasion where he could convince Viggo to take a selfie). She seemed to be cautiously optimistic and Orlando feared destroying that if he went to her with his fears and doubts.

That only left dealing with this on his own, blindly feeling his way forward and hoping that Viggo would come to trust him eventually. Every time Orlando tried to address the subject with Viggo the older man found some pressing topic to divert Orlando’s attention. Usually, the diversion included kisses or Viggo’s hands on parts of his body that normally didn’t see any sun. But while Orlando enjoyed the attention, he was certain that this shortcut wouldn’t make the issue go away. They would have to face this at some point and he hoped it would be sooner rather than later. He wanted this to be over and settled.

Orlando hoped the occasion would arise during his upcoming vacation. Originally, he had meant to use the time to fix some things around his flat that he hadn’t gotten around to so far. But now, with Viggo, he felt that he could better use his time being around the older man. When he had proposed the idea to spend his vacation with Viggo, Viggo had not been entirely convinced that it was a good idea. He hadn’t been able to come up with a truly convincing argument to keep Orlando away, though.

“I’ll have to work,” Viggo had said, which of course peaked Orlando’s interest right away. He hadn’t even known that Viggo had a job. He had never mentioned anything of the like. Orlando had come to believe that Viggo was living off the money he had made as a pilot. Supposedly people existed who were good enough at investing money that they could comfortably retire at forty. He’d read about them, he had just assumed they were some kind of urban legend. He hadn’t expected to ever meet one of them.

“You do?” Orlando had asked, surprised.

“Yes, I work from home,” had been Viggo’s ambiguous answer. That didn’t tell Orlando much, but he knew better that to press the issue.

Orlando hadn’t been deterred. He wouldn’t sit alone in his flat when he could also be at Viggo’s. “Don’t worry, I can keep myself occupied. It’s not like you have to entertain me all the time while I’m here. You can show me how to care for the horses. I can help with the chores around the house, I’m sure there’s lots to do. And in the end, I wanted to catch up on my reading anyway.”

“My library is your library,” Viggo had offered, accepting that he was losing this battle.

“You’re sweet,” Orlando had answered. “It’s settled then?”

“I guess it is.”

~*~

“Are we going to meet your mystery man tonight?” Annie asked, snatching some pretzels from the bowl standing in the middle of the table.

Orlando took a swig of his beer. “The mystery man’s name is Viggo. He’s going to pick me up, but I don’t know whether he’ll come inside.”

In truth, Orlando was pretty sure Viggo wouldn’t, but there was no reason to tell Annie that. They were in the Barn, celebrating Ben’s birthday with some burgers, beer and pretzels. It was Friday night and Orlando had asked Viggo to pick him up. That way he didn’t need to worry about how much he was drinking. Viggo had agreed readily, obviously set on making an effort for Orlando’s vacation. Orlando had asked him to be there around 11pm. By that time he hopefully wouldn’t yet be completely plastered. He also didn’t want to keep Viggo up needlessly long after his usual bedtime.

Once it was Annie’s turn to get the next round of beer, Ben asked: “How is it going with Viggo anyway? You’re awfully quiet in regards to him.”

Orlando shrugged. “Things are good. I’m going to spend the next week at his place. I wouldn’t do that if things weren’t good.”

“Mhm.” Ben didn’t seem convinced. “And the issues you were talking about?” Quite obviously, Ben hadn’t forgotten about that.

“We’re working on them.”

Even to Orlando’s own ears it sounded like a platitude. He could see in Ben’s face that his friend didn’t believe him. Or maybe he didn’t want to believe him.

“I hope he makes you happy,” Ben said. He sounded cautious, almost cool.

It hurt Orlando. Ben was his best friend. He wanted Ben to be happy for him. “He does. Very much so,” he said. He put all his hopefulness into the words, but Ben seemed only half-convinced.

Two hours later, Orlando was on the dance floor with Annie. He couldn’t quite remember how he had ended up in this situation, most probably he had lost some bet, because when he looked back at their table he could see Ben grinning, pointing his mobile at them and snapping pictures. Orlando didn’t know the song he was dancing to and he had stepped on Annie’s feet at least twice already. But she seemed to enjoy herself nonetheless.

When the song ended, she threw her arms around his neck and held him close. Her cheeks were flushed, it was indescribably hot in the Barn. “Don’t turn around, but this guy over at the entrance is checking you out.” She looked at someone behind Orlando’s back, while she whispered in his ear. “He’s hot.”

Orlando drew her closer and gave her a peck on the cheek. “That’s probably Viggo. And I know he’s hot. No sharing, though!”

He turned around and sure enough, Viggo was standing just inside the entrance. He’d probably unsuccessfully tried to ring Orlando’s mobile. It was in his bag under the table, no wonder he hadn’t heard it. Viggo caught Orlando’s gaze and there was something bordering on desperation in it.

Orlando turned back to Annie. “Let me just go over to him.”

“Get him to join us for a drink,” Annie ordered.

Fat chance, Orlando thought. He hurried through the crowd until he reached Viggo. He truly was standing just inside the entrance, ready to flee any moment.

“Hey,” Orlando greeted, hugging Viggo close for a moment. The older man returned the gesture, but he was tense.

“You’re drunk,” Viggo said by way of greeting.

“I’m not drunk,” Orlando objected. “Maybe I’m a little tipsy. There’s a difference.”

Viggo just looked at him, he clearly was not in the mood to compare the stages of drunkenness. “Let’s go?”

Orlando looked back at their table. Annie and Ben threw them expectant looks. He had to try at least. “Come and sit down? Only for a bit? They’re my friends and they’d really like to meet you.”

“Orlando,” Viggo said in warning and his eyes scanned the crowd.

“You don’t have to stay long. Just say hi?”

“Orlando, please,” Viggo tried. He looked despondent. “I really can’t. I … I left Charlie in the car. I should get back.”

Naturally, Viggo wouldn’t bring Charlie into a place like this, but of course he’d feel even less prepared to face the situation without her by his side. It had been worth a try, even though Orlando had known he wouldn’t win this fight. “I’ll be right outside. I’ll just say my goodbyes. I’m out in five.”

Somehow, Viggo’s hand had found its way into Orlando’s and Orlando could feel how his hand was squeezed. And then, without another word, Viggo was gone.

Orlando went back to their table and to his two disappointed friends. “Why didn’t he come over?” Ben asked.

“He’s not really comfortable with crowds,” Orlando said, getting his bag from under the table.

“What crowd?” Annie asked, dumbfounded. “We’re three people, and he’s seen one of these three naked.”

“I’m sure there’ll be another opportunity for you to say hi. I’m sorry, but I’ll have to leave.”

Annie and Ben didn’t look convinced. “You’re our friend,” Ben said. “Don’t let him alienate you away from us.”

Orlando smiled politely. “Don’t worry, not going to happen. I promise.”

He hugged them close and then said his goodbyes.

Outside, Viggo flashed the Silverado’s headlights to let Orlando know where the car was parked. Orlando climbed inside and threw his bag onto the backseat. Charlie pushed her nose into his hand in greeting.

Viggo was behind the wheel, but he didn’t make a move to pull out into traffic. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Orlando hadn’t expected an apology. “It’s okay. Maybe next time, right?”

Viggo looked at him in the dim light of the car. “Right. Maybe.”

They both knew that it was most likely a lie.

Chapter Text

11. “Fireworks.”

Maybe Viggo had been right after all and Orlando had been just a tiny bit drunk Friday night. In any event, the sound of the car soon lulled him into a light sleep and Viggo had to shake him awake when they had arrived at the ranch. They’d made their way to the bedroom, had snuggled up to one another and had promptly fallen asleep.

Now though, on Saturday night, Orlando was wide awake. Freshly showered and with a towel around his waist he sifted through his wash bag. Once he found what he had been looking for he put the items on the sink, eyeing them critically. Then he glanced at himself in the mirror: Dark hair, still damp from his shower and a bit curled. Dark eyes, too, and if he was honest with himself they looked back at him nervously. A thin frame overall, he’d always been on the leaner side. Next to Viggo, who was all sinew and muscle from spending a lot of time outdoors, he looked like he’d never put in a day of honest work. His face was looking seriously back at him from the mirror.

“Do you really want to go through with this?” he asked the mirror.

He gripped the edge of the sink and peered more closely at his face, as if the answer would appear right there. Then he looked down at the items from his bag and a sudden smile took hold of him. All previous tension drained out of him. What a stupid question!

Of course he wanted to go through with this. It was why he had bought the stuff after all. Well, that and the fact that Viggo wouldn’t easily be able to get his hands on those things since Rosa went grocery shopping for him. She doted on Viggo like a mother hen, which would make putting condoms and lube on the shopping list even more awkward.

Sometimes, Orlando could almost convince himself that the difficulty of getting supplies was the only reason why Viggo hadn’t slept with him yet. Most of the time, though, Orlando was sure it had much more to do with his confession during their first night together. Clearly, Viggo had taken Orlando’s admission to heart and was giving him every opportunity to decide how fast or slow they progressed. Viggo always asked permission, always made sure Orlando was comfortable with what they were doing, always took care to not cross any lines Orlando might not want crossed.

But the thing was: Orlando wanted to cross those lines, very badly. Orlando wasn’t casual about sex, he’d never been that kind of guy. Not even with Bri, when sex had felt like a box he had to check off on the rather long list of things he had to do as a boyfriend. But Viggo was in a league of his own – he wasn’t casual about anything in his life. He couldn’t influence a very large part of his day to day reality: He couldn’t do anything about the seizures, had no way of knowing beforehand when one would knock him down. He’d arranged everything else around his epilepsy to keep the impact as low as possible, but the fact remained that his seizures couldn’t be controlled. But with everything else he made sure to be in total control. He never seemed to do anything lightly or on a whim. Yes, he had given Orlando the freedom to decide when and in what manner to move forward, but whenever Orlando had given consent to something, Viggo would make sure to make it the most wonderful experience possible.

It was a powerful turn-on to be at the receiving end of such dedication. Viggo had stepped far out of his comfort zone to be with Orlando and that was a gift that made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside whenever he thought about it. Whenever Viggo defaulted back to his alone-mode as Orlando called it secretly, Orlando told himself to be patient. It was simply what Viggo was used to, what made him feel safe. He didn’t push Orlando away, because he wanted him gone. He did it, because to him it felt like the safest response. Whenever Viggo was too scared to come out of his shell, Orlando remembered that first gift Viggo had given him – he’d shown up at the library to see Orlando again.Viggo had been able to do it once. Orlando firmly believed that he’d be able to do it again – he just needed time to unlearn what had kept him safe during the last years.

Orlando wanted to know what it felt like to be with a man. He wanted that for himself and he couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather share this with than Viggo. But Orlando wanted to give him something as well, a gift of his own. He wanted to place his trust in Viggo, because he knew Viggo would never betray it. And hopefully, some day Viggo would be able to return the gesture and trust Orlando as well.

Orlando looked into the mirror and smiled. He adjusted the towel around his waist, grabbed the condoms and the lube and made to join Viggo in the bedroom.

When he left the ensuite bathroom, Viggo looked up from the book he was reading (Great Circle – Orlando recognised the cover at a glance, because he had recommended the book to Viggo). He was sitting up in bed, book in hand, and the little lamp on his nightstand was the only light in the room. Right from the beginning, Viggo had been giving him looks that felt like being cocooned in a warm blanket – comforting and homely. Orlando felt loved and welcomed from that look alone and the boost of confidence made it easy to walk up to Viggo’s side of the bed and put the condoms and lube on Viggo’s nightstand.

Viggo’s eyes went to what Orlando had left on the nightstand and then he looked up at Orlando again. “You sure?” he asked quietly, his voice was even.

Orlando could only nod. “Very.”

“Fireworks, huh?” There was a small smile on Viggo’s face, clearly he remembered their talk very well, but chose not dwell on the deeper meanings of Orlando’s decision. He put the book away and extended a hand to draw Orlando nearer to the head of the bed, within easy touching distance.

“Yeah.” Orlando held on to Viggo’s hand. He entwined their fingers and looked at the spot where their bodies touched.

“What do you want to happen?” Viggo asked.

Orlando should have known that Viggo wouldn’t jump him, but ask politely how he wanted to go about it. Orlando was standing mostly naked not ten inches away from him and Viggo was being all gentlemanly about it.

Orlando squeezed Viggo’s hand. “I just don’t want you to hold back on my account. Whatever happens, happens. Okay?”

Viggo nodded. He kicked the blanket away in blatant invitation. With his left hand he drew Orlando onto the bed and with his right he grabbed the towel to loosen it. When Orlando came to rest on Viggo’s thighs, straddling him, he was already naked. “Tell me what feels good and we’ll take it from there, alright?”

“This feels good,” Orlando said immediately and Viggo chuckled.

“Off to a good start, then.” Viggo moved his hips upwards as much as he was able with Orlando sitting in his lap and the friction this created was heavenly.

“Why are you still wearing your boxers?” Orlando asked, because he wanted to feel skin to skin with Viggo.

“Habit?” Viggo offered.

“That needs to change.” Orlando lifted himself up a little to give Viggo room enough to undress. After a bit of wriggling, Viggo had freed himself of his boxers, throwing them on the floor. There was an indignant yelp from Charlie. A moment later, the dog got up and retreated to a safer spot. Orlando grinned. “Oops, sorry.”

“Come here,” Viggo ordered and he grabbed Orlando’s hips to guide his movement. Orlando put his hands on Viggo’s shoulders for better balance and rotated his hips. This brought their cocks into contact and a thrill of excitement ran up Orlando’s spine. Before he could take the time to enjoy it properly, Viggo’s lips were on his, demanding entrance.

When he felt Viggo’s tongue probe his lower lip, he opened his mouth at once. It was almost like a reflex. Viggo’s mouth on his felt hot and wet and the mint of his toothpaste mingled with Viggo’s very own flavour. It made Orlando moan and his hands went around Viggo’s neck, holding on to him tightly.

He felt Viggo’s hands travel from his hips to his ass, kneading the flesh for a moment. Then his palms moved up his back to draw him nearer until their chests came in contact as well. Orlando gasped. He felt Viggo’s tongue move in his mouth, felt his nipples brush against Viggo’s chest repeatedly and their cocks were trapped between them in a most pleasurable fashion. He drew Viggo nearer by the nape of his neck and rubbed against him wantonly.

Viggo had had his hands down Orlando’s trousers in the past. They’d touched and kissed and gotten each other off. They’d slept almost naked next to one another for weeks now and yet they’d never touched like this. They were skin to skin from mouth to chest to hips and it was the best feeling in the world.

Viggo broke the kiss and nipped at Orlando’s throat instead, taking a bit of skin between his teeth and nibbling at it lightly. It made light explode behind Orlando’s closed eyelids and he almost jumped out of his skin. Viggo let go, blew on the oversensitised skin and then licked the spot lovingly. Orlando’s head fell forward, onto Viggo’s shoulder. It just took too much effort to sit upright, he found.

And his cock hadn’t even been touched yet.

“Good?” Viggo asked between one peck on his shoulder and the next, allowing Orlando a short reprieve.

“Perfect,” Orlando answered and concentrated on breathing. He rocked his hips into Viggo, letting him feel the effect he was having on Orlando, and the older man gave an appreciative moan.

“Want to lie down?” Viggo asked, but he didn’t even wait for an answer. He grabbed the items on the nightstand and threw them on the bed. And then he rolled Orlando onto his back in one smooth move, coming to lie above him. “Let’s see where else you like to be kissed.”

Viggo went about his task in a very methodical fashion, Orlando found. He kissed his way across Orlando’s shoulder blades and arms, found a ticklish spot in the crook of his elbow and played with that for a while. He licked the pulse point on his wrist and then switched to Orlando’s belly, dipping his tongue into Orlando’s navel and wetting the skin.

Orlando squirmed, caught somewhere between a laughing fit and intense pleasure. Instead of downwards, Viggo moved upwards for a moment, catching one nipple between his teeth and that was the moment Orlando arched his back in pleasure.

“You like that?” Viggo asked needlessly before he switched to the other nipple. In answer, Orlando made a grab for Viggo’s hips and guided them back to his cock. Once their cocks came in contact, Viggo lost the rhythm of what he was doing to Orlando’s nipple. It didn’t matter much, because the friction further down more than made up for it. They simply kept moving like this for a while, trapping their cocks between their bodies. If they kept going like this, Orlando would surely come sooner rather than later.

In the end, Viggo sat up and Orlando missed their bodies touching right away. His cock was aching for some attention and he curled his hand around the pulsing flesh. He sighed. Not as good as Viggo’s hand around his cock, but it would do for now. Viggo grabbed the lube from the bed and uncapped the bottle. When he saw Orlando touching himself, he slapped his hand away.

“No cheating,” he admonished, coating his fingers with lube. “Draw up your legs a bit and we’ll see how you feel about my finger.”

Orlando did as he was told, feeling naked and exposed all of a sudden. The sudden nerves must have shown on his face, because Viggo leant down for a kiss. It was brief, but reassuring. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle. And remember, all you have to do is talk to me.”

He looked at Orlando and waited for a nod of acquiescence. When Viggo’s finger circled Orlando’s entrance, he forced himself to relax, reminding himself that he wanted this. He wanted Viggo to be with him like this. When he exhaled, Viggo’s finger dipped in and it felt alien, but not at all bad. Viggo moved his finger experimentally, stretching him and exploring. It didn’t exactly hurt, but so far he couldn’t really say what all the fuss was about.

“Okay like this?” Viggo asked. He put his other hand on Orlando’s thigh like he wanted to calm a skittish foal. Orlando nodded, not really trusting his voice, and looked into Viggo’s eyes. The older man gave him a reassuring look. “Alright, hang on. We’re getting to the good part in a moment.”

He added a second finger and now the feeling of being stretched was a lot more prominent. Orlando made a sound that was not exactly discomfort, but it wasn’t pleasure either, and Viggo’s hand on his thigh became more firm. “Almost there,” he gentled and then moved his fingers a bit more.

And that was when a bolt of pleasure shot through Orlando’s entire being. His eyes became wide and his hips moved off the bed, trying to get more of the novel feeling. He hadn’t expected that, not at all. He searched Viggo’s face, but all he could see in his eyes was affection. “Again,” he breathed.

“My pleasure,” Viggo answered and then his fingers moved against that spot deep inside him again and made him moan. He screwed himself on Viggo’s fingers, and tried to intensify the pleasure of being touched like that. Viggo’s other hand caressed his thigh and the sensitive skin felt close to burning.

“God, I need to come,” Orlando groaned and his hand tried to close around his neglected cock once again. “So close.”

Viggo stopped what he was doing and the pleasure simmered down. He looked down at Orlando for a moment, a look of rapture on his face. “You’re so hot.”

He bent down to envelop Orlando’s cock in his mouth, his fingers taking up their stroking motions again inside Orlando’s hole. It was impossible to withstand the double assault. Orlando didn’t even consciously notice that Viggo had added a third finger. He just felt stretched, felt touched in the most intimate fashion possible. At that moment, Orlando didn’t even remember that his plan for the night had been to feel Viggo’s cock inside him. There was only one thought in his mind: The intense pleasure Viggo brought him, stroking his cock with his tongue and stroking his inner walls with his fingers.

His climax crept up on him first with a tingling sensation and then with a tight knot somewhere below his navel. He closed his eyes and let himself fall into the feelings, ready to be swept away. Viggo’s mouth was slick and hot around his aching cock.

“Yes,” Orlando panted. “Yes,” he encouraged again. His voice sounded breathy even to his own ears. He threw his head back when he came with a cry and Viggo held him through the waves of pleasure. When he opened his eyes again, Viggo looked at him full of adoration. “You’re beautiful like this.” He let his hands roam freely across the planes of Orlando’s body as if he was a sculptor bringing a block of clay into a desired shape. Everywhere he touched, fireworks sizzled.

Orlando stretched out like a cat in front of a fireplace, enjoying the afterglow. “You haven’t come yet,” he said. “And I wanted to feel you inside me.”

Viggo leant down for one of his earth-shattering kisses. Orlando could taste himself on Viggo’s tongue and it made something coil in his insides. It was pure emotion turned physical through the sheer power of their connection.

“You still can,” Viggo promised. “Take your time.” He came to lie half on top and half next to Orlando. His breath puffed hotly against Orlando’s throat and his lips brushed Orlando’s ear from time to time. Viggo’s erection poked Orlando in the hips very promisingly and Viggo kept rubbing against him in a leisurely fashion.

Orlando closed his eyes and tried to get his breathing under control. When he felt Viggo scrape a nail across his right nipple he moaned and turned onto his side. He held Viggo close and then sought his mouth for a kiss. It started out gentle enough, soft and warm, but the longer it went on the more demanding Orlando got. He felt his body react, felt himself yearn and he knew he was ready for round two.

Viggo knew it, too. “Touch me,” he said when Orlando broke the kiss. “Please touch me.”

Orlando’s hand closed around Viggo’s cock and Viggo readily pushed into his fist. His erection had wilted a little during their short reprieve, but it didn’t take Orlando long to bring him back to full hardness. Eventually, Viggo sat up again to get condoms and lube, but Orlando was quicker. He made a grab for the package and opened one.

He sat up enough to be able to easily reach Viggo. He unrolled the condom onto Viggo’s cock, enjoying the texture of the hard shaft in his hand. Viggo put a hand on Orlando’s shoulder to steady himself. His breathing grew laboured while Orlando took his sweet time and he pushed into Orlando’s hand, rolling his hips. Orlando’s mouth was once again captured in a kiss, an almost desperate push of Viggo’s tongue against his own. Viggo’s moan echoed in his own body.

Viggo broke the kiss, panting hard. “Been wanting to do that for so long,” he admitted. He grabbed the lube and squeezed out a good amount onto Orlando’s hand. Orlando got the idea and slicked Viggo’s cock in lube. Viggo let go of Orlando’s shoulder and tipped his chin up until Orlando had no other option than to look into his eyes. They were dark with arousal and full of promise. “I’ll make this good for you, I promise.”

Orlando nodded, accepting the flutter of nerves that took hold of him. The feeling of anticipation won, though. Viggo was not the only one who had waited for this for a long time.

This time, the kiss Viggo bestowed upon him was short. “Lie down. Hook your legs …” He had no chance to finish his sentence, because Orlando’s legs had already come up. He slung his arms around Viggo shoulders and looked him in the eye.

“Fireworks,” Orlando said and his cock stirred again. They were closer now than they had ever been before – emotionally and physically. To know that in a few more moments there would be nothing between them had Orlando short of breath. Being so close to Viggo, feeling held and loved and kissed, he would have to be made of stone to not grow hard again.

“Fireworks.” Viggo nodded and Orlando felt Viggo’s cock against his entrance. Orlando closed his eyes in anticipation. “No, don’t. Open your eyes. Look at me.” Viggo took himself in hand and guided his cock into Orlando’s body.

The moment Viggo breached him, Orlando feared that Viggo’s fingers had been absolutely inadequate in preparing him. Viggo felt huge and unyielding and he held his breath. But Viggo went agonisingly slowly, giving him time to adjust and get used to the feeling. He tensed up anyway, he just couldn’t help it.

Viggo stopped his advance and breathed deeply. “Relax,” he said and one of his hands went around Orlando’s cock, stroking it back to full hardness and giving Orlando something else to think about. Orlando let the tension go, breathed out deliberately and held on to Viggo even tighter. He urged him deeper.

“Okay,” he whispered, his voice shook. Viggo held his gaze and looked into his very soul while he pushed in deeper. Once Viggo reached rock bottom, he stilled above Orlando, giving them both a moment to appreciate what was happening here: They were joined, for the first time ever.

“You feel so good,” Viggo whispered. His voice was strained, but he was smiling.

Orlando felt impossibly stretched, but also impossibly close to Viggo. He felt every breath Viggo took in his own body, felt every minute movement reverberate through him. They were one. He looked at Viggo, drowned in his eyes, and saw the strain holding still had on him. He let go with one arm and closed his hand around Viggo’s on his cock, guiding the movement.

“Okay,” he breathed. “Move. Slowly.”

And Viggo did. He drew out slowly, more than halfway and then came back. He was careful, gentle, intent on giving Orlando a chance to get used to the feeling. The slow pace that seemed to reach deeper with every stroke drew a moan from Viggo on every push. His mouth was open, relaxed and the strained smile from before gave way to a look of rapture. Viggo started to adjust his angle and took his cues from Orlando’s laboured breaths. It didn’t take him long until he found that spot inside Orlando again that sent bolts of pleasure through Orlando’s body.

“Yes.” Orlando’s lifted his hips and started meeting Viggo’s strokes beat by beat. “More.”

Viggo smiled. His hair was slick with sweat and drops of it were collecting on his upper lip. His lips were full and reddened from their kisses and his face was flushed. Love shimmered in Viggo’s eyes. Orlando fervently hoped he looked the same: aroused, well-loved and close to coming.

Viggo’s strokes became more erratic. He lost his rhythm, but at the same time he pushed more forcefully into Orlando, giving him everything he had to give. He found that spot again and again and hit it hard and fast while his hand on Orlando’s cock worked to give him pleasure. “Almost there,” Orlando breathed and Viggo nodded. Instead of intensifying his efforts, he slowed down and moved within Orlando with long and deep strokes. There was a sound of protest from Orlando, when the cascade of pleasure inside Orlando ebbed and he was left with a feeling of longing and loss. But it lasted for only a moment, because when Viggo picked up the pace again, Orlando was swept away in a tidal wave of bliss. It was fiery hot and had him in a vice-like grip. Orlando hoped it would never end. Viggo squeezed Orlando’s cock one last time, let his fingertip run across the slit and with the next push of his own cock deep into Orlando’s body, Orlando came.

His whole body tensed up and he cried out his climax into the hot air between them. His body clamped down hard around Viggo’s cock and that drove the older man over the edge as well. He managed two more strokes, deep and long as if he was trying to crawl into Orlando and then he collapsed on top of him, panting.

The were drenched in sweat, there was come between them and Orlando wasn’t quite sure where his body ended and Viggo’s began. It was the best feeling in the world.

Orlando held him close and kissed his cheek. “That was spectacular.” He tried unsuccessfully to get his breath back. “Never felt so good before,” he admitted.

He felt Viggo move against him and Viggo’s lips brushed against his shoulderblade. “Good,” Viggo said. He let his hand run up and down Orlando’s arm, they were both equally hot and sweaty.

“Should have done that weeks ago,” Orlando mused.

Viggo drew out and got rid of the condom. Orlando already felt empty. Viggo moved to lie next to him, not wanting to crush him. He turned onto his side and looked at Orlando’s face. “Why?” Viggo replied. “The wait made it all the better.” He let his finger trail along Orlando’s cheek, his chin, his throat and down his shoulder to his arm until he could entwine their fingers.

“But we’ll not wait as long until we do that again?” Orlando sounded slightly worried.

That produced a laugh from Viggo. “No, we won’t.”

Chapter Text

On Monday morning, Orlando could hardly contain his curiosity anymore. Viggo had said that he had to work and some part of Orlando had actually expected Viggo to get up at six in the morning and descend in all his glorious crankiness on the breakfast table to then start the work week. That was not what happened, though.

Orlando got up shortly after six and started his day with a shower in the downstairs bathroom and a mug of coffee that he took with him to the porch. Shortly after nine he heard the pipes creak in the house, letting him know that Viggo had gotten up as well. Orlando set the breakfast table and they had coffee (Orlando), tea (Viggo) and toast (both) without Viggo letting on that he was in any way in a hurry. Their breakfast was a leisurely affair, interrupted by jam-sweet kisses and Orlando’s foot in Viggo’s crotch.

Around ten, Viggo called an end to things. “I’ll be in the library. I really have to get some work done.”

Orlando nodded. The library doubled as an office space – it had a large desk with a desktop PC set against the window. It meant that Viggo could do whatever he was doing while looking out onto the ranch.

Shortly after one Orlando couldn’t contain his curiosity any longer. What the hell was Viggo doing up there? It was quiet in the house, which meant he probably wasn’t selling lottery tickets on the phone. Maybe he was still working for that airline, just in some other capacity? Or maybe he did something else entirely. Nowadays, there were a million and one office jobs one could work from home.

Orlando had to get up there. He didn’t quite know under what pretence to intrude upon Viggo, but he walked up the stairs anyway. Viggo had offered Orlando the use of his library. In the end, he could always use that as an excuse.

Naturally, the door to the library was ajar to allow Charlie to come and go as she pleased. Presently, she had curled up under the desk and filled the room with her soft snores. Somehow, that dog needed even more sleep than Viggo. As Orlando had expected, Viggo was in front of the computer. He was in sweatpants and a slightly less threadbare Mets t-shirt than the one that had found its way into Orlando’s possession. His feet were bare and he had buried his toes in Charlie’s fur.

Orlando knocked. “Is it okay to come in?” he asked.

Viggo turned in his direction. “Sure, come on in. In fact, I expected you a lot sooner.” He pointedly looked at his wristwatch. “More than three hours, I’m impressed.”

“What?” Orlando feigned ignorance.

Viggo chuckled. “I know you’ve been dying of curiosity. I could all but hear you pace down there.”

Orlando had the decency to blush. “Can you blame me?”

“I’m not blaming you, just stating the mere facts. Come on in, then, and have a look.”

Orlando stepped into the room and came to stand behind Viggo, looking over his shoulder. The monitor in front of him showed a text file. Orlando started reading:

I grinned, extended my hand, and spoke the words I had longed to utter since  that fateful day when the young Kit had saved my life. 

Orlando scanned the text, flabberghasted. Viggo, who seemed to enjoy this way too much, even helped along by scrolling a bit.

‘I give you joy of your command, Captain Farrell,’ I said. 

Orlando couldn’t believe it, there was no way that he was truly seeing what he was seeing. This was a story, a novel even. He knew, of course, who Kit Farrell was, but when he had last read about him, he hadn’t been a captain. It had been hinted at, as something that might happen in the future. Maybe in the next book in the series – but that next book didn’t exist yet. Or did it?

“Viggo?” Orlando asked and his voice actually quivered. “What are you doing? What the hell is this?”

“What does it look like?” Viggo asked in return.

Orlando hazarded a guess. “You work for a publishing company?” It was the least unlikely possibility in his mind.

“In a way,” Viggo answered.

“In a way?” Orlando repeated. “You’re editing.” There was no answer from Viggo. “Proofreading.” He paused and reconsidered. “Freelancing?” This was unreal.

“I’m writing, Orlando,” Viggo said, turning around fully.

Orlando shook his head. “You’re kidding me, right?” He looked at the monitor again, where Matthew and Kit were having a conversation. “Right?”

“It’s the fifth Matthew Quinton book,” Viggo said.

“You’re pulling my leg,” Orlando said.

“No, I’m being absolutely serious. I’m in the sixth chapter.”

“I don’t believe this. You’re P. N. Thorne? Why didn’t you say something?”

Viggo shrugged. “You never asked what I did for a living.”

Damn that man for actually being right, Orlando thought. He had never outright asked. Mostly because he had just known that Viggo wouldn’t answer. “And you didn’t volunteer either, you cunt!”

Viggo was obviously taken aback by the unexpected slur, fearing that Orlando was seriously angry. There was a pause between them, in which Orlando tried to decide how to best react while Viggo pondered whether keeping this tidbit of information from Orlando for this long was maybe his biggest mistake yet.

But then Orlando started laughing hysterically and slapped Viggo’s shoulder. “Well played, Mr. Thorne, well played!”

Viggo ducked his head, relief on his face, and Orlando embraced him from behind. “I think I need to sit down. That all comes as a bit of a shock.”

There was nothing else to sit on in the room but the chair Viggo occupied. He drew Orlando onto his lap and Orlando jumped at the chance and snuggled up. Realisation struck him. “Fuck, I slept with a famous author. I can’t believe it.”

“I’m not famous. I’m catering to a niche interest, even for the genre I write for,” Viggo said. Before Orlando had the chance to argue the niche-part, Viggo added: “You seem a lot more shocked now than after our talk in the car.”

It was rare that Viggo referenced anything connected to the epilepsy, even as obliquely as he was doing now. Up until now, he had never again mentioned the seizure Orlando had witnessed in the car. Orlando didn’t bring up the topic either, because it made Viggo so obviously uncomfortable. And if Viggo remembered the scene in the car as Orlando taking the news in stride, it was all the better. It either meant Orlando had kept himself together enough to not show his frazzled nerves. Or it meant Viggo had been too far gone at this point to pick up on Orlando’s panic. “I don’t know. In the car it was dark and I was already sitting down, I think that made all the difference. But once and for all: Is there anything else I should know? Anything at all that might give me a heart attack? Are you related to the royal family? Do you by any chance own a private island in the Caribbean? Anything? I don’t think I can take another shock like this.”

Viggo gave that some serious thought. “No, I think now you know all the major plot points. From here on out it will only get more boring.”

“Boring, he says,” Orlando muttered to himself. “The day you turn boring will be the day hell freezes over. And I’d like to remind you that I’m the boring one in this relationship.” The word relationship rolled off his tongue in a very satisfying manner.

“I told you back then that you’re not boring. You can never be boring to me.”

In return, Orlando snuggled closer to Viggo’s chest. He turned his head and blindly kissed Viggo’s throat, moved upwards with his lips and waited for Viggo to lean down a bit.

He didn’t have to wait long. Viggo dominated the kiss, plundered Orlando’s mouth and had him panting within a few heartbeats. He always had that effect on Orlando. The single-minded determination with which Viggo took possession of Orlando’s body was one of his best features.

“This turns you on,” Viggo stated.

“You turn me on,” Orlando corrected.

“I can live with that,” Viggo said conversationally and took up their kiss once more. Orlando actually didn’t want to keep Viggo from his work and would have been more than happy if their kiss led nowhere. Just sitting here for a few minutes, enjoying each other’s company was more than fine by him.

Viggo had other ideas, though. “Do you want to take this somewhere more comfortable?” As if to prove his point, Viggo’s hand came to rest on Orlando’s crotch. It came to no one’s surprise that Orlando’s body was already three steps ahead.

“What about your Gentleman Captain?” Orlando asked, hating to be the voice of reason.

“I’m pretty sure he’ll not go anywhere without my supervision.”

“Okay,” Orlando breathed. Being the voice of reason was terribly overrated. “Bedroom?”

“Bedroom.”

~*~

“How did that happen, though?” Orlando asked thoughtfully, running a hand lightly across Viggo’s chest, basking in the knowledge that he was the only person in the whole wide world with the privilege to do that. He liked how Viggo’s skin felt beneath his fingertips, warm and alive. They had made love, frenzied and almost in a hurry, and were now enjoying slowing down again.

Viggo cleared his throat and started to lecture in a matter-of-fact fashion. “Well, first I kissed you. You like to be kissed, so that’s a safe bet. Then I grabbed your cock … like so,” he reached down and enveloped Orlando’s limp cock with his hand, giving it an experimental squeeze.

“That’s not what I meant, you wanker.” He tweaked Viggo’s left nipple between two fingers.

“Ouch,” Viggo said in a way that suggested he wasn’t at all opposed to Orlando’s treatment of his nipple. He did stop fondling Orlando’s cock, though.

Orlando rolled his hips and pushed his cock back into Viggo’s hand. “Don’t stop.”

Viggo’s hand lightly stroked Orlando’s cock again, in an almost a-propos fashion. “Like this?”

“Mhm,” Orlando breathed and snuggled closer, trying to crawl into Viggo. He moved languidly into Viggo’s hand.

“So, what did you mean then?” Viggo said conversationally. He was way too alert, whereas Orlando’s mind was still half-stuck in post-coital bliss.

Viggo’s hand on his cock was extremely distracting as well. “What?”

“You wanted to know how that had happened.” Viggo repeated Orlando’s words back at him. “And I ask: What do you mean?”

“Oh, that.” Now Orlando was back on track. “I wanted to know how it came about that you write historical novels. And why P. N. Thorne?” There was a short gasp when Viggo’s thumb pressed against the underside of Orlando’s cock. Viggo let up a little, his hand resting on Orlando’s cock in a very promising manner. Orlando let out a long breath.

“Nathan Thorne was my history teacher in high school. I loved his classes. And P just stands for Peter, that’s my middle name.”

Orlando nodded. “Why didn’t you use your own name?”

Viggo managed to shrug, even while lying down, and pressed his palm against Orlando’s cock. “Didn’t feel like putting myself out there. And using a pseudonym in genre fiction is quite common.”

Orlando nodded again. He knew that. “So you’re a pilot turned successful author. That’s so weird.”

“Is it? I always liked writing. When I was a teenager I filled whole notebooks with my ill-conceived poetry. It was awful. Later on, I still wrote, for my own enjoyment only. I never had any occasion to share my writing with anyone. When you spend so much time in boring hotel rooms, you need to find something to occupy your time with. Some go for alcohol, some for parties and some for sex. But that gets boring after a while.”

“I hope not,” Orlando said, deadpan.

“You know what I mean,” Viggo gave Orlando’s cock a promising squeeze.

“I never would have pegged you for someone interested in British naval history, though.” Orlando drew up a leg and let it rest on Viggo’s body.

“That was a phase of my youth. It was easier to go back to something I had already spent a lot of time on instead of coming up with something entirely new.”

Orlando pressed into Viggo’s hand. “More,” he ordered and Viggo complied with a firmer grip. “I thought you didn’t work at all, you know. Pilots make a lot of money, you said so.”

“Yes, but most of it went into the ranch, so I needed to find some way to make money or me and the horses would have starved to death and the dog could have eaten our corpses.”

“You’re morbid,” Orlando admonished.

“More like realistic. It’s kind of hard finding a job when you don’t leave the house much,” Viggo admitted. “Reclusive writer guy was my best option. I don’t have to get up at a certain time, I don’t have to put up with other people, I’m responsible only for myself and I can take a rain check whenever I feel I need it. It probably was dumb luck that I’m also good at what I do.”

“Dumb luck, indeed. I managed to find the one cowboy in this country who also writes historical novels on the side.”

“Glad you approve,” Viggo said.

They were silent for a moment. Viggo’s hand on Orlando’s cock was a steady presence, but wonderfully unassuming. Orlando was half-hard, enjoying the absolute lack of urgency. He turned his head a bit and kissed Viggo’s cheek, but otherwise he didn’t move. “Feels good,” he whispered.

Viggo turned his head as well so that he was close enough for Orlando to notice the little flecks of grey in the blue of his eyes. “Want me to pick up the pace?”

“Want to catch up?” Orlando asked in return and his hand reached for Viggo’s cock. Viggo shook his head slightly. Orlando frowned, but didn’t push it. He was rewarded with a kiss.

“So how about it, do you want me to make you feel good?” Viggo asked.

The truthful answer had to be yes, but it didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel right to not give Viggo something in return. Viggo saw the conflict in his eyes. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind. I like seeing you like this, craving my touch. I haven’t had that in a long time. Makes me feel ...” He paused, searching for the right expression. “Wanted. You’ve no idea how good it feels to be able to give you this.” He looked into Orlando’s eyes for confirmation.

Orlando nodded, he thought he understood. It was another kind of satisfaction: The satisfaction of being accepted with no strings attached, of feeling empowered. “I’ll always want you.”

“Good.” Viggo caught Orlando’s bottom lip between his teeth and nipped at it lightly. Orlando opened his mouth slightly, inviting Viggo in. It was all the answer Viggo needed and even though the kiss between them didn’t change, their air around them did. It pressed down on them, was harder to breathe and cracked with the promise of more touches.

Viggo kept the kiss leisurely, though. Their previous lovemaking had been a mad tumble of limbs on the bed, a frenzied attempt to lose clothing and feel the other’s skin. Their mouths had crashed and Viggo had known which buttons to push to turn Orlando into a hot, quivering mess within minutes. He’d pushed into Orlando with force, not giving him any chance to adjust. Viggo had set a punishing pace, one they couldn’t hope to keep up for long, and they’d come soon. Orlando’s orgasm had been a bright hot explosion behind his eyelids.

Now though, Viggo’s kiss was a slow caress. His tongue kept teasing Orlando, kept dancing with him and Orlando felt himself respond in kind. The kiss sizzled between them and the moan that was hiding in the back of his throat took flight. He let it escape into the kiss, into Viggo’s mouth and his body and Orlando imagined his breath bouncing back and forth between them: something at least as intimate as Viggo’s hands on his skin.

Viggo was keeping up the kiss, the touch some form of worship, and had Orlando panting steadily soon. That was when Viggo’s hand on Orlando’s cock gave another squeeze and Orlando’s whole body reacted, his arousal swirling in his belly and blossoming into the rest of his body reaching as far as his fingertips and his toes.

