A Fool Who Could Fail

Okay, here we go with the next part of – whatever it’s called! It follows on from Devoted Yours and A Deeper Season. The title is again taken from ee cummings.

A Fool Who Could Fail – Elijah/Viggo

Let’s just call it adult

Don’t know these lovely people. No offence intended or money made.

and may myself do nothing usefully

and love yourself no more than truly

there’s never been quite such a fool who could fail

pulling all the sky over him with one smile

Viggo woke late the following morning, embarrassed but amused to find he was still clutching the phone in his hand. He had obviously followed Elijah straight down the path to sleep. He managed to avoid raising the phone to his ear to check whether Elijah was still there, breathing softly across the miles between them. Because, after all, that would just be stupid.

He dropped the phone onto the pillow as he climbed out of bed, heading for the shower. He glanced at the clock by the bed and had a moment of panic as he thought of the commission he had, but then dismissed it, instead heading for the shower and turning the water on as hard as he could, standing under the jets of water and thinking.

About Elijah. About dark hair and blue eyes, and hands so small they seemed to belong to a child. And of pale skin covering limber muscle. Of the way surprisingly strong legs spread to wrap around Viggo’s waist, urging him deeper.

"God…" Viggo raised his head, his eyes flickering as the water pounded against the delicate skin, little flashes of white light going off in his head making him dizzy until he moved his head, opening his mouth, the water dribbling down his chin, making him think of a hot clever mouth, the taste of it, the feel of it against his skin, and with a groan, he gave up. It seemed clear that everything, at least for a little while, was going to be infused with a ridiculous erotic charge, making him think only of Elijah. He smirked as he considered what may happen when he slipped a slice of bread into the toaster.

As he emerged from the bathroom, his cell beeped and curious, he picked it up. Nobody ever sent him a text message – it was an acknowledged fact that Viggo was utterly inept when it came to any technology other than his beloved camera.

With a certain amount of random stabbing, he somehow caught the right keys in the right order, and read the message, smiling to himself, before laughing and throwing the phone back on the bed, knowing there was no point in trying to answer it. He kept laughing as he pulled on a pair of jeans, not bothering with his shirt, before making his way downstairs.

A rather extreme reaction for a simple Hi. I slept well. The bed smells of you.

*

"The commission is tomorrow," Lizzie said as she opened her front door. "Stop panicking."

"I’m not," Viggo argued. "I don’t panic."

"So you just decided to go without shoes today, did you?" Lizzie looked pointedly at his feet. "And that shirt is buttoned up wrong." She jumped down the steps and made her way over to Viggo, who was leaning as casually as possible, against his truck. She unfastened his shirt and then began to button it again, nodding a casual hello to old Mrs Brandon, her neighbour.

"Are you trying to ruin my reputation?" Viggo asked, watching the way her hair fell softly over her face.

"With her?" Lizzie looked up and smiled. "She thinks you’re a bad influence on me, the reason I never married again."

"Really?" Viggo raised his hand and touched Lizzie’s hair, letting the soft strands run through his fingers. "Understandable. I’m pretty much irresistible."

"Mmm. I read that on the back of the bus shelter," Lizzie agreed, finishing her buttoning, but not moving away. "No, wait a second, not irresistible. Easy, that was it."

"Bitch." Viggo pulled her close, making her laugh.

"Whore," she replied, her hips comfortably against his.

Casually, Viggo moved one hand, sliding it around her shoulder until he was cupping her breast, laughing out loud when she raised an eyebrow at him.

"Bisexual whore," she said. "What? Missing Elijah’s cock so much that you’re ready to turn straight?"

"Nothing straight about me," Viggo replied, his fingers tweaking at her nipple. "I’m just trying to improve the reception on my radio." When Lizzie opened her mouth to protest, he lowered his head and kissed her.

