Fic: clutter
Feb. 25th, 2004 07:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aleathielI'm having a bad day and my essay still isn't finished. Which to me is a good enough reason to post this right now.
Have some Viggorlijah, because I want to share.
Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
olivia_ramirez for being as wonderful a beta as usual.
Orlando doesn’t collect clutter. It isn’t conscious. It builds around him, enclosing him in a world made of things he loves. The best and dearest he wears on chains around his neck and deflects interviewers’ questions because they are too personal.
Orlando’s house is immaculate. Everything has its place. He washes dishes and returns them to cupboards, outwardly calm when people come to call. He doesn’t let people into his bedroom, where clothes and books and drawings litter the floor and silt up the chairs, where cushions are strewn across the window-ledge and photographs paper the ceiling. When he shuts the door on the quiet house he shuts the door on the public world and allows his guard to relax completely.
Part of him sees it as a return to his pre-fame days. The student days when everyone’s room looked like this. Part of it is a rebellion against the impersonal hotel rooms he endures when travelling. But most of all it is simply a collection, things he’s bought in parts of the world he never even dreamed of visiting, things given to him by people he’s met, by people he loves, things that remind him of his life.
The first time Viggo stays the night they push a pile of stylish clothes off the bed as they descend, shedding more on their way in a desperate need to feel skin on skin. It isn’t until the morning that Orlando remembers he doesn’t bring people back to his room but fucks them at their place or in hotels. When he wakes the sheets beside him are still warm but Viggo is gone, sitting naked in the centre of the room looking at Orlando’s things, a private smile of his own on his face.
After the immediate horror has subsided, Orlando realises he doesn’t feel violated by Viggo’s curious gaze, by Viggo’s gentle fingers touching and stroking his life. Somehow it’s more personal even than those hands on his body because other hands have touched his body. No one has ever touched his soul before. The realisation that he wants to share the stories with Viggo scares him because he must be falling in love.
*
Elijah is the human embodiment of clutter. He is a collection of blue eyes and wild hair and quick grin, of wisdom and youth and excitement and experience and Orlando wants to take him apart to see how it can possibly all fit together.
He runs his hands over Elijah’s skin and there are no joins where sections meet and even when Orlando’s buried deep inside him Elijah feels like a perfect whole.
Elijah flits around Orlando’s bedroom, inquisitive, with none of Viggo’s studious curiosity. Elijah admires and respects without seeking explanation. Viggo understands without asking.
*
Orlando watches Viggo kiss Elijah and his heart swells with the beauty of their touch. There is a depth and intensity Orlando recognises in Viggo’s eyes and a warmth and humour he craves in Elijah’s smile. When they turn to him and Viggo smiles and Elijah holds out his hand, kicking back the covers of Orlando’s bed and spilling extracts of his life onto the floor, Orlando understands his clutter is an inability to ever let go of love.
-fin-
Whoo a two-fic-post day. That's got to count for something positive.
Have some Viggorlijah, because I want to share.
Thanks to
olivia_ramirez for being as wonderful a beta as usual.Orlando doesn’t collect clutter. It isn’t conscious. It builds around him, enclosing him in a world made of things he loves. The best and dearest he wears on chains around his neck and deflects interviewers’ questions because they are too personal.
Orlando’s house is immaculate. Everything has its place. He washes dishes and returns them to cupboards, outwardly calm when people come to call. He doesn’t let people into his bedroom, where clothes and books and drawings litter the floor and silt up the chairs, where cushions are strewn across the window-ledge and photographs paper the ceiling. When he shuts the door on the quiet house he shuts the door on the public world and allows his guard to relax completely.
Part of him sees it as a return to his pre-fame days. The student days when everyone’s room looked like this. Part of it is a rebellion against the impersonal hotel rooms he endures when travelling. But most of all it is simply a collection, things he’s bought in parts of the world he never even dreamed of visiting, things given to him by people he’s met, by people he loves, things that remind him of his life.
The first time Viggo stays the night they push a pile of stylish clothes off the bed as they descend, shedding more on their way in a desperate need to feel skin on skin. It isn’t until the morning that Orlando remembers he doesn’t bring people back to his room but fucks them at their place or in hotels. When he wakes the sheets beside him are still warm but Viggo is gone, sitting naked in the centre of the room looking at Orlando’s things, a private smile of his own on his face.
After the immediate horror has subsided, Orlando realises he doesn’t feel violated by Viggo’s curious gaze, by Viggo’s gentle fingers touching and stroking his life. Somehow it’s more personal even than those hands on his body because other hands have touched his body. No one has ever touched his soul before. The realisation that he wants to share the stories with Viggo scares him because he must be falling in love.
*
Elijah is the human embodiment of clutter. He is a collection of blue eyes and wild hair and quick grin, of wisdom and youth and excitement and experience and Orlando wants to take him apart to see how it can possibly all fit together.
He runs his hands over Elijah’s skin and there are no joins where sections meet and even when Orlando’s buried deep inside him Elijah feels like a perfect whole.
Elijah flits around Orlando’s bedroom, inquisitive, with none of Viggo’s studious curiosity. Elijah admires and respects without seeking explanation. Viggo understands without asking.
*
Orlando watches Viggo kiss Elijah and his heart swells with the beauty of their touch. There is a depth and intensity Orlando recognises in Viggo’s eyes and a warmth and humour he craves in Elijah’s smile. When they turn to him and Viggo smiles and Elijah holds out his hand, kicking back the covers of Orlando’s bed and spilling extracts of his life onto the floor, Orlando understands his clutter is an inability to ever let go of love.
-fin-
Whoo a two-fic-post day. That's got to count for something positive.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-02-25 11:47 am (UTC)yay for you for writing this! I usually wouldn't even look at a threesome fic because I'm just not a threesome person. However, the clutter aspect of this drew me in.
Excellent job.
I loved this description of Elijah:
Elijah is the human embodiment of clutter. He is a collection of blue eyes and wild hair and quick grin, of wisdom and youth and excitement and experience and Orlando wants to take him apart to see how it can possibly all fit together.
no subject
Date: 2004-02-25 12:12 pm (UTC)