Viggo broke the kiss. “Want me to do something about that?” he asked huskily and his hand palmed Orlando’s hardening member with expert strokes.

“Yes, please.”

“So polite,” Viggo smirked. “You’ll beg some more before this is over.”

Viggo moved down Orlando’s body with the elegance of a cat. He smirked again, his eyes impossibly blue in the afternoon light, and then descended upon Orlando’s cock, taking him into his mouth, enveloping him in hot, wet velvet.

“Oh, god,” Orlando panted and his hips came off the bed. Viggo hummed a little around Orlando’s cock and the slight vibration made Orlando shiver violently. If Viggo kept up this rhythm, Orlando wouldn’t be able to withstand long. Viggo slid his hands under Orlando’s ass to guide his hips better and that changed the angle with which he pushed into Viggo’s promising mouth. “Yes.”

Orlando tried to rock his hips a little, but Viggo’s hands on him were firm, keeping him in place. Having no other outlet for his restlessness, Orlando started clutching at the sheets. He needed something for his hands to do, if only to take his mind off what Viggo’s mouth was doing to his cock. If he allowed to be swept away, he wouldn’t last. And he wanted to. Wanted to draw this out for as long as possible.

Viggo’s tongue pressed against the vein that pulsed on the underside of Orlando’s cock and the pressure was heavenly. He gasped and arched his back, crumpling the sheets between his fingers. “Don’t stop!” he ordered.

In response, Viggo lavished some more attention on that same spot, teasing the vein with his tongue and causing Orlando to grow unintelligible. He was painfully hard, desperately wishing for more of Viggo’s mouth on him. His moans filled the room, letting Viggo know he was on the right track.

But apparently, Viggo didn’t want to grant him release just yet. He paused and let Orlando’s cock plop from his mouth. Orlando’s disappointed groan caused Viggo to chuckle.

That man truly had an evil streak sometimes, Orlando thought.

“How much do you want to come?”

What kind of stupid question was this? “Very.” Orlando panted and tried to hold on to the aftershocks that still travelled through his body. “Much.”

In answer, Viggo took Orlando’s balls in his hand, playing with them. “What’s the magic word?”

Why were they playing twenty questions? And what magic word? Orlando couldn’t think past his desperation to feel Viggo on him again. “Please,” he begged. “Oh, god. Suck me.”

In answer Viggo licked his balls lovingly. It seemed the game was back on and Orlando let himself fall into it once more. Eventually, Viggo reversed back to Orlando’s neglected cock and it seemed the little interlude of inattention had only made him more responsive to Viggo’s touch. The fire was still there, even hotter and brighter than before.

Viggo picked up the pace, instinctively feeling that Orlando was rushing towards completion. “Close,” Orlando panted and he almost felt Viggo smile around his cock.

Viggo let go of his ass and instead let his hands roam wherever they could reach. Orlando felt Viggo’s hands on his belly, his thighs, brushing against one nipple and then the next. In the end, Viggo held on to one of Orlando’s hands, intertwining their fingers and giving Orlando something nicer to clutch than the bed sheets.

Orlando’s hips came off the bed and he pushed into the tight space of Viggo’s mouth and Viggo took it without protest, urged him deeper, let him take whatever he needed and that was the moment when Orlando’s lust exploded and went in ripples through his body. He rocked his hips and felt Viggo help him along who held him through the shock waves of hot pleasure. He felt his cock soften, felt it still enveloped in Viggo’s mouth and he squeezed Viggo’s hand in a silent show of gratitude.

Viggo let go of his cock, but not of his hand. He moved upwards again, brushed a kiss against Orlando’s mouth, leaving traces of Orlando’s own flavour on his lips. Orlando could all but lie there, blissed out, satisfied, complete. He felt himself being embraced in strong arms and readily tumbled towards darkness. When Viggo held him like this, he was invincible.

“Exhausted?” Viggo whispered into Orlando’s ear, but Orlando lacked the capacity to answer. His eyes were closed, a smile curled around his lips. “Well, rest a bit then,” Viggo advised, holding him closer. “Don’t think we’ll get anything else done today, anyway,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

Orlando couldn’t argue with that.

Chapter Text

Rosa came by on Tuesdays and Fridays and the more Orlando saw of her the more he became convinced that cleaning the house was a rather thin veneer for what she was actually doing. She brought Viggo’s groceries and provided breakfast as well, which they’d have together if Viggo was feeling well. Witnessing them together was a spectacle. Rosa would berate Viggo for one thing or other in her overly dramatic fashion and Viggo would be as demure and polite as a school boy.

Half of the time Orlando didn’t know what they were talking about, because habit made them revert back to Spanish at regular intervals before they remembered that he was sitting at the table with them. But even without understanding the actual words he could tell that beneath all the banter and the ribbing there was true affection and friendship between them. He was glad that Viggo had that in his life, even though it made Orlando sad to imagine that those breakfasts with Rosa were Viggo’s only meaningful interactions with another human and had been for years.

When Viggo retreated to the library in the hope of getting some work done, Orlando was left alone with Rosa in the kitchen. She busied herself putting the plates into the dishwasher and shooed Orlando away whenever he tried to help. He watched her go about her business for a while and then couldn’t contain himself any longer.

“Rosa?” he said and she turned and looked at him. Obviously she saw something in his face, because she came over to him.

“Cariño, what’s wrong?” she asked, her tone motherly.

He embraced her small frame and held her tight. She stiffened for a moment, surprised by the sudden show of affection, but then held Orlando close to her tiny body.

“Come now, cariño, what’s wrong? Trouble in paradise?”

Orlando let go off her, half-embarrassed by his show of emotion. “Nothing’s wrong, Rosa. I’m just … I wanted to thank you for being there for Viggo. You’re very important to him.”

Rosa gave him a look. “I bring him food, he starves to death without me. Is very important.” She nodded.

Orlando rolled his eyes at her. “That’s the least of what you’re doing for him and you know it.”

“I clean the toilet, too. Also important.” She seemed to be absolutely serious, there wasn’t the slightest twitch in her face that would suggest good humour. Orlando supposed she was a fierce Poker player.

He had to laugh. “Okay, be like that. I just wanted you to know that I’m very glad he has you in his life.”

Rosa patted his shoulder and looked up at him. “Glad I have him, too. He was good friend when my husband died. Hard times make you stick together, you know?”

“I know.” Orlando said. “You adopted each other. Sort of.”

She seemed to think about that. “Mhm. It was all Tomás’ fault. The house was a mess when Viggo moved in. He did lot of work himself. Had to realise eventually he never finish if he didn’t bring in outside help. That’s how Tomás got involved. They became friends. Viggo was friends with my husband way longer than he was friends with me.”

“And how did you meet Viggo?” Orlando wasn’t one to pass up such a chance.

Rosa shrugged. “Tomás told me Viggo was living in the one habitable room in the house – was the library – and lived off ready meals and frozen pizza.”

“Much like today?” Orlando joked.

“A little.” Rosa had to smile as well. “Tomás liked Viggo. I thought I could at least drop by and be nice to his friend. Help a little.”

“That might be an understatement.”

“It’s how it started. I helped Viggo. And in the end, he helped me.”

“I’m sorry, Rosa. I wish I could have met Tomás.”

Before Rosa left, hefting her handbag, she took Orlando aside. “I turn sixty soon,” she said.

Orlando’s eyes went wide. She didn’t look like a woman turning sixty at all.

He nodded at her, not quite sure why she was telling him this. “I have party for my birthday. I want you to come. Will be my family, some friends – few people. We have good Chilean food, sit and talk. Very relaxed.” She seemed to think. “No stiff affair, just spend time with good people.”

Orlando would have felt flattered, but he knew the invitation wasn’t necessarily for him. He also knew why Rosa felt inclined to mention how many people would be there. “Of course. Thank you Rosa.”

She looked at him pointedly and nodded conspiratorially. “We understand each other?”

“We do,” Orlando agreed.

~*~

“No,” Viggo said with finality. Orlando had expected some opposition to the idea, but he had hoped the fact that the invitation came from Rosa would make all the difference.

“It’s her sixtieth birthday, Viggo. She wants you there.”

“She invited you. You should go.”

“Don’t be daft, she invited both of us. You are her friend. I’m just the guy who’s allowed to tag along.”

“She likes you,” Viggo tried to divert the attention away from himself. “She told me so.”

“Maybe and I like her too. But it’s you she wants there. Come on, it’s going to be an intimate affair. Not many people, she said so herself. And I’m sure Rosa won’t mind if we don’t stay long.” She just wants you to come out of hiding, was what Orlando added silently, but he wisely didn’t say that out loud.

“No, and that’s final.”

“Viggo!” Orlando interjected. He hadn’t expected this to turn into an actual fight.

“Don’t push it, Orlando. Rosa knows I’m not comfortable around people. She’s okay with it. Leave it be.”

But Orlando couldn’t just back down. Despite his stupid hardheadedness, Viggo was a wonderful person: charming, polite, interesting. He had so much to give and gave it freely and generously with an open heart. Orlando enjoyed being on the receiving end of Viggo’s affection, but he suspected there were many more rooms in Viggo’s heart that just waited to be finally opened. Viggo deserved to have friends and people who rooted for him and it made Orlando sad to imagine that Viggo preferred to be on his own.

“What’s the worst that can happen?” Orlando challenged and knew right away that it had been the wrong thing to say.

Viggo glowered at him. “You know the answer to that question.”

“Do I?” Orlando shot back. “I’ve seen it, Rosa has seen it. And it’s okay. It doesn’t have to be the end of the world, Viggo.”

Viggo looked at Orlando like he’d never seen him before. Orlando realised then and there that he had somehow hit the nail on the head. Maybe it had been the end of Viggo’s world when he’d gotten the diagnosis. Orlando certainly could believe that it had shattered how Viggo had perceived himself up until that point. It had destroyed his career, his personal life and his sense of self. But people were meant to get over things, they were meant to adjust and go on. It seemed Viggo had never been able to switch out of that mindframe. He’d made sure he had no reason to. It was only now, in this particular moment, that Orlando understood what had been in front of him all along: Viggo had never truly healed. He’d told Orlando that he wasn’t his epilepsy, that it didn’t define him. But it had all been a lie. A lie Viggo told himself so that he could keep going.

How could he have been so blind? He had believed the epilepsy to be an obstacle that their love could surely conquer. He had not realised that to Viggo it was an insurmountable barrier – one that had broken him beyond repair.

Orlando looked at Viggo, looked hard and saw clearly that Viggo didn’t want this to turn into a fight. Viggo didn’t want to fight with Orlando, but he couldn’t just give in either, because that scared him even more than having a tiff.

“I can’t, Orlando.” Viggo rubbed his face with his right hand, looking tired and worn out. “I just can’t.”

Viggo looked away from Orlando, out of the window, and Orlando didn’t argue further. It would have felt like beating an opponent who was already on the ground.

They dropped the issue, because both preferred to avoid confrontation. That night, they went to bed in silence, but when the light was switched off, Viggo’s hands started to wander and caress. Orlando didn’t rebuke him, and instead encouraged him with a tilt of his hips or an almost inaudible sigh.

Viggo didn’t make excuses for himself. He didn’t apologise, not with words at least, but his lovemaking was gentle and slow. His devotion, his commitment was a palpable presence in the room with them. But he stayed silent, preferring to let his body speak instead.

In the end, it was Orlando who said the words.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered when they were lying spent next to each other, their bodies still hot and sweaty, but sated as well. Orlando truly was sorry. Maybe his question had come to soon. Maybe his expectations were too high. Maybe all Viggo needed was more time. Maybe he had handled the whole situation badly. “I want you to know that I will support you in your decisions. I just …” He faltered, unsure whether speaking further wouldn’t just provoke more of the same: Viggo retreating, Viggo defending the little safe space he had carved out of life over the last years.

“You just what?” Viggo asked quietly.

They had to start being honest with each other. They had to stop dancing around the issue. Pretending it didn’t exist until it exploded into both their faces couldn’t be the way forward. They had to find a better way to communicate. “I’ll support you in your decisions. As long as they are your decisions and not just compromises you make because you have epilepsy.” There, he had said it. He had used the word Viggo avoided at all cost.

Viggo stiffened next to Orlando, but he stayed calm. It was progress. “Life is full of compromises, Orlando.”

“Not all the time, not with everything. Some things are too important to make compromises.”

Viggo didn’t object, which was a start in Orlando’s opinion. Viggo was so strong – this was Orlando’s firm belief. Orlando didn’t think him weak for being afraid and insecure. To Orlando, Viggo appeared incredibly strong. He had achieved so much: He had been on the ground, but he had gotten up again. He had turned his life around, had started fresh, from scratch with nothing but his money and his own hands – no safety net of friends, a family or a community in the widest sense. He had built something beautiful for himself here. In doing so, maybe he had exhausted himself. His strength was spent and he needed time to simply live and be himself. But Orlando was sure Viggo would find his strength again. He would come out at the other end and he’d be invincible. And when that happened, Orlando wanted to be there to see it.

“You’re not alone in this,” he ventured. “It’s two against one now,” he said and held Viggo close.

Viggo shook his head. “That’s not a fight you can win for me.”

Orlando knew that. In the end, Viggo would always be on his own. It was his body, his illness and his decision how to deal with it. Orlando silently promised his support, but he could only help carry that burden. He couldn’t relieve Viggo of it in full, no one could. And yet: “I know,” he said. “But I’m in your corner. And if you stumble and fall, I’ll help you up again. I promise, I’ll be there.”

Chapter Text

Life went on and their argument didn’t leave a serious dent in their blossoming relationship. By Wednesday, Orlando knew how to operate the tractor – even though he was way too scared to do it without Viggo’s supervision. By Thursday he had a basic idea of the daily tasks needed around the ranch: feeding the dog, giving the horses their extra rations of mash, checking the water and hay and mucking out their shelter. He figured out how the washing machine and the dishwasher worked and knew the route to the nearest Walmart. All and all, he made himself at home. It scared and amazed him in equal measure how natural it felt to live with Viggo. Despite the black hole of Viggo’s epilepsy that needed to be addressed at some point, Viggo had readily made space for Orlando. He had carved nooks and crannies out of his life and all of them were Orlando-shaped.

By Friday Orlando had fallen into something of a routine: In the morning, when Viggo was still asleep, he took care of the horses. Once he was done, Viggo got up and they had breakfast together. Afterwards Orlando would either read or take the dog out for a walk while Viggo worked. He had been excited to learn that Viggo didn’t depend on Charlie around the house and that Orlando could take her out for as long and as often as he liked.

Orlando took her on walks, enjoying the quiet of the forest and the excitement of the dog. He threw a ball for her, which Charlie seemed to enjoy immensely. He loved those hours with the dog and wondered how he had managed so long without having one himself.

After two hours of brisk walking they came back to the house through the mudroom and while Orlando kicked off his shoes Charlie ran ahead into the kitchen in search of some food.

Orlando came in in a much more sedate fashion. He already knew there was no dog food left – Charlie had devoured all of it in the morning. Once the dog realised Orlando wouldn’t simply throw her feeding schedule out of the window and give her something extra, Charlie ran ahead into the living room. Orlando followed, intent on checking what Viggo was up to and whether he had already finished writing for today. He didn’t seem to have a set schedule and sometimes worked for one hour only while at other times he was still going strong four hours later. In case Viggo had already switched off the computer, they could have lunch together and then decide how to spend the afternoon.

When Orlando entered the living room, he knew instantly that something was wrong. Viggo was lying on the sofa, but he didn’t react to their rather loud entrance. He wasn’t asleep, though, since his eyes were open. Charlie trotted up to Viggo and gave his chin a gentle push with her nose. Viggo lifted a hand to grab the dog, but the movement seemed sluggish and uncoordinated. He missed Charlie by several inches and his hand closed around nothing but thin air. Charlie wasn’t deterred. She licked Viggo’s cheek affectionately.

Orlando could see Viggo blink. Charlie turned around and came back to Orlando, all but ushering him into the room and intent on him taking charge of the situation. Here it was: This was the moment Orlando had dreaded for weeks – Viggo was having a seizure and they still hadn’t really talked about it. They hadn’t talked about what Viggo needed from Orlando in a situation like this. In theory, Orlando knew what to do – he had done his reading. But he would have felt better having heard it from Viggo’s own mouth. Panic seized him, much more so than the first time around, for now he knew much better what to expect, which – to his own surprise – did nothing to calm him down. He had a much better idea now of what could go wrong and that scared him.

He willed his fear down, because it wouldn’t help him now and he couldn’t let Viggo sense how out of his depth he truly felt. What he needed in this situation was the knowledge he had garnered during his research: Variations of the same principles had been on basically every page that had something to say about dealing with epilepsy.

Remain calm.

He breathed deeply and stepped into the room. He kneeled next to the sofa, right in Viggo’s line of sight in case he was still aware of his surroundings. Viggo was lying on his right side, his right arm stretched out, the left in front of his face. He was breathing deeply – in through the nose and out through the mouth as if he was feeling either nauseous or was fighting a panic attack.

“Hey, Viggo,” Orlando said quietly. “It’s me, Orlando.”

He felt half-stupid for talking to Viggo like this, but then he saw Viggo’s eyes shift a little. He tried to look at Orlando, which clearly meant that he could hear Orlando or at least sense his presence, but his gaze didn’t quite land and instead slipped off Orlando’s features before turning into a vacant stare.

Viggo’s lips moved and a sound escaped that sounded like a moan bordering on a grunt to Orlando’s ears. In a way it seemed like Viggo tried to acknowledge Orlando’s presence, but he was unable to form the words.

“It’s okay,” Orlando soothed. “Don’t try to talk.”

Viggo blinked again, maybe it was meant as agreement. The movement looked slow and tired like it took considerable effort. Orlando drew an encouraging smile from somewhere when he noticed that Viggo was trying yet again to hold his gaze.

Remove any obstacles that could lead to injury.

Apparently, Viggo had taken care of that himself. Next to the bed the sofa was probably the safest spot for him. It was wide enough that he wouldn’t roll off and the little coffee table was situated at the far end, well away from where Viggo had stretched out.

Provide whatever assistance.

Orlando sat down on the ground, because his knees were already killing him. He gently took Viggo’s left hand into his own, for he knew of no other way to offer comfort. Viggo’s fingers curled a little in Orlando’s hand. Maybe he was returning Orlando’s grip, there was no way to truly tell. But Viggo’s eyes seemed fixed on their joined hands. He hoped it meant that Viggo knew he was there. He wanted Viggo to know that he wasn’t alone.

“I’m here,” Orlando said.

Time the seizure.

For a moment Orlando thought Viggo would answer, because his mouth opened. Nothing came, though. Viggo opened and closed his mouth in a fashion that suggested he wanted to get rid of an unpleasant taste. It was an automatism, Orlando realised, and he looked at his watch to get an idea of how much time was passing. He needed to make sure they didn’t cross the five minute mark.

Viggo’s right hand started moving, flapping against the upholstery of the sofa repeatedly. The back of his hand beat against the sofa again and again, in an almost frantic rhythm while Viggo gazed desinterestedly at his hand. Orlando found the movement hard to endure, because it appeared so detached from the rest of Viggo’s listless body. The automatism went on and when Viggo licked his lips Orlando saw something shut off behind Viggo’s eyes.

Viggo’s jaw started working in earnest. He first licked his lips and then chewed as if an exciting new taste had caught his interest. He swallowed repeatedly. It all looked mechanical, methodical: It looked automatic.

Orlando breathed out and prepared himself for what was to come. The seizure was still building up, slowly and steadily. Orlando was aware of Charlie’s presence next to him on the ground and he was aware of Viggo’s weak grip on his hand. Apart from that he noticed nothing. If a meteor had dropped next to him in that very moment he wouldn’t have noticed. He was concentrating solely on Viggo.

Viggo’s eyelids fluttered rapidly and his eyes tracked to the right. His head followed as if drawn by an invisible force. His body stretched out more while his upper body stiffened up. That was the moment the twitching started.

Protect the airway.

Since Viggo was lying on his right side he was pushing his head deeper into the cushion with every spasm that went through his body. It took only moments for his breathing to turn first audible and then laboured. He wasn’t getting enough air and Orlando stumbled to his feet and tried to re-position Viggo to allow him to breathe more easily.

The seizure affected Viggo’s head and his right shoulder, it made his arm move and his hip as well. Even his right foot was affected. It was turned in as if he was suffering a bad cramp. But it wasn’t so much the spasms that made it hard for Orlando to turn Viggo around. Rather, it was the fact that his body had stiffened up. Orlando couldn’t move him and he certainly couldn’t turn his head back to the left without causing him injury.

Do not restrain the person in any way.

Viggo’s breathing was muffled and Orlando could see him turn pale. In a frenzy, he ceased his attempt to turn Viggo and tried lifting him a little instead, which gave him to opportunity to draw the cushion out from under him. That left more room for Viggo and it made it easier for Orlando to see the spasms going through Viggo’s face: he was blinking rapidly, in rhythm with the twitching that went through his cheek and his mouth. His mouth was open and his exhales were short stabs that sounded painful. Orlando had to consciously remind himself that this was simply due to muscle contractions. Viggo wasn’t in pain, he wasn’t aware of what was happening. He had said so himself.

Orlando held on to Viggo’s left hand, but Viggo wasn’t returning the grip anymore. Orlando positioned his other hand against Viggo’s left shoulder to give him something to push against, which would hopefully keep him from completely rolling on to his stomach.

The spasms slowed down and Orlando hoped the seizure would be over soon. It still came as a surprise when Viggo’s rapid blinking stopped. Viggo’s eyes were half-open now, his pupils were heavily dilated. The corner of his mouth turned up a few times more, but since his eyes were empty it didn’t look like a half-smile but like a grimace. His exhales slowed down as well and in the end his body seemed to simply stop. He was motionless.

“Viggo?” Orlando asked and he could hear the quiver in his own voice. This wouldn’t do. He swallowed. “Viggo,” he said again, this time in a more even tone.

Viggo’s chest moved once with a shallow breath and then stilled again. He blinked, took another breath and his eyes rolled. He turned further onto his back, quite obviously an unconscious move.

Orlando looked at his watch. A little more than a minute. Not much time at all had passed, but it felt like a lifetime.

Viggo’s whole body seemed preoccupied with breathing, trying to get back what it had lost, and sweat started to appear on his forehead and on his temples. He drew up his right leg and then stretched it out again. Drew it up and stretched it out, again and again, like he was riding a bike with just one leg.

“Are you alright?” Orlando asked, not sure whether he would get an answer quite yet.

Viggo didn’t say anything. Instead, he tried to push up with his right arm, but didn’t succeed. He came to lie on his back, still breathing heavily. It seemed quite impossible for him to keep his eyes open, his lids came down again and again. But Viggo wasn’t deterred for he forced his eyes open again every single time.

“Maybe don’t try to move just yet,” Orlando said, waiting for the moment when Viggo would come around enough to talk. Viggo made a sound in the back of his throat and Orlando wasn’t sure whether it was meant as consent or distress.

When Viggo’s breathing let up a bit, Orlando tried again. “Are you okay?”

This time he was graced with an answer. “Yeah.” Orlando breathed a sigh of relief.

He combed his fingers through Viggo’s hair and Viggo closed his eyes in exhaustion.

Orlando remembered what Viggo had told him about the time when Rosa had called an ambulance. The EMT had asked him whether he knew what had happened, where he was and who was president. Orlando could do that.

“Viggo, do you know where you are?” he asked experimentally.

Viggo opened his eyes again and looked right through him. “Yeah.”

“Okay.” Orlando hesitated. “Where are you?”

There was no answer. Viggo’s eyes roamed his surroundings, but there was absolutely no recognition in his gaze. A stab of fear made its way through Orlando’s body. He knew intellectually that there would be a period of confusion after a seizure. But knowing that and seeing how Viggo did not recognise his own living room were two different things entirely. It frightened him more than he wanted to admit.

“Viggo, can you tell me where you are?” His voice shook.

“Mhm,” Viggo said thoughtfully.

Orlando gave him another moment, counted to twenty and threaded his fingers through Viggo’s hair. If nothing else, the repetitive gesture seemed to calm Viggo down, he relaxed into Orlando’s touch. Eventually, Orlando tried again. “Where are you, Viggo?”

“Yeah,” Viggo answered. The reaction came a little quicker, but apart from that Viggo wasn’t making much sense. It reminded him of Viggo’s first seizure, of how readily he had answered Orlando’s question of whether he wanted to be driven home. And he suddenly knew what should have been obvious: Viggo had never agreed, he hadn’t even understood the question.

Orlando let that realisation sink in and felt a moment of gratitude for that initial misunderstanding, because it had led them here. He couldn’t quite imagine where they would stand with one another if he had not witnessed that first seizure, subsequently driving Viggo home afterwards. They would probably still be sitting at Larry’s, unsuccessfully trying to convey that they were interested in one another. And Viggo would still plan on telling Orlando about the epilepsy without actually doing it.

“Where are you?” Orlando tried to sound encouraging and patient. He was prepared to repeat the question again and again, until Viggo was ready to understand and answer it.

“Home,” Viggo volunteered and he let his left arm rest against the back of the sofa.

“Thank god,” Orlando muttered.

Viggo tried again to push himself up into a sitting position and this time he succeeded, coming to sit on the sofa, legs stretched out before him. His right foot was tapping a rhythm only he could hear. It looked like his leg had a life of its own. “Ho...mmm,” he said again as if to try the word.

Orlando sat beside him, half-afraid that Viggo might lose his balance and fall. Viggo noticed a presence next to him and he rested his head contentedly on Orlando’s shoulder. Orlando turned further in until he could embrace Viggo. The body in his arms felt hot and shivery.

“You’re okay. You just rest a bit until you feel better.”

“Yeah,” Viggo mumbled and Orlando almost had to smile. He rubbed Viggo’s back.

Viggo sighed into the embrace. “Lando”, he whispered and the word was almost swallowed by the fact the Viggo had breathed it into Orlando’s shirt.

Orlando’s hand on Viggo’s back stilled. He had never heard Viggo call him that. Maybe his name was simply too long for Viggo’s mind to process right now, but it felt good nonetheless. It felt like they were in some secret place together, finding a language they could both understand. “I’m here,” he said and his hand took up its rubbing motion on Viggo’s back once again.

He felt Viggo grow heavy in his arms, heavy and motionless.

If the person falls asleep afterwards, turn them on their side.

“Are you tired?” he asked. “Do you want to take a nap?”

Viggo nodded against Orlando’s shoulder.

“Okay, I’ll help you lie down.”

Orlando gently lowered Viggo’s unprotesting body onto the sofa. The older man’s eyes were already closed. Orlando turned him on his side and grabbed a cushion to put under Viggo’s head. He got one of the blankets that were always lying about and draped it across Viggo’s body.

“Rest a bit,” he said. There was no answer from Viggo. He had already fallen asleep.

Chapter Text

For endless minutes, Orlando sat next to Viggo’s sleeping form and waited for the adrenaline to wear off. He had done what all the online articles had said, but it didn’t make him feel any better. Orlando had hoped that knowledge would empower him, that it would give him some form of control over the situation. Instead, he felt drained and empty. If he had hoped that his presence could make a difference for Viggo, if in some vain part of his mind he had thought he could be Viggo’s knight in shining armour, he now had to face the truth: a seizure ran its course, no matter what he did. Yes, he could follow the instructions and maybe they would prevent the worst from happening. But Viggo still had to take the brunt of it, still had to go through it from beginning to end. It hurt to see that, it hurt almost bodily. Viggo had been right, Orlando couldn’t win this fight for him. He could only ever stand on the sideline.

Now that it was over his hands started to shake and he rubbed his face. He took a deep breath, felt how tears welled up in his eyes and willed them down. He couldn’t allow himself to break down. Orlando had said yes to this, he had made his decision. If Viggo was strong enough for this, then he would be as well. He just needed to get used to it. It would get easier, at least that was his hope.

Eventually he got up to get his book from the bedroom. He sat on the sofa, put Viggo’s legs in his lap and his book on Viggo’s legs. While Orlando had been upstairs, Charlie had jumped onto the sofa and had stretched out next to Viggo, her body close to his. In sleep, Viggo had curled his hand in her fur. It reminded Orlando of Viggo’s seizure in the car. There, too, Charlie had lent silent support. He patted the dog. Orlando was both thankful and impressed that Viggo had managed to find himself such a dedicated partner in this. They seemed to work well with one another and Orlando hoped that one day he could be part of their little bubble, turning their duo into a trio.

He tried to let the book distract him, but it took a while until he could let himself fall into the plot. The Anomaly had been Viggo’s recommendation when Orlando had asked for “something I would never pick myself”. Orlando was fifty pages in and he had to admit that Viggo had been spot on. He would never have picked this himself – the speculative angle that almost bordered on sci-fi wasn’t his usual fare –, but the book was extremely good. The basic premise was intriguing and the execution was pretty clever. He vowed to read more French literature from now on. And he vowed to always trust Viggo’s recommendations.

While he read, he absentmindedly caressed Viggo’s hip or his thigh with his free hand. Viggo slept on, his breaths came deep and even now. He looked exhausted, even in sleep, and Orlando wondered how he would feel once he woke up.

The moment came half an hour later when Orlando’s phone rang. “Bugger,” he muttered and extricated himself from under Viggo in the hope of not waking him up. Orlando made his way over to the kitchen to take the call, but he already felt Viggo stir behind him. Quite obviously he hadn’t been stealthy enough.

Once the kitchen door was closed, he answered the call. “Hey, Ben.”

“Hey, man. The weekend’s coming up. How do you feel about meeting up in the Barn?”

Orlando sighed. He already knew that Ben wouldn’t like this. He also knew that he wouldn’t be swayed. “I’m still at Viggo’s. I wanted to spent the week at his place, remember?”

“I remember. But the Crowley Ranch is twenty minutes away. Where’s the problem? We can meet up anyway.” After a pause he added: “You can bring Viggo as well.”

“I’d rather stay in.” Orlando said. He didn’t need to wait long for Ben’s reaction.

“I don’t like who you’re becoming with him, Orlando.”

“Who am I becoming with him?” Orlando asked. He was still trying to come up with his own answer to this question, but he was sure his would wildly differ from Ben’s.

“Someone who shuns his friends. We never see each other anymore.”

Orlando probably deserved this. He hadn’t made much of an effort during the last weeks, concentrating much more on what was developing between him and Viggo.

“I’m sorry that you feel this way. I admit that I’ve been preoccupied lately, but our friendship is important to me. It’s just …” He decided to be just a tiny bit brave. “Viggo isn’t feeling well today and I want to make sure he’s okay. I’d rather not leave him alone.”

There was a short silence on the other end. Apparently, Orlando’s answer didn’t satisfy Ben. “What are you, his nanny?”

Orlando sighed, he didn’t want to fight with Ben. “It’s what you do for people you like. I’d do that for you, too.”

“You’re not even getting a beer with me. I’m not sure you’d notice if I suddenly missed an arm and a leg.”

Orlando had to be patient with Ben. Ben had a point … he needed to be a better friend. “Of course I would. You’re my best friend! How about we go for drinks next week? Maybe Monday or Tuesday? I can tell you what I’ve been up to on the ranch.”

“That’s the least you can do. And I want absolutely no juicy details.”

“Thank god,” Orlando said, knowing full well that Annie would have asked for nothing but the juicy details instead. “It’s a date then?”

“It’s a date,” Ben agreed. “We talk Monday.”

When Orlando returned to the living room, Viggo was sitting up on the sofa and Charlie was back on the floor. Viggo looked worn out. The little laugh lines around his eyes had deepened in the last hour and his shoulders were slumped, but at least he was awake.

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” Orlando offered, but Viggo didn’t even acknowledge the apology.

“Who was ’at?”

“Ben.”

Viggo seemed to think. Orlando could all but see him trying to place the name. Viggo frowned and shook his head in the end.

“My friend. You saw him in the Barn. He was there with his sister Annie.”

It still took Viggo some time to search through his memory until he found Ben, but he got there eventually. “Oh,” Viggo nodded. “What’d he ’ant?”

“He wanted to go out for drinks tonight.”

Viggo looked up at that, but only for a moment. “You ’ould ’o.”

It wasn’t all that easy to understand what Viggo was saying, but his look made it more than clear what he meant.

“We rescheduled. We’re going next week,” Orlando said. “I’d prefer to stay here today.”

Viggo seemed to need a moment to digest that bit of information. “The’s no … you don’ have …” Viggo trailed off as if he couldn’t think of a good way to end his sentence.

Viggo’s pronunciation was way off. He spoke slowly and had to search for every word. Orlando wondered how long it would take him to get all his faculties back. If he had as much problems forming a thought as he had working it into a sentence, then Orlando could understand why he felt an annoyed undercurrent coming from Viggo. “No, but I want to. Are you feeling better?”

Viggo fidgeted with the blanket he was holding to his middle. “m’ o’ay.”

He didn’t look particularly okay to Orlando, but of course he looked vastly better than an hour ago, so Orlando was ready to accept Viggo’s answer. “Do you need anything?” Orlando asked.

“You don’ ha’ to do this,” Viggo said. It was a pretty long sentence and Viggo visibly tried to enunciate clearly enough for Orlando to understand.

Orlando came over to sit next to Viggo on the sofa. “Do what?”

“This. All ’is.” Viggo huffed, annoyed that he couldn’t make himself understood better. Instead of elaborating, he made an all-encompassing gesture with his left hand.

Orlando frowned. He wouldn’t be pushed it away, especially not now. “Yes, I do. Tell me if you need anything.”

Viggo still didn’t answer Orlando’s question. “When d’you ge’ ’ere?” His words sounded all round and soft around the edges, especially the consonants seemed to give him trouble. They were either indistinct or missing altogether.

Viggo’s question made Orlando realise two things. One: Viggo once again had no memory of the minutes leading up to the seizure. Even though he had quite clearly been aware of Orlando’s presence in the room with him, he couldn’t remember that now. And two: Viggo couldn’t even say it. He couldn’t even ask Orlando outright what he really wanted to know. Orlando decided to answer the question beneath Viggo’s question. “I was here for the seizure. Got in with a minute or two to spare.”

Viggo nodded and averted his eyes. “So’y,” was all he said.

Orlando couldn’t let this turn into an awkward moment between them. If he fucked this up now, it would set him back miles in gaining Viggo’s trust in that matter. “Don’t be sorry. At one point or other this was bound to happen. Right?”

“I’ ra’her …,” Viggo started, but then lost his nerve.

“You’d rather what?” Orlando asked when Viggo made no attempt to finish his sentence.

“d’prefer i’ …” Viggo interrupted himself again. He rubbed his left temple and frustration radiated off him. “Don’ ’now wha’ ’m trying ’o say.”

Orlando got the distinct impression that Viggo was attempting a conversation they should better not have right now. It’d be better for both of them if they revisited this topic when Viggo felt a little more like himself. “We can talk about this some other time, don’t worry about that now. I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry. What do you think about sandwiches?”

“San’iches a’ o’ay,” Viggo said and he sighed.

~*~

Initially, Orlando had been a little worried about the idea of letting Viggo handle a knife while he was so obviously still suffering from the aftereffects of the seizure, but his hands were surprisingly steady. There seemed to be no danger of him chopping his fingers off, which was about the only good thing that could be said about letting Viggo help in the kitchen. How that man had managed to not starve to death was a mystery to Orlando.

Despite Viggo’s initial claim that he could make his own coffee, Orlando had quickly learnt that boiling water was pretty much as far as Viggo’s expertise in the kitchen extended. Viggo had made Orlando coffee at one point and it had been so weak that he had been able to see the bottom of the mug. When Viggo boiled eggs they usually came out hard as concrete, devoid of any taste and ready to survive nuclear fallout. When he tried his hand at spaghetti, they turned out so overcooked that they were minutes away from totally dissolving. All in all, Viggo was an absolute catastrophe in the kitchen. Orlando looked like a regular Jamie Oliver next to Viggo, simply because he could actually make edible pasta with tomato sauce.

Orlando wanted to give Viggo something to do to help him get his mind off things, so Viggo was allowed to chop vegetables and salami for them to put onto their sandwiches. They sat in companionable silence, because it seemed to take the edge off Viggo’s mood. From time to time one of them would randomly drop some meat onto the floor for Charlie to clean off.

“Were you finished working for today or do you need to get back to writing? It’s only half two,” Orlando said.

Viggo swallowed his bite of sandwich. He shook his head. “I ne’er write after.” His pronunciation was improving. The consonants sounded a little sharper and overall his words gained clarity. At this point, someone who didn’t know Viggo well, would maybe not even notice something being different, attributing the moments when Viggo didn’t enunciate clearly to no more than laziness or personal preference. Orlando knew, though, that Viggo wasn’t all the way recovered yet. He heard it in his voice, could see it in the long pauses Viggo needed to come up with answers to Orlando’s questions.

“Why not?”

Viggo frowned. “Isn’t it o’vious?” It was meant as a rhetorical question, he didn’t give Orlando a chance to answer. “’s hard to find the words, be’ause i’s hard to think. Can’t write li’e this.” The frustration was back in his voice.

Orlando ate in silence and gave Viggo’s words some serious thought. He couldn’t argue the logic of that argument. He had seen the seizure. He knew first hand that it made an absolute mess of Viggo’s mind. That he’d have problems with something as elaborate as forming thoughts and putting them into sentences didn’t come as a big surprise. Still, it might be interesting to see what he might produce when he was in this mindframe. In any case there would be no harm in trying.

“Well, you don’t have to play with the Gentleman Captain. But maybe try writing something else? You don’t have to show it to anyone. It could be just for you, to pass the time.”

Viggo thought about it, but he wasn’t convinced. “No. How about I give you a riding lesson in’ead?”

Orlando let the topic rest. He wouldn’t force the issue if it made Viggo feel uncomfortable. He wiggled his eyebrows at Viggo’s words. “Oh, okay. So first you stuff me and then you want to ride me?”

Viggo looked at him quizzically. “I don’t ride you. You ride the horse.” He was dead serious.

Orlando bit his lip. Viggo had never been overly good at catching subtle double meanings, but this was a new low, even for him. Orlando vowed to never again make cheap jokes after Viggo had had a seizure. “Right,” he said. “Of course. I’d love to. If you’re feeling up to it?”

Viggo nodded. “You do the work. I jus’ stand in the middle.”

They didn’t rush their lunch, which gave Viggo plenty of opportunity to recuperate further. By the time they put the plates into the dishwasher and changed into their work wear, Viggo was speaking clearly again. More importantly, he was also in a better frame of mind.

He made true on his word and let Orlando do most of the work. He had taken Orlando on hacks on a regular basis and he’d even given him a lesson or two in the little arena behind the barn, but he’d always lent a hand when Orlando didn’t quite know which way of the halter was up or how to correctly tie the horse down. This time, though, Viggo tagged along, but he let Orlando fend for himself.

Orlando was just about to put a halter on Rascal, when the horse affectionately put his head against Orlando’s chest, prompting him to scratch Rascal’s ears. A moment later, the horse turned around, shoving his bum against Orlando in a demanding fashion. Orlando wasn’t the most knowledgeable horse person, but basically everyone knew that the hind end was the most dangerous part of the horse. Being in close quarters with it made him panic slightly.

“Viggo!” he called. Viggo had stayed back, giving Orlando the opportunity to get the horse himself.

Viggo looked over at the display and didn’t seem concerned at all. “Yeah?”

“What do I do? He’s going to kick me!” Orlando very carefully walked out of the danger zone, but Rascal made sure to keep his bum pointed at Orlando at all times.

Viggo actually had the audacity to laugh at Orlando’s predicament. It was the first time Orlando saw him laugh after the seizure and something that had invisibly settled in his stomach hours ago suddenly unfurled. He wouldn’t go so far and say it would be worth it to get kicked by a horse only to see Viggo in such good spirits. But he was tempted, which probably wasn’t a healthy reaction. “He’s not going to kick you. He wants you to scratch his bum.”

“What?” Orlando all but screeched.

“He likes you, he wants you to scratch where he can’t reach. Just try.”

It went against everything he’d ever heard about horses. “What if he has a fright and kicks me?”

“He won’t, don’t worry.”

Orlando experimentally put a hand on Rascal’s hind end and started scratching him. He tried different spots and soon could tell what the horse liked best, because Rascal being the clown that he was he made all kinds of funny faces. Orlando laughed.

“So that horses will kick you when you’re behind them is a myth?” Orlando asked once he’d led Rascal to the barn to groom and tack him up.