He had always liked kissing Lizzie – they had long made a joke of it; had on occasions gone into town as a couple until Viggo had broken away to pick up a man for a quick blow job in his truck or round the back of whatever bar they were in. It never failed to make them laugh like guilty children all the way home.

"Well," Lizzie said as the kiss broke. "Shall we go inside and give the neighbours something to talk about?" She moved away, her arm still around Viggo, and with a nod at Mrs Brandon, led the way into the house.

*

"Here." Lizzie handed Viggo a cup of coffee and then sat on the couch, her feet comfortably on the coffee table. Viggo, sitting on the coffee table, moved away a delicate inch or so. "Now, what made you panic so badly?"

"Nothing," Viggo said immediately, and then relented. "I talked to him last night – Elijah."

"Well I didn’t think you meant Trigger the Wonder Horse," Lizzie replied, sighing as she took a sip of her coffee. "Viggo, you’re a changed man."

"What?"

"A. Changed. Man. You’re all – " Lizzie waved her hand in the air. "Lovesick."

"Why? What makes you say that about me?"

"Because you drive here half-dressed after mixing up your days, and instead of going away again, which is what you’ve always done in the past, you stay here and sit on my coffee table looking as if you’ve lost your puppy." She kicked him idly. "What did you talk about?"

"Him, mostly. I want to know all about him."

"There can’t be that much to tell, considering he’s only eleven," Lizzie replied, yelping when Viggo put his hot cup of coffee against her leg. "Okay, twelve."

"I talked to him until he went to sleep – and don’t say anything about me being boring." Viggo mock-glared. "Liz – man, I just want him again. But it’s more than that – I want to see him again, talk to him, watch him laugh … and yes, before you ask, fuck him brainless."

"Then go." Lizzie leaned forward to put her coffee on the table, and didn’t lean back. "Go to him. Get him out of your system, use him and forget him, or throw him over your shoulder and bring him back. Don’t just sit here and – yearn."

Viggo sighed. "No. I can’t. He’s a kid, whatever I think about what happened between us won’t mean anything to either of us in a couple of days. He’ll find somebody else to keep him warm at night, and I’ll just remember him as a good fuck." He shook his head. "He’s just a kid, that’s all. He was just lonely." He stood up, trying to ignore the voice in his head – the voice that sounded suspiciously like Elijah’s – begging him not to turn him into a whore.

"What if it’s love?" Lizzie asked, standing up as well. "What if this is what you’ve been waiting for?"

Viggo shook his head. "It isn’t possible to fall in love so quickly." He kissed Lizzie’s cheek. "I have to go. Call you later." He turned away, and then looked back. "Can I get a pair of Steve’s shoes?"

"Of course." Lizzie nodded towards the closet where her husband’s shoes were kept. She didn’t keep them for any sentimental reason – her heart was where she kept her memories – she simply kept them.

"Viggo … will you be okay?" Lizzie spoke softly, genuinely worried, and Viggo nodded.

"Just a weird adventure," he said. "Soon be forgotten."

*

He stopped the truck halfway home and climbed out, tilting his head to the sky.

"I’m sorry," he whispered. "You’re not a whore." He reached into his pocket for his cell phone, turning to scrabble about in the truck when he couldn’t find it, before suddenly getting a clear mental image of it still lying on the bed where he had thrown it on waking.

"Shit," he muttered. "Fuck." He climbed back into the truck and continued home, abandoning the vehicle in front of the house as he ran up the steps and through the front door, almost knocking himself out when the screen door came off in his hand again. Swearing again, he let it fall hard onto the ground, running up the stairs and grabbing his cell, flipping it open and gazing at it for a long minute before working out how to retrieve Elijah’s number.

When the phone was answered, he sat on the bed as if all his strings had been cut.

"Where’s Elijah?" he demanded of the stranger on the other end of the phone. "This is his number, right?"

"Right." The other voice was lazy and low – well-fucked, a traitorous voice whispered in Viggo’s mind. "Hold on, I’ll get him." There was a muffled sound of voices and a laugh that set Viggo’s teeth on edge before Elijah’s voice sounded in his ear.