“No, they will if they don’t like you or if you try any funny business. You should never try that with a horse you don’t know. But why would Rascal kick you when you’re friends?”

“We are?”

“I’m sure Rascal’s decided he’s your horse by now.” Viggo didn’t look like he minded much, so it was probably okay. “Come on, tack up. I want to work on your posture today. You have good balance, but your legs are all wobbly. And don’t get me started on what you’re doing with your arms.”

If Orlando had expected Viggo to be lenient, because three hours ago his brain had totally deserted him, Orlando was sadly mistaken. As soon as he mounted Rascal, Orlando was bombarded with a thousand different commands.

“He’s drifting in. Don’t let him run away over his shoulder,” Viggo instructed and Orlando wondered what he was even talking about.

“What do I do?”

“Put on some inside leg to push him to the outside again.”

It worked like a charm.

“Try going in a circle. The inside leg will make the circle bigger, the outside leg will make it smaller. Don’t put too much pressure on the inside rein or he’ll just fall in.”

This sounded like Viggo wanted him to solve a complicated mathematical problem. Orlando supposed he understood the gist of what Viggo was aiming at and he tried to follow the instructions. His circle was decidedly egg-shaped, but it was a start.

“Change direction and try on the other hand. Should be easier, you’re both better on the right.”

Viggo’s assumption turned out to be correct, the circle on the right hand was a lot easier. Orlando repeated the exercise on both hands, both in walk and then in trot, until he felt satisfied. Orlando beamed with pride and patted Rascal’s neck. He looked at Viggo who was standing in the middle of the arena – he had his hands in the pockets of his jeans and his cowboy hat was firmly on his head to give him some shade. Viggo gave him an encouraging smile.

“You’re a natural,” he praised.

Orlando wasn’t so sure. There were so many things to do at once with all kinds of different parts of his body. But it was a lot of fun and terribly rewarding to see how the horse reacted if he did manage to give the right command.

“Thank you.”

“Want to try a little canter before we call it a day?”

“Definitely!” Orlando agreed readily. Ever since he had – mostly – mastered the trot, Viggo had started to introduce him to canter.

“You know what to do?”

Orlando nodded and trotted Rascal along the longer side of the arena. Viggo rattled off instructions anyway. “Once you’re in the turn, take the inside leg back and sit back.”

Orlando did as told and made a kissing-sound to help Rascal understand his aid. Both Rascal and Tommy were used to getting voice commands. The horse fell into a slow canter and Orlando concentrated on staying upright and in balance. He managed one long side of the arena before Rascal fell into trot again.

Viggo seemed pleased. “You’re getting better. Once you’re able to keep some positive tension in your body, Rascal will be able to canter for longer.”

Orlando nodded again and tried to get his breath back. He turned Rascal around and steered him into the middle, to where Viggo was standing. Orlando stopped the horse and dismounted. He fished a treat out of his pocket and gave it to the horse. Then he put his arms around Viggo’s neck. “This is so much fun, thank you.”

He felt Viggo brush a kiss against his cheek. “You’re welcome.”

“You want to have a go?” Orlando asked and this time his words held no double meaning. Most of the time, Viggo got up on the horse after Orlando to show him how certain things were done.

“No, it was a good session. I think we can leave it at that.”

Chapter Text

The next seizure happened the following day when they were just finishing up dinner. Orlando had spent the whole day watching Viggo out of the corner of his eye, waiting for the inevitable to happen. Which was to say that Orlando had expected the seizure, but he had also expected it sooner. They had gotten through the last one, even though it had felt like a bumpy ride. He had come upon Viggo too late for Viggo to still give him instructions or tell him what to do. Despite the rocky start Orlando supposed he hadn’t fucked up too bad. It was his hope that this time around, when he was there from the start, Viggo could better communicate what he needed Orlando to do.

He noticed that Viggo was staring into space, he seemed to be deep in thought. Viggo put his cutlery down, blinked and then rubbed his right thigh. Orlando remembered the gesture from the night when he had happened on Viggo in his car. A whole colony of ants crawled up Orlando’s spine, but it was probably still preferable to whatever Viggo was feeling right now.

Orlando waited Viggo out, but the silence between them stretched until it became uncomfortable. Viggo just continued to rub his thigh while he looked at nothing in particular. When Orlando couldn’t take it anymore, he spoke up.

“Viggo?”

“Mhm?” Viggo asked. He looked up and seemed almost surprised to find Orlando with him in the kitchen. He wasn’t meeting Orlando’s gaze, his eyes were looking at something to the left of Orlando’s face. Viggo breathed in deeply, breathed out again and got up.

Orlando got up as well, ready to follow Viggo’s lead. He needed to make sure that he was reading the situation correctly. “Are you having a seizure?” he clarified.

The last thing he wanted was to be in the way, but he wanted Viggo to know that he’d be there for him. Viggo didn’t answer Orlando’s question, though.

“Going to lie down for a bit,” Viggo said instead and made to leave the kitchen. He wasn’t at all unsteady. Orlando saw him rub his left temple and hurried after him. He knew from the experience in the car that Viggo would be able to talk during the majority of the aura, but he didn’t know how long he’d be able to stand.

Viggo headed for the living room to sit down on the sofa. He rested his head against the back and closed his eyes, looking weary and apprehensive. He continued to take deep breaths, but that was about the only indication that something was wrong.

When Orlando made to sit down next to him, Viggo opened his eyes. He licked his lips.

“What do you want me to do?” Orlando asked.

“Do?” Viggo repeated like he didn’t understand the question. He pressed two fingers into his temple as if he was fighting a migraine.

“To help.” Orlando clarified. Viggo’s brain seemed to work at a different speed and Orlando tried to accommodate him.

Viggo minutely shook his head and closed his eyes again. “You don’t help.”

That took Orlando off-guard. What did Viggo mean? That it wasn’t Orlando’s responsibility to help? Or that under no circumstances Orlando would be able to help? Or was this an order?

Orlando decided that most likely Viggo was having difficulty making himself understood, so he tried again. His voice was calm and supportive and showed none of the anxiety he felt. He slightly rephrased the question in the hope that it would help Viggo process what he was saying: “Tell me what you need.”

Charlie, who had followed them into the living room, jumped up onto the sofa and put her head into Viggo’s lap, looking up at her human. Viggo lowered his hand onto the dog’s head to scratch her behind the ears. Orlando started massaging Viggo’s left temple with his thumb in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. Viggo didn’t acknowledge what Orlando was doing, but petting the dog seemed to calm him down somewhat.

Viggo opened his eyes and his gaze was already far away. He sat up straighter and his right hand started shaking. He made a fist to keep the fingers still. “I need …” He swallowed and there was a pause. Orlando waited, but it seemed Viggo was losing track of what he had been trying to say. He didn’t speak further.

“Viggo?” Orlando prompted gently. “Talk to me? What do you need?”

The question seemed to rouse Viggo somewhat. He turned his head and his eyes fixed on something behind Orlando. “I need you to …” He uncurled his fist. “Fuck off. Get lost.” The fingers of his right hand started moving and Viggo swallowed as if he was feeling nauseous. “Ten minutes. I need ten minutes …”

Viggo spoke slowly, picking each word like he had only just learned it. His tone was flat, but that only made the words hurt all the more. Orlando hadn’t expected Viggo to turn away from him like this. He hadn’t expected that Viggo would use his last clear thought to get rid of him. Orlando stood up as if he’d been slapped. Being sent away hurt like a fist to the gut.

Viggo didn’t notice Orlando’s predicament, he concentrated hard on his right hand. “You,” he said, licking his lips. “Not you.”

It hurt, it hurt immensely to be sent away, but this wasn’t the moment to argue his point with Viggo. As far as Orlando could tell, Viggo was still aware of his surroundings, of what was going on. Which meant he was able to make decisions for himself. Orlando had asked how he could help. He had to respect Viggo’s wishes, even though it went against all of his instincts.

That Orlando didn’t like the decision Viggo was making was a discussion for later.

“Be safe,” Orlando said quietly, but he wasn’t graced with an answer. Viggo’s breathing was loud in the living room when Orlando stood and made to leave.

Charlie looked at Orlando and abandoned her spot by Viggo’s side when she noticed that Orlando was leaving. She came after him and barked to get his attention. Orlando had never heard her bark before. Quite clearly she didn’t want him to go.

Tears pricked at Orlando’s eyes when he noticed the dog’s reaction. He leant down and petted her head. “You go and take care of Viggo for me,” he whispered to her. He pointed at the sofa and at Viggo to let Charlie know where he wanted her to go. She sprinted back and jumped onto the sofa. He saw her lick Viggo’s right hand, the one that was so fidgety. Orlando turned around, in the direction of the stairs.

It felt like he was abandoning them.

He went into the bedroom and closed the door, shutting out Viggo and his damn pride. He looked at the clock on Viggo’s nightstand. Ten minutes and not a second more.

For a moment he debated going down again to check on Viggo. If he waited a few minutes more, Viggo would probably not be able to recognise him anymore. He could make sure that Viggo was alright without Viggo even realising that he’d been there. He contemplated the idea for a few minutes and then discarded it with a heavy heart.

Damn it, but he couldn’t betray Viggo’s trust like this. The man had kicked him out with the crudest words possible, and still Orlando felt obligated to respect his wishes, stupid as they may be. The fact that Orlando was the healthy one and Viggo was not didn’t give him the right to overrule Viggo on this. He would never gain Viggo’s trust if he treated him like he couldn’t make his own decisions.

Hot tears pricked at his eyes. Last time he’d been able to swallow them. Now, though, he didn’t feel like fighting his despair was worth the struggle. He sat down on the bed and waited for them to fall. He simply gave in, accepting that this wasn’t at all how he had expected the evening to end.

It took only a few moments for some of the tension to ebb away with his tears. He swallowed, sniffled and then blew his nose. Once he’d dried his tears, he sat on the bed and watched how the digits changed on the clock. They did so painfully slowly.

Orlando tried to envision what was going on downstairs. When he had left Viggo had still been able to talk, even if he had struggled. It would take a few more moments for the seizure to build up and for Viggo to lose awareness. Orlando looked at the alarm clock again. Maybe now – maybe now the aura had turned into the actual focal seizure.

He wished nothing more than to be downstairs with Viggo.

Only yesterday he had thought that watching Viggo having a seizure was hard. Now he realised that it was even harder not to be there for it.

Orlando willed the digits on the clock to move forward. One minute passed. Two minutes. If things went smoothly, the seizure should be over by now. The postictal would follow. Viggo would be confused, wouldn’t know where he was or what had happened. And he was all alone.

He’d been alone in this for years now and he had been fine.

The thought didn’t comfort Orlando at all. The fact that Viggo was able to do this alone didn’t mean that it was a particularly good idea. Also, it was unnecessary. Orlando was right there, in the same house. Why would Viggo refuse his help like this? Why would he rather run the risk of something going wrong instead of accepting a safety net when it was offered.

Because he was stupid. He was stupid and proud to the point of putting himself in danger.

Or because he was forlorn and insecure and didn’t dare ask for help.

Or maybe it was a little of both. Either way, they couldn’t go on like this. This was too big. It was too big for Orlando to simply ignore. If they wanted to make this work – and he definitely wanted that – they needed to find some way to deal with Viggo’s issues. And the epilepsy was only part of it. Or maybe the root of it.

~*~

As he had promised himself, Orlando came back to the living room ten minutes later. He came downstairs with a feeling of trepidation in his stomach, afraid of what he might find. Would Viggo be back to normal – or as normal as was possible at that point? Would this be a repeat of yesterday or would things go down a different route?

When Orlando entered the living room he was welcomed by Charlie who ushered him over to the sofa with a wildly wagging tail. Orlando noticed that Viggo was up, which he hadn’t expected. Viggo was standing up, fixing the sofa. Only when Orlando got closer did he notice that Viggo was certainly doing things, but nothing of what he was doing with his hands was making any sense.

At first glance it looked like Viggo was rearranging the throw pillows and the blankets. He took a pillow, turned it in his hands and exchanged it for another one that got the same treatment. He picked at the blankets, idly drawing them in one direction and then the other, following the hem with his fingers without ever coming to an end. Nothing of what he did served any purpose. The gestures were automatic, empty and useless.

“Viggo?” Orlando tried quietly. There was no reaction, Viggo was concentrating solely on his task. He seemed to be caught in his own little world.

Orlando had read somewhere that it was possible for the automatic movements to go on after the seizure. Orlando had seen glimpses of it in Viggo before, but not to that extent. Not in a fashion where Viggo was actually standing up and walking around.

Orlando went around the sofa until he was standing next to Viggo. Orlando put a hand on his shoulder and addressed him again. “Hey, Viggo. It’s me, Orlando.” This time, he didn’t feel half-stupid for stating the obvious. This time, it already felt easier. If this was the level at which Viggo’s brain could process information right now, then that was fine by Orlando. He just wanted some reaction from him.

Viggo stopped for a moment. Either the touch or Orlando’s voice registered in his brain. He seemed to think, but then he took up his useless fumbling again. It was a start. Orlando put his other hand on Viggo’s shoulder and tried to gently turn him around. Viggo was surprisingly pliant, he didn’t resist. His fingers still played restlessly and he looked at his hands.

“How about we sit down for a bit?” Orlando ventured and tried to gently push Viggo onto the sofa. It was easier than he had anticipated and seeing Viggo in a seated position calmed his frayed nerves a bit. Having him walk around while he was clearly not aware of what he was doing wasn’t something Orlando was ready to handle yet.

Seeing that the humans were sitting down caused Charlie to relax as well. She went for her usual spot under the coffee table, quite obviously content that Orlando was taking over Viggo-duty.

Even while he was sitting down, Viggo played with the pillows. Viggo’s fingers had found a lose thread and he picked at it. It looked like he was trying to get the thread back into the cushion, which was of course a fool’s errand. Orlando got the distinct impression that something was going on repeat in Viggo’s brain that really needed to stop. “How are you feeling, Viggo?” he tried.

Viggo’s eyes reacted to the question. He turned his head as if he was searching for the origin of the sound. His gaze landed on Orlando eventually. He seemed to be looking at Orlando and through Orlando at the same time. “Wha’?”

“How are you feeling?” Orlando repeated. Viggo’s fidgeting didn’t let up and Orlando covered Viggo’s right hand with his own. He started to massage the hand, caress it. He hoped the touch would reach something in Viggo. Eventually, Viggo turned his hand around, palm up, to give Orlando better access.

“Better?” Orlando asked.

“Mhm,” was all Viggo had to say to that.

“Okay.” Orlando pressed his thumb into Viggo’s palm and he felt something in Viggo give. Viggo stilled, the antsy hand movements finally trickled out. Silence stretched between them, but it felt good. In contrast to before, this felt like they were on the same page again.

“Did I ever tell you how I ended up studying library science?” Orlando ventured.

Viggo didn’t answer, but Orlando wasn’t deterred. He figured he would simply have to get used to having one-sided conversations from time to time. Next to him, Viggo relaxed into the sofa. Orlando got the distinct impression that he was slowly finding his way back.

The heartache from before took a backseat. All that mattered now was being in this moment with Viggo, at his pace.

“I’ll tell you the story if you want,” Orlando said. He squeezed Viggo’s hand. And just like that, Viggo squeezed back.

Chapter Text

“When I was fourteen I stocked shelves in our local Lidl. We only had mom’s single income and while we weren’t exactly poor, money was a regular topic at the kitchen table. So I started working at Lidl to be able to afford going to the cinema or buying myself stuff.”

Viggo let his head rest against the back of the sofa. His eyes were closed now, he was breathing evenly.

“Would you rather sleep for a bit?” Orlando asked.

Viggo didn’t open his eyes, but he shook his head. “’o, s’okay.” Viggo was still slurring badly, he sounded decidedly drunk. But he was talking and his words made sense. He was clearly answering Orlando’s question. It was likely that he would be able to follow Orlando’s story. And even if he wasn’t: It wouldn’t hurt if he heard a human voice.

“At work I met Colin. He was a year older than me, almost sixteen even.” Orlando smiled, remembering Colin’s unruly mop of reddish hair and his boisterous voice. “We really hit it off, right from the first day. I had friends at school, but I never had a friend quite like Colin before. He was interesting and fascinating. Or at least I thought so. He was awfully funny, had a wicked sense of humour. But he was extremely smart as well. I always felt ten kinds of stupid next to him.”

Viggo closed his hand around Orlando’s which Orlando took to mean that Viggo didn’t think him ten kinds of stupid.

“Colin read, he read a lot. Wherever we went, he always had a book in his backpack. I, on the other hand, was spending my time going to the movies and watching Jason Statham beating the crap out of people. But Colin read. And bit by bit, he got me hooked. Okay, there was probably some hero worship going on there as well, but it got the job done.”

Orlando shrugged. “He had a thing for early twentieth century literature. He loved Maurice. For obvious reasons, I suppose. And he adored The Importance of Being Earnest – he could quote whole scenes from the play to then promptly have a laughing fit. We started to spend a lot of time together and bit by bit it turned from friendship into something more. I didn’t even realise it at first it felt so natural. Or maybe I was just young and naïve and couldn’t put a name to what I was feeling. I think my mom caught on quicker than I did, she’s always been very perceptive. She would call herself a progressive woman, but I guess that sentiment doesn’t extend to her only son. She tried to keep me away from Colin, tried to make him look bad. And when she caught us holding hands, she made an awful scene. Why would you do that to me? You are not thinking of this family! That kind of stuff. She made me feel horrible, like I was betraying her and Sally. I was sixteen at the time, didn’t have a rebellious bone in my body. Mom, Sal and me had always been very close. I couldn’t imagine endangering that. So I broke things off with Colin.”

It still hurt, Orlando noticed. He hadn’t thought of Colin in years – it was ancient history, after all –, but it still hurt that he had lost Colin and that his mom had been the driving force behind it. He better not poke at this old wound. “Anyway, that’s not what I wanted to say, is it? I wanted to tell you how I became a librarian. It was because of Colin. Because he made me love books like I had never loved anything in my life. His passion for reading had been so addictive that it stayed with me, even after he was gone. Which is why I have a bachelor in English lit now and a MA in library science. Weird, isn’t it, how some people somehow totally change the trajectory of your life.” He was pretty sure that Viggo could be such a person for him. In all likelihood, Viggo already was that kind of person.

“A’ you’ mom?” Viggo asked. Orlando was relieved to realise that Viggo had been able to follow along with the story.

“My mom worked from the assumption that this had been just a phase. Either that or that Colin had somehow bewitched me. She can be very convincing. So much so that I thought it a good idea to get involved with Bri. My mom was so thrilled about me having a girlfriend that I kept up the charade for three long years. When I couldn’t do it anymore and I broke up with Bri it hit my mom a lot harder than me. I guess she’d already seen us walk down the aisle and give her grandchildren.”

“So’y.” Viggo stumbled over the word, but Orlando understood him nonetheless.

“She’s made too many decisions for me.” He knew that now, but back then he’d truly believed that this was a normal way for a mom to act. He had believed that this was how a mother showed her love. Orlando took a deep breath. He hadn’t told Viggo that part of the story yet, but Orlando felt he had a right to know. “It was part of the reason why I went to the States. We needed some time away from each other and I needed the opportunity to make my own decisions, without her looking over my shoulder all the time. So I jumped at the opportunity to study abroad.”

“She ’ill no’ o’ay wi’t?” Viggo asked.

Orlando didn’t quite know how to answer that. “That’s a tough question. She’d never outright say it, she would just let me feel that she thought I was making a mistake, that I was not living up to her expectations.”

Viggo opened his eyes and looked sideways at Orlando. “Do’ she ’ow?”

“Know what?” Orlando asked, even though he had a good idea what Viggo was asking.

Viggo spared himself the hassle of answering with words. He pointed a finger at himself, then pointed it at Orlando.

Orlando sighed, it was a sore spot. “No. I haven’t really had the courage yet to tell her about us. But I’ll get there, I promise.”

Viggo nodded.

“Sally knows, though. My sister.” Orlando had mentioned his sister to Viggo. At the time, Viggo had gone into a laughing fit about the fact that Orlando had a sister named Rosalind, but Orlando wasn’t at all sure whether Viggo would be able to remember that now. Still, this was probably a good opportunity for a confession. “Told her about the epilepsy, too.” He let that hang for a bit, but Viggo didn’t comment. His silence prompted Orlando to explain himself further. “I needed to talk this through and thought someone totally unrelated to Reynards would probably be the safest option. I hope you understand.”

Viggo nodded again. He looked at their joined hands in his lap. “U’ersta’.”

“I didn’t tell anyone else. I hope you know I’d never go behind your back like this.”

“I ’ow. ’ank you.”

~*~

That night, they went to bed early. Viggo made an effort and proposed they watch a movie, but it didn’t take a genius to notice that his heart was not in it and that he’d probably be asleep in mere minutes. It was obvious to Orlando that Viggo was exhausted and needed some rest. And so they went to bed instead. Viggo was subdued and not very talkative when they laid down, obviously thankful to be allowed to rest his head on the pillow. Orlando, however, was wide awake. He’d never been the kind of person who could fall asleep before ten in the evening.

He took Viggo into his arms and pressed his mouth to Viggo’s lips. The touch was gentle, only meant to comfort.

Still, Viggo misunderstood his intent and suspected demand when instead Orlando meant to convey nothing but consolation. Viggo turned his head away, effectively ending the kiss. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I really can’t … I don’t have the energy …” Here he faltered. He didn’t have the courage to say it out loud, not even in the darkness.

Orlando had known that, or rather: He had strongly suspected that Viggo wouldn’t be in the mood for sex, neither physically nor emotionally. Orlando put a hand against Viggo’s cheek, turning his head again. He brushed his lips against Viggo’s once more. It was the lightest of touches. “Shhh, don’t worry about that. It’s just a touch, just a kiss. Nothing more. Nothing needs to happen here. I just want you to relax. Okay?”

Viggo nodded and closed his eyes, he seemed relieved. Orlando let his hands roam wherever he could reach – Viggo’s back, his arms, his chest. He caressed the nape of his neck and ran a finger down his cheek. He pressed small kisses to his face. It didn’t take long for Viggo to surrender to his touch. All tension left Viggo’s body, his breaths came in an even rhythm and his body became heavy with sleep. And even then, Orlando didn’t let go. He held Viggo close and watched over his sleep.

Having gone to bed uncommonly early the night before, Orlando was awake at the crack of dawn. It was still early, even though there was enough morning light for him to make out the furniture of the room and the printed pattern on the bed sheets. Viggo was spooning him, holding him close with his left arm. Orlando could feel Viggo’s naked skin against his back, his body was a warm and solid presence.

Carefully, Orlando lifted Viggo’s left hand and turned his wrist until he could check his watch for the time. The hands of his old-fashioned swiss watch glowed green. It wasn’t even 5:30 yet, too early to actually get up – even for him. But he was awake now and used the opportunity to enjoy Viggo’s comforting presence in his back. With each breath he took, Viggo’s chest expanded, pressing more tightly against Orlando’s back. His exhales tickled Orlando’s neck in a wonderful fashion and Viggo’s arm around him made him feel safe. He intertwined his fingers with Viggo’s and kissed the back of his hand.

Viggo didn’t wake up. Orlando wasn’t sure whether it was a side effect of the pills Viggo was taking or whether Viggo had always been a heavy sleeper. Whichever was the case, Viggo slept a lot and usually it was quite difficult to rouse him.

Orlando let a finger trail up and down Viggo’s forearm, feeling the soft hair under his fingertip. He continued his caress for a few minutes before his hand encircled Viggo’s wrist. His thumb pressed lightly against Viggo’s pulse. Behind him, Viggo shifted a little, but the rhythm of his breaths didn’t change. He was still asleep.

Orlando started to play with the silver bracelet that Viggo never took off. He remembered having noticed it during their first date. Back then – and even many weeks after – he had assumed that it was either a family heirloom or some memento from his life with his previous partner. It had taken him many weeks and a night spent much like this one until he realised that neither was the case. He felt for the little tag attached to it. It was too dark to read what was embossed there, but he knew what it said. He let his fingertips feel the letters like he was reading Braille: Epilepsy.

It wasn’t a family heirloom and it wasn’t a fashion statement. It was a medical bracelet, meant to let a first responder in an emergency situation know about his condition. Orlando played with the piece of jewellery a little more. He held tight to the chain and to the tag, Viggo’s diagnosis safe between his fingertips, just like he had wanted to hold on to Viggo during yesterday’s seizure.

He sighed. Orlando knew he had to bring up the subject sooner rather than later. He couldn’t just let Viggo push him away again and again. Viggo seemed to make up the rules as he went along and he expected Orlando to know and follow them. Orlando understood why Viggo was doing it, he was trying to keep himself safe by keeping Orlando at arm’s length. Orlando understood, but he was done with it. It wasn’t what he expected from an equal partnership.

Viggo’s off-putting manner hurt Orlando. It was also dangerous. Orlando understood that Viggo treasured his independence above all else. He had built a life for himself that fit his needs. But there was still room for error and Orlando was sure that Viggo knew that a lot better than Orlando did. There were complications: He always ran the risk of injury during a seizure – due to a fall for instance. And then there was the danger of the seizure not terminating on its own. Any seizure longer than five minutes required immediate medical help. Help Viggo wouldn’t get if he was alone. The worst case scenario in Orlando’s mind was the possibility that Viggo suffered a prolonged seizure without any help nearby. Something like that could end with irreversible brain damage. It could end fatally. It could end with Viggo going into the seizure and never coming out again.

Viggo had to know that he might not come back if things went south. That Viggo, despite that knowledge, was willing to take these risks instead of letting Orlando take responsibility frightened and enraged Orlando in equal measure. And they had to talk about it.

But not right now. Right now Viggo was holding him close in sleep and his body was warm and alive in his back. Orlando could pretend that everything was alright and that whatever was happening between him and Viggo wasn’t endangered by the way Viggo chose to deal with his illness. Viggo’s exhales brushed against the nape of his neck like a feather light kiss. Viggo had allowed Orlando’s touch last night. He had allowed himself to be simply held and loved. Orlando wanted to find out whether Viggo felt better now. He wanted Viggo to not only draw comfort from his touch but enjoyment.

Carefully, he turned in Viggo’s lose embrace until he faced Viggo. The older man’s hair was tousled and his face was relaxed in sleep. His lips were slightly parted and Orlando longed to kiss him. Experimentally, he brushed his lips against Viggo’s. They felt soft against his mouth, soft and sweet. He let his tongue follow the curve of Viggo’s lips, enjoying the taste and the texture. And the intimacy. Viggo’s arm tightened around him, but he showed no sign of waking.

Orlando ended his shy first exploration. He let his head rest on the cushion, mere inches away from Viggo’s face. The room around them and even Viggo’s features gained clarity and sharpness in the growing morning light and Orlando enjoyed the view for a moment: Viggo’s angular face, his high cheekbones, the light dusting of facial hair. It would be scratchy against his cheek, Orlando knew.

Orlando reached between their bodies until he could feel Viggo’s cock through the fabric of his boxers. He let his hand rest there for a moment, applying some pressure, but soon found that it wasn’t nearly enough. He wanted to feel Viggo without that barrier between them.

He blindly felt for the waistband and snaked his hand inside. He let his hand rest flat against Viggo’s belly for a moment, then moved on to his hip bone. He drew a wide circle, came back to Viggo’s belly and then reached further down: coarse pubic hair and then, limp against Viggo’s leg, his cock. Orlando closed his hand around it, gently weighing it. The moment Orlando’s hand came in contact with Viggo’s cock, Viggo exhaled in his sleep. It was an almost inaudible moan. And maybe he imagined it, but to Orlando it felt like Viggo unconsciously pushed into his hand.

Still, Viggo didn’t wake up. Orlando had his hand around Viggo’s cock in a most promising manner and Viggo slept right through it. Suddenly Orlando wanted to know how long he could keep this up before Viggo would come awake. Preferably he would then join in the fun. Orlando started stroking the length of Viggo’s cock and kept the caress light at first, slow and light. He didn’t want Viggo to come awake and be blindsided by an orgasm crashing into him. He wanted Viggo to wake up and feel love and pleasure roll into him in gentle waves. Orlando wanted it slow and simmering. He wanted Viggo to enjoy his touch, nothing more. He wasn’t deterred when there was no reaction for quite some time. He was still learning Viggo’s body, was still finding out what kind of touch Viggo enjoyed where. And yes, Orlando was also still learning what Viggo’s body could and couldn’t do after a seizure. He was aware that it was always a possibility that Viggo was still too worn out for anything strenuous. Maybe he couldn’t get hard or maybe he couldn’t come. But Orlando wanted Viggo to understand that he didn’t need to perform. Whatever happened, happened – he still stood by that.

Viggo’s deep breaths turned raspy after a while. They were almost moans and Orlando supposed that what he was doing was at least enjoyable. He kept stroking Viggo’s cock slowly and deliberately, enjoying the feeling of holding Viggo in his hand. Eventually, he felt Viggo’s cock react to the stimulus and Viggo moved in his sleep, stretching out more and with that giving Orlando better access. It caused him to intensify his effort, upping the tempo a little and twisting his hand.

Viggo moaned in his sleep and his eyelids fluttered. For a moment, Orlando thought that he surely would wake up now, but then Viggo simply smiled, still caught in a most pleasant dream. Viggo’s cock felt large and hard in Orlando’s hand now and he enjoyed the feel of it against his palm. He let his thumb play with the slit while he looked closely at Viggo’s face. A muscle in his eyelid twitched and his breathing picked up.

Viggo turned into the movement and started to push his hips into Orlando’s hand, instinctively taking what his body needed. Orlando couldn’t contain himself any longer and he captured Viggo’s mouth with his own. He pushed his tongue deep into the cavern of Viggo’s mouth and that was the moment Viggo came awake with a start. He moaned into the kiss and his arm tightened around Orlando’s upper body. Orlando plundered his mouth, the feeling of having Viggo at his mercy was exhilarating.

Viggo couldn’t keep up the kiss and he let go, gasping for air. “Lando,” he begged and flexed his hips, pushing into Orlando’s fist with something akin to desperation. He wanted Orlando’s hands on his body. He wanted Orlando to make him come.

Orlando’s heart skipped a beat at hearing the endearment and he doubled his efforts.

“Close?” Orlando asked. It was probably a stupid question, but Viggo nodded anyway.

“Close,” Viggo rasped, his voice still hoarse from sleep, and he closed his eyes and held on tighter to Orlando. “Don’t stop.”

Orlando kept going – nothing and no one could have convinced him to stop at this point. He worked Viggo’s cock hard and fast now and when he felt Viggo tense up and hold his breath, he twisted his hand, squeezed one last time and in that moment Viggo came. Orlando felt Viggo shiver in his arms, heard him groan while he pumped his hips and spilled his essence all over Orlando’s hand. His face was flushed and slack when his climax washed over him. Orlando wasn’t sure whether he’d ever seen anything equally hot.

Even before Viggo’s orgasm had fully ebbed, he sought Orlando’s mouth again and his kiss was full of emotion and gratitude. Orlando still cupped Viggo’s cock, come making quite a mess of his boxers. Viggo didn’t seem to mind much. He made a sound in the back of his throat that could only be called a purr.

Their kiss seemed to go on forever and it felt warm and familiar. Eventually, Viggo’s hand found its way between their bodies, cupping Orlando’s hard-on.

“Want to come?” Viggo asked. His voice was low and throaty, very near to Orlando’s ear.

Viggo was so good at giving, Orlando thought. But at the same time he hardly ever afforded Orlando the chance to give in return. He wanted to do something selfless for Viggo, something that hopefully told him that Orlando wanted and needed him to let go, to not think, to not try and control every aspect of his life.

Orlando caught Viggo’s hand and brought it up again, kissing his knuckles tenderly. “This one was for you.”

“But …” Viggo started to argue, but Orlando closed his mouth with a kiss.

“No but. You’re still tired, go back to sleep.” Orlando embraced him and held him close, willing Viggo to accept what was given just this once.

Eventually, there was a minute little smile from Viggo. He looked sated, relaxed and tired. “Mhm,” he said, already drifting off. “I’ll get you for this,” Viggo mumbled.

“I’m counting on it,” Orlando answered and kissed Viggo’s forehead.

Chapter Text

It was Sunday, the last day of Orlando’s vacation. Tomorrow he’d go back to work and move back into his own place. It felt surreal how easily he’d found a rhythm with Viggo. It had taken only days for the ranch to feel like home. For the first time ever he had truly shared space with someone who wasn’t family and what could have turned awkward – morning breath and his hair sticking out at odd angles, Viggo’s lack of personal space which caused him to barge into the bathroom whenever it suited him, the fact that they were the only human beings for miles which meant that no one else could take the brunt of their tempers and moods – simply felt natural, like it had never been any different. He had found his place here – with Charlie, with the horses and of course with Viggo – and he half hoped Viggo would ask him to stay on, even though the realist in Orlando was sure that Viggo was secretly glad to have his privacy back.

Viggo hadn’t had a problem with letting Orlando in on the secret that he wrote historical novels, it had amused him endlessly. He hadn’t had a problem letting Orlando help with the care of the horses. And they certainly both enjoyed falling asleep in each other’s arms, snuggling up on the sofa for a movie or going for a ride together. But the epilepsy put a strain on things. Viggo had let Orlando be a part of all aspects of his life – all but this one. He perceived it as a weakness, Orlando realised, and he wouldn’t let himself be seen as weak.

When Orlando came back from his daily walk with Charlie, he entered the living room with a mug of freshly brewed coffee. Viggo was on the sofa, engrossed in Pepys’s Navy, a paperback edition that threatened to fall apart at the seams. Orlando had thumbed through it when he had seen it on Viggo’s nightstand – it was full of annotations, post-it notes and underlined text. Quite possibly it was one of the books Viggo read and re-read to get the details of Matthew’s daily life correct.

Viggo was in jeans and one of those faded t-shirts he wore around the house. The sleeves were frayed and there was a small hole where the seam of the collar was coming apart. Viggo had propped up his bare feet on the coffee table. He looked up when Orlando entered and his eyes lit up upon seeing him. It was in that moment that Orlando realised he’d want this for the rest of his life – he’d want simple domestic moments like this one. And he’d want them with Viggo. But it could only work out between them if Orlando could convince Viggo to not shut himself away.

Orlando sat down on the coffee table, across from Viggo. In the back of his mind, he could all but hear his mother chiding him for the misuse of furniture. But his mother wasn’t here. Viggo was here and Viggo didn’t care where Orlando sat, he wasn’t overly prissy with the décor of his house.

Charlie, who had followed Orlando into the living room, trotted on and up the stairs. She was probably on her way to the bedroom to take a little afternoon nap.

Orlando took a sip from his coffee and closed his hand around Viggo’s foot. He pressed his thumb into the sole, drew a few circles. He had no idea what he was doing; it wasn’t like he had ever given a foot massage before. He just went with whatever he imagined would feel good.

Orlando was just lavishing attention on Viggo’s toes when Viggo said: “Feels wonderful.”

They had this unspoken agreement that they’d always tell the other if something felt particularly good. It would be so easy to take his cue from Viggo, touch him some more and end this weekend on a high note.

Instead, Orlando stopped what he was doing. They were so good at telling each other what felt good. But what they really needed was to practice telling each other what they didn’t like.

Orlando looked at Viggo and sat up straighter. It wouldn’t do to slouch for this conversation. He didn’t look forward to this one bit, but it needed to be done. He needed to address the issue, bring it out into the open before more time passed during which Viggo could assume that everything was alright. Orlando didn’t want to invest even more of his heart into this only to find out later that this thing between them had no chance of working out.

“I think we should have that talk now,” Orlando said.

The change in gear caught Viggo off-guard. “What talk?”

“The one you attempted the other day, but you weren’t really in the state of mind to make a coherent argument. You are now, so I think we should have that talk now.”

Viggo’s brows furrowed. “Orlando, I dont’ know …”

Orlando didn’t let Viggo finish. “Fine, I’ll start then.” He looked Viggo in the eyes, stared him down. “Why did you send me away? Yesterday. Why didn’t you want me there?”

Viggo was taken aback by the question like he had truly not expected it. He needed a moment to think of an answer he could give Orlando, but Orlando was ready to wait him out. He could live with the obvious breaks Viggo’s brain took, with the minute he needed to process the question, understand what it pertained to and come up with an answer.

“I …” Viggo started, but then seemed to think better of it. “You don’t need to see this,” he said eventually. “You signed up for normal and that’s what I’m trying to give you.”

Orlando was shocked that this was what Viggo had taken away from their talk all those weeks ago. He was shocked and then he ached for Viggo, who had agreed to something dishonest and harmful out of desperation and loneliness. He’d misunderstood Orlando again, in the worst possible way.

“That’s not what I meant when I talked about normal!” Orlando said vehemently. “I never meant that I’d only love the good parts, the parts that are easy to deal with. You don’t have to show me your Sunday face, Viggo. I’m here for the good and the bad. I can’t believe you’d think me so shallow.”

It hurt to realise that Viggo had misjudged him so. Had he truly believed that Orlando would only love him if everything was sunshine and roses all the time? Orlando shook his head. “You draw me near with one hand and with the other you push me away. It doesn’t work like that.”

Apparently, Viggo wasn’t even listening. “You don’t have to be noble and understanding about this. I know this is frightening and scary and not at all what you should be dealing with. It’s okay to turn a blind eye. I have no other choice than to deal with it. But you don’t have to, I wouldn’t ever ask you to.”

“How can you say this?” Orlando asked, sounding wounded. Viggo was prepared to build their relationship on lies. And even though he sounded like he was doing it not to burden Orlando, Orlando suspected it was the other way around. Viggo was doing it for himself, he was trying to keep himself safe. “Don’t you ever listen to me? I’m going to tell you this for as long as you need to hear it: We’re in this together. You can’t expect me to just walk away from you when you need me.”

“I’d rather you do that than walk away from me for good, because you grow tired of all this.”

Orlando realised that he couldn’t convince Viggo that he had the whole situation under control, that the epilepsy didn’t faze him. It wasn’t true for Viggo, so Viggo would never believe that it was true for Orlando. “I won’t lie to you and tell you that I knew exactly what I said yes to. I didn’t. But I’m learning, because I want to be the one you can rely on.”

Viggo looked down at the book in his lap and played absentmindedly with one of the post-its sticking out. “I don’t know if I can do that. I’ve fought so hard to be where I am now. I fought so hard to not rely on anyone.”

“Oh, come on. That’s just foolish. We all rely on other people. A relationship means that we hold each other up. If I stumble, I know you’ll catch me. And if you falter, I’ll keep you going. This is what people do for one another when they love each other. Give and take. You’re really good at giving, Viggo. You’re amazing at making me feel safe and loved and welcome. But you suck at receiving. I never have the chance to give you the same things you offer so freely. And it wears me out.”

Viggo looked up at the word love, but he didn’t dare comment on it. “I want to give you …”

Orlando interrupted him. “Exactly! And I want to give you things as well: love, support, strength, a shoulder to lean on. Don’t take that away from me.”

“You can give me those things,” Viggo interjected.

“Yes, but you’ll only accept them on your conditions, not mine. And I can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but what you perceive as independence is nothing but you running away from your problems. You need to face the truth, Viggo. That I’m not my epilepsy speech you gave me is bullshit. You lost your job, lost your partner and lost all of your friends – at least you never seem to mention any. You came to this place, but the epilepsy followed. You built yourself a prison here. It’s beautiful, but it’s a prison nonetheless. The walls are high and we’re only ever kissing over the gate. This isn’t working. You won’t come out, but at the same time you won’t let me in. I need something more from you. I need you to make an attempt. Just one foot out of the door to let me know that you care. Stop pushing me away.”

Somehow, Orlando had to make Viggo understand that the epilepsy wasn’t the problem, but the way Viggo was dealing with it was. He wanted Viggo, but he wanted all of him and not just the crumbs Viggo was ready to throw at him. If that meant he’d sit with Viggo to time his seizures, so be it. If it meant he had to go to town to get Viggo’s prescription, so be it. If it meant that he didn’t go out Friday evening, because Viggo didn’t feel well, so fucking be it. Orlando was okay with it. But he needed Viggo to be okay with it, too. He needed Viggo to be himself, not some fantastical version of himself that never had a seizure, never was cranky in the mornings and never was too worn-out for sex.

“Can’t you understand that all I feel is shame and embarrassement?” Viggo said in a flat voice. “Those seizures, they make me feel so naked. What did I do? Or say? I remember bits and pieces, sometimes. But even then I’m not sure whether those memories are real. This isn’t me. This is just an ICD-code, just something my doctor wrote on a piece of paper. It isn’t me, I’m more than this.” He sounded almost desperate.

“Of course you are. My god, Viggo! Of course you are more than this! But you’re this as well. You wouldn’t be here without it. You’d be in New York and we would never have met. This is part of who you are. I’m okay with it, I promise. I said yes to you and I mean it. All of you.”

Orlando wasn’t lying. He did mean it. He was okay with Viggo being who he was. He wished so desperately for his own conviction to extend to Viggo. Orlando wanted him to accept who he was. Viggo needed it, he needed closure. But at the same time Orlando knew that this acceptance couldn’t come from him, from his love or his example. It had to come from within Viggo. Because he was ready.

“I’m not … I can’t …” Viggo seemed at a loss. Orlando waited him out, he had to come to his own conclusions, at his own time. “I ... I don’t want you to see me like this.” Viggo couldn’t even look at Orlando when he said this, the conversation made him beyond uncomfortable.

“I understand,” Orlando said. “I just wish that one day you’ll trust me enough not to feel this way.” It was what he wished for most: That Viggo would be able to let himself fall. That he’d accept that Orlando didn’t need him to be perfect.

“I trust you, Orlando.” The words came quickly and were meant to convince, but they lacked truth and they both knew it.

“No, you don’t. Not where it counts. I understand that you don’t want me to see you like this. But do you understand that it hurts me to be sent away? It hurts when you think keeping this to yourself would help. I’m not stupid, I did my research. I know this is serious. It’s a serious medical condition with very real risks. I worry. I worry so much about you – that something might go wrong when you’re all alone. I want to be there for you and it hurts like fuck that you’d rather take the risk than accept my help.” Orlando swallowed. He knew Viggo was hurt and he was ready to accept and acknowledge that. But he needed Viggo to understand that this wasn’t about him alone and that Orlando had feelings, too. What Viggo did and didn’t do affected Orlando and Viggo had to understand that his actions had consequences. Viggo wasn’t the only one who felt naked and vulnerable. “I won’t ever think less of you because your brain plays tricks on you. But it hurts me that you think me so weak that I can’t deal with it. If we want this to work we need to find our own version of normal and not some ideal you hope to achieve.”

It seemed Viggo had truly never looked at it from Orlando’s perspective. He looked at Orlando like he was seeing him for the very first time. He leant forward and took Orlando’s hands into his own. “What do you want me to do?”

Oh, where to start? He wanted Viggo to let him in, to trust him. He wanted them to be partners in this, true partners. But for that he needed to know what kept Viggo from taking the step. “I want you to tell me what you’re afraid of.”

Viggo looked down again, into his lap where his book lay forgotten. He sighed, but answered. “I’m afraid you’ll realise this is a mistake. I’m afraid you’ll walk away. I’m afraid I’ll scare you.” Viggo paused and looked up tentatively. “I’m afraid that you’ll reject me.”

Orlando had suspected that for weeks now, but it was a start that Viggo was ready to admit to it. “I'm not scared, but you are. I want you to share this part of yourself with me. I’m ready to face this, but you aren’t.” In truth, Orlando was scared out of his wits, but one of them had to be brave here and Viggo had made it more than clear that it wouldn't be him. “Don’t you think it’s ironic that you fear my rejection when at the same time you have no problem rejecting me?”

“I wouldn’t ever reject you,” Viggo objected.

“Well, let me tell you: It sure feels like rejection when you tell me to fuck off.”

Viggo looked at Orlando in shock. Then his lips became a thin line and he closed his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Orlando caught on quickly: “You don’t remember saying that.” It wasn’t a question.

Viggo looked like he wished for the earth to open up and swallow him whole and Orlando realised that this was exactly what Viggo had talked about: The fact that he didn’t remember what he might have done, how he might have embarrassed himself – or how he might have hurt Orlando. Orlando didn’t want accusations and he didn’t need apologies. But he needed them to be truthful with one another.

“No, I …” Viggo seemed to search his memory. “No,” he said finally. “Sorry.”

Orlando took a deep breath to calm himself down. He had swallowed the question the first time around, but this time he wanted to know. “What’s the last thing you remember? When you had that seizure yesterday? Tell me your last memory. I want to know, so I can help you better next time.”

Viggo looked at him. “Next time?” he asked, but for once he didn’t sound argumentative.

Orlando only nodded.

“I remember …” Viggo searched his memory, went back in time. “I remember that we were sitting on the sofa. Charlie … she was … She was there?” Viggo looked at Orlando for confirmation and Orlando nodded. “Right. She jumped onto the sofa. She’s not supposed to do that, but I can’t really tell her no when she’s just doing her job. We were sitting on the sofa and you took my hand. Felt good. You told me …” Viggo trailed off again. He couldn’t find the memory he was searching for. He frowned and looked at Orlando.

“I told you about Colin.”

“Colin,” Viggo said thoughtfully. He nodded. “Your mom, she didn’t like him. She didn’t like you being with him. I remember that, now.”

“Thanks for telling me, for trusting me with that.” Orlando wasn’t even sure whether Viggo realised that part of what he described had happened before the seizure while the rest had happened after. Orlando didn’t feel like asking, wasn’t convinced he was ready for the answer.

“How do I make this better?” Viggo asked. He seemed determined. “What do you need?”

“I need you to not run away from me. I need us to talk more.”

“We are talking,” Viggo interjected. “And it doesn’t feel particularly good.”

“That’s because we’ve put it off for too long. I’ve told you I’ve done my research, but I still only have a vague understanding of what this means for you. I need you to help me understand what it is you’re going through on a daily basis. So I can better help you deal with it. And I need you to make a decision and I want you to say it out loud and mean it: Do you want this? Do you want me here? Because if not, I’ll take my things and leave. I’ll go and lick my wounds. But I won’t force myself into your life if you feel I’m disrupting it too much.” Here, he had said it. He had put out in the open what scared him the most – that Viggo would send him away, that he’d value his lonely existence here higher than what he had with Orlando.

“Do you want that?” Viggo dared asking. “Do you want to leave?”

“No, dammit!” Orlando exploded. “I don’t want to leave. I want what we have, but I want to have a better version of it. And I think you want that, too. You came to me. You came back to the library to see me. I was hopelessly attracted to you and yet it was you who came back. You had the courage to take the first step and you had it despite of what you perceive as your limitations. Between the two of us, you’re the brave one. I would have never approached you. You were brave then and I just know you can do that again. Don’t retreat back into your safe little life here. Be brave. Trust me, please! Trust us.”

Orlando knew what he was asking. In the very end, he was asking Viggo to put his life into Orlando’s hands. That was a big responsibility and he was very aware that he better not fuck this up.

“I want nothing more than that,” Viggo said. “I want to be what you see in me. I just don’t know whether I can.”

“I know,” Orlando said. “I know it’s a lot to ask. I won’t force you to go to a Mets game with me. And not only because I’m not a baseball fan. I know there are things you’ll probably never do again. But it doesn’t mean that you can’t do anything. Don’t deny yourself all the time. You have me, you have Charlie. We’ll catch you, I promise. We start small and take it from there. Okay?”

Orlando could see tears shimmer in Viggo’s eyes. “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “This will work out if we stick together.”

Viggo didn’t cry, he had probably cried all the tears he had over this situation long ago. But his eyes were visibly liquid. Orlando embraced him, held him tight and rocked them back and forth. “We can do this, you will see.”

He felt Viggo nod and Orlando knew this was a beginning.

Chapter Text

Things didn’t change over night. After all, this wasn’t a Hollywood movie. Viggo was still a man with a very serious neurological disorder. He was still someone who had lived and dealt alone with that disorder for seven years. During that time he had found ways that would allow him to function, but the task Orlando had set him was enormous: Orlando asked nothing less of Viggo than to unlearn those ways. Orlando’s promise was that at the end of that road functioning would turn into actual living. But it took a tremendous leap of faith for Viggo to actually step on that road.

Orlando knew that. Orlando knew that he shouldn’t rush Viggo’s journey. If he asked for too much, for more than Viggo was ready to give, Viggo would retreat and lose his courage. And so they started small and Orlando asked for one thing: That Viggo would answer Orlando’s questions and that he’d answer them truthfully.

That they’d go to Rosa’s birthday party as well was not something Orlando proposed again. That was something Viggo offered all on his own.

“You said we don’t need to stay long,” Viggo said. It sounded like a question.

“No. We drive over to congratulate her and eat some cake. We can leave whenever you want. Rosa won’t mind if we don’t stay long. She’ll be thrilled to have you there. This means a lot to her.”

Viggo nodded. “We can leave anytime.”

“Anytime,” Orlando promised.

Viggo clenched his teeth like he was fighting some inner battle, but then he nodded again. “We’ll do this. Together.”

“We will, together.” Orlando beamed at him. “You’ll see, this will be good.”

Neither of them could have anticipated how wrong Orlando’s statement would turn out to be.

~*~

Rosa’s birthday celebration was scheduled for a Saturday. The plan was that Orlando headed over to the ranch on Friday evening after work. On Saturday morning he could take care of the horses before they had breakfast. They could even go for a hack before they had to leave for Rosa’s in the late afternoon.

On Friday, half an hour before the library closed, there was a text from Viggo: “Come over tomorrow morning instead of today.”

Orlando frowned. He typed: “Why? What’s wrong?”

Viggo’s answer was simple, it didn’t even need words. He simply sent Orlando the little emoji with steam coming out of its yellow head. It got the message across in a very graphic manner.

“Irene!” Orlando called. “I’m in the office, I need to call Viggo real quick.”

Irene looked over from where she was putting the last books of the day back onto their respective shelves. It seemed she had heard something in his voice. “Everything okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, of course,” Orlando assured her and tried to not let his unease show. He hoped he wasn’t lying.

As soon as the door to the office was closed, he called Viggo’s mobile. Viggo answered on the first ring. Apparently, he had expected the call.

“What happened?” Orlando asked before Viggo had the chance to say anything.

“Had a seizure, ’bout an hour ago,” Viggo said.

Orlando could hear through the line that Viggo was still dragging his words. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay, I guess.”

That didn’t convince Orlando at all. “You guess? Where are you? What are you doing?”

“Bedroom, going to lie down.” Viggo didn’t sound good, his voice was weary.

“Do you want me to come over? I can be there in half an hour.” That would include him convincing Irene to close up on her own. It would also mean that he dropped what he was doing and that he sprinted to his car and floored the gas pedal. He was more than prepared to do all of these things.

“No, don’t. Just feeling off today. I’ll go lie down. You come by for breakfast, ’m sure I feel better then.”

Orlando didn’t like that plan, but he had vowed to take small steps. Viggo had kept his end of the bargain. He was talking to Orlando, he was letting him know what was going on. It was up to Orlando to not overdo it. “If you think that’s a good idea?”

“Yeah, nothing for you to do here.”

“I don’t come over to do stuff. I come over to be with you.”

“Mhm,” was Viggo’s response.

Orlando didn’t know what to make of that reply. He’d come to associate those non-committal answers with the way Viggo talked after a seizure, when he wasn’t all the way there yet. Hearing that from Viggo now, especially when he couldn’t see him, made Orlando nervous. “Viggo? Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah.”

That, too, did nothing to calm Orlando down. “Can you say something else?”

“What?”

“Something else than yeah.”

“Yeah.” Viggo checked himself. “I mean, sure.”

“You’re worrying me.”

“Just tired, sorry.”

Orlando took a deep breath. “Okay, you lie down and get some rest. Leave the phone by the bed. If you need anything, anything at all, you call. No matter the time. I’ll come over if you say the word. Understood?”

“Thanks, Lando. See you tomorrow.”

“Sleep tight,” Orlando said before he ended the call.

That night, Orlando slept badly. He woke several times during the night and each time he checked his mobile for a missed call. There was none, though. He desperately wanted to call Viggo again and hear his voice to make sure he was fine. But he also knew that Viggo was most likely asleep and he didn’t want to wake him up.

Orlando spent the night worrying and coming up with all kinds of scenarios and in the end accepted that that, too, was probably part of the deal. If it had been his decision, he’d gone over to check on Viggo and make sure he was okay. But it wasn’t his decision. Just like Viggo had to stop pushing through on his own all the time, Orlando had to accept that he couldn’t coddle Viggo. They needed to find some middle ground that left Viggo his freedom while also giving Orlando peace of mind. He just wasn’t sure yet how that might be achieved.

At first glance it didn’t feel like they were making progress. Viggo was still alone and Orlando was still worrying. But Viggo had let Orlando know about the seizure. For once, Orlando wasn’t kept in the dark or left to find out for himself. Viggo was making an effort, he was holding out a tentative hand to Orlando. It was something they could build on, but Orlando mustn’t destroy it by being overbearing.

Orlando got up at half past five, after tossing and turning for at least an hour, accepting that he wouldn’t fall asleep again. He showered, got dressed, made himself a thermos of coffee and was on his way to the ranch by six.

Orlando entered the house silently, but his tiptoeing through the front door didn’t fool Charlie. She came barrelling down the stairs and started wagging her tail excitedly when she realised that she didn’t need to defend Viggo’s life against some gun-wielding burglar.

Orlando leant down and greeted the dog with some scratches behind her ears. “Is Viggo alright?” he whispered. “Did you two have quiet night?”

At the sound of her human’s name, her ears pricked up and she seemed to smile at Orlando. Charlie wasn’t in the take-charge mode she exhibited when she felt Viggo was in need of help. Instead, she greeted Orlando in a relaxed and friendly manner. Orlando took that as a good sign. “Okay, girl. Let’s check on him.”

She seemed to understand his intent right away and trotted up the stairs again. Orlando followed and tried to be silent.

As always, the bedroom door was ajar. Charlie went into the room and put her head onto the mattress, licking Viggo’s chin affectionately. Viggo grumbled in his sleep and tried to pat the dog away. He turned to the other side, away from the door and the dog, and slept on. Charlie looked at Orlando expectantly. Orlando gave her a pat.

Orlando went over to his side of the bed and leant down to get a closer look at Viggo. He put a hand into Viggo’s neck and let it rest there. He breathed a kiss onto Viggo’s forehead and Viggo stirred, opening his eyes.

“Sorry, didn’t want to wake you,” Orlando whispered, but in truth it was a lie. He wanted to make sure that Viggo was fine. “It’s still early.”

“Lando.” Viggo smiled at him.

“Sleep a bit more. I’ll take care of the horses and then make some breakfast for us.”

“What time’s it?” Viggo asked.

Orlando threw a glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand. “Not even seven. Plenty of time. Are you feeling better?”

“Dunno,” Viggo admitted. He seemed to be mostly asleep still and Orlando was convinced he wouldn’t get anything useful out of him at this hour.

“Okay.” He stole another kiss. “You take your time. I’ll have the buttered toast ready when you come down.”

“Mhm.” Viggo’s eyes were closed again and Orlando had to smile. He had fallen back asleep in mere moments.

~*~

It was a thirty minute drive to Rosa’s place. They were about fifteen minutes away from their destination when Charlie made her presence known from the backseat of the car. She pushed her nose between the two front seats and gave a low whine in Viggo’s general direction, nudging his elbow in a demanding manner.

Orlando sighed inwardly, but kept driving. Viggo had been feeling under the weather since getting up this morning. First, Orlando had thought he was still feeling the after effects of yesterday’s seizure. Later, Orlando suspected that Viggo was suffering from last minute nerves and was searching for a way out of their visit. But as the day progressed he had to rectify his opinion. Viggo looked decidedly green around the gills, but he brushed off Orlando’s worried questions in that infuriating manner of his where he expected Orlando to simply go along with whatever he decided without explaining any of his reasoning. Viggo insisted first that he was fine and second that they keep their date with Rosa. Orlando could do little else but agree to and accept what Viggo offered. He had provoked two fights because of this; he had repeatedly pushed Viggo to leave his rather narrow comfort zone. Orlando couldn’t very well put an end to things now, when Viggo was finally doing what Orlando had wanted him to attempt all along.

Viggo dug a treat out of his jeans pocket and gave it to Charlie, who swallowed it happily and then retreated to the backseat again. Viggo looked out of the window, but kept quiet.

Orlando was unsure how to proceed. “Do you want me to pull over?” His hands started sweating.

Viggo shook his head. “Drive a bit further,” he said quietly. He sounded resigned. “There’s a little parking site for hikers up ahead. I’ll tell you when.” Orlando nodded and kept driving. He took his right hand off the wheel and let it rest against Viggo’s neck for a bit.

“Will be okay,” Viggo said, as much to convince himself as to put Orlando at ease. “Don’t worry.”

Viggo was right, Orlando told himself. Maybe he was just saying this for Orlando’s benefit, but he had a point. It wasn’t unusual for him to have seizures on consecutive days. They should have expected this. And maybe Viggo had, at least.

As instructed, Orlando drove on, waiting for Viggo’s sign that he should stop. About ten minutes later he noticed out of the corner of his eye that Viggo was absentmindedly rubbing his thigh with his right hand. Orlando knew that gesture, he’d seen it multiple times already. It was either a nervous gesture or actually part of the seizure – Orlando wasn’t sure which, but the fact remained that Orlando had seen Viggo do that every single time so far. If he had hoped that Charlie was wrong and that nothing at all would happen, he now had to face the truth. There was no way they could escape the inevitable. This would run its course, no matter what he did.

He saw the small parking site up ahead and pulled over, killing the engine.

His right hand went back to Viggo’s neck, massaging lightly. “You wanted to tell me when to stop the car, remember?” He kept his tone light and unaccusing. He didn’t want to argue with Viggo, he just wanted to keep some talk going between them for as long as possible.

Viggo blinked owlishly, as if he was only now realising that they had stopped. He looked out of the window and tried to make sense of his surroundings. “Thought we might still make it home,” he said and Orlando frowned. A knot of fear settled in his stomach. At this point, Viggo shouldn’t be confused about his surroundings, that only came afterwards. In Orlando’s very limited experience Viggo had always been able to talk with him – at least up until a certain point – and his words had made sense. That Viggo was disoriented enough to not recognise the stretch of road they were on bothered Orlando.

“We’re not going home, babe,” Orlando said and he blushed furiously when he noticed his slip of tongue. He had not meant to say that out loud, not now at least. It told Orlando everything he needed to know about Viggo’s state of mind that Viggo didn’t comment on his choice of endearment. Instead, his head started to loll against the headrest. He put his right hand against the side of the car in an effort to keep himself upright.

“Not going home,” Viggo slurred and he looked at Orlando out of uncomprehending eyes.

“We’re on our way to Rosa’s,” Orlando provided, desperate to keep Viggo with him for as long as possible. His thumb stroked Viggo’s neck.

“Mhm,” was Viggo’s only response. He was blinking his eyes as if trying to focus his gaze. Orlando put his hand against the side of Viggo’s face, supporting his head before it could fully tilt to the side.

“She invited us to her birthday.” Orlando kept talking, both to keep Viggo occupied and to calm his own madly beating heart. “You really wanted to go.”

“Yeah,” came Viggo’s reply and Orlando closed his eyes. It was one of those automatic answers Viggo gave when he couldn’t follow the conversation. Quite obviously he was still hearing Orlando, but couldn’t understand what he was saying. This progressed more quickly and aggressively than Orlando was used to and it unsettled him.

Viggo turned his head in Orlando’s direction. Somewhere in his brain Orlando’s presence still registered, but Viggo already had that vacant look Orlando had come to dread. His right hand started to move. Viggo made a fist and then straightened out his fingers again. His hand started to shake slightly before he closed it into a fist again. He looked down and stared like his hand wasn’t part of his body. Viggo’s eyes lost their focus and his gaze started to drift. But his hand was still restless, still moving.

Orlando glanced at the dashboard to check the time. It was 4:53pm. He stored the information away.

Orlando wasn’t sure how long Viggo would be able to sit up. “Can you lower your seat?” Orlando asked, it was worth a try. Viggo was still fidgeting with his right hand even as he lifted his arm. Orlando tried to help him along. “The button is on your side, a little further back,” Orlando instructed, but soon had to realise that it wouldn’t work this way. At this point, Viggo couldn’t make his hand do anything. It had a life of its own. Arm still lifted into the air, Viggo started chewing. His jaw worked, Orlando could clearly see the movement. Viggo smacked his lips and chewed again. The sequence repeated over and over while Viggo stared at the dashboard as if it held the secret to the universe.

Orlando knew there wasn’t much time left to make Viggo more comfortable. He leaned over Viggo in an attempt to lower the backrest, but in the end he had to basically crawl into Viggo’s lap to reach. By the time he was back in his own seat and Viggo’s seat was lowered considerably, the automatisms were slowing. Orlando was sure that the actual tremor would start soon.

Viggo’s eyes tracked to the right and stayed fixed there. Then his head turned as well, to the right and slightly upwards at an odd angle that looked highly uncomfortable. Then his body was motionless again, his eyes wide and his features empty. There was a moment of suspension, when nothing at all happened and Orlando swallowed hard. He was at the top of the rollercoaster ride, coming over the edge and seeing the plunge before feeling it in his stomach. He knew it would come, it couldn’t be avoided at this point.

He expected the twitch to start in the right side of Viggo’s face, the way he had seen it before, expected it to travel from Viggo’s cheek down his mouth and then through the whole right side of his body. But it didn’t happen that way. Instead, Viggo’s mouth opened wide and there was a sound. A guttural sound, all raw and painful, and it came from somewhere inside Viggo. It was deep and heart-wrenching and utterly frightening.

And that was the moment when everything went sideways.

Panic engulfed Orlando when he watched Viggo’s muscles lock, his whole body turning stiff. Every single muscle in Viggo’s body – from top to bottom – was suddenly as tight as a bowstring. He stayed like that for long seconds: hard as a board, eyes and mouth open, fingers curled, arms held out and his back arched. At first, Orlando didn’t comprehend what he was seeing, but then it hit him: This was a tonic-clonic seizure. An actual fucking grand mal and he’d never seen Viggo have one, because Viggo didn’t have those anymore. The moment the realisation hit was the moment the convulsions started. Viggo’s hands turned in at the wrists, his arms were held out in front of him, and he shook. Something seemed to push his upper body in one direction while his legs were pushed in the other. While the focal seizures had affected the right side of Viggo’s body now every muscle group seemed to be affected equally. The muscles in his face contracted, his shoulders, his hands, his hips, his legs. The spasms started in an almost frantic rhythm, and the bursts that went through his body were short and violent. But as time went on the rhythm slowed a little. The convulsions became more severe, though. Viggo’s lungs forced out air in audible bursts. His eyes were blinking rhythmically. It looked like Viggo was in pain. It sounded like it, too, when his chest was compressed again and again and his body was forced to exhale repeatedly. Orlando was sure that a human body wasn’t meant to endure something like this. This was just wrong.

Orlando watched, horrified, and then told himself to get a grip. He hadn’t seen Viggo have a tonic-clonic before, but Viggo’s body had gone through this before. His body knew how to survive this. In the end, it only meant that the seizure activity had spread into both hemispheres of the brain. It was always a possibility that a focal seizure turned into a generalised seizure, Orlando knew that. Either Viggo had been lucky or his medication had suppressed the spread of the seizure. At least up until now. It was just a seizure, nothing Viggo hadn’t dealt with before. It would terminate at some point and Viggo would be fine again. Orlando had to believe in that.

Orlando found that the knowledge didn’t help much. Knowing that this was simply another form of seizure didn’t make it any easier to watch. Orlando put what he hoped was a calming hand on Viggo’s shoulder, couldn’t think of anything else to do until Viggo slid to the right against the window, spasms still wrecking his body.

“You’ll hurt yourself.” Orlando sprang into action, already imagining Viggo hitting his head on the window until his forehead was bloody. He tried to manhandle Viggo into a safer position and some inhuman strength helped him until he had Viggo half in his own arms, half in the passenger seat. At least in this fashion he could shield Viggo with his own body and keep him from injuring himself. The convulsions came in slower succession now and Orlando hoped that the seizure would stop soon.

“Come back, Viggo” he pleaded. “Come back to me.”

Eventually, the spasms died down and Viggo stilled in Orlando’s arms. He gave a long wheeze and then his body started to desperately draw in air like he’d been underwater for too long.

Orlando looked at the dashboard again. 4:56pm – that had been a long one, but still within the five-minute range. All would be well.

“Okay.” The word was meant to calm both of them down, but his voice shook. “You’re doing just fine.” Orlando combed his fingers through Viggo’s hair and tried to support the dead weight of his body as best he could. He kissed Viggo’s temple. “You’re going to be alright, just breathe.”

Viggo’s breathing calmed a bit, but he was still motionless in Orlando’s arms. Viggo closed his eyes, then dragged them half-open again. His eyelids came down again and he forced his eyes open once more. His eyes rolled back until only white showed, testament to the fact that he was still mostly unconscious. He was only slowly fighting his way back. But in contrast to the tonic-clonic seizure seeing Viggo struggle to the surface was something Orlando could almost deal with. He’d seen it before, though maybe not this severe.

Orlando would sit with Viggo like he’d done in the past and he’d help him find his way back. Then he’d drive them home, put Viggo to bed and hold him tight. After that ordeal, they both needed it.

It was 4:59pm when there was some minute movement from Viggo. He turned slightly in Orlando’s arms. “Viggo, can you hear me?” Orlando attempted.

Viggo didn’t have the strength to answer. All he managed was a grunt and even that was weak, but to Orlando it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard and he breathed a sigh of relief. It was a start and all would be well.

Viggo turned his head back in Orlando’s direction, attempted to look at him, and then his stare turned blank again. His breathing became shallow and the little movement that had been in his body stopped.

He was still again, his body motionless and his eyes wide and unblinking. When Orlando had thought only a moment ago that Viggo was making progress, he now got the distinct impression that Viggo was stuck, that he couldn’t get back. The seizure had just given him a short respite and now it was pulling him back under.

Viggo’s face was slack, his mouth open. Drool started to trickle down the corner of his mouth, but Viggo neither noticed not cared.

It was now 5:01pm.

“Viggo?” Orlando tried. He wanted to shake Viggo back into reality, but he knew it would be futile. He settled for the next best thing, he slightly shook his shoulder. When that garnered no reaction apart from Viggo’s head lolling he let his hand run up and down Viggo’s arm. The muscle underneath still felt tense and unyielding.

“Come on, babe. Say something.” He realised that that was probably too much to ask for at this point. “Blink for me. If you can hear me, blink. Okay?” He rubbed Viggo’s arm, willing him back into wakefulness.

There was no reaction, Viggo’s pupils were wide. Saliva was still dripping down his chin and Orlando turned his head further to keep him from choking. A minute later, Viggo’s leg twitched, a sudden jerk that took Orlando unawares. Viggo’s hip followed and soon his whole body was moving again. He curled in slightly, but it still looked like some invisible fist gave his body a shove every second.

The digits on the clock changed to 5:03pm. Ten minutes exactly. This was already going on for way too long. Orlando blinked tears away and swallowed his fear. It settled like something heavy and unsavoury in his stomach.

It was time to accept that Viggo wouldn’t come out of this seizure on his own. This was the worst case scenario, the moment he had feared ever since opening up Google and putting the word epilepsy into the search bar.

Orlando reached for his mobile and called 9-1-1.

The dispatch on the other end sounded detached and professional, which calmed Orlando down enough that he was able to mostly think straight for the duration of the call and answer all questions short and to the point. He was told that an ambulance was on the way and would reach them in ten minutes. He was given instructions to not restrain Viggo, to turn him onto his side to aid his breathing and to keep him calm should he regain consciousness.

Waiting for the ambulance meant ten more minutes for Viggo of having to go through this. Ten more minutes in which his brain was being turned upside down. A twenty-minute seizure, all things considered, until help could reach them.

Orlando’s hands started to shake and he gripped Viggo more tightly, trying to will him back through the sheer power of his touch. He noticed distractedly that Charlie was huddled in a corner of the backseat, clearly picking up on the distress in the car.

“He’s going to be alright,” Orlando said to himself and to Charlie. “You’ll see, girl. He’ll pull through. He’ll not leave us alone.”

Charlie didn’t answer, of course. And Viggo just continued to shake in Orlando’s arms.

Chapter Text

Thankfully, a lot of what happened after his phone call turned into a blur for Orlando. Weeks later, when Viggo finally worked up the courage to ask him for his side of the story, Orlando would be able to recall some things in greatest detail. And some things he had forgotten altogether.

Time seemed to pass both too quickly and too slowly while Orlando waited. He felt like his time with Viggo was running ruthlessly through his hands, like Viggo was slipping away from him with every minute that passed. And he felt like they sat waiting in the car for an eternity and each laboured breath Viggo took cut deep into Orlando’s heart.

In the end, the ambulance arrived earlier than anticipated – eight minutes had passed since his phone call. The two EMTs had Viggo out of the car and on a stretcher in the ambulance within moments. Orlando didn’t quite remember how they extricated Viggo from his grasp and he also didn’t remember how he got out of the car to follow them to the ambulance. But he remembered how he bereft he had suddenly felt without Viggo’s solid presence in his arms.

The EMTs worked quickly and efficiently. One was firing questions at him and Orlando hated that he could only answer so few of them.

“Does he have a history of seizures?”

“What type of epilepsy does he have?”

“When did the seizure start?”

“Does he have rescue meds? Did you give him any?”

“What medication does he take?”

“Did he forget to take his meds?”

Orlando knew so little and it made him feel useless and like he was failing Viggo.

At the same time the second EMT was rapidly checking Viggo’s vitals. The longer he worked, the more monitors came alive in the back of the ambulance with numbers and alarms and graphs in different colours. He put a mask over Viggo’s mouth and nose to help him breathe, clipped something onto his finger, took his blood pressure. He rattled off his findings to his colleague, but neither gave any indication whether the numbers on the charts were a good or a bad sign. And whatever he did, he made it a point to address Viggo by name and tell him what he was about to do.

“Okay, Viggo, we’re going to start an IV. I’m sure you know the drill, mate.” He put his finger into the crook of Viggo’s left arm. “Right here, just a tiny prick.”

Orlando saw him slip the needle into Viggo’s forearm with practised ease. “Already done,” the EMT continued in a conversational tone. “That wasn’t so bad, right?”

“Okay, starting on lorazepam at 5:21pm,” the EMT said for the benefit of his colleague. Then he addressed Viggo again. “This should calm you down a bit. You’ll feel better in no time.” He petted Viggo’s arm.

Orlando could have hugged him for this little act of kindness. Even if Viggo couldn’t hear what was being spoken, it was a show of respect and Orlando was thankful for it.

Orlando would never forget the image of Viggo lying on the stretcher in the ambulance. He would forever remember that they had put him on his side. An oxygen mask covered most of his face, a needle was in his arm and his eyes were half open. The convulsions had died down somewhat; every two or three second something invisible would give Viggo’s body a violent shove. They had died down, but they hadn’t stopped. And it didn’t look like Viggo’s body would be able to take this abuse for much longer.

And then the doors of the ambulance closed and it drove off, sirens blazing.

Viggo didn’t like ambulances. That was what Orlando remembered most of all.

~*~

Adrenaline had kept Orlando going during Viggo’s seizure, but when he arrived at the hospital in Coeur d’Alene, his body simply crashed. A bored looking woman behind the front desk told him to wait since Viggo was still being treated. No, she didn’t have any further information at this point. Someone would be with him as soon as possible.

And so he sat down and the day’s events assaulted him all at once. The image of Viggo in the ambulance came unbidden and then it was replaced by the memory of Viggo in the car, mere minutes before the seizure.

“Don’t worry,” he had said to Orlando.

What if those were going to be his last words? What if that had been his goodbye?

He mustn’t think this way, he chided himself. He had just found Viggo, he couldn’t lose him. Not like this, not now. What he had with Viggo was just the beginning, they were nowhere near the end of the story. Orlando thought back to his research deep-dive and the doubts it had brought. He had felt so afraid back then, afraid that he wouldn’t have a chance with Viggo because of his epilepsy. But now that he was here and all of his fears were realised, he simply felt numb. Numb and dead and somehow mute.

He had played his part, what happened to Viggo now was out of his hands. The only thing left to do was worry. Orlando wondered what might be going on right now and then Viggo’s face came unbidden. He thought of Viggo inhaling the aroma of Orlando’s coffee, his eyes closed in bliss and his whole face full of longing. He thought of Viggo brushing down Cody, clad in jeans, flannel shirt and hat – every inch the cowboy. And then he thought of Viggo kissing him, his lips soft while his fingers brushed Orlando’s nipples and made him moan. Orlando would have that again, he vowed. It was worth it. Sitting here and worrying was worth it, because this wasn’t the end. Viggo had not been alone during the seizure. Orlando had been there and he’d called help. Viggo was in the best of hands. Everything would work out, it simply had to. The alternative was just unthinkable.

When his thoughts started to go in circles – worry, hope, worry – Orlando went outside to call Rosa. He had to let her know that they wouldn’t be able to attend her birthday party after all. Most probably she was already worried sick.

And then, suddenly, Rosa was there with him. He was sitting in the waiting area and stared off into space when he was engulfed in an embrace.

“Oh, cariño!” Rosa said and then she said no more for a while.

For long minutes Orlando simply let himself be held, hoping that their shared worry for Viggo would somehow lighten the burden. It didn’t, but at least he wasn’t alone anymore with his fears. He wasn’t the only one who cared whether Viggo lived or died.

“He’ll be just fine,” Rosa said eventually in her no-nonsense tone.

Orlando wanted the reassurance. He wanted the hope and the certainty that things would work out. But at the same time he couldn’t help but voice his worries. “You didn’t see him Rosa. The seizure, it was so bad. I’ve never seen anything so terrifying in my life.” He wasn’t even exaggerating. He truly couldn’t remember ever being this scared.

She rubbed his arms to soothe him. “He’ll pull through, you’ll see. He’s a stubborn man,” she said with something akin to admiration and Orlando couldn’t suppress a snort. “Hasn’t let the epilepsia beat him. Won’t start now. He’s got you now.”

Orlando just shook his head.

“He’ll fight for you. Wait and see, cariño. He’ll come back to you.”

Rosa looked at Orlando like she was foretelling his future. He wanted to believe her so badly. “I hope you’re right, Rosa.”

“I’m always right,” she said, head held high. “You make all the difference. He’ll not let you go. You know how he gets when he sets his mind on something,” Rosa said gruffly.

Orlando had to smile despite himself. Then it hit him. “I’m sorry. We ruined your birthday.”

She looked at him like she wanted to hit him over the head. “Stupid child! Viggo is family. You are, too. Family is most important thing.”

Orlando hugged her again, because he didn’t want her to see his tears.

Rosa took Charlie back to the ranch, freeing up Orlando to stay at the hospital until there were news of Viggo. However, she made him promise to keep her posted and to let her know should he need anything.

~*~

When the call for Viggo Mortensen came, Orlando didn’t react at first, because his brain needed a moment to catch up with the fact that he was meant to react now. It was finally time to get news of Viggo. He scrambled to his feet and followed what he supposed was a doctor down a hallway and into an empty examination room. He stood awkwardly amongst all the monitors and trays with medical equipment.

The doctor turned to look at him. He was short and balding, probably somewhere in his early fifties, with pale skin and eyes that appeared unnaturally large behind his glasses. He didn’t give off doctor-vibes. To Orlando he looked like someone who worked a boring office job, not like someone who saved lives on a regular basis. He was holding a clipboard and Orlando wondered distractedly when he had last seen something like that.

“I’m Doctor Blake,” the man introduced himself. “I was the neurologist on call when Mr. Mortensen was brought in.”

“Orlando Bloom,” Orlando said by way of greeting.

The doctor gave him a speculative look. “Are you Lando by any chance?”

“Yes,” Orlando said and his heart started hammering, because there was only one way how Dr. Blake could know that term of endearment.

“Good,” Dr. Blake scribbled a note on his clipboard. “If it’s alright, I’d like to put your number into the file as an emergency contact. Mr. Mortensen has been asking for you, but we weren’t quite sure whether Lando was an actual name. To be truthful, he wasn’t making much sense at the time.”

The only thing Orlando took away from the doctor’s words was: Dr. Blake had talked to Viggo. That meant Viggo was awake. “How is he?” he questioned. He inhaled deeply and tried to steal himself for the answer.

The doctor consulted his clipboard, probably to gain some time. “You were the one to call 9-1-1?”

Orlando gave a nod.

“According to the first responders you are aware that he has epilepsy?”

Orlando nodded again. “Yes.”

The doctor scribbled something onto his clipboard and then continued: “Then I suppose you are also aware that we treat a seizure longer than five minutes as status epilepticus. The longer a seizure persists, the higher the risk of other complications – cardiovascular, for instance. Unfortunately, the first line of treatment the EMTs started in the ambulance didn’t terminate the seizure. Which is to say that Mr. Mortensen was still in status when he arrived here. We had to start a second line of treatment with another drug to stop the seizure activity. We just got his lab report back and can now see what his ASM-levels are. That way we can determine how to best proceed with the treatment.”

“ASM-levels?” Orlando asked. He needed to stay on top of this, needed to understand what was happening.

“The levels of anti-seizure medication in his blood. We need to see where we’re at – what he’s been taking and in what dosage.”

Orlando nodded. “Okay. How long did the seizure last?”

Dr. Blake checked his notes again. “If the time of seizure onset I’ve got here is correct then we managed to terminate the seizure 44 minutes later.”

“Oh, god,” Orlando breathed. From what he had seen so far, Viggo’s seizures were usually one to two minutes long. Even that short amount of time left Viggo heavily affected. Orlando couldn’t imagine what effect a 44-minute-seizure would have. “Is he going to be okay?”

The doctor weighed his words carefully. “At the moment his stats are looking good. Blood pressure and heart rate were too high when he got here, but both started to return to normal once we managed to stop the seizure. We’ve hooked him up to an EEG just to make sure we’re not missing any ictal activity.”

Orlando interrupted him. “What does that mean?”

“It means we’re recording his brain waves to see whether there’s any seizure activity. We’re also going to give him a CT scan tomorrow just to be on the safe side. But in my estimation he should make a full recovery if we don’t meet with any unforeseen complications due to the infection.”

“What infection?”

“The one that most likely caused the prolonged seizure. He was running a fever when he got here. His lab work shows signs of inflammation. In addition to the ASM we’re also starting him on antibiotics to get ahead of this. Either the infection itself caused the seizure or the fact that infections tend to lower absorption rates for many drugs. Meaning that the medication he has been taking probably didn’t take full effect.”

“What happens next?”

“We’re moving him to the neurology ward. I expect he’ll have to stay with us for a few days at least, maybe a week. A seizure like this takes its toll, which is why we’d like to monitor him closely until we can be sure he’s on the mend. Personally, I wouldn’t want to let him go home before the inflammation levels go down.”

Orlando nodded again, relieved. The doctor was already talking about releasing Viggo. He would recover. He would hate every minute of it, but he would come out at the other end. “Can I see him?”

“Of course. He’s in the process of being transferred. But once he’s settled down I’m sure he’ll be thankful for a familiar face. Just don’t be too shocked about all the equipment. We want to make sure we’re not missing anything, status is a very serious complication.”

“I know,” Orlando said.

“And don’t worry if he’s not much of a conversationalist right now. Pretty much everything we’ve given him causes sedation. He was awake when I left him, but it’s very likely that that’s not going to last. If he falls asleep, let him sleep. He needs the rest.”

“Of course,” Orlando said. “Thank you, Dr. Blake.”

Chapter Text

Orlando opened the door to Viggo’s room silently. It wasn’t big, but it was a single room. In his limited experience single rooms were only awarded to terminally ill patients and for a moment a pang of fear gripped him. But then he checked himself. Viggo wasn’t terminally ill and Orlando decided to simply be grateful for the privacy.

Viggo was lying in bed, half on his side with his back to Orlando and the door. He didn’t move and Orlando assumed he was asleep. The hand rails of the bed had been put up, which was probably a safety measure in case Viggo had another seizure. Just like Dr. Blake had said, there was a lot of equipment. Several monitors surrounded the bed and an assortment of wires ran from Viggo’s body to the machines. Nothing was giving off annoying beeping noises, though. Whatever was being monitored, the machines were doing it silently.

Orlando swallowed and his hands turned into fists. He hated seeing Viggo like this, hated that he had to go through this. They would get past this, though. It was bad now, but it would get better again.

He closed the door behind himself and stepped into the room, trying to be as silent as possible. Certain that Viggo was asleep Orlando didn’t bother walking around the bed. He was so desperate to touch Viggo that he simply grabbed Viggo’s left hand, the one that was resting on his hip, like a lifeline and then moulded his upper body against Viggo’s back as much as he was able with the hand rail in the way.