"Who is it?"

"Me," Viggo said. "V…"

"Viggo! Hey, I’m so glad you called."

"Are you?" Viggo could hear a dull, suspicious note in his voice.

"Of course." Some of the brightness went out of Elijah’s voice. "What’s wrong?"

"Who answered the phone?"

"Huh? Oh, that’s Danny. He’s doing some work at the magazine and he needs a place to crash."

Viggo’s stomach knotted. Too casual, Elijah’s tone was too casual, and Viggo knew what had happened. Lizzie was right; Elijah was nothing more than a whore.

"Viggo?"

"Nothing. I have to go, Elijah, sorry."

He hung up, cutting off Elijah’s voice, and sat gazing at his phone for what seemed to be a long time. It had all happened too fast, that was all. He had let himself believe something that wasn’t real, believe that this – boy – cared. Well, in the way of these things, it had started fast and it would finish that way. So much for Elijah claiming to want something more.

Sighing, he stood up and made his way into the dark room, picking up the photographs that were lying there – photographs of Elijah naked and beautiful, cock proud against his belly. And the others – Elijah asleep, looking like a boy, looking like he was a long way away in his dreams. Viggo sighed again and turned them face down, not wanting to see.

"Stop it," he said aloud. "The kid was a casual fuck, just stop obsessing over it." Annoyed at himself, he crashed out of the house again, half-falling over the screen door, and climbed back into his truck. It was early, but he knew where he could go to get what he thought he needed.

*

He leaned back as far as he could, stretching his legs until they were pressed against either side of the narrow toilet stall, nodding as the young man with him dropped to his knees, resting his hands against Viggo’s crotch, squeezing and teasing it until Viggo grunted his impatience, pushing the young man’s hands away and opening his jeans.

"Just do it," he gritted, flexing his hips so that he could push forward towards the young man’s mouth. The young man, who had dark hair and pale skin, and couldn’t, even if Viggo squinted, ever look anything like Elijah.

Elijah. Who had sucked Viggo’s cock with more enthusiasm than skill, gurgling his surprise and dribbling slightly when Viggo had come, and who had then sat back and smiled, looking like a boy who had just been given the present he had always wanted.

As the young man lowered his head, Viggo glanced down, half-slitting his eyes, trying to superimpose Elijah onto the scene. All hope of that vanished when the nameless creature at his feet glanced up, and his eyes were full of knowledge and awareness – Elijah’s eyes weren’t like that.

"No, fuck it." He stood up, tucking himself back into his jeans, leaving his companion groping foolishly in mid-air. "Sorry, man, it’s not happening."

"What?" The young man sat back on his heels. "Well it’s happening for me. You might not want it, but …" He stood up, crowding Viggo against the wall, taking his hand and pressing it down, letting him feel hardness beneath denim. "Don’t know what your problem is, man, but I’m not leaving here until one of us comes."

Viggo pulled his hand away, wiping it on the seat of his jeans. "You’ve got hands, haven’t you?" he demanded, pushing the youth out of the way. "Use them."

"Hey!" The man grabbed Viggo’s arm. "It doesn’t work like that."

Viggo, his brain still whirling with the speed and variety of his emotions, rounded on the stranger.

"Don’t fucking push me," he said, pressing close, feeling the other man’s breath against his cheek. "You would have gotten a hand job out of this, that’s all, and you can do that your fucking self." He could see a spot of colour high on each cheek of the man – boy, really – and he could feel the trembling going through him. He knew it could go either way here, but as he watched, the anger drained away, and without speaking, the two men parted, Viggo exiting the bathroom and heading back for the bar, walking through without a look or a glance, and not stopping until he was back in his truck and heading home.

His mind was whirling, and although he knew why, he refused to acknowledge it. Would not accept that a barely-known boy could cause such upheaval in his peaceful, quiet life.