Viggo returned the grip right away. He was awake. Orlando hadn’t expected that.

“’anna go ’ome,” he mumbled and Orlando was hardly able to understand him. His speech was clearly affected either by the seizure or by the meds he was being given. And to make matters worse the oxygen mask muffled his words. “Ta’ me home.”

Orlando’s heart broke at hearing the needy tone, so very unlike Viggo. His eyes were open, but dull. He seemed to be staring out of the window, but since it was dark outside there was nothing to see.

“I’m sorry, babe, I can’t.” He kissed the spot just below Viggo’s left ear. “You’re not well enough to go home.”

Viggo didn’t say anything to that. He didn’t argue, didn’t fight Orlando over this. Orlando felt all remaining tension leave Viggo’s body like he’d held out hope, but it had just been squashed.

“Don’t give up,” Orlando pleaded. “I need you to keep fighting.”

Viggo didn’t answer, but he gripped Orlando’s hand with determination. It was all the reassurance Orlando needed.

“Okay, let me get a chair,” Orlando explained so that Viggo would know why he was letting go of his hand. There was a small table with two chairs set against the window and Orlando got one of the chairs and pushed it against the bed. He sat down again so that Viggo would be able to see him without having to move and he took Viggo’s right hand in his.

What Orlando actually wanted to say was: “You scared me. Don’t ever do that to me again.” It was on the tip of his tongue, but it wasn’t something he could say to Viggo. Ever. None of this was Viggo’s fault and Orlando couldn’t hold Viggo responsible for his own fears. Orlando couldn’t let Viggo down now. He had promised. He had promised that he would catch him if Viggo ever stumbled.

Orlando swallowed his panic and settled for: “How are you feeling?”

Viggo unsuccessfully tried to get rid of the oxygen mask. He tore at it weakly with his left hand, but couldn’t dislodge it. He made a distressed sound and gave up after a few futile attempts.

“Don’t,” Orlando chastised. “It’s helping you breathe.”

Viggo was motionless again and Orlando repeated his question. “How are you feeling, Viggo?” He waited for his words to trickle into Viggo’s mind and make sense. He was getting used to that, he realised.

“Foggy,” Viggo said eventually. The word was muffled by the mask and Orlando was mostly reading his lips.

He tried to smile encouragingly at Viggo. “I can imagine. They drugged you up pretty good.”

“Mhm.”

Orlando caressed Viggo’s hand.

“Aw’ul,” Viggo mouthed. His eyes were clouded.

“I know,” Orlando said in a soothing tone. “You’ll feel better soon. I talked to the doctor and he says you’ll make a full recovery. Just give it a bit of time.”

Viggo was looking at Orlando, but it seemed most of what Orlando had said passed him by. “Don’t worry,” Orlando tried again. “It’s all going to be okay.”

Viggo’s eyelids became heavy. “Are you tired?”

Viggo grunted.

“Sleep a bit. I’ll be here when you wake up. I promise.”

Orlando kissed Viggo’s forehead; a difficult feat, because the sensors of the EEG were in the way. “I’ll stay right here.”

Viggo drifted off without much resistance and Orlando got his first real chance to take in the whole scene. Viggo was in one of those godawful hospital gowns that never really covered the parts of your body that you definitely wanted covered. There were wires running from his chest to a monitor – that was probably the ECG. A plastic clip was on his finger, a black cuff was slung around his upper arm and he was hooked up to two IVs. His scalp was covered in small white sensors. That had to be the EEG. All the wires were connected to different machines. He could identify heart rate and oxygen level on one of the monitors, but that was about it. Orlando assumed that one of the monitors showed what was going on in Viggo’s brain, but he wasn’t sure that he was ready to actually see that, even if he had been able to make sense of all the dots and lines that ran across the screen.

Orlando held on to Viggo’s hand, watched him sleep and felt thankfulness wash over him. It had been an awful day, but at least he had been there. At least Viggo hadn’t been on his own. If that seizure had happened yesterday when Viggo had been alone in the house, Orlando would have found him hours later. With a seizure this long everything from brain damage to organ failure to stroke was a possible outcome. Orlando would gladly take the nightmares this whole experience would very likely bring, because at least it meant that he’d been there to stop the worst from happening.

“Two against one,” he said to Viggo’s sleeping form. “We’re a team.”

~*~

Viggo’s mind struggled to the surface about an hour later. He looked at his surroundings in confusion, quite clearly he didn’t recognise the room.

His eyes found Orlando and locked on to him. Orlando rested a hand against Viggo’s cheek.

Viggo’s eyes roamed his surroundings again. He stumbled over his words. “Where’r we?”

“You had a pretty bad seizure,” Orlando explained. “We’re in hospital, in CDA.”

“Ohhh.”

Orlando kept his sentences simple. “You’re going to be fine.” He paused, giving the words a chance to sink in. “Just rest.”

Viggo seemed ready to drift back to sleep again, but then there was a sudden panic in his eyes. “Cha’lie,” he mumbled into the oxygen mask.

“Charlie is fine. She’s waiting for you at the ranch.”

That didn’t calm Viggo down. “’e ranch.” He tugged at Orlando’s hand.

Orlando understood what bothered Viggo. He wasn’t worried for the house or the property. He was worried for his animals. If he was in hospital he couldn’t take care of them. But that was a fear Orlando could alleviate. “Don’t worry about that now. I’m going to take care of things.” He spoke slowly to give Viggo a chance to truly understand what he was saying. “I’ll take good of Charlie and the horses. You concentrate on getting better, so I can take you home.”

That, apparently, was the magic word and Viggo latched onto it. “Home,” Viggo repeated.

“Yes, home. I want to take you home. I want to lie in bed with you and hold you close. I’ll never let you go again, I promise.”

That went right over Viggo’s head again, there were just too many words. Orlando could see the confusion in his eyes. He tried to make it easier for Viggo. He gave him a simple truth. “I’m here. And you’re okay,” he said.

“’kay,” Viggo repeated and his eyes slipped shut.

So far, no one was throwing him out, even though evening had long ago turned into night. From time to time a nurse would come into the room and check the monitors or change an IV. As time wore on, Viggo would either be asleep or in his semi-awake state. He was never aware enough to recognise anyone besides Orlando in the room. But the nurses seemed content with Viggo’s progress. They looked relaxed and had a smile ready for Orlando.

Orlando knew he would have to drive home eventually. The horses would survive without their mash – they were outside and had hay and grass aplenty, but Charlie would be waiting for her evening meal. And he was sure the dog would be as traumatised by the day’s events as he was. Still, at the moment he couldn’t bring himself to leave his spot by Viggo’s side. And so he sat by the bed and held Viggo’s hand, saying some encouraging words whenever Viggo opened his eyes. Hours passed in this fashion.

Orlando came awake with a start, because he felt a hand in his hair. He realised that he had fallen asleep, his head on the bed next to Viggo’s shoulder. He remembered putting down the hand rail on his side just to lay his head down next to Viggo’s. He must have fallen asleep like this, in an awkward position that now made his neck hurt.

Viggo still had his hand tangled in Orlando’s hair and Orlando lifted his head slightly. Viggo’s eyes weren’t exactly clearer, but it seemed that the knowledge where he was had managed to stick. He looked a little less confused. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” Orlando answered. He kissed Viggo’s knuckles.

“G’ home,” Viggo mumbled into the oxygen mask and Orlando knew instantly that this time Viggo wasn’t talking about himself. Instead, he was giving Orlando leave to stop his vigil. He was sending him home to get some proper rest.

Intellectually, Orlando knew that Viggo was right. He was hardly awake, unable to string two sentences together. And still: He was right. It was just that Orlando didn’t want to leave him alone with this situation. “Will you be okay here?”

“Mmh.”

There was a pause. Orlando wasn’t sure whether he should continue. “Viggo?”

Viggo tried to look at him, a question in his eyes.

“I love you, you know,” Orlando said.

Orlando wasn’t convinced that Viggo would remember this come morning, but it was worth it. For the tired, yet relieved smile Viggo gave him it was worth it.

And anyway, he could always say it again.

“Love you,” Viggo said. “Lando.”

~*~

Orlando didn’t quite know how he got back to the ranch. Obviously, he was running on autopilot and his hands were turning the steering wheel all on their own even while his mind still lingered with Viggo in his small hospital room. He hated the fact that he had to leave Viggo alone there. Viggo, who valued nothing more than his independence.

When Orlando reached the ranch, he parked the Silverado in the garage and entered the house through the mudroom. Charlie, recognising the sound of the car, came running at full speed in Orlando’s direction, but when she realised that Orlando was alone, her pace turned more sedate. She did welcome Orlando home with a wagging tail and her usual affection, but Orlando could tell that the person she had really wanted to see was Viggo. The dog had probably never been apart from Viggo since the day she had moved in.

Charlie appeared confused and worried. Orlando fed her and gave her pats and cuddles, praising her endlessly for a job well done. She was a service dog and Viggo had bought her to serve a very specific purpose. She gave Viggo security and at least a certain amount of freedom. But she had also been his comfort through the years, the only being who would accept him no matter what. And it had caused a tight bond between the two.

It hurt Orlando to see Charlie so sad. She looked lonely and abandoned. It was a loneliness Orlando’s presence would never cure. He told Charlie again and again that Viggo was going to be fine, but he wasn’t sure that Charlie was able to pick up on the hopeful sentiment he tried to send with his words. He himself was still very much caught in the impressions from the hospital. His own worry shadowed his every move.

That night, Orlando allowed the dog to sleep in bed with him. Viggo didn’t like Charlie jumping onto the bed or the sofa, but she did it anyway, because she had been taught to lie close to her human during a seizure. Viggo couldn’t really berate her for that.

Orlando put a blanket on Viggo’s side of the bed, let Charlie hop up and fell asleep with Charlie in Viggo’s spot, snoring her surprisingly deep dog snores. He felt they both needed the closeness and thought again of Viggo, who had to sleep alone with no familiar face to keep him company.

Chapter Text

The next day, Orlando slept in. It was almost eight when he finally got up, still feeling emotionally exhausted from yesterday’s events. At least there was no missed call from the hospital, which hopefully meant that no emergencies had arisen during his absence. There were a lot of texts and missed calls from his sister, though. Apparently, she had tried to reach him yesterday and had grown increasingly worried when she hadn’t heard from him. Orlando thought about calling her, but it was in the middle of the night in England, so he settled for a text in which he gave her the cliff notes of what had happened. He expected her to call later to get all the details.

Orlando got up and forced himself to eat some breakfast before going outside to check on the horses. Over time, more and more of the daily chores regarding the animals had fallen to Orlando. Whenever he spent the night at Viggo’s he would take care of the horses in the morning. He checked whether they still had enough hay and water, mucked out their shelter and sometimes put some new bedding in. Viggo had an assortment of different feeds in the tack room (feeding a horse was a complicated endeavour, as Orlando had learned) and Orlando mixed whatever Viggo was feeding at the moment in Rascal’s and Cody’s feed buckets.

It had taken Orlando quite a bit of time to convince Viggo that he wasn’t acting out of some sort of obligation, but that he genuinely liked spending his mornings with the horses. The time outside with the animals was certainly preferable to killing a few hours with some inane TV-show while he waited for Viggo to get up.

As always, the menial work did its job. It quietened down Orlando’s madly racing thoughts and rooted him firmly in reality again. The horses depended on him. They depended on him for food and water – just as Charlie did. And somehow that put everything back into perspective. Whatever happened with Viggo, whatever happened with the world around them – those creatures were his responsibility. They were a pack. A weird one, granted, but a pack nonetheless. When Viggo came back from hospital, Orlando wanted everything to look like he hadn’t left at all. He wanted the paddock to be clean, the bedding in the shelter ten inches deep and the horses in impeccable condition.

He wanted to prove to Viggo that he had things under control. He wanted to give Viggo peace of mind: If anything happened, anything at all, Orlando would be there to take over and Viggo didn’t need to worry about a single thing.

Once Orlando was done, he went back to the house, showered and then searched through Viggo’s drawers for a duffel bag. He couldn’t find anything, most likely Viggo hadn’t felt like holding on to something he would never need since he didn’t travel. In the end, Orlando emptied out his own overnight bag onto the bed. He hadn’t brought much, he noticed. Quite subtly, a lot of his belongings had already found a permanent place at the ranch: his toothbrush and his toothpaste, shampoo and brush. Some of his shirts always mingled with Viggo’s in his drawers and there were books from his own shelves and from the library scattered around the house.

He stuffed everything he expected Viggo to need during his hospital stay into the overnight bag: a few clothes, bathroom items, his phone together with the phone charger. The last item that went into the bag was Cloud Atlas, the book that was currently on Viggo’s nightstand. Orlando had no idea when Viggo would be well enough to read. But when the moment came that Viggo wasn’t knocked out by whatever they were giving him, Orlando was sure that he would prefer reading to whatever entertainment the small TV in the hospital room could provide.

He wondered if Viggo owned a laptop that he could bring him. If Viggo grew bored he could always try to work and send Matthew Quinton on an adventure. If anything, writing would help take Viggo’s mind off things. Orlando would have to ask Viggo about a laptop or whatever else he should bring.

Shortly after noon, Orlando said goodbye to Charlie and backed the Silverado out of the garage. It was an almost 60-minute drive to CDA, but Ceour d’Alene was the biggest city in the vicinity, which hopefully meant that the hospital was modern and well-funded. He wanted Viggo to be in the best of hands.

When he entered Viggo’s room, Viggo was asleep. All the equipment from last night was still there – the monitors and wires were still the same, but the oxygen mask was hanging by the side of the bed. Obviously it wasn’t needed anymore, which was a relief. The bed had been turned up a little to give Viggo the opportunity to sit up. He was still in the flimsy hospital gown.

Orlando stepped into the room silently and gave Viggo a quick kiss on the forehead. Viggo opened his eyes at once, he’d only fallen into a light sleep.

“Orlando,” Viggo said. There was relief in his voice.

Orlando looked at Viggo, took in his appearance with a critical eye. He seemed dishevelled and tired. The skin around his eyes was almost translucent and his face was haggard – a look that wasn’t helped by the fact that he was unshaven. He looked like he had been to hell and back, but all in all he was vastly better than Orlando had anticipated after last night. He only now realised that he hadn’t truly expected Viggo to be well enough to be awake and talking. To see him sitting up, his eyes clear (well almost, at least, the blue of his eyes seemed pale and diluted) and very aware of their surroundings – it took a huge weight of Orlando’s shoulders. The worst was over, Viggo was on the mend. “Are you feeling a bit better?”

Viggo nodded. “Sore. And I got a killer headache. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before, so it’s okay.”

Orlando looked dubious.

“I promise,” Viggo said.

Orlando wasn’t quite ready to take Viggo’s word for it. “Did you talk to the doctor?”

Viggo seemed to think. He looked out of the window as if he was trying to gauge the time by the position of the sun. “They were doing rounds. But I’m not sure when.” Viggo looked apologetic.

“Probably in the morning, right?” Orlando asked.

Viggo bit his lip. “How long have I been here?”

“You were admitted yesterday. Today is Sunday.”

Viggo mulled that over. “Okay, Sunday. I’m sorry, I can’t keep track of the time. I don’t know where they put my watch.”

Orlando only noticed now that Viggo’s watch was missing. The medical bracelet was gone as well. Instead he was wearing a plastic ID-bracelet. Probably hospital-issue to let everyone know who he was, on which ward he stayed and if he preferred the vegetarian dish. Or whatever else hospital personnel needed to know about a patient. “I’m sure your watch is with your things,” Orlando said. “What did the doctor say? When they were doing rounds in the morning.”

“Doctor said it’s all looking good. They just want me to rest a bit and get over the infection. Once the blood looks good, I’m allowed to go home.”

It was mostly what the doctor had told Orlando as well and he decided to let the topic rest. “I brought you some stuff. Clothes, your phone, something to read. Things like that. Just let me know what you need and I’ll bring it. Do you own a laptop? I could get it if you want to work.”

Viggo shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Feels like cotton candy up there.” He tapped the side of his head. “I’m pretty sure I can’t make my brain cooperate for long enough to get anything done.”

“No pressure,” Orlando offered with a shrug. “It doesn’t need to be the next Pulitzer as long as it passes the time. I imagine it’s boring in here.”

“They keep me occupied. All the damn time someone comes in and wants something. It usually involves needles and large quantities of my blood.”

Viggo tried for a light tone, but he didn’t quite succeed.

“I’m sorry,” Orlando said. He had known Viggo hadn’t wanted to go back to hospital. He had known that Viggo would hate being here.

“What for?” Viggo asked, puzzled.

“I’m sorry that I landed you back in here.”

Viggo looked at Orlando like he’d suddenly grown a second head. He sat up further, careful with all the wires, and took both of Orlando’s hands in his. “Are you crazy? You probably saved my life! You did the right thing.” Viggo paused and then he smiled, looking at their joined hands. “My guardian angel.”

“You’re not mad?”

“Of course I’m not mad. I went seven years without a visit to the emergency room. I think I had a pretty good run there. I’m sorry … I’m sorry that you had to see that. I feel extremely guilty for putting you through this, but at the same time I’m simply grateful that you were there.”

Orlando felt the same. “Me, too.”

“You didn’t run away,” Viggo mused.

“You expected me to leave you alone?” Orlando couldn’t believe that they were back at the point where Viggo didn’t trust Orlando’s dedication. It hurt that Viggo thought so little of him, that he still underestimated Orlando.

“You were there with me, in the car. I remember that. I remember you talking to me. But when I woke up, I didn’t know where I was. I just knew you weren’t there and I thought you’d finally realised what a fucked-up idea this was. It’s all really hazy, but I know I wanted you there and you weren’t. And no one would tell me anything. But you hadn’t left. You've been there the whole time. Thank you.”

Orlando hated the fact that Viggo had woken up in an unfamiliar environment and without a friendly face for company. He wanted Viggo to come out of a seizure and feel loved and taken care of. He wanted him to feel safe. “I will always be there,” Orlando promised. “I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again: I’ll share the burden, you don’t have to do this alone. But you have to trust me.”

Viggo nodded and he seemed contrite. “I know. I know I’ve made things hard for you. And I do want to trust you, it feels good when I let myself. But it’s so difficult sometimes.”

“What are you afraid of?” Orlando had asked this question before. He’d probably ask it until Viggo’s answer would finally be: “Nothing.” But now, a new idea occurred to him. “Was it your ex? Was he not supportive? Did he let you down?”

Viggo looked away. “It’s not as easy as that. He tried, he really did. But he couldn’t cope, neither of us could. I was different then, I led a different life. We lived in New York, travelled a lot due to our jobs. There was always something to do: some restaurant, some party. We did it all. And we fucked like bunnies.” Viggo laughed bitterly. “And suddenly here I was: I had several seizures a week, the bad ones that knocked me out for hours afterwards. I couldn’t work, didn’t dare leave the apartment. The doctors kept putting me on different meds and in the beginning that didn’t change anything at all, just made me irritable. I was such an asshole. Josh tried to help, but whatever he did he couldn’t meet my expectations. I think, deep down I resented the fact that he was healthy while I was suddenly ill. My body betrayed me every chance it got, but he was just like he’d always been. He was ready to go out, to party, to fuck, to just live – and I couldn’t keep up, though I desperately wanted to. He was hale and I was broken. I couldn’t forgive him for that.”

“I’m sorry,” Orlando said quietly. “I’m sorry you couldn’t find in him what you needed at that point.”

“No one could have given me that. I wanted my health back, it’s as simple as that. I still want that, but I’ve since then come to realise that this isn’t a wish I can pin on other people. It’s unattainable, but that’s no one’s fault, really.”

“There are things that are not unattainable. Things you can have.” Orlando could have sounded coy, but instead he simply sounded sincere.

Viggo looked up at that and his eyes were honest. “I’m starting to see that, took me long enough. I know I’ve made things hard for you. I’ve not always given you the impression that I want you in my life. But I do, I very much do, never doubt that. The day we met, you were so alive, so vibrant. I loved your enthusiasm. You had all this energy and I was so envious. I went home and told myself that it was nothing but infatuation, that it would pass. But it wasn’t infatuation and it didn’t pass. I wanted you so much that I came back, despite everything. Despite the fact that I was sure I was setting myself up for failure. I just had to try. And I was so ecstatic when I realised that I had a chance with you. And yet, every time there was an obstacle – just the dumbest, easiest, silliest thing – I’d tell myself it was this insurmountable problem. That this would certainly be the moment when you’d leave me, because I couldn’t believe that you’d want me, that you’d be okay with me being who I was. I think I didn’t believe that you’d love me, because I couldn’t see anything worth loving when I looked in the mirror. I’d love to promise you that it’ll never happen again, but I fear I’m a one-trick-pony. I’ll fuck up, I just know it. But I promise that when I push you away and you tell me to stop being a dick that I’ll listen. From now on I’ll listen. I mean … what I’m trying to say is: I’d like us to do this together. Really together and not just you trying and me holding you at arm’s length. I’ll pull my weight from now on.”

“Cotton candy, my ass,” Orlando smiled.

Viggo wasn’t sure what to make of that. “I didn’t make sense?” he asked, uncertain. “I’m sorry, it made perfect sense in my head.” He rubbed his forehead distractedly – at least the bit he could reach while most of his head was still covered in sensors.

“Don’t worry. You made perfect sense, babe.” Viggo’s eyes met his and the corner of his mouth turned up a little, but he didn’t comment. Up until now Orlando hadn’t known how much he’d craved an admission like this from Viggo, how much he’d hoped that Viggo would be able to give himself like this. Viggo wanted them to be partners, equal partners. Finally. “I’ve always known that you’d catch me if I fell. But I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you’re ready now to let me return the favour.”

Orlando had hoped for this moment for so long. Ever since meeting Viggo, Viggo had been fighting – he’d fought for control, for the illusion of nothing being wrong, for the impression that he didn’t need anyone. But Viggo wasn’t fighting anymore. He wasn’t fighting the circumstances or the situation. He wasn’t fighting his body’s limitations. And most importantly, he wasn’t fighting Orlando’s help and support. He had finally stopped trying to control what was beyond his control. He had surrendered, trusting Orlando to catch him.

Viggo looked at him seriously. “I think I’ve been free-falling for years now. I was always afraid to hit the ground hard in the end. But I didn’t realise that you’ve been standing there for months now waiting patiently to catch me.”

Orlando’s whole body thrummed with love. “That’s okay. We’ve had this talk before. If you need us to have this talk again you just tell me.”

“I think I’m only now starting to truly understand what you’re telling me. My only excuse is that my brain isn’t really in the best of shapes. It’s actually pretty fucked-up sometimes.”

Never since Orlando had known him had Viggo made light of this and Orlando wasn’t quite sure how to react. “Did you just make a joke about the epilepsy?”

“Must be the drugs,” Viggo said. He held up his left arm, the one with the IV. Some liquid was making its way slowly into his vein from a plastic bag hanging off a stand. However, they both knew that anti-seizure medication had the weirdest and most serious side effects, but a sense of humour certainly wasn’t among them. Viggo had done that all on his own.

Love swelled in Orlando. It started in his stomach and then travelled upwards, making his throat tight. In the end, the feeling escaped through his mouth and he said the first thing that came to mind. “I’m so proud of you, I don’t think I tell you enough how proud I am. And how much I love you.”

There was surprise on Viggo’s face and relief, once again. The reaction told Orlando that Viggo didn’t remember his admission from last night. “I love you,” Orlando said again, just to make sure that Viggo would never forget it. Saying it now felt even better than it had last night. Yesterday it had been articulating a base need, for both of them. Now though, with Viggo fully conscious and an equal partner in this, it could transcend into a promise.

He felt blessed suddenly, blessed that he had the chance to tell Viggo something this enormous twice – for the very first time. Who else got that chance? But then he felt like he was cheating, like he was taking advantage of Viggo. Sure, the hospital situation was an absolute exception, but Orlando knew by now that the seizures messed with Viggo’s ability to remember things and conversations. Viggo had to be able to trust in the fact that Orlando wouldn’t ever exploit that.

“I told you last night. I just had to.”

Viggo frowned slightly, he seemed to think. Quite clearly he was searching for a memory that refused to be found. “Sorry, I don’t remember that. I wish I could.”

Orlando shook his head. “Nothing to be sorry for. You were pretty out of it. But I wanted you to know last night. I love you.”

“I love you, Lando,” Viggo said. “Never doubt that I do. I love you, so very much. I hope I told you last night. I hope you didn’t go home without me saying it.”

Orlando smiled. “You did say it. Not with so many words, but you did.”

Viggo stretched out his hand, palm up, inviting Orlando to hold it. As soon as Orlando put his own hand into Viggo’s, Viggo drew him further onto the bed. Orlando was careful, afraid to dislodge any of the wires and sensors and IVs that made sure Viggo would recover. But Viggo had no such qualms. He drew Orlando near until their lips met. Orlando felt Viggo’s stubble scratch his skin, felt that Viggo was still at least slightly feverish. Viggo already tasted different, of hospital and sickness and drugs that circulated in his system. But they kissed, their admission of love hanging in the air between them.

And it was beautiful. Something they would both remember for the rest of their lives.

Chapter Text

When Orlando spoke to his sister on Sunday evening, he was already calmer than in the morning when he had texted her. Having seen with his own eyes how vastly improved Viggo had looked Orlando was able to talk to Sal with a level head, convincing her that all was going to be fine and that Viggo would be home in a week’s time. When she asked him how he felt, he didn’t quite know how to answer, there were way too many conflicting emotions in him. He felt stressed, frightened, relieved, happy and worried all at the same time. But when she asked him if he was really sure that it was worth it his answer came readily and without any hesitation: “Absolutely. He’s the one.”

Deep down he had already known that. But being faced with almost losing Viggo had brought home that truth in a very demanding manner. He knew now that he didn’t want to miss a single moment with Viggo. Time wasn’t something to think about while falling in love. But Orlando did. Orlando thought about how much time they would have. And he was pretty certain that Viggo’s hospital stay wouldn’t be the only bump in the road for them.

When Monday came around, Orlando grew worried, though. He didn’t quite know how he would be able to fit all his obligations into the span of 24 hours. He needed to take care of the animals, needed to drive into Reynards for work, visit Viggo in CDA and then drive home to take care of the animals again. And at some point he should get a good night’s rest. Granted, he didn’t need a lot of sleep, but even he needed at least some.

There was no cause for worry, though. Irene saw the moment he entered the library that something was wrong. She took him aside, sat him down in the office and got the whole story out of him. Naturally, Orlando didn’t tell her what exactly had happened, but he did tell her that there had been an emergency and that Viggo was in hospital. Irene nodded along, her eyes as big as saucers.

“He’s going to be alright?” she asked and there was an actual tremor in her voice.

Orlando hugged her, or maybe Irene hugged him. It wasn’t all that clear. “Yes, the doctor said he’s going to be just fine. I saw Viggo yesterday. He was … well, better than I had anticipated.”

Irene knew that Charlie was a service dog, even though she didn’t know what Viggo needed her for. She had never asked, neither Viggo nor Orlando, accepting the invisible line both had drawn around the issue. That didn’t mean she didn’t care.

“What do you need, Orlando? How can I help?”

Time was what he really needed and they both knew that. Irene promised him to do the bulk of the work and turn a blind eye if he left early. And Orlando breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s only for the week. At the most. He’ll be home in no time.”

“Fingers crossed. You send him my love. And if he needs something to read you bring him one of those bricks to get lost in, One Hundred Years of Solitude or The Marriage Plot,” Irene said.

Ben wasn’t so easily appeased, though. When Orlando left work in the afternoon he went to his own flat first to get a few things and check his fridge for anything that wouldn’t keep for the week. Ben, with some weird sixth sense, intercepted him at the door.

“What are you doing here at this time of the day?” he asked. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“Finished off early. I’m just here to get a few things. I’m going to stay at the ranch for a bit.”

Ben came to his own conclusions. “You’re moving in with him? Already? You shouldn’t rush into this. Don’t make a mistake. He’s not good for you. I tell you he’s trying to control you.”

Ben was Orlando’s best friend, but he didn’t have the patience for this right now. “How did you deduce this? From the five seconds you saw of him in a crowded bar?”

Ben had an answer ready. “No, from the many times I didn’t see you around in that crowded bar. Orlando, don’t you see what he’s trying to do? He’s trying to manipulate you until all you have is him. This isn’t healthy.”

That garnered a cynical laugh from Orlando. Orlando arrived more and more at the conclusion that it was mostly Ben’s past that influenced how he perceived Viggo. Most probably that and the fact that Viggo didn’t socialise, meaning that there was no way for Ben to get to know the real Viggo. “Ben, I’m telling you you’re wrong here and I wish you’d trust me enough to believe me.”

“I trust you,” Ben said. “But I don’t trust him, why should I? I don’t know him, I don’t care about him. But I care about you.”

Orlando knew that Ben was only lashing out because they were friends and he was trying to look out for Orlando. But it was unnecessary. “Viggo’s not trying to lock me away on his ranch. I’ve told you before: He’s got some issues. He’s in hospital right now and I’m going to stay at the ranch to take care of things.”

That didn’t calm down Ben at all. “I wondered what those issues were. But I should have known that it was some addiction problem.”

“What?” Orlando asked in shock. “What gives you that idea?”

Ben just shrugged. “I thought it might be either alcohol, drugs or a problem with domestic violence.”

Orlando wished he had never said anything back then. Quite obviously this was all one big misunderstanding. “My god, Ben! He’s in the neurology ward.”

That didn’t help either. “So he’s crazy?”

Orlando tried to take a deep breath, but it didn’t help much. “That would be the psychiatric ward. Neurology is for diseases of the brain and the nervous system. Please, Ben. I had to call an ambulance on Saturday. He could very well have died. I don’t have the energy to fight with you over this. I’m just telling you and I’m asking you to please believe me: You’ve got it wrong. Viggo is a wonderful person, but he’s in a very tough spot right now. I know that lately I’ve chosen him over you. But I’m going to be a better friend, I promise. I don’t want to lose you, but I don’t want to lose Viggo either. And he certainly doesn’t want to steal me away from you.”

“You’ll have to prove that.”

“I will,” Orlando promised. “But right now I have to make sure that Viggo is going to be alright.”

Ben seemed to finally notice Orlando’s serious face. “Brain and nervous system? That’s fucked up.”

Orlando smiled crookedly, despite himself. “That pretty much sums it up. He gave me quite a fright on Saturday.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Ben said. It was a start and Orlando understood it as the peace offering it was.

“Thanks.” Orlando breathed a sigh of relief. He’d make it a point to work more on their friendship. But first he had to make sure Viggo was alright. “We’ll start over on this whole Viggo-issue, alright? I really need to be going now, but we’ll talk. I promise. ”

“We will. Oh, and Orlando. Tell Viggo to get well soon, okay?”

Orlando smiled at him. “I will, thanks.”

~*~

By Tuesday Viggo was rid of the wires, the monitors and the IV. Dr. Blake, together with Viggo’s epileptologist (Orlando hadn’t even known such a thing existed), adjusted Viggo’s medication arguing that there was still room for improvement. Orlando inquired about the rescue meds the EMTs had mentioned and Dr. Blake explained that there were certain medications that could be administered should a seizure not terminate in a timely manner. Orlando immediately latched on to the idea, because he never wanted to feel this helpless again. If there was a way to help Viggo without having to call 9-1-1 he wanted it. Dr. Blake, agreeing wholeheartedly, prescribed a drug that was administered via syringe into the mouth. It gave Orlando a certain peace of mind to have it. At the same time he hoped to never need it.

When Orlando entered Viggo’s room on Wednesday afternoon, Viggo was sitting up crosslegged on the bed. He was in jeans and a t-shirt, his feet were bare. His watch and medical bracelet were back on his left wrist and he was clean shaven again. He had a notebook in his lap and was scribbling in it with a look of concentration on his face. Orlando had seen that look before – Viggo was working.

Viggo looked up when he heard the door close. He closed the notebook and smiled at Orlando. “Hey,” he said. “I’ve missed you.”

“And I’ve missed you.” Orlando meant to greet Viggo with a brief kiss on the lips, but Viggo would have none of it. He drew Orlando near and held him close, kissing him properly.

“What if someone comes in?” Orlando asked once he had freed himself.

Viggo shrugged. “They should be grateful that I’m not stripping you naked. I really miss you, you know. I’m not just saying that.”

“Someone is energetic today,” Orlando said, pleased to see that Viggo was slowly returning to form.

“It’s entirely possible that I kill the next person who comes in to take my blood pressure or my temperature or asks me about my bowel movement,” here he made exaggerated air quotes, “out of sheer boredom if all this resting goes on for much longer.”

Orlando had to laugh. “I’m so relieved you’re feeling better.” He pointed at the notebook in Viggo’s lap. A very pink title page showed Disney’s Frozen. “What’s up with this?”

Viggo took a deep breath and then looked shyly at Orlando. “Got bored and asked the nurses for something to write in. They gave me this.” He held up the girlish merchandise. “They stole it from the children’s ward, at least that’s how I understand it.”

“I’m shocked,” Orlando said.

Viggo fluttered his eyelashes at him. “The nurses like me. I can be quite charming, you know.”

“That, too, is shocking,” Orlando insisted. Viggo pouted at him and Orlando decided to change the subject before he lost this argument. “You’re writing?” he asked carefully.

“No.” Viggo shook his head. “I’m plotting. I’ve been playing with a few ideas for the next Matthew Quinton and I’m trying to jot some of them down.”

“That’s great,” Orlando encouraged.

“I don’t know,” Viggo said. He opened the notebook again and looked at some of what he’d written. Orlando purposefully didn’t look down. He wanted to give Viggo the privacy of his thoughts until he felt ready to share. “Will have to look at it at home, with a clear mind. See if it’s rubbish.”

“Viggo, you have a clear mind now. And I’m sure it’s not rubbish.”

Viggo looked up at him. “Do you know what I love about you?”

Orlando had to think about that. “If I remember correctly you liked my enthusiasm.”

“Mmh, yes. But in a very selfish manner I also love how you always believe in me.”

“That’s not so hard. You’re a very good writer, I’m sure your publisher is of the same opinion.”

“I hope so,” Viggo said. “But she’s nowhere near as good-looking as you.”

Orlando slapped him playfully. “You’re such an idiot.”

Viggo winked at him. “But I’m your idiot.”

“That you are.” This time, Orlando kissed Viggo and didn’t let go.

Chapter Text

Later, Orlando went to the cafeteria to get a cup of coffee for himself and a chocolate chip muffin for Viggo. Viggo nibbled happily at the pastry while he explained which historical backdrop he planned to use in the next book and what his ideas for the plot where. He then quizzed Orlando on what he’d like to read in the next Matthew Quinton book. They spent about half an hour brainstorming different scenarios and possible conflicts for the characters while Viggo scribbled some notes into his pink notebook.

“This is fun,” Viggo said. “I’ve never had the chance to talk about my books before. Not at this stage, at least.”

Viggo was filling up the pages with ideas as the afternoon wore on. He was still sitting on the bed and had the notebook in his lap when he suddenly froze, pen still poised a few inches above the paper. To an unsuspecting mind it might appear as if Viggo was deep in thought. And he probably was, but not in a good way.

It only lasted for a few seconds and in the end, Viggo blinked and took a deep breath. The notebook in his hands shook slightly. Orlando stood up and gently took the notebook out of Viggo’s unresisting hands. “Let’s put that away for the moment, okay?” he said. Viggo looked up at Orlando and surprise registered on his face. Maybe he had forgotten that Orlando was there, but then he nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

Orlando put the writing utensils on the table by the window. He then lowered the bed, but Viggo didn’t lie down. Instead he sat up further, put his hands on his thighs and let his head fall forward.

“Want to lie down?” Orlando asked. This was Viggo’s first seizure since that disastrous Saturday. Orlando wasn’t quite sure what to expect.

“No, it’s fine,” Viggo said.

“Okay,” Orlando agreed. He could always try to get Viggo to lie down later. “I’ll ring for the nurse.”

At that Viggo looked up again. “Don’t,” he said. “There’s no reason. We can manage, right?”

There was no insecurity in Viggo’s face, there wasn’t even a question. Viggo simply expected them to get past this on their own.

Together, as a team.

“Right, of course.” Orlando sat on the bed with him and the importance of this moment crashed into him. Viggo didn’t send him away, he also didn’t endure him because he had no other choice. He wanted Orlando with him, for the very first time. “Of course we can manage.” He put a hand on Viggo’s back and drew comforting circles. Viggo dropped his head again and simply breathed. He rubbed his thigh distractedly.

“Viggo?” Orlando said after a while.

Viggo lifted his head and opened his eyes, looking at the cheerful mint-green wall across from him. There was a deep vertical line on his forehead, between his eyebrows. He looked preoccupied and unwell. Viggo adjusted his seat a little. “Mhm?”

“Can you … you know … talk to me?”

Viggo looked at him, but his gaze didn’t quite land on Orlando. It seemed to be aimed at something to Orlando’s left. “About what?” He furrowed his brow, puzzled.

“Well.” Orlando paused and bit his lip. This probably wasn’t the best time for a talk like this, he hadn’t thought this through properly.

“Lando?”

He had to say something, it might as well be the truth. “Well, what does it feel like? I was wondering. Is this okay?”

Viggo nodded and stared at his lap again. “It’s difficult to explain,” he said slowly.

“I know, I’m sorry. You really don’t have to.”

Viggo didn’t react to Orlando’s backpedalling. “It starts with this intense feeling of fear,” Viggo began.

A seizure could be many things, a shift in thought and emotion was only one possibility. Depending on where a seizure started the aura could come with intense emotions of fear, anger or even euphoria. It could also trigger uncontrolled laughter or tears. Viggo wasn’t talking about being afraid of the seizure. What he tried to convey was that the fear was the seizure, or at least the first sign of the seizure.

“It sits here,” Viggo said and he put an unsteady hand on his lower belly. “This deep, unpleasant, gnawing feeling.” He seemed to think how to best describe it. “Like you were meant to do something important, but you forgot. And the world will end because of it. It eats you. Grows.”

He stared straight ahead, but didn’t seem to see the mint-green wall anymore. If anything, he was looking right through it. He took open-mouthed breaths for a bit and then pressed his lips together tightly.

“Maybe lie down?” Orlando suggested once more, but he was ignored yet again.

“And then …” Viggo’s speech was starting to slow down. There was a long pause and Orlando wondered if he had simply lost his train of thought. But apparently he was only searching for the right expression again. In the end Viggo went with: “It shrinks.”

“What shrinks?” Orlando asked. “The fear?”

“The fear.” Viggo licked his lips and swallowed, tried to find the words. “The world …” Orlando saw him blink, his gaze flicked to the right for a moment. “… s’all drifting away.”

“Away?”

“Mhm,” Viggo mused and he closed his eyes. “I’m here … you’re … ” He didn’t finish.

“I’m right here. With you,” Orlando said and embraced him, letting Viggo lean against him. “Relax, I’ll watch over you.”

“You,” Viggo echoed and his right hand started fidgeting. He made a fist, relaxed his fingers, shook out his hand as if it had turned numb. And then the process repeated. Orlando checked his watch for the time and ran a soothing hand through Viggo’s hair. Viggo didn’t react to the gesture. He was sitting up, his eyes were open and his hand moved, but for all intents and purposes he was unconscious.

This seizure was different from what Orlando had witnessed so far. Secretly, he had feared a repeat of Saturday – another tonic-clonic with severe convulsions. What happened wasn’t that, but it also wasn’t the involuntary muscle movement in Viggo’s right side that Orlando had seen before. Instead, Viggo was sitting upright, looking intently at the hands in his lap. From time to time he moved his hands and turned them around – palm up, palm down and palm up again. He stretched out his arms and wiggled his fingers, but all through this he kept looking at his hands with that intense stare that Orlando had come to associate with Viggo’s focal seizures.

“Viggo?” Orlando tried, just to see whether he could maybe shake him out of his trance. The sound registered somewhere in Viggo’s brain. His head came up and he searched for the origin of the noise. His eyes rested on Orlando for a moment, but clearly he could not identify Orlando as the origin of the sound. There was no recognition in his gaze and he soon lost interest and went back to the study of his hands. His mouth was open in either fascination or awe and he started drooling again, a thin line of saliva trickled down the corner of his mouth. It was an autonomic reaction, no different from the dilated pupils. Orlando made a grab for the bed sheet and gently dabbed the drool away.

Instead of the violently disturbing seizures from before Orlando found this one to be subtly disquieting. It was almost eerie, only a step away from being peaceful. Orlando suddenly remembered their very first talk about epilepsy and Viggo’s explanation of how there were all kinds of different seizures. He had explained that Orlando wouldn’t necessarily realise that someone was having one, because the symptoms could be so subtle. Orlando hadn’t quite believed him then, the mental image of the grand mal seizure had still been securely imprinted in his mind. But he believed Viggo now, because the proof was right in front of his eyes. During Viggo’s past seizures anyone looking at him would have known that there was something medically wrong with Viggo. But this time around … if he had a seizure like this in a public space, everyone would think Viggo was either drunk or high. He looked far away, spaced-out, like he was lost in his own world. He was reacting to outside stimulus – Orlando’s voice, Orlando’s hand when he cleaned off Viggo’s face –, but only in a most basic fashion. For the most part, he was unresponsive. Orlando didn’t know what Viggo would hate more while having a seizure in a public space: People realising right away that he had epilepsy or people assuming that he was a junkie.

Orlando could understand that Viggo wasn’t crazy about putting himself into those kinds of situations.

It turned out to be a long one, the seizure went on like this for almost two minutes. Viggo was sitting upright and stared at his hands in open-mouthed fascination. Orlando’s rubbed his back, dabbed at his mouth with the bed sheet from time to time and breathed deeply to stay calm. Viggo had taught him that he had to keep his own cool when working with the horses, because they would pick up on his fear and panic. Orlando supposed this situation wasn’t much different. If he stayed calm and relaxed, Viggo would stay calm and relaxed and all would be well.

In the end, Viggo simply sagged slightly and lowered his head as if he was in danger of nodding off. Before he could fall forward and land flat on his face Orlando shuffled up to him to allow Viggo to lean into him. Viggo’s head came to lie on Orlando’s shoulder, his arms were hanging useless by his sides. Orlando embraced him and helped him stay upright. Viggo wasn’t boneless, there was some muscle tone left, but Orlando wasn’t sure if he’d been able to maintain his sitting position without outside help.

Orlando let him rest for a while, giving his body a chance to bounce back.

After a few minutes of holding a motionless Viggo in his arms, Orlando felt Viggo stir. He moved his head slightly and Orlando felt a low moan reverberate through his shoulder.

“You’re fine, relax,” Orlando said, taking up his rubbing motion again.

Viggo mumbled something into Orlando’s shoulder. At this point it was no more than sound. Words would come later. “I didn’t catch that, babe. Maybe give it another minute, okay?”

Orlando had no way of knowing whether Viggo was able to understand him. It didn’t matter much. Sometimes, you didn’t need words to communicate.

Viggo turned his head slightly and tried again. “Maaarm,” he drawled.

Maybe this was supposed to be a word, maybe it was only a general sound of discomfort. In any case, Orlando didn’t know what Viggo was trying to convey. “You’re doing good. Just take deep breaths.”

Viggo wasn’t deterred. “Maam,” he tried again. After a pause: “Marm.” Eventually it turned into: “M’arm.”

Orlando thought he got it now. “What about your arm?”

“Uummm.”

“What’s wrong with your arm, Viggo?” Orlando tried again. He just kept going, just kept engaging Viggo in conversation. There was no use rushing him, the words would come eventually.

“Num’.” Viggo seemed frustrated with his limited way of communication.

“The right one, I guess?” Orlando clarified. Viggo’s answer was a grunt. Orlando took Viggo’s right hand in his and started to massage it, applying pressure with his thumb. He then rubbed Viggo’s arm, gently willing some feeling back to it. Viggo’s reaction to that treatment was some form of deep humming noise. He had never said anything about numbness before, but Orlando remembered reading it on a list of symptoms. If Viggo got unlucky, this would need a few hours to fully pass.

Minutes ticked by. Eventually, Viggo lifted his head from Orlando’s shoulder and sat up a little straighter. “Y’okay?”

“Am I okay?” Orlando rephrased for clarification. He wasn’t sure whether he was understanding Viggo correctly.

“Mhm.” Viggo nodded and then rubbed his left temple.

“Of course I’m okay. How about you? Are you okay?”

“’m good. D’ousy.”

“Drowsy?” Orlando repeated. Viggo nodded. “Want to lie down now? I can sit with you for a bit while you sleep.”

“Mhm.”

Once Viggo was lying down he stared blankly at Orlando.

“Catch some sleep,” Orlando said, because it looked like Viggo’s body was shutting off while his eyes hadn’t gotten the memo. “Close your eyes and rest a few minutes.”

“Fee’ you,” Viggo said and Orlando looked at him quizzically. Viggo moved his right hand and wiggled his fingers in a peculiar fashion. “Un’e s’in.”

“You’re feeling me under your skin?” Orlando supposed Viggo was still feeling Orlando’s touch on his arm, maybe sensation was slowly coming back.

“’ll go a’ay.” He sounded heartbroken.

“You want to keep feeling me under your skin?” Orlando suddenly had an idea. “What about I put a spell on you and it’ll keep the feeling in. You’ll never go without again.”

“Yeah.”

Orlando smiled. He just knew Viggo hadn’t understood that. On the other hand, there wasn’t anything to understand. His idea was silly and childish, but he really wanted to do it. He fetched the pen and took Viggo’s hand. He drew a little heart on the outside of Viggo’s right hand, just where it turned into the wrist. Viggo followed the proceedings with his eyes.

“Wha’ you do?” he asked, curious.

“I’m bewitching you. Don’t look at it yet. It’s my good luck charm for you. So you can always feel me. I’ll always be with you.”

When Orlando was done, Viggo grabbed his hand, pen and all, and held it.

Viggo didn’t truly fall asleep. He drifted in and out of a light sleep, but not even half an hour later he asked for something to drink. By then he was speaking more clearly and seemed a lot more alert. Viggo was slowly entering a state of mind where Orlando could leave him alone in good conscience.

“Is it okay if I leave?” he asked. “I still need to feed the horses.”

“Sure, ’m fine,” Viggo assured him.

Orlando gave him a kiss. “You did really good, Viggo. Sleep a bit more, okay? And when you have another seizure while I’m not here, you press the button to alert the nurses. And you call me right after, no matter the time. Promise me?”

“Promise.”

Orlando smiled at him. “Look at that pony learning a new trick!”

Viggo boxed him in the shoulder, but he was laughing.

Much later in the evening, Orlando had gotten home hours ago and was snuggled up on the sofa letting some stupid Netflix show wash over him, there was a text from Viggo.

It read: “Why is there a heart on my hand?”

Orlando laughed out loud. It seemed Viggo had found the good-luck charm.

“It’s the spell that will keep me with you always,” Orlando texted back.

A few minutes later there was an answer from Viggo: “Then I hope it doesn’t wash off.”

Orlando sent him a hearts-emoji. “Just in case.”

Chapter Text

Viggo was released on Friday. Orlando took Charlie along to pick Viggo up and the dog totally lost it when she recognised Viggo. Orlando knew that she had desperately missed Viggo, it was why had brought her along, but seeing well-mannered Charlie turn into the most excited puppy was still a surprise. She wagged her tail so hard that her bum wiggled wildly. She was yapping and jumping up Viggo’s legs, something that a well-behaved dog like Charlie normally didn’t do. Viggo patted and praised her, rubbed her belly and took her to the front of the car with him to sit between his legs just so they could keep cuddling while Orlando got them all back to the ranch.

On their drive home, Viggo practically hummed with contentment. He appeared relieved, relaxed and happy. “Can’t wait to see the horses,” he said. “And enjoy the quiet of the house. And of course take you to bed,” he added almost as an afterthought.

“Plenty of time for all of that,” Orlando promised.

And yet again, Orlando’s prediction turned out to be wrong.

Orlando parked the car in the garage and they entered the house through the mudroom. When Viggo opened the door to the kitchen, a collective “Welcome home” sounded and he froze, his hand still on the door handle. A colourful banner was hanging from one end of the kitchen to the next, reading “Welcome Back”. There were copious amounts of food on all available surfaces, in bowls and on plates. Of the people standing in the kitchen Orlando only recognised Rosa.

Viggo stood stock-still, he seemed shellshocked. He whispered desperately: “Was this your idea?”

“No,” Orlando whispered back and he took Viggo’s hand for comfort. He hadn’t known there would be a welcome committee and he would never have dared doing something like that. But then again, Rosa was a lot more tempestuous than he would ever be. She had also known Viggo for far longer.

Orlando tugged gently at Viggo’s hand trying to lead him further into the kitchen.

“I don’t know …” Viggo started, but he was interrupted by Rosa who practically flew into his arms.

“Was my idea!” she beamed while she took him into her arms to hold him close. “You missed my party. So I decided to bring party to you!”

If welcoming Viggo back with an impromptu party had been Orlando’s idea, Viggo would probably have punished him with several weeks on the sofa. But since he knew he’d never win an argument with Rosa Viggo simply tried to save face. “Thanks, Rosa.”

But Rosa didn’t miss the look of growing panic on Viggo’s face. He quite clearly felt overrun. Orlando supposed it wasn’t so much the fact that there were people with a party banner in his kitchen as it was the fact that these people had appeared without warning, without his consent and without him having a say in the matter. Rosa looked at Orlando and then retreated back into the kitchen to fiddle with some of the food while Orlando took Viggo aside. “You’re among friends, Viggo. They’re happy you’re home and they want to celebrate with you.”

“I know,” Viggo said, but he clenched his fists. His whole body had tensed up. Charlie, glad to have him back, was glued to Viggo’s side and looked worriedly up at him.

“This is safe, this is your home. Just give it a try. You’ll be perfectly fine.”

Viggo nodded.

“And if you need a break, you just go upstairs. Or outside to see the horses. No one will mind.”

Viggo nodded again, he looked resolved. “Okay, let’s do this.”

Orlando soon found out that Rosa had brought her son Raoul and his family with her. Viggo knew Raoul, because he had done some work on the house before. But as it turned out, Viggo had never met Raoul’s wife Jenna and their eight-months old daughter Isabel before. While Rosa cut the cake and put some on everyone’s plate, they got the general introductions out of the way.

Raoul and Jenna were a few years older than Orlando. Raoul seemed perfectly respectable in a blue-collar way: down to earth, easy to speak with – not much of a looker, but he had a winning smile. Next to his wife Jenna he turned almost invisible. Jenna was tall and skinny, with short blond hair that was shaved at the sides and spiky on top. Her voice carried far and she talked with her whole body – arms waving, eyebrows wiggling, feet stomping. But what was most noticeable was the tattoos. They seemed to be everywhere. They went up her arms and neck and since she was wearing a tank top they all could see that her chest and back were covered in ink as well. Her ears were pierced multiple times, as was her nose. She looked fierce, like she’d spent most of her formative years with the Hell’s Angels. At first – and even second – glance she seemed intimidating. But the image shattered when she interacted with her daughter. Isabel was in a bright pink onesie with the picture of a giant kitten on the front. Jenna fed her small pieces of cake and doted on her endlessly.

Orlando didn’t have much experience with babies, so he tried to stay back and talked with Rosa and Raoul instead. But Isabel was fascinated with Viggo from the get-go and naturally Jenna was thrilled to show off her beautiful baby girl. Viggo had Isabel sitting on his lap while he ate his cake and she looked up at him with wide, curious eyes and grabbed his nose, the hem of his shirt and the medical bracelet with surprising force. She giggled when he laughed at her and Jenna ohh-ed and ahh-ed at them in delight, happy that her daughter had made a new friend.

Orlando watched them out of the corner of his eye – as did Rosa. Viggo had started out tense and tight-lipped, but the longer he had Isabel on his knee the more relaxed he appeared. Seeing such an unguarded laugh from Viggo was a rare occurrence and Orlando smiled along unconsciously.

“That was a good idea, Rosa,” Orlando said quietly to her. She followed his gaze over to where Viggo and Isabel were sitting and nodded.

“It was a gamble. Raoul knows Viggo is not comfortable with people, but doesn’t know about the epilepsia. But he said he brings his family or doesn’t come at all. It’s good, right?”

“Right.” It was good and no one was as surprised as Orlando.

Rosa nodded again. “You tell us when to leave. We’ll not overdo it.”

“Good plan.”

Initially, Orlando had thought they’d sit together for a while and eat. And then Rosa and her family would leave again. But it didn’t happen that way and Rosa’s visit stretched into several hours. First, Charlie caught Isabel’s interest and she couldn’t get enough of grabbing Charlie’s coat with her little chubby fists. Charlie was patient and gentle with her, but Isabel being charmed with Charlie only led to Viggo’s announcement that she absolutely had to meet the horses.

In the end, it was Viggo, Raoul and Isabel who went over to the barn to see Cody and Rascal. Orlando stayed back at the house with the two women. They sat on the porch, enjoyed the late afternoon light and watched Viggo explain something to Raoul with all-encompassing arm gestures pointing at different parts of the barn. And then they went up to the horses and Viggo let Isabel pat them. He even put her on Cody’s back, holding on to her to make sure she stayed safely atop. Even from the safe distance of the house they could hear the girl’s excited squeals. Apparently, she was a cowgirl in the making.

When the little group came back to the house, Isabel held safely in Viggo’s arms, it was decided that the Muñoz-household should get going.

Rosa vehemently vetoed taking any of the food with her claiming that Orlando and Viggo were mostly useless in the kitchen and would surely benefit from having some home cooked meals in the fridge. Upon Viggo’s argument that they’d never be able to eat all that in a timely manner, she just shrugged telling them to eat more or get a bigger freezer. Among other things, Rosa was also extremely practical.

“Getting a bigger freezer will only cause you to cook even more,” Viggo cut in.

Rosa didn’t see a problem with that. “I only make sure you don’t starve.”

Viggo hugged her close. “Te amo, Rosa. Gracias por hoy.” Orlando still didn’t speak a word of Spanish, but even he understood what Viggo was saying.

Once the visitors were gone, Orlando and Viggo retreated to the back porch, Orlando with a cold beer and Viggo with one of his herbal teas. Viggo had a few non-matching wooden rocking chairs on his porch that weren’t exactly comfortable, but they lent themselves to be kicked back. In this fashion it was possible to put one’s legs up on the railing. Which was what they were doing right now.

They sat in companionable silence, each sipping at their beverage of choice, and watched how the sun slowly disappeared behind the treeline.

“I missed you here last week,” Orlando said eventually. “It’s just not the same without you.”

“I’ve missed this, too. I spent the last week imagining myself sitting with you out here. And then I imagined what I’d do to you.”

Orlando put his beer bottle on the ground. “I’m up for a demonstration, no pun intended.” He threw a glance at Viggo. This had been a long day for him and it showed. “But you look exhausted, that was probably more excitement than was strictly necessary for your first day at home. We can just go and snuggle up on the sofa. Or go to bed early. As long as I get to hold you tonight, I’m good.”

“Just come over here and kiss me. And then we’ll see about the rest.”

Despite Viggo’s constant grumbling during the last week about being bored out of his mind, Orlando knew that he’d needed the rest – still needed it. The seizure itself had been severe enough to be life-threatening and it had needed heavy doses of strong medications to stabilise Viggo again. And the inflammation levels had only gone down two days ago. He was still on antibiotics. Whether he liked it or not, Viggo was still recovering and Dr. Blake had insisted he not overdo it. To which Viggo had – unbeknownst to the doctor – rolled his eyes.

Orlando didn’t know whether Viggo was physically strong enough for what they both had in mind. But they wouldn’t know it if they didn’t try and Orlando was all for taking this as far as it would go. He hadn’t lied: As long as he got to hold Viggo all his expectations were met. There was no pressure here.

“Whatever happens, happens. Right?” He leant over and captured Viggo’s mouth in a kiss. He had missed this so very much. He had missed the way in which Viggo was able to give himself completely with a kiss. It might have been Orlando who initiated the caress, but it was Viggo who took over right away. He nibbled at Orlando’s lower lip before plunging his tongue deep into Orlando’s mouth. He explored Orlando’s mouth like it was undiscovered country, like it was salvation. Their kiss was wet and intimate and so very hot. Orlando heard Viggo moan and he felt the sound reverberate through his body. He tried to open up wider, more. He wanted to be all invitation and welcome, letting Viggo know without words that he had waited for this very desperately.

It was a beautiful kiss, full of emotion and reassurance that went back and forth between them, but the armrest of the rocking chair was poking Orlando in the ribs and it was awfully distracting. He broke the kiss. “Ouch. You didn’t think this through when you bought these. They don’t really lend themselves to a good cuddle session. Let’s take this upstairs?”

Viggo looked at Orlando: His cheeks were flushed, his lips already swollen from their kiss. Then his gaze went from Orlando to the pasture and the setting sun. “I think I have a better idea. You wait here.” Without further explanation he got up and disappeared into the house.

Orlando rocked his chair to and fro, touched his lips reverently and tried to get his breathing under control. He didn’t want to rush this. Instead, he wanted the evening to last. He let all the conflicting emotions of last week wash over him to feel them and accept them. And then he let them go. The only thing that was left now was gratitude. He had been so afraid to lose Viggo that he now felt like they had been given a second chance. They were incredibly lucky and Orlando felt humbled that they’d made it to this point: Despite all odds they had arrived here in this beautiful spot and at this particular moment in time. And for the first time they were both okay with how they’d gotten here. They were both ready to accept who they were individually and together. Finally, after all this time, Orlando knew that Viggo would talk to him. That whatever obstacle presented itself, Viggo would believe that they could tackle it. Together.

The seizure had been bad, the whole situation had been bad. He hoped desperately that he’d never again have to go through something like this. But at the same time the experience had helped them find a new understanding with each other. It had shown Orlando that he could do this. It had shown Viggo the same thing – and for the first time Viggo had believed what Orlando was trying to tell him.

Orlando was pulled from his musings when Viggo reappeared. His hands were full with both blankets from the living room and duvets from the bedroom. Orlando got up to help and Viggo pushed everything into his hands to then take blanket after blanket from Orlando to build them a little comfortable nest on the porch. Orlando watched what Viggo was doing and it took him a while until he caught on. “You mean to … out here?” he asked incredulously.

Viggo looked at him and then arranged the duvets for a little extra cushioning. “Why not? It’s warm enough, it’s beautiful. Look at the setting sun. It’s like … picture-perfect!”

Viggo had a point. Orlando’s initial response was a panicked: “But what if someone sees us?” But then he checked himself. This wasn’t his mom’s terraced house, it wasn’t his dorm room in London. This was a ranch in the middle of nowhere, they were the only people for miles. The next neighbour was a ten-minute car drive away as far as Orlando knew. No one would disturb them.

“Okay, yeah,” he said eventually while he tried to get used to the thought. A sly smile played around his mouth. “That’s a great idea.” He started undressing – first kicking off his shoes, then undoing the fly of his jeans. Viggo followed suit. He fished the condoms and the lube out of his pocket, put them next to their impromptu bed and then got rid of his clothes as well.

“Do we need those?” Orlando asked, pointing at the condoms.

Viggo raised an eyebrow, but he played along. “I’ve had enough blood tests to last me a lifetime. You do the math,” he said with a shrug.

“And I’ve only ever had safe sex.” Orlando let that statement hang, but when Viggo didn’t say anything, he continued. “If it’s okay with you, it’s okay with me.”

Viggo gave him a searching look. “You really want this?”

“Of course I do! Don’t you?”

“I want everything you offer me.”

Orlando smiled brilliantly. “Well, then. It’s settled. Let’s get on with it.”

“Your sense for romance is unparallelled,” Viggo said, but he was grinning.

Chapter Text

When they were both sitting on their bed of blankets Orlando noticed that Viggo had lost weight during his hospital stay. His ribs shimmered under his skin. Viggo would need a little fattening up, but luckily they had Rosa’s cooking that would last them at least through the next week. He would also need the sun on his skin, because Viggo couldn’t go long without being outdoors and spending time on the trail with the horses. All in all, he would need a little pampering and Orlando looked forward to it.

Orlando sat down across from Viggo and embraced him. There had been a lot of embraces during the last days, but none had been sexually charged. This one was, though, and they both noticed the different energy right away. Orlando felt goosebumps all over his arms and back upon coming in contact with Viggo’s naked skin. Viggo shuffled closer and tried to get them to touch in even more places and Orlando wondered if anything between them had ever felt as intimate as this.

“Kiss me?” Orlando asked eventually. Viggo didn’t need to be told twice. He all but attacked Orlando’s mouth and Orlando felt the kiss tingle through his body from the crown of his head all the way down to his toes. He tried to keep up with Viggo’s ferocious attack, tried to give as much as he was getting, but there was no matching Viggo’s single-minded determination and soon he decided to simply yield. He allowed himself to be swept away by the kiss, by Viggo’s love and eventually breathing became difficult. Orlando became lightheaded. He moaned into the kiss, which only seemed to spur Viggo on. He attacked anew and it became almost impossible for Orlando to draw in enough air. He panted hard, felt sweat break out all over his body and his skin became slick against Viggo’s. His arousal went straight into his groin and his cock reacted like it always did when Viggo was near: with all-encompassing need.

Orlando’s hands ran up and down Viggo’s sides, kneaded his buttocks, trailed lightly along his arms. Viggo’s breathing turned laboured and his skin was warm under Orlando’s palms. “How does that feel?” he asked, breaking the kiss for a moment.

Viggo’s eyes drew the last vestiges of sunlight to them. It gave them a warm hue. “Good,” he confirmed. “Feels like heaven.” Viggo smiled.

“Want to keep going?” Orlando asked, just to make sure Viggo wasn’t overexerting himself.

There was another nod and Viggo’s hands closed around Orlando’s waist, drawing him near. “Absolutely. Want to feel you.” Then his palm brushed against Orlando’s cock in an almost accidental fashion, there and gone again.

Orlando was hard, he ached for more of Viggo’s touch. “God, do that again.”

Viggo’s hand came back, closed around Orlando’s cock and started to move. Orlando pushed his pelvis forward, into Viggo’s hand. It felt incredibly good. It felt like it wouldn’t take much to push him over the edge.

Viggo seemed to notice too. “Want me to make you come?”

It would be so easy to say yes, but what he wanted most was to get to the precipice together with Viggo and jump off hand in hand. “No,” he gasped. “I want to wait for you.”

Viggo’s hand on Orlando’s cock turned feather-light, it felt more like a promise than an actual touch. Viggo left an open-mouthed kiss on Orlando’s shoulder. “Okay. It might take a while, though,” he admitted.

“We have the whole night,” Orlando promised. “Lie back. Let me take care of you.”

Viggo complied, entrusting his body into Orlando’s hands. He looked up at Orlando and let his hands touch wherever they wanted: down Orlando’s arms, down his legs, up his torso, and Orlando leant down for another kiss. Orlando rotated his hips, creating some friction for Viggo and heard him moan in response.

Orlando let himself be everywhere at once. He dipped his tongue into Viggo’s ear until Viggo curled his toes in delight. He suckled at his throat until he felt Viggo’s pulse beat like a hammer under his lips. He touched with his lips and his fingers and with the rest of his body and from time to time Viggo would react with a whispered “right there” or “more” or “keep going”. Finally, Orlando’s mouth closed around Viggo’s half-hard shaft and Viggo gasped.

Orlando felt Viggo’s hand on his shoulder, a grounding touch. He concentrated on what he was doing, on enveloping Viggo’s cock in wet heat, in teasing Viggo to full hardness.

It took less than he had anticipated. It seemed they had spent a long time just lying with each other, touching and kissing and enjoying each other’s presence. All his touches and kisses brought Viggo joy, made him crave more.

“Yes,” Viggo hissed. His body became restless under Orlando’s hands and his hand tightened on Orlando’s shoulder. “Want to be inside you so bad.”

Orlando’s let go of Viggo’s cock, gave the head a wet and sloppy kiss and Viggo threw his head back. “Oh, fuck,” he groaned.

Orlando waited for Viggo to look at him. Then he licked his lips and grinned. “That’s the general idea.”

Viggo’s eyes grew dark with arousal.

Orlando made a grab for the lube, opened it and coated his fingers generously. Viggo realised what he was doing and his eyes were glued to Orlando’s fingers when he reached back to prepare himself. It didn’t feel halfway as good as when Viggo fingered him, but it would do.

Viggo watched mesmerised as Orlando prepared himself. He put his hands under Orlando’s buttocks to help him support his weight and Orlando used Viggo’s guiding hands to let himself fall deeper unto his finger. He found the spot eventually, the one that made stars appear in his vision, and his moan was deep and throaty.

Orlando’s eyes were closed and his head thrown back in a wanton display. It came as a surprise when a second finger entered him, a finger that was not his own. He moaned and his eyes flew open, searched Viggo’s gaze.

“Wow,” he breathed when he felt Viggo stretch him. “Wow,” he repeated, because words failed him.

“Wish you could see yourself,” Viggo rasped. “You look so hot.”

Orlando didn’t want to waste Viggo’s energy with prep. He withdrew his finger, grabbed the lube and started to coat Viggo’s cock generously. Viggo thrust his hips into Orlando’s hands. He looked into Viggo’s eyes. “Ready?” he asked and positioned himself above Viggo’s cock. He could already feel him push against his entrance.

“God, yes,” Viggo ground out and then he found his way into Orlando, pushed up experimentally and drew out again. The angle was different, Orlando noticed, and then Viggo pushed back in. This time, he already went deeper, pushed into Orlando until they were flush against each other. Orlando felt Viggo deep inside him, deeper than he ever had before. The were skin to skin, with nothing between them and it felt right. He was full, full of love, pleasure and that tight feeling in his belly. The air around them was heavy with the scent of sex. It was absolute perfection.

Viggo pushed up a little, pushed into him, and Orlando took up the rhythm, intent on making this pleasurable for Viggo without him having to work hard for it. Orlando moved first his hips and then his whole body and started to screw himself on Viggo’s cock in earnest. He tried different angles until he found the one that let Viggo’s cock brush against his sweet spot and he cried out in bliss. Viggo’s hands on his hips became almost painful in the way they steadied him. His movement turned more frantic and the tightness in his belly caused his lungs to force out air in short little puffs.

And then Viggo’s hand closed around his cock. He stroked and Orlando upped the tempo. He couldn’t keep this slow anymore, because he wanted more of that wonderful feeling of Viggo’s cock against his gland. There it was again, stronger and sharper than before and Viggo’s hand worked him hard and fast.

Pleasure spiked through him in short bursts. Each time he let himself be impaled by Viggo’s cock it shot through him sharp and bright. First it was in his groin – naturally – but then it moved upwards into his belly, his lungs. It made his lips burn and his fingertips tingle. He made a grab for the wall behind Viggo’s head and Viggo pumped him, closed his hand even tighter until the sharp bursts of pleasure became one continuous sensation. His climax grabbed him firmly, took him away and Viggo kept going, kept drawing it out for him until he thought he couldn’t take more.

It washed over him, enveloped him and made him feel sated and heavy and blissful. And still Viggo moved within him. Viggo sat up, which changed the angle again, and it felt like too much too soon, but he let Viggo push into him while Viggo held on to his upper body, sought his mouth for a kiss. They were close, one body trying to crawl into the other, and Orlando held on to Viggo while Viggo came with a groan, his fingernails leaving a sharp pain on Orlando’s shoulder blades. In the end, Viggo simply collapsed bonelessly against Orlando, utterly spent.

Viggo was still coming down from his high when Orlando lowered them back onto the makeshift bed. The movement caused Viggo to slip from his passage and he felt empty and lost right away. Orlando grabbed the nearest item of clothing he could reach and cleaned them up a little. Viggo gave an appreciative hum, but he was still breathing too heavily to speak just yet. Orlando snuggled up to him, he wanted Viggo close.

Viggo gathered the duvet around them and drew his arms around Orlando. “You felt amazing,” he said eventually when he had his breath back.

Orlando trailed his fingers up and down Viggo’s arm. Goosebumps appeared where he was touching. “I hope it will always be fireworks between us and nothing less. I’m glad you’re back, Viggo. Welcome home.”

Viggo closed his arms around Orlando even more tightly and kissed the crown of Orlando’s head. “I’m glad to be back. And don’t think I didn’t notice that you’ve put in the work here. Thanks. Thanks for stepping up and keeping everything afloat. It means the world.”

“We’re a team, right? We can rely on each other.”

“Yes. Yes, we can.” Viggo paused. “It feels good, feels right.”

Orlando smiled. “It does.” Orlando pondered whether he should broach the subject now or enjoy the afterglow for a while longer, but the truth of the matter was that he wanted to tell Viggo. He wanted to tell him very desperately indeed. “Viggo?”

“Mhm?”

“I told my mom,” Orlando blurted out, because he couldn’t keep quiet anymore.

“Told her what?”

“That I’ve met someone. That I’m in a relationship. I told her about us.”

When Orlando had come back from the hospital on Wednesday he had decided that it had to happen now, before Viggo came home. He had put it off again and again, because deep down he had been afraid that it wouldn’t work out after all, that Viggo wouldn’t be able to truly let him in. He hadn’t felt secure enough to tell his mom. In all honesty, he hadn’t wanted to give her the satisfaction of an “I told you so” in case things didn’t turn out right for him and Viggo. But after Viggo’s seizure on Wednesday, the one that Viggo had voluntarily shared with him, Orlando had suddenly known that it was time. He had fallen head over heels in love with Viggo, had known from the beginning that he wanted to be part of Viggo’s life. But until now the doubts that they couldn’t make this work had gnawed at him. After that quiet hour in Viggo’s hospital room he had suddenly known that the understanding they had found with one another would be a solid foundation for their relationship. They had overcome the obstacle that had blocked their way, once and for all.

Orlando wasn’t sure that Viggo understood the enormity of his statement, because Viggo remembered only bits and pieces of what Orlando had told him about his mom. It had probably been cowardice on his part to have this particular conversation with Viggo while he was fighting his way back from a seizure, but apparently Viggo remembered the relevant parts well enough after all. “How did she take it?”

“She wasn’t exactly thrilled.”

Well, that wasn’t the whole truth. Orlando had opened the conversation with: “Mom, I’ve met someone.”

He had basically been able to hear her excitement over the line. “Oh, that’s wonderful,” she had said. “What’s her name?”

Orlando had pretended to not having noticed her use of the female pronoun. He’d promised himself to stay polite and loving. She was his mom. He didn’t want to fight with her or antagonise her. All he wanted was that she found it in herself to be happy for him. “His name is Viggo. He came to the library one day, to donate some books.”

Orlando had gone on to tell his mom about Viggo and how they had fallen in love. He had left out the minor detail that Viggo had epilepsy, because he felt that accepting he was in a relationship with a man was a big enough task for now.

Yes, his mom had been less than thrilled.

“She asked me to come home,” Orlando told Viggo. “Like, permanently. I think she’s telling herself that it’ll all go away if she has me under her thumb again.”

“You’re not seriously considering moving back, are you?”

“No,” Orlando promised. “I just came here. I started working at the library not even a year ago. We only just met. I’m planning to build a life for myself here. This is my home now. If I ever go back to England, it’ll be on my terms – on our terms – and not on my mom’s. I told her so.”

“Did you fight over this?” Viggo asked carefully.

Orlando shook his head. “We don’t fight, at least not in the way you mean. But I think I made it clear that I wouldn’t back down again like I did with Colin. If she ever decides to make me chose, I’ll chose you.”

“I don’t want to come between you and your family,” Viggo interjected.

“That’s not how it will be,” Orlando argued. “I don’t want to lose my mom. We’ve always been really close and I love her. But I need to live my own life, on my own conditions. You’re part of that life. I’ll not give you up. And I’ll not give up my life here just to please her.”

Viggo ran a hand up and down Orlando’s arm. “I think I’m the luckiest man alive. And if I ever act like I’m forgetting that fact, feel free to hit me over the head with a heavy and blunt object.”

Orlando blurted out laughing. “Okay, I’ll keep that in mind. But don’t complain afterwards!”

They spent a relaxed weekend together, moving from the sofa to the bed and back again. Sometimes, they switched things up and moved from the bed to the porch. And even though Orlando knew that Viggo would deny it he was glad that he could rest as much as he needed and that Orlando would read even the smallest desire from his face. It didn’t matter in the least if that desire was for sex, company or something to eat.

On Sunday evening Orlando started to worry, though, because he didn’t quite know how to address the subject of where he should stay during the week. While Viggo had been in hospital Orlando had visited his own flat only when he had needed something from it – another pair of jeans, some t-shirts. But he had lived at the ranch, out of necessity and because he had wanted to. Viggo being back posed the question of how they should go on from here. Orlando didn’t want to intrude, but if he was honest with himself he also didn’t want to move back to his own place.

In the end, it turned out easier than anticipated: Over dinner on Sunday evening Viggo asked Orlando when he’d be home on Monday and whether he could get them pizza from the Italian take-out place near the bus station.

And that was how Orlando moved in with Viggo.

Chapter Text

Viggo was glad to be back home and he was glad to have Orlando there as well. If Orlando feared that Viggo’s hospital stay might set him back mentally, causing a lot more talks like the ones they had already had, he was mistaken. Viggo didn’t seem at all fazed by what Orlando perceived as a narrowly avoided catastrophe. It surprised him that Viggo took up his hacks through the mountains and even his visits to the library again without so much as batting an eye.

When Orlando finally asked Viggo about it he got nothing more than a shrug. Viggo was all pragmatism. “There has always been a risk,” he explained. “I’ve lived with that risk for seven years. When I got sick, the smart thing to do would have been to live somewhere more crowded. Or even better: not live alone. I could have moved back in with my parents, my mother offered. Multiple times, actually. But I couldn’t do it, it would have felt like the ultimate defeat. I always knew the risk of living out here alone. I’ve accepted that risk. But you know what? The risk has become smaller. Because of you. I’m not alone anymore. You promised to catch me and you did.”

Viggo’s answer made sense, but the more Orlando thought about it, the more he came to the conclusion that it was just one part of what had happened. Orlando had offered Viggo a safety net ever since learning about the epilepsy, but only now was Viggo finally ready to accept it. Orlando suspected that their shared experience of Viggo’s hospital stay had changed something in him. It had changed how he perceived himself. Getting the diagnosis seven years ago had shaken his world, it had disrupted Viggo’s sense of self in a very profound manner. Suddenly, he was someone else. Someone with a neurological disorder that refused to go away again. It wanted a slice of Viggo’s life, but Viggo refused to budge. Viggo fought this new reality with everything he had. He used up all his energy fighting a battle that was already lost instead of coming to terms with his new life and moving on. His attitude kept him from healing, from going on, from finding a way forward.

Viggo refused to let the epilepsy be a part of his persona, because he feared it would change him beyond recognition. He feared this acceptance, didn’t want it from himself or from his loved ones. He had neither given Josh nor his family the time to acknowledge the new situation. He had rather fled. He hadn’t given them a chance, he hadn’t been ready. He hadn’t been ready for their acceptance and love because he hadn’t wanted to let go of his past self.

But now, seven years later, he was finally able to go forward. Maybe it had needed Orlando’s nudge. Or maybe it had simply been time to let go of the bitterness and accept what Orlando had been trying to tell him all along: That he was worthy. The illness was part of him, but it wasn’t all of him. It didn’t erase Viggo’s sense of self to accept the epilepsy.

Orlando’s acceptance showed Viggo a new way how to perceive himself and this new relationship with his body and his health gave him freedom. It also finally gave him the strength to trust Orlando. It was what Orlando had craved from the beginning. But to actually carry that responsibility on his shoulders after seeing Viggo being rushed off to hospital was another thing entirely. To know that Viggo’s well-being might depend on the decisions he made was a frightening concept. The first time Viggo had a seizure at home after his hospital stay, Orlando was scared half to death. With one hand he held on to the brand new rescue meds and with the other he gripped Viggo’s hand. He tried not to panic, but failed so miserably that the first thing Viggo said afterwards was: “Wha’ wron’, Lando?”

That Viggo’s first thought in this situation was for Orlando was his undoing. Tears sprang to his eyes and he had a good cry without being able to put into words for Viggo what he was actually crying about. It caught Viggo absolutely unawares to suddenly have a sobbing Orlando in his arms. But they managed. And afterwards Viggo told him that it was okay to be frustrated and angry and scared. Viggo didn’t need him to be heroic and confident all the time. Orlando already was a superhero in Viggo’s opinion. Orlando having a little emotional crisis didn’t even make a dent in the way Viggo perceived him.

In this fashion summer slowly turned into autumn. The new medication Viggo had come home with from hospital had Orlando on edge in the beginning because it took a while to find out which of the many side effects Viggo would experience to what extent. Never having known Viggo pre-epilepsy, Orlando had gotten used to the status quo. He could live with the many hours of sleep Viggo seemed to need and he didn’t mind that Viggo stayed clear of alcohol and caffeine. He could deal with the fact that not only the epilepsy but also the pills affected Viggo bodily as well as mentally. But seeing how the new meds shuffled things around made him wonder anew what Viggo had been like before he had been diagnosed. In truth, Orlando wondered what part of what he perceived as Viggo’s persona was his actual character and not a side effect of the very strong medications Viggo’s body needed to function.

What Viggo was taking now came with a black box warning, which alerted to serious or life-threatening side effects. It was also one of the medications that could cause suicidal thoughts. Dr. Blake had asked them to report back at once should they notice any change in Viggo. It had Orlando in a panic, but to his relief nothing worrisome happened. Even better, the new medication caused less fatigue. Viggo suddenly had more energy and he needed less sleep, which of course was a good change. The pills did cause some serious dizziness if he didn’t eat enough when he took them, but that only meant that it wasn’t a good idea to skip breakfast.

It took a while until it was truly noticeable, but the new medication changed the frequency and the severity of the seizures. They started to space further apart and soon Viggo could go two or sometimes even three weeks without a single seizure. He would then have a breakthrough seizure followed by three or four days with one or two seizures a day. He didn’t get much done during those days, but he started to cherish the long stretches in between. Those longer seizure-free intervals boosted his confidence and once he started to trust this new rhythm Viggo’s radius increased. They went to the feed store together and on occasion Viggo accompanied Orlando on his weekly trip to Walmart. It wasn’t what other people did on a date, but to Orlando it felt exciting and thrilling to be out and about with Viggo, even if they were only getting groceries. On one memorable Saturday Viggo trailered the horses and they drove half an hour to go on a hack in a different stretch of forest for a little change of scenery. It elated Orlando to see how Viggo got braver with every week that passed by and he enjoyed exploring Viggo’s new-found freedom with him.

Rarely, Viggo had a tonic-clonic seizure. Since those caused full-body convulsions he usually hurt all over afterwards. His whole body was sore, his head ached and he needed hours, sometimes even a good night’s rest, to clear the fog from his mind. The tonic-clonic seizures brought everything to a screeching halt. Viggo couldn’t work, because he lacked both the attention span and the motivation. He couldn’t go for a ride, because his muscles ached. And he couldn’t talk with Orlando in a meaningful manner, because all kinds of thoughts tumbled over each other in his brain and he couldn’t really catch one. He frequently forgot what they were even talking about and it frustrated him. His remedy was sitting in front of the TV and streaming some movie that he couldn’t remember afterwards. Orlando learnt to stay out of his hair, because when Viggo’s irritability and annoyance caused him to lash out at Orlando it only meant he’d feel even more guilty once he was himself again.

Orlando tried to be understanding and forgiving, because he could see how Viggo struggled mentally after a tonic-clonic. It still left him feeling inadequate, because he could do nothing to make Viggo feel better. He wished for a magical remedy, for an actual magical wand that would help Viggo bounce back after a seizure. But of course something like this didn’t exist. The only thing to be done was to go through it from beginning to end, even if Orlando hated seeing Viggo struggle with his body and his mind again and again.

In contrast to the tonic-clonic seizures, the focal seizures became less severe. Viggo still had motor seizures, the ones Orlando had seen before: fixed stare, forced head movement, automatisms and then the twitching that went through his face, his arm and his hip. But now he also had non-motor seizures from time to time that looked more like the one Orlando had witnessed during Viggo’s hospital stay. Sometimes, there was some minor muscle movement – like a tremor in his hand –, but mostly Viggo would only stare blankly and appear spaced-out. He was largely unresponsive to whatever Orlando was doing or saying and instead stared at his hands or some random spot in either fascination or – more rarely – utter fright. Those seizures looked less unsettling, but since the postictal period stayed the same for Viggo, it didn’t make much of a difference to him. He still had to go through the confusion and the difficulty finding words afterwards.

Living together as a couple came more naturally to Orlando than he could ever have anticipated. Viggo had his own rhythm and because his body needed the regular sleeping patterns and the low stress environment Orlando took the pockets of time with Viggo and enjoyed them. He enjoyed waking up at the crack of dawn, taking care of the horses and then having breakfast with Viggo before he had to leave for work. He enjoyed both of them going about their day in the same space without necessarily being in each other’s hair. He enjoyed the evenings when Viggo would take his sweet time to seduce him and he enjoyed the mornings even more when Viggo felt well-rested enough to drag him back to bed for some glorious morning sex.