"Too fast," he muttered, startled at the sound of his own voice. "You don’t know him, you’ll never fucking know him. You can’t miss what you’ll never have."

He wasn’t at all sure he believed himself.

*

When he got home, he once again fell over the screen door on his way into the house, but didn’t take it as a sign that he should perhaps try and fix it. Instead, he half-heartedly kicked it and promptly forgot about it.

The cell phone showed two missed calls. It was also showing new text messages, and Viggo looked at it for a long time before putting it down without trying to retrieve any of them. Quite why he had rushed home and dived on the phone was a mystery to him, since he was absolutely determined to ignore any communication from Elijah until the message was well and truly delivered. He snorted slightly at the thought of delivering a message whilst ignoring communication, but then suspected he was letting his mind run out of control and so he moved towards the dark room, ready to lose himself, as ever, in his work.

But it quickly became clear that it wouldn’t work this time. His mind wouldn’t stop whirling, and his body, he now realised, was singing with unrequited lust. He had been hard, more than ready for the boy on his knees; it had been his mind that had rebelled even as his body readied itself for release, and in disgust he gave up, leaving the darkroom and heading back into the bedroom.

When the phone rang, he jumped a mile in the air before he realised it was the house number, not the cell; Elijah didn’t know the house number – he clamped down on the urge to add yet.

"Are you okay?" Lizzie’s voice was loud and worried, and Viggo smiled slightly, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Guess. Liz, I’m sorry I ran out on you like that. You must think that I’ve gone mad."

"That’s one way of putting it." She paused. "Is it just him? Viggo, what’s happened to you?"

"Nothing." Viggo put his hand in his hair, tugging slightly. "I think I … I wanted to believe in this kid, the kid from the pictures. Maybe wanted to believe in destiny, and … I was wrong."

"How do you know? You know that I think this is weird, but I’ve just … I’ve never seen you like this." She sighed heavily. "You don’t get like this."

"I know." Viggo paused, unsure how much to say, wanting to tell her about the phone call and ‘Danny’, but seemingly incapable of it, held back by something he didn’t understand.

"Why don’t you go and see him?" she asked, and he sighed, falling backwards onto the bed and studying the ceiling.

"No," he answered. "I think I should just forget about it. Really, Liz, it was just a weird – thing. Put it down to artistic temperament " He huffed a laugh. "Tomorrow I’ll be back to normal. Today I may fix the screen door – it fell off again."

"Christ, we’d have more chance if I fixed it," Lizzie replied. "You haven’t a clue."

"No, but I look really good in a tool belt," Viggo answered.

"True." She paused. "So you’re okay? Not going to get all weird on me again?"

"Not about that," Viggo assured her. "Something else will arrive soon." He sat up. "I’ll come by and see you later, yeah? We’ll go for a drink."

"Sounds good, gayboy. I’ll see you later."

He had no sooner hung up the phone than it rang again, and he picked it up.

"What?" he demanded. "Fuck me, woman, can’t you ever get enough of me?"

There was a pause, just long enough for Viggo’s heart rate to speed up, and then a voice, soft and hurt. "It’s me."

"How did you get this number?" Viggo knew he sounded harsh, but he was badly startled.

"I asked the girl on reception. Y’know, the one who gave me the cell number?" Elijah paused. "You didn’t answer my calls."

"No, well I didn’t think I’d be very welcome," Viggo said, standing up and moving to the window, gazing at nothing.

"Why did you just hang up earlier? What did I do wrong?" Viggo had to close his eyes against the soft sadness in Elijah’s voice.

"You seemed – busy," he said finally, putting as much distance into his voice as he could. "With your new friend."

"What?" Elijah’s voice rose slightly. "Danny? He’s no friend of mine; he’s Caitlin’s cousin. Caitlin, she’s one of the photographers at work."

"Really? Well he sounded as if he’d thanked you for letting him stay," Viggo snapped. "Never heard a more well-fucked voice."

"What?" Elijah said again. "Do you think…? Viggo, Caitlin’s here as well! He was well-fucked last night; I could hear everything they did, and believe me, it wasn’t pretty!" He stopped, and Viggo heard him swallow. "Do you think I fucked him? Why did you think that? Why would you think that?"

He sounded so damn hurt and lost that Viggo could feel his defences weakening, and he briefly cursed every god who had been looking the other way when he had taken the job in New York. If he hadn’t, he would never have met Elijah, and would never have spent twenty-four hours on the worst rollercoaster of his life.

"Because you’re young," he replied, unconsciously lowering and softening his voice. "Because you seem to be a little bit lost and you need company. You need love, I think." He sighed, the noise echoing tinnily down the line. "And I hope you find it, Elijah, truly I do."

"I thought … I thought we were going to try," Elijah said, obviously confused. "Just last night you said that we would try it, and now you’re telling me no? Viggo, I haven’t done anything!"

"I’m older than you, a different generation," Viggo said, closing his eyes at the triteness of his words. "I’m not what you’re looking for, and anyway, what do you think we would do? I’m not moving to New York, and you’re not going to give up your life there and move to a dustbowl in the armpit of the state."

"How do you know what I would do?" Elijah’s voice was louder, getting angry. "How do you know? You’re so fucking wrapped up in yourself that you don’t even think that perhaps you could just ask me. I gave you a good time, Viggo, that’s it, isn’t it? A good fuck." He paused.

"Elijah…"

"Shut up! Any piece of ass would have done, I guess. Mine just happened to be available. Well, fuck you Viggo. Fuck you for fucking me and for thinking that I’m so shallow."

"I don’t…"

"To fuck somebody else the second your back was turned. Think about it; I talked to you last night until I fell asleep. There was nobody here, and now you think that the second you hung up the phone I stopped pretending and jumped Danny? Think we were laughing at you?" His voice was high now, and Viggo could hear him breathing, uneven and angry. "You never even asked me! You just fucking … assumed. You don’t know me, don’t know anything about me."

"Elijah, calm down…"

"Fuck you! Just …" His voice sank again. "Fuck you."

The line went dead.

"Elijah…" Viggo pressed the redial button without even thinking, but the line was busy – Elijah must have taken the phone off the hook immediately after hanging up.

"Oh, good job," Viggo muttered, dropping the phone back in its cradle. "Annoy the kid so much he explodes." He punched the bed next to him before pushing himself to his feet, unable to stop his mind going back over the not quite conversation he had just had. He could hear Elijah’s voice turning quickly from confusion to anger, and he was amazed to discover how disturbed that made him. He didn’t want Elijah to be angry.

"Oh, fuck it." He sat on the bed again and dialled Elijah’s number. This time it rang for a long time and he was just about to give up when it was finally picked up.

"Elijah. Don’t hang up."

"Why not?" Elijah still sounded angry, almost truculent.

"Because I want to talk to you," Viggo replied keeping his voice light, "and because I owe you an apology." He paused but Elijah didn’t reply. However, he didn’t hang up either.

"I’m sorry," he said. "I’m sorry for judging you and not giving you a chance to explain. I’m sorry that I imagined the worst of you."

"But you did," Elijah answered. "You’re only sorry now because you don’t like that I hung up on you, that I didn’t just cave in and agree." He paused and Viggo heard him swallow. "I’m going to do it again," he continued. "And I won’t answer when you call again."

The click of the phone was quiet and utterly final.

*

The commission was a disaster. Viggo, tired and irritable after a sleepless night had no patience with his customers, a middle aged man who wanted a portrait of himself with his family. Unfortunately, the family in question consisted of two spoiled daughters who were determined to do as little as possible that could be construed as helpful. In the end, Viggo had simply walked out, getting as far as his truck before realising he had forgotten his camera.

"Damn," he muttered, turning back towards the house. He needed that camera. It was the one that had taken photographs of Elijah and he didn’t want to lose it.