Orlando had been in one significant relationship in his life and it had been with a girl. Yes, he’d liked Bri, but as much as he had tried, he had never been in love with her. There had been moments when he had enjoyed spending time with her, but mostly it had felt like a chore. It had felt like something he had to do, something that was expected of him when in truth he would have rather spent his time alone. He had always looked forward to the moment when he could say goodbye again and it had worn him out so very much, because deep down he had known that this wasn’t what love was supposed to feel like.

With Viggo not even the chores felt like chores. Yes, that sounded clichéd and Orlando readily admitted to that, but it was still the truth. Even the most trivial moments were enhanced by Viggo’s presence and it was a revelation to Orlando. With Viggo, there was never a moment when Orlando thought he’d rather be alone.

No, it wasn’t all sunshine and roses. Viggo wasn’t a saint (and well, Orlando wasn’t either). Viggo’s pragmatism had the tendency to turn into pessimism if things didn’t go his way. If the seizures got to him or the meds gave him trouble, he became morose and short-tempered. Orlando felt the brunt of Viggo’s moods simply because he was there. But Orlando soon learnt to shut it out, to not become affected by whatever Viggo was throwing at him. Whenever Viggo lost his temper and his stoicism his anger wasn’t actually directed at Orlando. It was directed at himself, at his body’s inability to function like a body should.

And yes, just as Viggo had requested, Orlando told him when he was being a dick. It worked. It worked insofar as it shut Viggo up long enough for him to remember that Orlando was on his side. That was all he needed sometimes.

They found a level of trust with one another that hadn’t been there in the beginning, because something like that could only develop with time. It couldn’t be forced and it couldn’t be rushed. Over time, Viggo managed to shed most of the embarrassement and awkwardness he felt because of the seizures, but only in Orlando’s presence. He became braver and started to put himself in situations he had avoided for years, but he never did it alone. He always needed Orlando and Charlie as his safety net – Charlie to alert him and Orlando to get him out of a situation if needed. It gave him confidence to know that Orlando was ready and able to take over if Viggo’s brain failed him. In the end, it was nothing more than Viggo accepting that he wasn’t alone anymore. No one was forcing him to tackle life on his own. The idea gave him peace of mind.

Orlando was fine with that arrangement because he feared nothing more than a repetition of Viggo’s trip to the hospital. He didn’t want to smother Viggo with his care, but he did feel better when he was present. The fact that Viggo still spent large stretches of his day alone while Orlando was at work stressed him considerably. He never quite knew what he’d find when he came home and it made him anxious.

When Viggo had a seizure while Orlando was at work, he would text Orlando the little exploding-head-emoji when the aura started and he would call afterwards as soon as he was able. That still left Orlando with at least half an hour of not knowing what was happening and whether Viggo was alright. They had experimented with Orlando staying on the phone with Viggo, but it only confused Viggo more postictally to hear Orlando talk without feeling his presence in the room with him. They’d also tried videochatting, because it meant Orlando could see what was going on even if Viggo was out for the count. But all too often the phone ended up somewhere and Orlando was left staring at a blank wall or at the upholstery of the sofa which didn’t do anything to calm his nerves. All in all, there was still room for improvement, but at least now Viggo acknowledged the fact instead of postulating that everything was alright and Orlando needn’t worry.

Viggo visited the library alone only because Orlando was there. He didn’t need Orlando to hold his hand through it, it was enough for him to know that Orlando was somewhere in the building. Orlando was his secret lifeline, the one Viggo could call on anytime. In the very beginning, Viggo’s library visits had felt like bank robberies: come in, get his books and flee in an almost dramatic fashion. But he slowly became more confident, drawing out the experience more and more and pushing the moment when the anxiety kicked in further back every time.

Over time, Viggo had even fallen prey to Irene’s charm. She was a social butterfly, a chatty and friendly woman who took an interest in all the people coming to the library. Naturally, she had also taken an interest in Viggo and had never been discouraged by his clipped replies. Again and again she offered him conversation, trusting that one day he’d respond in kind. For months Irene had been lovely, open and welcoming to a man who was hardly able to get the books he needed without breaking a sweat.

However, after Viggo’s hospital stay she had even upped her game and Viggo had stood no chance. Viggo, who by this time had accepted that something in his life had to change – was already changing – was thankful for Irene’s constant offer of chatter. Now he made it a point to talk to Irene every time he came by – at least for a few minutes – to practise his rather rusty social skills.

Their conversations went something like this:

“Hi, Irene,” Viggo greeted politely.

“Viggo! How are you, dear?” Irene came around the front desk and gave Charlie one of the treats she kept behind the counter. Irene always made it a point to remember what the regulars were reading. “How did you like The Essex Serpent?”

“It was excellent,” Viggo said. “I don’t know when I last read such good historical fiction.” That was high praise, even if Irene couldn’t know it. Viggo read a lot of historical fiction, just to keep up with the competition.

“I loved it as well,” Irene gushed.

“Orlando said you have more from the author? What would you recommend I read next?” Viggo asked.

“Her newest, Enlightenment, is all vibes and moods. There’s no plot to speak of. If that’s your thing maybe you should go with that. Oh, and there’s a gay couple!” she said almost as an afterthought as if that surely would be the deciding factor for Viggo. “Memnoch has more of a plot and it has an interesting and unusual setting for an English novel, but it’s not as strong as The Essex Serpent. It revolves around an old and obscure classic that no one has read nowadays.”

Viggo chuckled. “A hard decision,” he said. “I think I’ll just check the shelf and see which cover I like better.”

“And when you leave, don’t forget to take one of our flyers with you,” Irene ordered.

“What are they for?” Viggo asked.

Irene changed her mind. “You know what, take one right away.” She pushed one of the flyers into his hands.

“I don’t think … what?”

“We usually have a fundraiser towards the end of the year. For the World Literacy Foundation. We do a little library sale and a raffle to raise money. Maybe you’d like to participate? We’re still looking for people sponsoring prizes.”

“Irene, I really don’t think that’s my kind of thing.”

Irene didn’t even seem to hear him. “It doesn’t have to be anything big or overly expensive. It’s the sentiment that counts.”

Viggo tried again. “Still, I wouldn’t know …”

Irene interrupted him again. “Orlando said you might have connections to a publishing company?”

“He said what?” Viggo said rather too loudly. He didn’t cherish being outed as an author in Reynards’ Public Library.

“Yes,” Irene explained. “He said something along the lines of you knowing someone who knows someone. It’d be really appreciated.” Irene fluttered her eyelashes at Viggo.

Viggo sighed. He knew he had to at least make an effort, obviously Irene and Orlando had already talked at length about this. “I’ll see what I can do, okay?”

“Wonderful!” she beamed at him. “And let me know when you’ll be here next week. I plan to make pumpkin spice muffins and I want you to try them.”

“That’s very nice of you, Irene. I love pumpkin spice.”

“Good, it’s settled then. You tell Orlando when you’ll be here and I’ll bring the muffins.” She leaned down and scratched Charlie’s ears. “And I’m sure I’ll have something for you, too.”

“Thanks for having us,” Viggo felt compelled to say, but Irene only clucked at him.

“My pleasure, dear!”

Chapter Text

That afternoon, Orlando came home to an empty house. He stepped onto the back porch and looked over to the barn. Viggo had taken out Rascal to give him his monthly pedicure. In Orlando’s very limited knowledge farriers nailed shoes under a horse’s hooves – he wasn’t even clear on the reason why this was done. It had taken him several months to truly realise that neither Cody nor Rascal wore shoes. It took him even longer to figure out that it was Viggo who kept their hooves in shape and that it was indeed necessary to file and clip a horse’s hooves much like you would your own nails. It was pretty hard work, which was probably why Viggo had taken his shirt off. He had one of Rascal’s front hooves on a little pedestal and was filing away at it while Rascal had lowered his head and was resting his chin on Viggo’s back. It didn’t really make the work any easier, but apparently Viggo didn’t have the heart to rebuff Rascal. Once Viggo was done with the front hoof he proceeded to the left back hoof.

Orlando watched. He enjoyed watching Viggo with the horses. Sometimes, when Viggo took out Cody to ride him in the small arena behind the barn, Orlando tagged along simply to watch Viggo ride. Viggo made it seem effortless, like it was the most natural thing in the world when in fact it was anything but. It took both a lot of practice and a lot of skill. Orlando couldn’t imagine Viggo living in New York and not having horses. It was one of the things he couldn’t really fathom when he thought of the life Viggo had lived before. Viggo seemed so at home here, so at peace with the quiet life the ranch offered, so content sharing his life with his animals that it seemed outlandish to Orlando that Viggo had lived in New York not ten years ago. He never talked much about his past, but from what Orlando understood he had been every inch the big city boy. Just as he was every inch the cowboy now.

If given the chance, would Viggo go back? Would he prefer the exciting life in the big city to what he had here? Was the ranch his consolation prize? Orlando couldn’t imagine it. He loved it out here, but the fact remained that he and Viggo had come here from two very different places, emotionally and mentally. Viggo had fled from a situation that had felt like a trap to him. Orlando had come here because he wanted to. Did Viggo regret his choice? Was he bitter about it? It didn’t seem like it, but it was one of the questions Orlando never truly asked. He didn’t want to stir things up for Viggo, didn’t want to upset his equilibrium.

Orlando watched Viggo work until he was finished with Rascal and put him back out to pasture. He washed his hands at the faucet outside the barn. Viggo wetted his neck and chest – he had probably worked up quite a sweat, the afternoon sun was still strong this time of the year. He grabbed his flannel shirt, put his hat back on and ambled over to the house with Charlie at her usual spot by his left knee. When he saw Orlando standing on the porch, he smiled.

“Howdie, partner,” he drawled in what Orlando supposed was an exaggerated Midwestern accent. Viggo pushed his hat further back with two fingers. He meant to give Orlando a chaste hello-kiss, but Orlando chose to embrace Viggo instead. His hands went around Viggo’s still wet neck and he moulded his front against Viggo.

Viggo gasped for air. “I’m happy to see you to, but I’m sweaty and dirty. I need a shower.”

“No, you don’t,” Orlando disagreed. “You’re fine like this, delicious even.”

Viggo hugged him closer. “Who would have thought that the proper English librarian has such a thing for dirty and smelly men.”

Orlando’s hands came around Viggo’s middle, enjoying his warm skin. Viggo hadn’t even bothered to tug the shirt back into his jeans. “I don’t have a thing for dirty and smelly men. I have a thing for you. And I don’t care if you’re dirty and smelly.”

“That’s quite possibly the weirdest love declaration ever.”

“I hope you don’t mind. I’m not very good with romance.”

“That’s fine by me. I’m just a simple cowboy, you know.”

“Sure,” Orlando said and he nodded earnestly. “And I’m Father Christmas.”

Orlando’s fingers travelled up Viggo’s spine, then his hands went down again. He pushed a hand into the back of Viggo’s jeans, trying to get to his ass. Viggo sighed happily. “What are you planning?”

“Don’t know? Kiss me and find out!”

Viggo didn’t hesitate to take Orlando up on the offer. He pushed him against the railing of the porch, effectively pinning him there and Orlando moaned from nothing more than sheer anticipation. He pressed his body against Viggo’s, took a good whiff of his scent – horse, sweat and underneath the soap Viggo used – and then looked into Viggo’s eyes. They were blue, but Viggo’s tan made them look impossibly light when the sun hit them in the right angle. This close they couldn’t hold any secrets. This close there was nothing but trust and love between them.

Viggo pressed his lips against Orlando’s, lightly at first. The touch was a shy vanguard, a small tantalising caress that hinted at more. Orlando opened his mouth, invited Viggo in, but Viggo took his sweet time. He nibbled at Orlando’s upper lip for a moment and his tongue darted out, teasing Orlando with a light touch.

Orlando couldn’t take it anymore. He slung his arms around Viggo’s neck, drew him close and then plunged his tongue into Viggo’s waiting mouth. He felt Viggo’s moan reverberate through his own body, felt the hard planes of Viggo’s chest against his own. He lifted a leg, hooked it around Viggo’s hip and drew him closer still. That brought his cock in contact with Viggo’s crotch, which was just what he needed. Heat was sizzling in his body and he felt it all go into his cock. Viggo grabbed his ass, kneaded the flesh and guided Orlando’s movement.

“I want you,” Orlando rasped into their kiss, in case his hard-on wasn’t indication enough. “I want to feel you come inside me.”

“Yes,” Viggo all but growled. During the last months they had learnt each other’s bodies. They had spent whole evenings on the sofa, touching each other, kissing and enjoying each other’s presence. They knew by now how to draw things out, how to give pleasure. But they also knew their shortcuts. Viggo knew he could get Orlando hard with nothing but a kiss. It didn’t take much to have Orlando moaning and yearning, ready to be taken. It didn’t take much because he was young, eager – and healthy. The other way around it wasn’t quite so easy. Because of the way his brain worked and how the medication affected his body, Viggo needed a lot more stimulus than Orlando – even if he was just as eager. A kiss wouldn’t do the trick. But Orlando’s hand on his cock was a safe bet.

They didn’t bother with removing their clothes and instead just opened flies and buttons to allow hands to sneak in. Their kiss turned relentless and Orlando moaned when Viggo caught his lower lip between his teeth, nibbling at the worried flesh and showing Orlando no mercy. Viggo’s hand found its way first into Orlando’s jeans and then into his underwear. It pushed the fabric aside and further down. Viggo’s fingertips trailed lightly across Orlando’s hipbones for a moment before his hands gripped harder. His palms pressed into the small of Orlando’s back, down into his crack and it was good, very good. Only feeling Viggo’s hand close around his cock could be even better.

“Don’t be a tease,” Orlando demanded and he showed Viggo what he wanted. His own hand closed around Viggo’s cock and Viggo groaned. Orlando stroked the length of Viggo’s cock firmly and Viggo moved into the touch, pushing into Orlando’s hand repeatedly. In turn, Orlando rocked his own body against him. Viggo got the idea and his wandering hand turned to Orlando’s front. His palm was unyielding against Orlando’s cock and Orlando sought more of the heavenly friction.

“Lube, now,” he ordered. He gave Viggo’s cock one last tug and then let go, turning around and resting his arms on the railing. He wiggled his ass a bit, putting himself on display for Viggo’s viewing pleasure. There was a growl from Viggo, somewhere between lust and utter annoyance.

They probably should have thought about the lube before things got heated, but Viggo was back in no time. It was probably a good thing that Orlando had his back to him, otherwise he would have seen Viggo hobble inside with his jeans around his ankles. Not that it would have made a dent in his desire, but it surely would have caused a laughing fit and therefore a delay in the main attraction.

As it was, not much time at all passed until Orlando felt a slick finger enter him. The intrusion was welcome and he pushed against Viggo’s finger and moaned.

“Give me more,” he said, but Viggo wouldn’t be rushed. Viggo’s other hand rested on Orlando’s side, steadying him while Viggo’s finger gently explored and stretched. When Viggo was satisfied with the way his finger easily slid in and out of Orlando’s passage he added a second finger. Once he had Orlando moaning steadily he added a third. By then Orlando was as sweaty as Viggo and he felt his hair stick to the nape of his neck. He moved his hips a little, urging Viggo in the right direction and Viggo took his cue, curled his finger and Orlando’s knees turned to jelly.

“God, yes,” he cried and he let his had fall forward. “Yes.”

“Ready?” Viggo asked needlessly. His voice was tight. He didn’t wait for Orlando to answer, but drew out his fingers and Orlando heard him press more lube out of the tube to coat his cock.

“I want to feel you. Now,” Orlando ordered and Viggo readily complied. He felt Viggo push into him, careful and steady. Orlando felt Viggo claim him. He felt Viggo come up flush behind him and he breathed out and waited for Viggo to move.

Viggo started to rock, slow little jerks at first that felt teasing and inadequate to give Orlando what he really wanted. But before he could truly complain Viggo lengthened his strokes, went deeper and used more force. He adjusted the angle to hit Orlando’s gland and Orlando’s moans turned steady, desperate, loud. The scenery in front of him blurred while Viggo rammed into him with rising force. Orlando closed his eyes to better enjoy the sensation.

“You feel so good,” Viggo whispered. He bent lower to come flush against Orlando’s back and reached a hand around Orlando’s body. He stroked Orlando’s flesh in rhythm with his own strokes, pushing into Orlando with something akin to desperation. His left hand curled around Orlando’s on the railing, holding on for dear life.

Orlando felt Viggo’s lips against his neck. Viggo was licking the sweat from his skin. Orlando was pushed into the railing each time Viggo drove forward, but he didn’t mind, because it felt incredible. Viggo hit his prostrate again and again and he groaned, his voice hoarse. The double assault of feeling Viggo’s cock in and Viggo’s hand around him had him see stars. It was too good. It was too good, too much, too intense to last long.

Orlando heard Viggo’s breath catch and he felt Viggo’s hand tighten around his own. He’d come soon, Orlando knew. Viggo’s movement became frenzied and desperate and Orlando knew he wouldn’t be able to keep this up much longer.

“Take me with you,” he forced out and Viggo’s hand around his cock upped the tempo once more. Viggo pushed into him deep and Orlando felt him pulse, felt him come and spill himself. Orlando tumbled into the abyss of his climax, riding wave after wave of pleasure. Everything was white light and a buzzing sound for the longest time while Viggo breathed hotly into his neck, held on to him tightly. Viggo stilled above him and allowed them both a moment to appreciate the afterglow before he pulled out, embraced Orlando from behind and nuzzled his neck.

“I love you, angel,” he whispered into Orlando’s ear. “Doing this with you is everything.”

Orlando hadn’t caught his breath yet. His answer was nothing but a satisfied hum. Once his heartbeat had calmed a bit, he turned in Viggo’s arms and embraced him. They had worked up quite a sweat, now they both needed a shower. Orlando looked forward to it.

“I think we need to do something about this porch,” Orlando said eventually.

Viggo nuzzled Orlando’s neck. “Why is that?”

Orlando threw a glance at his surroundings. The porch was bare apart from the mismatching rocking chairs. It didn’t really lend itself to spending time here, despite the beautiful view. “Because we tend to end up here and I feel we could be way more comfortable.”

Viggo lifted his head and looked about himself as if he was seeing the porch for the very first time. He frowned. “Actually, you might be right. Maybe it’s time for a little home improvement. How about we do a bit of planning over dinner? I think Rosa left us some casserole.”

~*~

During the past months Orlando had made it a point to be a good friend to Ben, especially since he was in the process of getting rid of his flat. Soon, they wouldn’t randomly meet in the hallway of their building anymore. Instead, they would have to make an actual effort to see each other. As per tradition they usually met up in the Barn. On Friday nights they would go there for a few beers to chat and unwind from the past week. Orlando had cancelled a few times, because Viggo hadn’t felt well and he didn’t have good feeling leaving him alone. But generally Orlando made it a point to show up and he had worked hard to convince Ben that it wasn’t a bad omen for their friendship when he had to cancel. More and more, Orlando felt they were in a good place again with one another. Slowly but surely Ben started to realise that Orlando acted out of love and responsibility and not because Viggo made him do things he didn’t really want to do.

“Is Viggo going to pick you up tonight? You keep glancing at the door.”

“Yeah, sorry. Didn’t want to appear absentminded,” Orlando said. Sometimes, Viggo would pick Orlando up from the Barn, which meant that Orlando could drink. Viggo would ring his mobile, but if Orlando didn’t notice his call Viggo would come in for a moment and stand in the entrance until he was able to catch Orlando’s eyes. He’d then go back to his car and wait for Orlando to come out.

Ben had either gotten used to Viggo’s off-putting manner or he had at least chosen to not comment on it anymore to keep the peace. Orlando was thankful, took another swig of his beer and changed the subject. “How are things on the dating front?”

“Pfft, asks the guy who hasn’t been single for months now. You know I’m totally holding that against you. It’s really no fun if you’re single alone.”

“Didn’t you chat up that cute redhead two weeks ago? She seemed nice.”

Ben made a face. “She was. Then I found out she’s a health freak who works out on a daily basis and drinks protein shakes. Not really my kind of thing.”

Orlando grinned. “She did look very fit.”

“Yeah, whatever. She was grossed out by the medium rare steak I ordered when we had dinner and lectured me endlessly on the health risks of red meat.”

Now Orlando was openly laughing. “Maybe you need someone who shares your interests?”

“Like what?”

Orlando pointed at Ben’s t-shirt. “Like horror movies, for instance?” A scary-looking Pinhead was printed on the front of Ben’s shirt.

“Unlikely. Girls don’t like horror movies.”

Orlando raised an eyebrow. “I think you know the wrong girls.”

Ben threw his arms in the air, exasperated. “That’s exactly the problem!”

“Right,” Orlando agreed and they were silent for a moment, both looking intently at their bottle.

“Right,” Ben said eventually. “Maybe I need another hobby.”

Before Orlando could react and recommend hobbies that might bring Ben into the vicinity of women he noticed Viggo at the far end of the Barn. He was standing inside the entrance and looked over at them. Orlando caught his gaze and gave a nod to let him know that he had seen him.

Viggo nodded back, but he didn’t leave. He stood there for a moment longer and then stepped further into the bar, carefully finding his way between the tables and the people and slowly walking over to them. Orlando stared, then he swallowed and his heart started to hammer in his chest. This was a big step for Viggo.

Ben noticed the change in Orlando and followed his gaze. “I’m seeing things.” He let that hang, but when Orlando didn’t say anything in return, Ben continued. “He’s coming over.”

“Yes,” Orlando said and his whole body seemed to hum. “Yes, he is. Be nice, Ben. Please.” He looked at Ben pleadingly. He needed Ben to understand that this was a huge challenge for Viggo without actually telling him what was going on.

Ben didn’t get the chance to answer, because suddenly Viggo was there – next to their table. Orlando got up, got close to him and embraced him for a moment. Then he let go to secure a chair from another table for Viggo.

“Here, sit down for a moment?” he said, making it a question.

Viggo looked at the chair, looked at Orlando and nodded. “Yeah, I guess I should.”

Viggo sat down next to Orlando and held out a hand to Ben. “Hi, I’m Viggo,” he introduced himself as if there could be any question regarding his identity.

“Ben,” Ben said, shaking his hand. He seemed polite, yet reserved. Clearly he was withholding judgement until further notice.

Orlando grabbed Viggo’s hand under the table and squeezed it. He leaned in close, both because it was loud in the Barn and because he didn’t want anyone to overhear. Viggo turned his head in his direction. “I’ve got you. You know that, right?”

Viggo nodded and looked into Orlando’s eyes for a moment. “I know.” He then looked at Ben. “Nice to finally meet you, Ben.”

“Took you long enough,” Ben said and Orlando shot him a sharp look.

Under the table, Viggo was squeezing Orlando’s hand even more tightly. “Fair enough. Sorry about that. I’m not really good with crowds.”

“That’s what Orlando said.”

“He didn’t lie,” Viggo replied.

Ben took a swig from his beer and levelled a gaze at Viggo. “That why you live out on that ranch?”

Viggo shrugged like it meant nothing. “In a way. But it is beautiful. It’s no hardship to live out there.”

“Oh, yeah,” Ben agreed. “Been there a few years ago. The view is spectacular. I always felt it was such a shame that it stood empty.”

“Yes, it was my lucky break that I found the ranch. Best thing that ever happened to me.”

Orlando cleared his throat in a melodramatic fashion and Viggo took the hint. “Apart from meeting Orlando, naturally.”

Orlando beamed at Viggo and Ben made a face. “Naturally,” Ben agreed.

“And you better believe it,” Orlando cut in.

Ben knew better than to argue. He brought them back on track. “Was really run down, though. Pity.”

Orlando could feel the tension in Viggo’s body. He wasn’t relaxed. Sitting in this crowded place and talking to a stranger took a lot of effort. But he did it, and from across the table Ben wouldn’t be able to see how hard it was for Viggo to keep this up.

“It was,” Viggo said in a steady voice. “Took a lot of work and most of my savings to make it halfway decent again.”

“It’s not halfway decent,” Orlando disagreed, feeling that he needed to come to Viggo’s defence here. “You did a great job.”

Viggo gave another half-shrug. “Just last week you complained about the porch.”

Orlando blushed, but luckily it was quite dark in the Barn. “I didn’t complain. I just pointed out that it could be improved upon.”

“And I agreed.”

Orlando explained for Ben’s benefit: “We’ve decided to renovate the porch. It’s rather … minimalistic.”

Ben looked between the two of them. He wasn’t stupid, he knew he was missing some innuendo here. “Maybe you should have come in earlier,” he said to Viggo.

“Why?” Viggo asked.

“Just …” Ben looked at Orlando instead of answering Viggo. “He’s nothing like what I imagined.”

“I know, I told you.”

Viggo didn’t intervene. He’d only heard half of what Ben was thinking about him and didn’t plan to comment on it. Instead, he let his eyes wander around the place.

“You did.”

“Multiple times, actually.” Orlando couldn’t help but enjoy his late victory.

“Shut up, already.”

Ben was saved by Viggo of all people. “That girl over there,” Viggo said and his eyes went to one of the corner tables. “You know her?”

Ben glanced in the direction Viggo had indicated and knew right away who Viggo meant. A small brunette was throwing them glances. She was sitting at a table with a few friends. “No, never seen her before.”

Orlando caught on quickly. “She’s checking you out, man!”

“No, I don’t think so.”

Viggo seconded Orlando. “Maybe you should go over to her. Say hi.”

“Mhm.” Ben looked at Orlando, not trusting Viggo’s judgement on this. “What do you think?”

Orlando looked at the other table and then at Viggo. He felt the tension swell and ebb in Viggo’s body. “I think Viggo and I will leave now and then you can go over there and ask her whether you can buy her a drink.”

Ben looked nervous suddenly. “She’s pretty.”

“She looks like a really nice person,” Viggo said.

“Maybe she likes horror movies.” That came from Orlando.

“Okay,” Ben said with finality. “I’ll go over. Keep your fingers crossed.”

“Sure thing, mate. We’ll be going. And you text me how this evening ended, understood?”

“You bet!” Ben promised.

As soon as Orlando closed the passenger door of the Silverado, Charlie welcomed him from the backseat with some excited yelps. Orlando turned around and gave her a few affectionate pats before facing the front again and fastening the seat belt.

Viggo made no move to start the engine. He sat in the driver’s seat with his hands on the wheel and stared straight ahead.

“You okay?” Orlando asked carefully.

Viggo turned his head and Orlando could see an almost manic smile on his face. He held out his hand to Orlando, fingers spread wide. It was shaking slightly. “Yeah, I’m good. Really good.” Viggo nodded.

“Your hand is shaking,” Orlando pointed out.

“Adrenaline.”

Orlando closed his own hand around Viggo’s shaking one. His hand felt cold and clammy. “Did you plan this? Today?”

Viggo grinned. “No, that was a spur of the moment thing.”

Orlando leaned over and kissed Viggo. His mouth was warm and sweet and Orlando let the kiss linger between them. “You look all hyped up. I knew you could do it, I always knew it.”

“Thanks. For keeping the faith.”

“Just remember. Don’t ever do something like this for me, because you think I need this from you. I don’t. What I really want is that you’re able to do something like this for yourself.”

Viggo let go of Orlando’s hand and fastened his own seat belt. “I didn’t do it for you. I did it because of you. And maybe, in the end, that’s the same thing anyway.”

Now it was Orlando who grinned. “I love you,” Orlando said simply.

The drive home was spent with Viggo chatting incessantly and Orlando nodding along. He couldn’t remember a moment when Viggo had been this talkative. Viggo talked about the Barn, about the people, about how freaked out he’d been. He sounded like a kid who wanted to tell everyone about the great summer camp he’d had. Orlando cut in with a “yes” and “really” and “great” from time to time, but otherwise let Viggo talk while snuggling into his seat and enjoying Viggo’s good mood. It made Orlando happy how Viggo was collecting more and more good experiences.

Once they were home, peeling off their shoes and jackets, Orlando noticed something that looked almost like a band aid on Viggo’s right wrist. His good mood evaporated in a heartbeat. “What happened? Did you hurt yourself?”

Viggo didn’t seem worried. He held up his hand, showing off something that looked like plastic wrap. “You mean this?”

“Yes, this. What is that?” Orlando asked, confused.

Viggo held out his hand to Orlando. “It’s a gift. Do you want to unwrap it?”

“A gift? What the hell did you do?”

Viggo gave a happy smile, obviously he was quite pleased with himself. “You go ahead, peel it off. It should come off easily.”

Orlando took Viggo’s hand and turned it until he had a clear view. There really was a bit of plastic wrap taped to the outside of his wrist. Orlando fumbled for the beginning and then he gently pulled. Once it had come off he stared dumbly.

“You didn’t.”

“I sure did,” Viggo said, matter of fact.

There was a tiny heart on the outside of Viggo’s wrist, no bigger than a fingernail. Orlando touched it carefully, feeling the raised skin.

“You got a tattoo?”

“Yeah. You remember the heart you drew on my hand when I was in hospital? I noticed it only hours later. I saw it in the mirror when I was brushing my teeth. You said it was a spell you put on me.”

Orlando had almost forgotten about that. “That was so silly of me.”

“No, it wasn’t. It wasn’t silly at all. It didn’t want it to wash off, but of course it did anyway. But I wanted to feel your mark on me always. So I got a tattoo.”

Orlando was flabbergasted. The man who had needed months and Orlando’s presence to work up the courage to walk into the Barn had gone to get a tattoo. All by himself. “How did you pull this off?”

Viggo looked very pleased with himself. “Remember Jenna?”

Orlando had to think hard. “Rosa’s daughter in law?”

“Yeah. As luck will have it, she’s a tattoo artist. She agreed to do this for me after hours. Gave a raised eyebrow, too, asking me whether I was sure that I wanted something this girlish and cute in my advanced age.” He put the last part in air-quotes, indicating that those had been Jenna’s exact words.

“Oh god, I’m sorry,” Orlando said, but he had to hide his grin.

Viggo shook his head. “It’s exactly what I wanted. I told her it held sentimental value.”

“You’ll always have my heart,” Orlando said once the realisation slowly trickled in.

“Yes,” Viggo said. He looked at the tiny heart on his wrist. Orlando took his hand again and brushed his lips against the tattoo. The skin was slightly raised, he could feel the heart against his lips. Upon closer inspection it also looked slightly reddened.

“Even without the tattoo, you’ll always have my heart. But it’s beautiful. Let’s go to bed so that I can cherish my gift a little more?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Chapter Text

Orlando was on the porch, his feet up on the railing and Trust in his hands. The book told the story of a 1920s Wall Street tycoon four times – with different narrators, different points of views and a different emphasis. It dug deeper into the heart of the story with every new retelling of the tale, emphasising how much it mattered who told a story.

While he was reading Orlando was also texting with Sal. They were keeping each other up to date about what was going on in their lives. Orlando had sent her pictures of the porch renovation project. Viggo had started scraping off the paint, which meant that it looked even worse than before. Viggo’s plan was to re-paint everything before winter set in.

Viggo was over at the barn, repairing the tractor. Orlando had spaced out two seconds into Viggo’s lengthy and detailed explanation of what needed to be done, but the gist of it had been that the much needed spare part had finally been in the mail. He wanted to get the repair finished because they needed to move a bale of hay and it would be much nicer on both their backs if they had the use of the tractor.

There was a ping from his mobile just when Orlando saw Charlie running in the direction of the house, barking. Viggo didn’t depend on Charlie in the house, knowing that he’d have a spot to lie down wherever he went. But he took her along as soon as he left the house and that she obviously came running to get Orlando could only mean one thing.

Orlando’s heartbeat accelerated. So far he hadn’t been able to unlearn the initial panic that gripped him whenever Viggo was having a seizure, but he made it a point not to rush his movements. He put his book onto the railing, vowing to get it later, and got up. Then he went inside to get Viggo’s rescue meds from the bedroom. They hadn’t needed them until now, but Orlando always felt better if he had them on hand.

By the time he returned to the porch, Charlie had caught up with him, running circles around him and ushering him in the direction of the barn. Orlando took the time to praise her and scratch her ears. She needed to know that she had done the right thing, positive re-enforcement was key. She couldn’t know what behaviour they wanted from her if they didn’t tell her with treats and cuddles.

Rescue meds in hand and Charlie in tow he went over to the barn. Viggo still had his head under the hood of the tractor. Charlie ran up to him, sniffing his legs. Viggo re-emerged and turned around. He looked okay, apart from the smudge of motor oil on his forehead.

“Want to come over to the house?”

Viggo drew his forearm across his face, which didn’t improve the smudge-situation. “No.” He looked at the tractor in disdain. “I had hoped I could finish this up. Stupid thing.” He gave the giant wheel of the tractor a good kick.

“Don’t worry about it. You can finish later, right?”

“Yeah,” Viggo answered and dove back into the tractor. They both knew he’d probably not have the motivation to finish his repair later on.

“I’ll go get some rugs. The ground’s pretty cold already.”

Viggo didn’t answer. Orlando left him to his work and went into the tack room to get some of the horses’ rugs. He spread them next to the bales of straw. This way Viggo could sit up or lie down – whatever he’d prefer. Charlie observed his preparations with a critical eye.

Once he was done, he went outside to see how Viggo fared. He didn’t interrupt again, instead standing to the side and watching Viggo silently. He would have preferred Viggo sitting down and taking things slow, but there were times when Viggo could take being interrupted by a seizure and then there were times when his stubbornness won out and he decided to ignore the inevitable. Apparently, today was one of those days.

Orlando could tell when the aura started. It wasn’t so much anything Viggo was doing or not doing as it was Orlando having become attuned to Viggo’s mood changes. Viggo straightened and let his screwdriver drop into the toolbox. He rubbed his forehead and took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said, obviously feeling this was explanation enough. He rubbed his right thigh.

“Come on,” Orlando said. “Let’s sit down.”

They sat down next to each other, with their backs resting comfortably against the straw. Charlie prowled restlessly in their vicinity, sniffing all corners of the barn carefully as if she was making sure nothing evil would attack them. She came over from time to time to get Viggo’s approval but soon left again to return to her duty.

Viggo was antsy, he often was when the aura worsened. He couldn’t find a comfortable position, fiddling with his hands and moving his upper body continuously. In the end, he drew his legs up to his chest and leaned forward to rest his forehead on his knees. He was uncomfortable and it showed in his body language.

Orlando put his hand into Viggo’s neck, rubbing with his thumb up and down Viggo’s spine. “Deep breath,” he told Viggo. “Just take a deep breath.”

Viggo did just that. He was breathing audibly, but in the end he exhaled and sat up again. He was uneasy, his eyes roamed the barn. He let his back rest against the straw and Charlie came over to lick the corner of his mouth. Viggo turned his head away and blinked. “Lando?” he said.

“I’m here,” Orlando soothed, pressing his thumb a little more forcefully into the nape of Viggo’s neck.

“Are we alone?” Viggo asked out of the blue.

Orlando didn’t quite know what he meant. “Charlie’s here with us, but yes. We’re alone.”

Viggo’s eyes flickered in Orlando’s direction without looking at him. “There’s a shadow next to you.” He speech was slowing down already, the words were not quite rolling off his tongue.

This was just a visual hallucination, but it gave Orlando the chills anyway. “There’s no one there, Viggo. We’re alone. Take a few deep breaths, relax.”

“Okay,” Viggo said. He inhaled in an almost exaggerated manner, because he was concentrating too hard on what he was doing. He looked at Orlando for guidance. “Lando?”

“I’m here,” Orlando said again. “Deep breaths.”

Viggo nodded and took deep, open-mouthed breaths. He touched his left cheek wordlessly.

Orlando glanced at his watch to check the time and then snaked his left arm around Viggo’s shoulders to let his hand rest against Viggo’s cheek, giving him the touch he had asked for. Orlando rubbed his thumb against Viggo’s temple but otherwise kept his hand still. Viggo chuckled like he was laughing to himself about some secret joke. He did it again, a fleeting smile. Obviously the seizure was tickling something in his brain, his reaction was involuntary.

Then the automatisms started in his right hand. Viggo lifted his arm and his fingers moved almost as if he was playing an instrument or conducting an orchestra. He turned his hand when it started to shake slightly. The tremor went up his arm and into his shoulder. He curled his fingers. His open-mouthed breaths turned into a chewing motion and his body turned rigid next to Orlando.

It was nowhere near the worst seizure Orlando had ever seen on Viggo. When the shaking started it was a slight twitch in his right cheek, then it went down to his mouth. The seizure lifted the corner of Viggo’s mouth – up, up, up. He gave the illusion of looking at Orlando, but his eyes were empty, the pupils dilated.

His right hand shook and then his right arm described a wide arc. The spasms forced air from his lungs. Viggo sagged slightly to the right, into Orlando and his left hand grabbed Orlando’s left wrist and held on with surprising force.

“I’m here,” Orlando said once again, keeping his words simple. “You’re doing good. Keep breathing.” It was unlikely that Viggo could hear him, but that didn’t stop Orlando. If there was even the slightest chance of his presence registering somewhere in Viggo’s brain, he wanted his presence to be a comforting one. He had nothing to lose by talking to Viggo, it was certainly better than silence.

There was a grunt from Viggo and his hand gripped Orlando’s wrist harder. Then, suddenly, his mouth was filled with vomit, some of it dribbling down the corner of his mouth.

Orlando swallowed the heartfelt fuck that was on the tip of his tongue, because he didn’t want to run the risk of alarming Viggo. Orlando moved him into a position that didn’t bring him into danger of choking on it. It was always frightening to see a symptom during Viggo’s seizures that he hadn’t displayed before. It made Orlando fear that the seizure would take a bad turn.

Regurgitation could happen during a seizure, even if it wasn’t usual for Viggo. Orlando gently tried to get him more on his side to make sure the airway stayed free – that was always the top priority.

Charlie came over and licked Viggo’s mouth while Viggo’s twitching went on. She often licked Viggo’s face during a seizure. It was meant as stimulation and in this instance worked insofar as Viggo’s seizure stopped abruptly, from one moment to the next. Viggo let go of Orlando’s wrist and Orlando used the opportunity to look at his watch. Not even a minute had passed.

Viggo sat up again and his right hand went to his left sleeve. He folded it up, drew it up to his elbow, folded it down again – all in a very methodical fashion except for the fact that he was lacking coordination and couldn’t really grab the fabric. His hand was going through the motion, but he wasn’t achieving anything. Orlando used Viggo’s preoccupation with his shirt to push a finger into his mouth to make sure there wasn’t anything left that Viggo might choke on. Viggo noticed what he was doing and he moaned in protest and turned his head away. But he didn’t stop what he was doing.

Orlando waited him out and gave his brain the time to reassemble itself. Viggo stared at his shirt, at what he was doing: folding the sleeve up and down and up again until the movement finally slowed. Orlando took that as his cue. “Can you hear me, babe?”

Viggo didn’t answer. Instead he tapped his mouth.

Orlando was pretty sure that Viggo had taken a water bottle outside with him. But letting him drink now held the risk of him choking. He wasn’t aware enough yet to swallow. “Not yet, Viggo.”

Viggo tapped his mouth again, a silent plea.

Orlando could understand his frustration. It surely sucked to wake up to the taste of vomit. “I’ll get you something to drink soon.”

Viggo turned restless again, similar to his behaviour before the seizure. He turned his head from one side to the other and seemed to look at nothing in particular. He made a sound in the back of his throat and Orlando started to rub his left temple. Viggo closed his eyes, but he tapped his mouth again.

“You need to come back to me before I can let you have some water.”

“Mhm,” Viggo answered.

“Good,” Orlando praised. “Want to keep talking? How are you feeling?”

Viggo looked at him blankly. Orlando tried again. “You good?”

That garnered a reaction. “Yeah.”

“Okay. Are you still thirsty?”

Viggo nodded and he tapped his finger against his mouth yet again.

“First we’ll have to make sure it’s safe for you to have some water, okay?”

That was a pretty long sentence and as expected Viggo didn’t react to it.

“Can you tell me what year we have?” Orlando asked. “You tell me the year and I’ll get you some water. Deal?”

“Mhm,” Viggo mused, but he didn’t seem to catch on to what Orlando wanted from him.

“Viggo, what year is it?”

Viggo was thinking hard. “’e’ii.” He attempted, but then trailed off, losing interest in their conversation.

“What year is it, Viggo? Can you tell me?”