"Here." He turned around and glared at one of the dreadful daughters who had appeared through the front door. "You forgot this." She had his camera.

"Thank you." Viggo held out his hand. "I’m sorry that this didn’t work, but I’m sure you’ll find somebody who can help you."

"Why not you?" She didn’t hand over the camera and, more vexed than he wanted to admit, Viggo took a step forward. "You’ve got quite a reputation."

"Is that right?" Viggo waggled his fingers, inviting the girl to hand over the camera, but she blatantly ignored the gesture.

"Oh yes," she said instead, looking down, turning the camera over in her hands. "I’ve heard all about you." She looked up. "Is it right you like to fuck boys?"

"I prefer to think of them as men," Viggo replied. "And whatever I do is none of your business, is it?"

"You know that you just need a woman to fuck you, don’t you? Show you the right way of doing it, and then you’d be cured?" She smiled slightly, and Viggo felt his hands curl into fists.

"I really don’t need curing of anything," he replied, his voice tight. "But I would very much like my camera, please."

"You’ve got a good body for an old guy," she said. "I’d like to fuck you. If you want, you could fuck me up the ass, tell me if it’s different from being with a boy."

"Tell you what," Viggo said, consciously relaxing his hand. "You keep the camera. Maybe if I get really lucky somebody will use it to bludgeon you to death, you poisonous little bitch. And you find a nice boy to fuck because honey, you’re not ready for a real-life grown up."

"You can’t talk to me like that!" The girl finally seemed to pay some attention to what Viggo was saying. "My dad pays you."

"Your dad doesn’t pay me," replied Viggo, moving to his truck and opening the door. "Your dad needs all the money he can make so that he can hire the killer to track down you and your sister." He pulled himself into the driver’s seat and started the engine. "Of course, if the killer actually knew you, I can guarantee he would give your dad a massive discount."

He didn’t want to leave the camera behind, but he really didn’t have a choice. As he drove away, he thought that perhaps he could send Lizzie back in a day or so to collect it. He glanced in the rear view mirror, but the girl had already vanished back into the house.

*

"Here." Lizzie threw an envelope at Viggo, narrowly missing his head. "Bad tempered man."

"What is it? Well, an envelope I know that, so don’t think about making any clever remark." Viggo idly turned the envelope over in his hands.

"Open it."

He did so and pulled out a ticket. Not speaking he opened it and then looked up at Lizzie.

"Go," she said. "Viggo, it’s been a week, and you’re not getting any better, not forgetting him, even though you said you would, and I’m sick of it." She moved away from him, leaning against the window frame and apparently gazing at the view outside. Viggo, fully aware that there was no view, laughed softly, making her turn around.

"I need to do some shots of you," he said. "Standing there like that with the light reflecting on your face. Gives you a wonderfully hollow look."

"Flatterer." She nodded at the ticket. "Go and see him."

"What if he doesn’t want to see me?" Viggo asked, looking back down at the ticket.

"Oh stop it!" Lizzie sounded exasperated. "This is exactly what I mean; this doesn’t happen to you; you don’t sit around sighing and drooping; you go out and get what you want, take it if it isn’t offered freely enough." She moved until she was next to him then crouched down, her hand high on his thigh. "You have a way that lets you do that, lets you take things without them being offered and never making an enemy of anybody."

"You’re very biased," Viggo said, looking at her hand. "I just – damn it, Liz. The little bastard won’t get out of my head."

"Because he turned you down, is that why?"

"No." Viggo’s response was immediate and spontaneous and clearly honest because of that. "No," he said again. "I just – fuck it."

"This isn’t like you, Vig, really it isn’t. You have to find him, fuck him or fight him, one of the two, but somehow you have to work this out." She stood up. "I’m going home, okay? Call me when you get back."

"What makes you think I’m going anywhere?"

"Because you want to," Lizzie replied, waggling her fingers at him as she made for the door, and Viggo laughed at the dull thud and inventive swearing that followed as she clearly fell over the still to be repaired screen door.

He quietened again as he looked down at the ticket in his hand, and didn’t move for a long time.

*

He could feel his breath coming very quickly, almost whistling in his chest as he moved up the stairs, his heart pounding far more quickly than was justified by the climb. The pounding had a strange counterpoint that he couldn’t place until he realised that he could hear music, the front door to Elijah’s apartment practically vibrating, and that made him smile and wince simultaneously.

He knocked on the door but when there was no reaction, realised that quite possibly he simply couldn’t he heard, and so he raised both fists and hammered on the door until quite suddenly the door was flung open and he was left standing, somewhat foolishly, both fists suspended in mid-air.

Elijah looked dreadful. He looked tired and strung-out, as if he hadn’t slept for too long. He was thinner in the face, and Viggo’s stomach clenched with something that felt very like guilt.

"What do you want?" Elijah recovered from his immediate, obvious shock at seeing Viggo.

"Thought I’d come and ask you to turn your music down," Viggo said. "I could hear it …"

"What, from the middle-of-fucking-nowhere?" Viggo saw Elijah’s arm tense, and he reached out, putting his hand on the door before it could be slammed in his face.

"Don’t," he said.

"Why not?" Elijah asked. "Hey, maybe I’ve got a man here, you know? Maybe I was fucking him when you disturbed me." He stopped and Viggo watched the anger leave him. "Why are you here?"

"I went to the magazine," Viggo said. "They said you had left, walked out. Why?"

"Because," Elijah replied. "Because I was sick of being treated like shit, because …" he shook his head. "I don’t know. You confused me, d’you know that? You confused me and you made me laugh, and then you accused me and I – I got lost."

"I never meant to," Viggo said. "Confuse you or make you lose yourself. I came to say that, came to tell you."

With a suddenness so startling that Viggo didn’t have time to step away, Elijah moved forward with arm drawn back and delivered an open-handed slap to Viggo’s face. Luckily his aim wasn’t perfect and the blow was glancing rather than direct, but it was still enough to hurt and shock.

"Don’t!" Viggo reacted without thinking, grabbing hold of Elijah’s arms and forcing him back into the apartment, kicking the door closed.

"Get off me!" Elijah was squirming hard, his back against the wall. "Don’t you fucking dare do this!"

"Do what?" Viggo demanded. "Elijah, calm down. You’re over-reacting, and you know it." He dug his fingers into Elijah’s arms, trying to stop him. "What’s wrong?"

"Nothing." Elijah struggled a minute longer, and then stopped suddenly, obviously tired, his eyes looking huge and bruised in his thin face. "I’m sorry, Viggo." He paused for a moment. "Did you come all the way here to see me?"

"Why else would I come to this godforsaken city?" Viggo demanded lightly, relaxing his grip on Elijah’s arms. "Elijah, I’m sorry. I’ve spent all the time since we met thinking of you, dreaming of you. I never meant to hurt you so much."

"No." Elijah looked down. "I … I thought perhaps we had a chance, you know? I wanted us to have a chance, and then you just – you shouldn’t just assume things."

"Is that why you’re so angry with me?" Viggo risked touching Elijah’s face, very gently, half expecting to get his fingers bitten off.

"I’m not angry with you, not really…"

"If this isn’t you being angry I hope I never see you when you lose your temper!" Viggo laughed. "You were going for the death blow just then."

Elijah laughed somewhat shakily. "I know. I’m sorry. It’s the suddenness of it all. After you left, went home, I thought of nothing but you – I spent the whole day so hard I could drill through walls – and then we talk and it’s great, like something out of a fairy story, and then you say those things." He shrugged. "It was too much, too many emotions all at once."

"You look tired," Viggo said. "And thin. Have you been sleeping or eating at all?"