Charlie helped by licking Viggo’s hand. Viggo looked down at his dog. “Cha’iee,” he said affectionately. He buried his left hand in Charlie’s coat and the dog looked at him in adoration.

“Yes,” Orlando put in helpfully. “Charlie came over to the house to get me. Do you remember?”

“Bes’,” Viggo provided.

“Yes,” Orlando agreed. “She’s the best dog.”

Viggo smiled tiredly. “Bes’,” he said again. He exhaled and sat back against the straw, his exhaustion was catching up with him. He closed his eyes and his body relaxed.

Orlando addressed him again. “Babe, before you fall asleep: Tell me the year and I get you your water. You were thirsty, remember?”

“Yeah.”

“What year is it?”

Viggo opened his eyes again and thought hard about his answer. “Two,” he mumbled indistinctly.

Orlando waited a little, but Viggo didn’t speak further. “Do you remember the year?” he prompted eventually.

“Yeah,” Viggo promised. “’s two. Two,” he repeated.

“You’re getting there,” Orlando praised, even though Viggo’s answer was mostly nonsensical. It was a pretty hard question, Orlando admitted to himself. It wasn’t about the correct answer anyway. It was about Viggo being aware enough to not choke on anything Orlando might give him.

“Tas’ ’ad. Was ha’en?”

“You threw up. I’ll get you your water now, to get rid of the taste. Okay?”

“’uuu,” Viggo started and closed his eyes again wearily. “Fuck epi … e’ile’.” He couldn’t make his mouth form the word, it had too many syllables anyway.

“Fuck epilepsy. I know,” Orlando helped out. “But you’re good now.”

~*~

As Orlando had expected, Viggo didn’t finish repairing the tractor. He had another seizure a few hours later, the kind where his mind seemed to simply go offline. He stared into the corner of the kitchen like he was seeing a ghost, mouth open in either wonder or disbelief. It didn’t last long and Viggo came around pretty quickly afterwards, but the seizure took its toll. They always did.

When dinnertime came around, Viggo was on the sofa nursing a headache and letting a documentary about the Spanish Armada wash over him. Orlando was pretty sure that he didn’t even hear what was being spoken. He was also pretty sure that Viggo knew everything there was to know about the Spanish Armada, so it didn’t much matter.

“What should we have for dinner?”

It took Viggo a bit to react. The fact that Orlando had spoken trickled into his mind belatedly and once it did, he realised that he hadn’t caught the meaning of Orlando’s question.

“Mhm?” he asked eventually and looked up at Orlando.

“Dinner. I asked what you felt like.”

“Not hungry,” Viggo said.

Orlando had expected that. Viggo often didn’t feel like eating afterwards. “We still have a bit of fruit. Some grapes and a melon. How about I get you some?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Orlando went into the kitchen to get the promised food. He prepared a quick sandwich for himself and then brought their meagre dinner back to the living room to sit down next to Viggo. The plates were on the sofa between them.

Viggo picked at the grapes, ate a few and looked at the documentary again. He then grabbed the remote and switched off the TV. He gazed out of the window and chewed on a piece of melon. “Sorry to be such a bother.”

“You’re no bother, babe. You can never be a bother to me.” Viggo knew this. Intellectually, he knew this. But the seizures tended to cause shifts in mood and thinking. It wasn’t his fault that he needed to be reminded. It would pass and he’d feel better tomorrow.

“Ruined a perfectly fine Sunday for us.” He took another grape.

“You think? The day isn’t over yet. Plenty of good stuff can still happen.”

Viggo looked at him with that gaze of wonder Orlando loved so much. “What possessed you to hook up with a grouchy old fellow like me?”

Orlando smiled at him. “You’re not grouchy. You’re just in one of your seizure moods. It’ll pass. You’ll feel better tomorrow and laugh about this conversation. I’ll bet you.”

“It’d be better without.”

“Without what?”

“Without the epilepsy.”

“Sure it would,” Orlando agreed readily. “But that’s nothing we can choose, right? It’d be better without. But on the other hand, it’s pretty great despite. Never forget that. Eat another grape, will you? Seizures from low blood sugar are a thing, you know.”

“I know,” Viggo said, but he dutifully took another grape and didn’t point out that that applied only to people with diabetes.

They sat for a while in silence, Viggo nibbling at the fruit and Orlando wolfing down his sandwich. Once he was done, he took up their conversation again. “You know, I wanted to give you this for your birthday. But maybe it’s not the right thing for a birthday anyway and I should give it to you now.”

Viggo looked up, there was mild interest on his face. “You got me a present? Is it a tattoo?”

“No,” Orlando chided. “Maybe I’ll do that for Christmas. But it’s not a tattoo. Wait, I’ll get it.”

Orlando got up and disappeared upstairs. A few minutes later he was back in the living room, holding out a small box to Viggo. “Here. Open it?”

Viggo took the box and turned it in his hands. He lifted the lid, stared at Orlando and then took out the item. It was a silver cuff bracelet. The star of life was etched into the front in a very subtle manner. “I already have a medical bracelet,” Viggo said, not quite understanding.

“I know,” Orlando said. “Turn it around.”

Viggo did as he was being told. He turned the bracelet to read what was engraved on the inside. It said Epilepsy, just like the one he was wearing. But in addition to that information Orlando’s phone number had been engraved as an emergency contact. Viggo swallowed. He kept turning the bracelet in his hands. “That’s … well …”

“You don’t like it,” Orlando said. It wasn’t a question.

“Why would you think that? It’s … it means a lot to me that you would give me this.”

“So you’ll considered wearing it?” Orlando asked, hopeful.

“That’s nothing I need to consider. Of course I’ll wear it, angel.” Viggo put the bracelet onto his right wrist and moved his his arm in different directions as if he wanted to see the new accessory from every angle. “Looks good, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, it does.” Orlando grabbed Viggo’s left wrist and took off the old bracelet. “Let’s hope we’ll never need it,” Orlando said to lighten the mood.

Viggo was quiet for a moment, but then seemed to come to a decision. “Well, in the same vein I have something for you as well.”

“A tattoo design?” Orlando asked right away and Viggo actually laughed, which was the reaction Orlando had hoped for.

“No, no tattoo design. Something else. I’ll go get it from the library.”

When Viggo came back there was a black folder in his hands. He sat down again and put the folder into Orlando’s lap. Orlando looked at Viggo, raised an eyebrow and Viggo made a gesture that clearly indicated that he wanted Orlando to open it.

Inside were several sheets of paper. The writing was small and plentiful. It looked very official, but when Orlando started reading he only understood every third word. “What is this?” he asked, because he feared he needed some context for this supposed gift.

“It’s a Power of Attorney. If you sign this, it’ll give you the right to act on my behalf if I can’t make decisions for myself. When … you know … This includes the ranch, the rights to my books, every aspect of my life. First and foremost, it includes medical decisions. I had a DNR in place, but … well. I trust you to make the right decision should that ever be necessary.”

Orlando swallowed hard, this was absolutely unexpected and it showed on his face. Viggo continued, unfazed by Orlando’s shellshocked expression. “You don’t have to sign this now. Actually, I don’t want you to sign this now. I want you to read it, understand it and sleep on it. And if you feel comfortable with the thought, sign it.”

“I’m … I don’t really know what to say, Viggo. Are you sure about this?”

Viggo looked determined. “Never been so sure about anything in my life. I’ve had this drawn up when I was released from hospital. It has been lying in my desk drawer ever since.”

“That was months ago.”

Viggo shrugged. “Yeah, I’ve just been waiting for the right moment. I didn’t quite know how to bring it up. And as I said, this doesn’t need to happen right this minute. But it’s here. If you want.”

If Viggo had gotten down on one knee to propose to him, Orlando probably would have been less shocked. As it was he was at a loss for words. “I don’t know what to say. Well, yes … of course, yes. That you’d trust me with that … I mean, that’s a very big step.” Viggo was well and truly placing his life in Orlando’s hands and Orlando felt the weight of it press the air from his lungs.

There was another shrug from Viggo. “At the moment, my brother has power of attorney, simply because I had to make some arrangements for the worst case scenario, but it’s a shitty thing to force that kind of responsibility on someone who has his own life. If push comes to shove, he’ll sell everything, including Charlie and the horses. He’ll use the money and the royalties to put his kids through college. I’ve always been fine with that idea, at least that way something good would come of it. But with you … it’s my hope that you’re a little more emotionally invested in what happens with the ranch. It’s my hope that the animals will still have a home here – that you’ll still have a home – after … well. After.”

“It’s our home, Viggo. Yours, mine, the horses’. Charlie’s. I’d really like that. I won’t let you down, I promise.”

The moment had all the ingredients for turning heavy and full of emotion, but for once it was Viggo who broke the tension. “It’s nice to know that you see me as part of the picture.” Viggo nodded, but he was grinning. “Because you know, this Power of Attorney also springs into action if you hit me over the head with a shovel and put me in an early grave.”

“Let’s not start with the horror movies again,” Orlando defended his honour.

Viggo considered that statement. “You know, we never really did have that date where we discussed your taste in movies.”

“And we’re not having it now,” Orlando said with finality. He closed the folder and put it on the coffee table. He sat back against the sofa and caught Viggo’s mouth in a kiss. Viggo tasted of melon and grapes. “We’re a bit weird. Other couples give each other a new iPad or socks.”

“Not very romantic?” Viggo asked, raising an eyebrow.

Orlando thought about it a little more. The Power of Attorney was a love declaration, just like the medical bracelet. “Well,” Orlando replied. “I think it’s the most romantic thing ever. Remember how we wanted to find our own definition of normal? This is it, right here. Nothing could be more romantic.”

“Yeah, well. Guess we’re stuck with each other now,” Viggo said, but his face was all smiles. Orlando was almost sure they had beaten the seizure mood ahead of time.

Chapter Text

They spent another hour on the sofa, cuddling and talking sweet nothings, but Orlando could tell that Viggo’s energy levels were low. He needed some low-pressure, low-stakes evening entertainment.

“What do you feel like? Movie?”

Viggo’s only response was a grunt.

“Okay, no movie then. How about we turn in? We can just go to bed.”

That garnered a reaction from Viggo. “It’s only eight. I know you, you’ll never be able to fall asleep.”

“I didn’t say we had to sleep. How about I read you a book?”

“What?”

“Read you a book,” Orlando repeated. “As in: I read out loud, you listen. Where’s your phone?”

“My phone?”

Orlando looked at Viggo with a challenge in his eyes. “Are you going to answer all of my questions with another question?”

“Maybe?” Viggo hazarded and Orlando gave him a playful slap. Viggo pointed at the coffee table where his phone was lying.

Orlando made a grab for it and opened up Libby to see what Viggo had marked as interesting. He scrolled through the list for a book that interested them both equally and that was low-key enough that Viggo would be able to follow along despite his exhaustion.

“How about Magpie Murders? I’ve already read it, but I haven’t read the second one yet and I wouldn’t mind a re-read.”

“You want to read me a book,” Viggo said. Apparently, he was two steps behind. Orlando nodded and held out Viggo’s phone to him so that he could read the summary. “It’s a whodunit. I don’t think I have the brain power right now for red herrings.”

“Fair enough.” Orlando went on scrolling. “Oh, I’ve got something. Primeval and Other Times. I’ve heard so many good things about this one. It’s historical fiction,” Orlando said as if that settled the deal.

“Barely, it’s more magical realism from what I’ve heard,” Viggo argued. “But okay, Primeval and Other Times it is. You’re going to read me a book.”

They were in bed by half past eight. Viggo was lying down while Orlando was sitting up, Viggo’s phone in his hand.

“Are you comfortable?” Orlando asked and his hand went down to take Viggo’s. He let his thumb rub against the spot where the tattoo was. It had long healed. He couldn’t feel it, but he knew it was there.

“Yeah,” Viggo said. “Go ahead.”

“Okay, here goes,” Orlando said. “Primeval is the place at the centre of the universe. To walk at a brisk pace across Primeval from north to south would take an hour, and the same from east to west. And if someone wanted to go right round Primeval, at a slow pace, taking a careful, considered look at everything, it would take him a whole day, from morning to evening.”

Orlando more felt than saw Viggo relax. He continued rubbing his thumb against Viggo’s wrist while he launched into the tale. A few minutes later he heard Charlie enter the bedroom. She laid down on the rug that was next to Viggo’s side of the bed and started snoring within minutes. Apparently, she approved of Orlando’s idea for this evening’s entertainment.

“An angel generally sees everything in a different way.”

Orlando hadn’t even reached page twenty when Viggo’s breathing evened out. He had fallen asleep.

Orlando didn’t mind, he simply read on, his voice filling their little room in the middle of nowhere. It was the magic of books. In a way, it was what had brought them together.

Viggo came awake again about half an hour later. Orlando heard his breathing change and then Viggo turned in his direction, listening intently to Orlando’s voice for a while.

“Lando?” Viggo interjected during a chapter break.

“Yes, babe?”

“Would you do me a favour?”

“Sure.” Orlando lowered the phone. “What do you need?”

“I want to feel you.”

“Alright.” Orlando put the phone on the nightstand and laid down. After a day like this, Viggo didn’t have the energy for sex. He couldn’t get his body to a point where making love to Orlando was something to even think about. But Viggo liked feeling held. He liked knowing that he was loved, no matter what. The bodily reminder helped.

Orlando held out his arms, ready to snuggle up. “Come here, I’ll hold you close so you can get some proper rest.”

“No, that’s not what I meant. I meant …” Viggo trailed off, but Orlando waited him out. “I want you to make love to me. I want to feel you.”

There was utter silence in the room for a moment. “You don’t have to offer that. You know I’m okay with the fact we can’t have sex when you’re not feeling well. It’s fine, you don’t have to worry about that.”

Viggo shook his head. “No, I’m not offering. I’m asking you: Would you make love to me? Please?”

“You really want this?”

“Yes. I want to feel you close. If it’s okay with you?”

Was it? Orlando thought about it. He had gotten used to Viggo being an attentive lover, who always took care of him. He didn’t feel like their sex life was in any way lacking or needed to be improved upon. He loved to feel Viggo entering him, claiming him, reaching deep into his body and giving him pleasure. He wouldn’t ever want to give this up. But the idea that he would get the chance to return the favour, that he could show Viggo how much he was appreciated, adored, loved – yes, Orlando wanted that very much. The more he thought about it, the more he wanted it.

“Yes, of course it’s okay with me. I just hope I’ll be able to give you at least a fraction of what you’re giving me when we make love.”

Viggo caught Orlando’s mouth in a kiss. Their tongues played slowly, lazily. Orlando felt Viggo pour every ounce of love he had into the kiss and it took Orlando’s breath away.

Viggo broke the kiss and suddenly he was nervous. “Lando?”

“Yes?” Orlando let his hand run up and down Viggo’s arm.

“It’s just … I don’t know what my body will do. How it will react.” Viggo closed his eyes. “If it reacts at all.”

Orlando didn’t falter in his strokes. “I know. How about we find out together? I’ll touch you and you tell me where it’s good. If you don’t like it we stop. Whatever happens, happens. Remember?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

Orlando thought how to best go about it. It was likely that Viggo wouldn’t be able to get hard, that he couldn’t come, so that probably shouldn’t be what he aimed at. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy being touched. Orlando could still kiss every inch of Viggo’s body. He could still touch him. Maybe this was their chance to explore Viggo’s body in a totally different way. Who knew what Orlando might discover along the way?

“We’ll start slow,” Orlando said. “Turn on your stomach.”

While Viggo did as he was told, Orlando sat up. He drew the blanket back, revealing Viggo’s backside to the soft light of his reading lamp. Orlando crawled lower and slowly drew Viggo’s boxers down. Viggo helped by lifting his hips a little. He didn’t say anything, just rested his forehead on his folded hands.

Viggo was motionless on the bed and Orlando took a moment to appreciate the view. Yes, he had enjoyed looking at Viggo’s backside clad in faded jeans before and he liked seeing the muscles in his back work, but he wasn’t quite sure whether he had ever taken the time to simply sit and look his fill. Had he ever really appreciated Viggo’s naked body from top to bottom? He did so now and took the time to observe: Long legs, well-muscled from all the riding Viggo was doing. Firm buttocks and a little further up the little dimples at the small of his back. A narrow waist and then the wide expanse of his back, the summer’s tan slowly fading. His dark-blonde hair came down to the nape of his neck. It was a little longish and would need a cut soon. Viggo didn’t like it when it became long enough to tickle his neck when he turned his head.

Viggo started to squirm. “I can feel you looking at me.”

“Want me to touch you instead?”

“God, yes,” Viggo rasped. His voice was muffled.

“Okay,” Orlando breathed. He started at Viggo’s feet, pressing his thumb firmly against the instep, against the sole, against the ankle. He interchanged that with a stroking motion up his calves, touches that were feather light one moment and firm the next. He widened his caresses, sprawled his fingers and once he reached Viggo’s thighs, Viggo widened his legs. He sighed when Orlando’s fingertips brushed against the inside of his right thigh and Orlando repeated the caress, made it lighter and then firmer and then lighter again.

“Oh, god,” Viggo breathed when Orlando switched to the other thigh, repeating his ministrations. It didn’t take long for Orlando to realise that Viggo’s body reacted much more intensely to the strokes that were bold, firm and bordering on being too much. When Orlando’s finger brushed feather light against Viggo’s skin, Viggo would relax into the mattress. His breathing would even out and his whole body would hum with sheer contentment. But whenever Orlando scraped his nails against the sensitive inside of Viggo’s thigh, Viggo would almost jump out of his skin, begging him for more with a gasp. It was then that sweat started to glisten on Viggo’s shoulders and on the nape of his neck. It was when Orlando was overstimulating him with touches that didn’t give Viggo any reprieve.

Orlando smiled to himself. He could do this all night and not get bored. It turned him on to have Viggo at his mercy like this, spread out before him like an offering, waiting to be touched and loved.

Orlando leaned down and kissed Viggo’s thighs. He felt goosebumps appear beneath his lips and Viggo moaned: “More.”

Orlando let his tongue wet the skin on Viggo’s thigh and Viggo’s breathing became deep and audible. He widened his legs even more, giving Orlando a good view of his balls and his entrance. They’d get to that in due time, Orlando knew, but he wanted every inch of Viggo kissed before they went down that road.

Viggo rocked a little into the mattress, obviously in search for some friction, and Orlando proceeded to his butt, scraping his nails across his cheeks and then dipping his hand into the crack. Now there was sweat on the small of Viggo’s back as well. The little droplets glistened in the low light. Orlando couldn’t resist – there was no reason to anyway – and he dipped his tongue into the little cleft there. Viggo gasped and pushed his hips into Orlando’s body.

Orlando stopped his caresses and gave Viggo a chance to catch his breath. He held Viggo still by the hips. “Does this feel good?” he asked rather needlessy.

“Yeah.” Viggo sighed.

“Good.” Orlando’s hands moved upwards: Viggo’s lower back, then his shoulders, his sides and then back down again. Viggo gave a long and frustrated groan, but soon Orlando found a spot on Viggo’s right side that made him moan. Who could have known that such an unobtrusive spot held such delight for Viggo. Orlando lavished attention on it for a little while longer and then he kissed the nape of Viggo’s neck, open-mouthed and wetly. Viggo turned his head to the side in the hope of getting kissed elsewhere, but Orlando wanted to take things slow. He wanted Viggo to enjoy this for as long as possible.

Orlando let his own body come to lie above Viggo, giving him a chance to feel his hard-on as it poked Viggo’s ass. “Not even halfway done,” he whispered into Viggo’s ear. Viggo’s eyes were open, but unfocused, and he smiled at Orlando’s words.

“I feel hot all over,” Viggo said. “You’re setting my skin on fire.” He moved a little and gyrated his hips to create some friction for Orlando’s sake.

Orlando moaned, enjoyed the sudden spike of arousal, but vowed to not let himself be distracted.

“Turn onto your back.”

Viggo did so, his eyes were closed now. He wasn’t hard, but Orlando had expected that. It still hurt that he couldn’t just make things magically better for Viggo, that all his love wouldn’t be enough to make things right for Viggo. It hurt not his pride but his heart to accept that their life wasn’t a fairy tale where problems could be solved by making a wish.

“I love you,” he said, just to make sure that Viggo remembered that simply truth. He didn’t want Viggo to feel naked and vulnerable, he wanted him to feel safe, loved and taken care of. “Relax, just enjoy.”

And then he went back to Viggo’s feet to start all over again. Quite obviously, Viggo hadn’t expected that and after the initial surprise Orlando felt Viggo relax into the simple touches again, the touches that didn’t demand anything more of him but lying there quietly and feeling. Now though, Orlando could see Viggo’s face while his hands roamed Viggo’s body. He had closed his eyes again, his head was tilted back slightly. His hands were buried in the sheets while Orlando kissed his knee-caps. His belly quivered when Orlando found a ticklish spot.

“Talk to me, babe?” Orlando asked when he burrowed his head between Viggo’s thighs, again kissing the sensitive skin on the inside of his legs.

“That tickles,” Viggo breathed.

“Good or bad?”

“Good.” Viggo moaned, a lazy and almost apropos sound. “Your kisses feel so good. And your hair tickles my skin. Seems to be everywhere at once.”

Orlando kept at it for a while, kissing and touching, and when he looked up he saw Viggo’s chest rise and fall with every shaky breath that he took. Viggo’s mouth was open and he licked his lips. The wanton display went right into Orlando’s cock. He was hard, almost painfully so. Seeing Viggo so at display, needing his touch, had him aroused beyond measure. He hadn’t missed anything in their sex life, hadn’t even realised that he craved anything more. But now he had to admit that this slow seduction was something he’d definitely want to do again.

He bypassed Viggo’s cock for now and upon Viggo’s frustrated groan, he chuckled. “Patience. You don’t want this to be over, do you?”

“No,” Viggo agreed. After a few breaths he repeated: “No. Don’t stop.”

There was no danger of Orlando stopping anytime soon, not when there were still so many more things to discover. He held Viggo by the middle and dipped his tongue into Viggo’s navel. He felt the muscles in Viggo’s belly quiver. Viggo’s body seemed to draw in on itself and then expand again, and Orlando let his tongue swirl around the outside of his navel to then dive deep again. He let his hands explore again, running up and down Viggo’s chest first with a firm and then with a light touch. His fingers trailed through the hair on Viggo’s chest and Orlando felt goosebumps under his his hands again. Viggo moved into the touch and Orlando finally took mercy on him and brushed the palms of his hands against Viggo’s nipples. The caress was meant to be rough, but it had the desired effect and Viggo licked his lips again. He drew up one leg and Orlando decided to take up the invitation.

Orlando closed his hand around Viggo’s soft shaft and just held him for a moment. “Is this okay?” he asked and waited for Viggo’s shaky nod before rolling one of Viggo’s nipples between his teeth. That had the desired effect. He had Viggo even more breathless within minutes and Viggo’s hands came around his back to hold him close. He grew bolder and moved his hand on Viggo’s cock, paid special attention to the head and waited for a cue from Viggo how the touch was received.

“Feels good,” Viggo said. He sounded surprised. “Different.” He panted and pushed into Orlando’s hand. “Not sharp,” he tried to describe the feeling. “But …” He searched for the right word again. “Deep.”

Orlando moved upwards and caught Viggo’s mouth in a kiss. Like everything he had done so far the kiss was deliberate and without frenzy. Orlando took the time to lick along Viggo’s teeth and brush against his lips. Orlando’s tongue snaked out, following the scar on Viggo’s upper lip. He felt the texture, the little ridge of scar tissue and cherished it. He accepted it like he accepted everything about Viggo – his imperfections, his faults, his victories and his defeats. His scars – visible and invisible.

“Never asked you where you got this,” Orlando whispered against Viggo’s mouth.

Viggo was too relaxed, too turned on to shy away from the question. “The first grand mal I had, I hit the edge of the table when I fell. Broke off half of my tooth as well. Bled like nothing else, or so I’ve been told.”

Orlando didn’t say he was sorry, it wouldn’t have changed anything. It was in the past. He just licked the scar again and then kissed Viggo. Deep, long, passionate. He turned the kiss demanding and dominating and didn’t give Viggo any chance to breathe.

Orlando was touching Viggo until he was awash with pleasure. Then Orlando would retreat, leave him high and dry to catch his breath only to start over a few minutes later.

“Stop teasing,” Viggo forced out eventually, his arms and legs spread wide and his whole body aglow somehow. “Want to feel you inside me, you promised.”

Orlando had promised, but now he was attacked by nerves. Yet again, he was the virgin. He knew how to go about it, but he had no experience yet whether he would actually be able to make this good for Viggo. This was a first: For the first time Orlando would get the chance to bury himself deep in Viggo. He wanted to know what that felt like. He wanted to know that so very much.

And then he hoped there would be many more firsts for them after tonight. In and out of bed. He never wanted to lose this sense of wonder.

“How do you …?” he started and then fell silent. He cleared his throat and started again. “How do you want me?”

Viggo turned on his side, away from Orlando. “Don’t be nervous,” he said. “This is already so much more than I could have asked for.”

“Okay,” Orlando said, hoping to sound convincing.

He took the lube, coated his fingers generously and then circled Viggo’s entrance. Slowly, carefully, shyly. He dipped his finger in eventually, heard Viggo breathe out and felt how Viggo’s body closed around him, welcoming him. Viggo moved a little, changed the angle to get more comfortable and Orlando moved with him, pressing into him. He was touching Viggo in a wholly new way and he let himself explore for a moment, moving his finger within Viggo’s body. He watched Viggo’s face closely, watched how it changed whenever he curled his finger slightly.

“Okay,” Viggo said eventually and Orlando took that to mean that he should add a second finger. He did and felt Viggo clamp down on him hard. He stopped what he was doing and held still, hoping that he wasn’t hurting Viggo.

“Don’t stop, I just need to …” Viggo breathed out and willed his body to relax. “Didn’t get much practice lately.” He tried for a joking tone, but Orlando wasn’t fooled. Viggo’s statement was probably the understatement of the century. Viggo didn’t afford him a chance to dwell on the matter. He pushed back against Orlando’s finger, asking for more of the intimate caress.

Orlando stretched him searchingly until he got the reaction he had been looking for. Orlando’s fingertip brushed against Viggo’s prostrate and his whole body gave a jerk. He gasped. “God, forgot how good that feels.”

Orlando repeated his movement, applying a firmer touch and Viggo turned his head into the pillow to muffle his groans.

“Don’t,” Orlando chided. “I want to hear you.”

He added a third finger and Viggo drew up his legs to open his body as much as possible for Orlando. Orlando marvelled at the fact that he was touching Viggo’s most intimate spot, that they were sharing their bodies on a new level and he felt his chest become tight.

He was desperate now to feel Viggo all around him. He lubed up his cock and Viggo turned a little more onto his front to give Orlando better access. Orlando positioned his cock against Viggo’s entrance, closed his eyes and then gave a gentle push, vowing to go slow for Viggo’s sake.

Viggo was tight around him, tight and hot, and Orlando gasped. He moved, let his cock slip deeper and finally felt himself come up flush against Viggo’s backside. Viggo carefully turned on his side again and Orlando helped himself up on one elbow. He wanted to be able to move freely and he wanted to see Viggo’s face. He looked full of concentration. Viggo looked like he was one with the moment. “Move.” His voice sounded as strained as Orlando felt and he was more than ready to follow the command.

He made little rocking motions first and then drew out again almost all the way, allowing Viggo to get used to the feeling. “You feel so very good,” Orlando felt compelled to say and then he started to move in earnest. It didn’t take him long to find Viggo’s prostrate again. Orlando experimented with his angle and with his rhythm, taking his cue from Viggo’s reaction to find what he liked best. He stimulated his gland with long, deep strokes and then switched things up with short, almost violent stabs. Viggo took it all, engrossed in his own pleasure. Orlando closed his hand around Viggo’s cock again and it felt semi-hard in his hand. A thrill of excitement went through him and he intensified his efforts.

“Harder,” Viggo ordered. “More. Oh god, don’t stop.” Viggo’s was panting hard now while their bodies moved in the rhythm Orlando set for them. Orlando followed Viggo’s lead and gave him more – deeper, more violent strokes in quick succession that made Viggo’s whole body tense up. Orlando leant down and attached his lips to Viggo’s throat – the easiest spot he could reach from his position. He rolled the skin between his teeth while he felt Viggo tighten around him. He reached deep into Viggo’s body, wished for them to become one body moving and pulsing and that image pushed him over the edge. His climax forced him even deeper into Viggo’s channel and he felt Viggo clench around him, helping him along and intensifying the pleasure for him and drawing out his orgasm.

Orlando groaned and curled around Viggo’s back, held on to him as if he would disappear otherwise. His hips gave one last push, but his strength was already fading and his orgasm made him feel both in and outside of this moment at the same time.

He pulled out of Viggo, whose body was rocking on the bed and who was panting, out of breath.

“Viggo?” Orlando asked.

“Suck me,” Viggo pleaded. “Please, give me your mouth.”

Orlando didn’t hesitate. He didn’t even reposition, just put a hand on Viggo’s hip to help him lie on his back. Orlando enveloped Viggo’s cock with his mouth, curling his tongue around the shaft. Viggo still wasn’t fully hard, but his whole body felt like a spring about to go off under Orlando’s hands, so Orlando kept going. He kept trying to give Viggo that last push, kept trying to find the answer to the question Viggo’s body was asking. In the end Viggo’s body shivered, a tremble going through him from head to toe. Orlando kept his mouth firmly on Viggo’s cock, because Viggo’s body was reacting to it, even though Orlando wasn’t quite sure if he was actually climaxing. It wasn’t explosive, wasn’t Viggo riding his orgasm. It was more of a violent surrender until eventually he sighed and stilled, breathing heavily.

When Orlando felt Viggo’s cock turn soft again, he let go and looked up. There was a look of bliss and wonder on Viggo’s face, he seemed to be looking inwards.

“Viggo?” he asked carefully. Orlando licked his lips, Viggo’s taste still prominent on his tongue. The only thing he had to swallow was his own saliva, though. He wasn’t quite sure, so he had to ask. “You came?”

“Yeah … wow. I think I saw stars there for a while.”

“It was good?” Orlando asked. He came to lie on Viggo, his head on Viggo’s chest.

“It was fireworks,” Viggo said. “All over. I really … this was … just wow. Can we do it again?”

“Now?” Orlando asked, fearing that he would need a little time to come down from his high.

“No, not now,” Viggo chuckled. “I don’t think I can move. I think you fucked me senseless.”

“I hope that’s a good thing.”

“Yeah, a very good thing.”

Orlando felt Viggo tighten his hold on him while giving a happy hum. He was a solid presence against Orlando’s body, warm and familiar. Even though Orlando had done most of the work, he knew this had cost Viggo what little energy he had still possessed. He’d be asleep in minutes.

“Thank you,” Viggo murmured. “For tonight. For everything. Thank you for you being you.”

Orlando smiled, running a hand up and down Viggo’s chest. He had loved falling in love with Viggo. Despite the road being rocky he had loved every step of the way: His early excitement, his shock, his tentative caresses, their first time. But it all paled to this: this gentle pulse between them, this unspoken understanding. This trust. Never, in all his time could Orlando have imagined that it could be this way.

He wanted this, wanted it with all his might for the rest of his life.

And nothing felt better than knowing that Viggo wanted it, too.

Chapter Text

It was December, tomorrow would be Christmas Eve. After two weeks of the world being painted in different shades of grey, of clouds and rainshowers and frosty winds that bit into their cheeks, things were finally looking better. The sky spanned in a cerulean blue above them and the air was cold and crisp. It rushed refreshingly into Orlando’s lungs when he inhaled deeply. The sun didn’t have much strength this time of the year, but it was a warm-yellow disc above them. The earth felt peaceful and still. The sound of the horses’ hooves was muffled by the mossy forest floor – clock-clockety, clock-clockety, clock-clockety. It was rhythmical, almost magical in the way it cut through the silence of the forest. Orlando looked up and his gaze rested on Viggo’s back who was riding in front of him, Charlie as always to Cody’s left. Neither of them spoke. A moment like this didn’t need words. They would only shatter the serene atmosphere.

Orlando had demanded that they erect a Christmas tree in the living room. Viggo, who hadn’t seen any reason to celebrate Christmas for the last seven years, caved all too readily to Orlando’s request. Orlando had gone a little overboard with the decorations, but he hadn’t been able to decide on one theme and had therefore bought a little bit of everything. Their presents were already waiting for them under the tree: The things Orlando had gotten for Viggo. The things Viggo had gotten for Orlando. Sally’s presents that had arrived only last week. And the gifts Rosa had brought over today.

Rosa had invited them over to her place for a “good, old family Christmas” as she called it. Orlando had felt flattered, but both he and Viggo had decided that they wanted to spend their first Christmas alone – just with one another as a couple. And so Rosa had come over today. She had left her presents under the tree and a huge amount of pre-cooked food in the fridge.

Orlando looked forward to watching Viggo start a fire in the fireplace in the living room. He looked forward to opening presents, eating home-cooked food and feeling the spirit of the season. Maybe, if they got really lucky, it would even snow. But what he looked forward to most was everything that would come after: the next day, the next week, the next month, the next year – and all the years that would follow after.

They had had a rocky start, but they were in a good place now. The first excitement of falling in love was slowly fading and the head-over-heels feeling of young love was making way for the assuredness of a couple being comfortable around one another. And it felt good. Orlando looked at Viggo’s back again – he sat tall atop Cody, tall and relaxed, and all a stranger coming up to them would see was a man in his prime who did something he loved.

Yes, things were good now, but Orlando wasn’t foolish. He knew it wouldn’t always be this way. He knew that Viggo was a life-long patient. In this very moment, the medical bracelet was on his wrist the way it always was. The rescue meds were in a saddle bag attached to Rascal’s saddle. The epilepsy wouldn’t go away, it would always tag along. Whatever they did, Viggo would never get rid of it. It would always be part of him. His body had a tendency to betray him. The epilepsy always lurked, even in the most peaceful moments. It was the third wheel in a partnership that should only consist of two.

That was a fact that Orlando had been able to accept more easily than Viggo. He had learnt to live with the fear. Orlando was sure that sometime in the future he would have to call 9-1-1 again. It was almost inevitable. It was something he imagined in quiet moments, when he was alone. He would close his eyes and conjure up the memory of the tonic-clonic that had landed Viggo in hospital. He would feel the fear in the pit of his stomach, feel the absolute terror that threatened to swallow him. He revisited that place in himself often in the hope of preparing himself for the future. He hoped he could dull the panic and deaden the fear.

It didn’t work, couldn’t work. The longer he had Viggo in his life, the more scared he became of losing him. But he knew he’d stay anyway, because leaving would hurt even more. It was unfathomable that he would turn his back on Viggo. He could just as well try to cut off his own arm.

Orlando was convinced that Fate had dealt both of them the hand they could handle. It had fallen to Viggo to be the one plagued by his fickle brain, by a disease that had kept him away from people for years. He was the one who had to suffer through the seizures, through the endless minutes after when words dissolved into sound that held no meaning. Viggo was the one who had to deal with the memory loss, the mood swings and the many days when every task was a chore. In turn Orlando had been entrusted with the responsibility to witness. He had the often thankless job of standing by, of picking up the pieces, of trudging on when all he wanted was to fall apart and cry. But Orlando told himself that they worked so well as a couple because they could both carry the burden that had been placed upon them and it made them better. They were two halves of an imperfect whole.

Viggo had a different theory, though. In his telling of the tale, Fate had fucked up. Fate had burdened him with way more than he could handle. He had been alone, adrift and desperate, living his life as if on autopilot. And when Fate had realised the mistake, she had not chosen the easy solution. Fate had not made him healthy again. Instead, she had searched far and wide for the one person able to show Viggo how to live again. She’d found Orlando on the other side of the world and had set things in motion to put him in Viggo’s path. They had been on different continents and at different points in their lives, which was probably why it had taken Fate seven long years until this plan could come to fruition. Putting Orlando in Viggo’s path was Fate’s way of apologising for fucking up big time.

And yes, despite everything, Viggo was inclined to accept that apology. Yes, he wasn’t healthy, but that didn’t make him in any way special. Many people weren’t healthy, many people had to struggle. But what did make Viggo special – in his opinion at least – was the fact that he had Orlando. Everything else paled in comparison.

Orlando tended to call him an old fool when he spoke like this. But at the same time Orlando couldn’t suppress his smile, so Viggo supposed he wasn’t too far off the mark after all.

When they reached the edge of the forest, Viggo stopped Cody and Orlando drew even with them. In front of them the horses’ pasture stretched out, sloping gently downwards. At the far end was the barn, the house was situated a bit to the side. It was hard to see from this distance, but Viggo had managed to finish the paint job on the porch before winter had set in in earnest. He planned on renewing the outlets and switches next so that they would have enough light on the porch to spend long summer evenings reading. In spring they planned on searching for new furniture and Orlando’s hope was that they’d find something comfortable enough to have sex on.

Orlando had put fairy lights on the porch in the same casual manner in which he had put family pictures on the mantelpiece and various knick-knacks on the chest of drawers in the bedroom. He had put potted plants on the window sills with the same implicitness with which he had put his books between Viggo’s in the library. Yes, Viggo had renovated the house. He had made it habitable. But it was Orlando’s hands that finally gave it a personal touch.

The fairy lights had already been switched on, welcoming them home.

“You know,” Viggo started, resting his hands on the saddle horn. “I thought with most of the work on the porch finished we could pick a new project. As a kind of new year resolution, maybe.”

Orlando liked the idea. He liked that Viggo was the kind of person now to think about new year resolutions. “You sound like you already have an idea.”

Viggo looked at Orlando and nodded thoughtfully. Cody shook his head and gave a snort. “I was thinking about the guest room. We could clear it out and renovate it. I’ve been living here for seven years, it’s time to finally do something with this room.”

The guest room was an absolute mess of boxes and things that Viggo had brought with him from his old life, but that somehow had never found a real place in his new.

“What do you want to do with it? We don’t have guests,” Orlando asked.

Viggo shrugged. “I don’t know … I was just thinking that you’re a long way from home. I’m sure you miss your folks. It’d be nice to have a guest room for visitors. Your sister could come see you. You miss her, don’t you?”

Orlando was at a loss for words. That Viggo would offer to let a virtual stranger inhabit his space … It meant a lot, more than he could put into words. “Of course I miss her and I’d love to see her. But Reynards has accommodation. She could come here for a vacation and stay in Reynards. It’d be just as good.”

“No,” Viggo said decidedly. He shook his head. “She’s your family. She’s not staying in a hotel.”

Orlando let that sink in. He had learnt to take these moments and cherish them. That Viggo meant to clean out the guest room didn’t only mean that he was ready to let the world into his house – even if it was only in the form of Orlando’s sister. It also meant he was ready to let go of everything that was currently in the guest room. He was ready to take that part of his life and make peace with it.

“Okay,” Orlando said, understanding what Viggo was saying as well as he was understanding what Viggo was not saying. It was an art he had perfected during the last months. “Then we’re going to renovate the guest room.”

Viggo smiled, but after a moment it turned mischievous. The corner of his mouth turned up and a twinkle was in his eye that had an almost evil glint. Before Orlando had a chance to inquire what Viggo was on about, Viggo sat deep in the saddle, let go of the reins and pressed his heels into Cody’s flanks. “Race you home!” he shouted. Cody shot forwards, Charlie hard on his heels. Viggo’s laugh was loud and mad. It was the laugh of someone who was experiencing a perfect moment.

Rascal flicked his ears and his whole body turned tense, but he was well behaved enough to wait for Orlando’s command. His left ear turned back to Orlando, hoping to be allowed to follow Cody. The horse was desperate to give chase.

“You crazy fucker!” Orlando shouted and then he let Rascal run free.

Up ahead, Viggo was cantering down the slope, one hand on the reins while the other was securing his hat. He was laughing, loud and care-free. Orlando gave chase, but he already knew he wouldn’t try to catch Viggo. He’d much rather let him win. In Orlando’s book, Viggo would always win.

They made a mad dash for the house and Orlando’s heart soared. He’d come a long way to find his way to this place and until he’d arrived here he hadn’t known that this was the destination of his journey. In his opinion, no place could be more beautiful than the spot they were living in. And there was no one he could love more than Viggo.

Yes, one day it wouldn’t be good. One day it would be hard and painful. But he chose not to think about an uncertain future while the present was full of bright light and love. Anticipating the bad only took away from the good. Because right now, in this very moment, he felt like everything was possible.

It wasn’t at all how he had imagined love would be. But it was. And that was all that mattered.

- The End

(February 2025)