"Not really," Elijah admitted. "Too much going on in my head, and then when I left the job – well, I have to do something about that pretty fucking quickly." He raised his hands, resting them on Viggo’s chest. "I just wanted to talk to you, tell you what I’d done, ask you what you thought, but you just …"

"I know." Viggo cupped Elijah’s face in his hands, studying those lonely eyes. "And I was so wrong." He moved his fingers, stroking Elijah’s face, marvelling again at its smoothness, at the feel of it beneath his hands. "But we’re here now, together, and perhaps we should just take a little bit of time, what do you think? Would you like to try that, try to get to know each other better?"

"Very much." Elijah’s eyes had drifted closed at Viggo’s touch, and Viggo’s stomach lurched again at the trust such a small gesture showed.

"You have secrets," he said, leaning forward, unable to help himself. "Don’t you?" His lips brushed over Elijah’s lips very gently, pulling back immediately when Elijah jumped slightly.

"Don’t," Elijah said, tightening his fingers in Viggo’s shirt before tilting his head in invitation. "God … I can’t believe how right this feels."

Viggo moved his hands from Elijah’s face, down his neck and shoulders, before curling his fingers once more around Elijah’s arms.

"You’re tired," he said again. "Would you like to go to bed?" He laughed at Elijah’s laugh. "I didn’t mean like that. I meant to sleep." Unable to help himself, he raised a hand, stroking Elijah’s face once again. "And then we should find something to eat. And then you need to tell me your secrets."

"I don’t have secrets," Elijah said, finally opening his eyes. "I just made a really stupid mistake." He paused. "Although I hope maybe it isn’t going to be such a big mistake."

"What mistake was that?"

Elijah laughed again. "I fell in love. I never meant to, never meant it to happen, but I did, and you didn’t fall in love with me, and frankly that was just rude."

Viggo laughed as well, more out of relief than anything else. "Oh," he said, leaning forward, his eyes focused on Elijah’s slightly parted lips. "But I did. I’ve been a complete asshole for the past week. Love sucks."

"Doesn’t it though?" Elijah moved his arms, wrapping them around Viggo’s neck. "Think we can get through this?"

"It’s fucking scary," Viggo said, watching Elijah’s eyes begin to dilate. "Fucking big and fucking scary."

"We should go to bed," Elijah said, his lips brushing Viggo’s. "Do you think?"

"Can I ask you something first?" Viggo pulled back slightly. "Were you really hard enough to drill holes?"

"Through cast iron," Elijah said fervently, and Viggo shouted a relieved laugh.

*

"So?" Elijah’s voice was quiet in the gloom of the bedroom.

"So?" Viggo lay propped on one elbow, head in hand, his other hand splayed on Elijah’s chest. One leg was hooked across Elijah’s thighs, and he found himself fascinated by the pulse beating in Elijah’s throat. He could see his breathing slowing down as he relaxed, feel his body growing more pliant.

"Where do we go from here?" Elijah asked. "What do we do?"

"Right now, I don’t have any idea," Viggo admitted honestly. "But when we’ve slept and eaten and fucked, then let’s worry about it." He moved his hand down Elijah’s chest to his belly, the tips of his fingers just touching dark pubic hair, before moving back up to splay against the pale throat willingly exposed to him.

"And you don’t have to leave?" Elijah asked, rolling until his face was pressed against Viggo’s chest, the movement causing Viggo’s hand to move to Elijah’s shoulder, stroking slowly down the soft skin of his back.

"Not for a little while," Viggo said softly. "You sleep, okay? I’ll be here when you wake up."

He watched as Elijah fell asleep, his breath growing deep, each intake of air accompanied by a little snuffling snort that made Viggo grin inanely as he settled down, ensuring as much of his skin was pressed against Elijah’s as was physically possible.

Nope, he thought, absolutely no idea of where we go from here. But just for a little while, Elijah, let’s just ignore the world.

His own eyes slowly closed and he fell asleep.

TBC

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