Title: Even Angels Fall: To Crash, To Burn Author: Jo Rating: NC17 Pairing: Orlando Bloom/Viggo Mortensen Summary: When fame is overwhelming, even angels fall. Warnings: this one isn't going to be pretty...there's going to be language, violence, drug/alcohol abuse, and angst up the wazoo. If that ain't your thing, hit the delete button now Author's Notes: Inspired by "Let Her Cry" by Hootie & The Blowfish, lyrics have been tweaked here. MAJOR thanks to Wendy for emotional support, beta work, and research on this thing. Takes place roughly 1-2 years in the future. For Wendy for her 'inspiration' in matters of dialogue and nosebleeds and for Carnaline for the vision of angelic demons Disclaimers: They're not mine, I don't own them, this didn't happen...well, it could have, but they didn't tell me about it...any resemblance to real life events is strictly coincidental and no implications should be drawn because this is a work of FICTION "Where is he?" I heard Orlando's voice from across the lobby the second I stepped out of the elevator the next morning. He didn't sound happy. All things considered, I couldn't say that I blamed him. Sean's hand on my arm checked my steps and I looked back at him. "Don't, Viggo," he said softly. "He's got to start taking responsibility some day." I knew that. Part of me still didn't want to believe it, though. Once again, I saw beautiful, brown eyes before me, filled with tears, silently pleading with me to understand. Almost begging for help. I was torn. I wanted so badly to go to Orlando just then. But I knew I couldn't. God help me, I couldn't. And then the decision was out of my hands. "Viggo!" I turned to see Orlando walking towards me, shrugging off the hands that continuously reached for him. Dom and Billy. It seemed as if Ian had set both of them to watchdog him through the night. Even from a distance, I could see the bright, almost manic gleam in his dark eyes. And I could tell the exact second he spotted Sean standing behind me. "Bastard!" He hissed, his eyes narrowing and rage suffusing his beautifully sculpted features. "You did it, didn't you? God damn you, Viggo! You went and fucked Sean last night to get back at me for fucking Lijah, didn't you?" Sean's hand tightened on my arm and I could feel the tension radiating through his grip. I looked at Orlando, at a loss for something to say. He kept coming, his hands in fists by his sides, high spots of colors on his cheeks. Involuntarily, I stepped back, closer to Sean, absently noticing that Lij wasn't there. Orlando noticed the move and grew even angrier. If that was possible. "You did," he said, his soft voice carrying across the remaining feet seperating us. "Of all the people I know, you're the last person I would have expected a revenge fuck from. You bastard!" "Orlando," I said softly. Sean's hand tight on my arm still. "I didn't fuck Sean. Last night or any night." "I'm not stupid," he snapped. So much rage inside that beautiful body. "Was it worth it, Sean? He's good, isn't he? Did he swallow for you? He always swallows for me." "That's enough, Orlando," Sean said in a low, dangerous voice. For a brief moment, I wondered what drug Orlando had taken that morning and where he had gotten it. "Did he let you fuck him, Sean?" Orlando asked in that ugly, ugly voice I had started to associate with him being high. "He likes that sometimes, you know." "Orlando, stop it," I said, my hand lifting almost involuntarily towards him. "Please. Don't do this." "How was he, Viggo?" Those dark eyes, clouded now, turned to me, his voice dropping to an almost seductive purr that I was helpless to resist. "Was he as good as I am? Tell me, love. Did he scream your name when you fucked him? Did you scream mine when you came? I did, you know. I screamed your name when I fucked Lijah." "If I had touched him," Sean said, those beautifully accented words twisted into almost a snarl, "It would have been nothing so base as 'fucking him,' Orlando." "You fucking wanker!" Orlando screamed and launched himself at Sean. He tried to anyway. Seemingly from out of nowhere, Hugo appeared and grabbed him, hauling him back away from us. John was there, too, and I could see Ian hurrying towards us. "Oh, grow up," Sean said in disgust, his hands urging me to move. I couldn't. I felt rooted to the floor. "Here, take these," Ian said. I blinked. It was the first time I'd ever heard him less than composed. I looked down to see two sheafs of paper thrust against Sean's chest. "What --" "Your tickets," Ian said, smoothly cutting Sean off. "Well, it's Viggo's and Orlando's, but I don't believe it's a good idea to let them return to the States together. Take him home, Sean. Peter's arranged for Orlando to take a later flight with Elijah and Dominic. Once you get to Los Angeles, there's a paper in there with an address on it. The house belongs to a friend of mine who's out of the country for the next few weeks so you can stay there." "But --" "No buts, Viggo," Ian said, casting a glance over his shoulder. Hugo still held Orlando firmly around the waist and my angel was kicking and screaming, fighting to get loose. "Ian, I can't --" "You can," he said firmly, taking my arm and pushing me towards the hotel entrance. "The two of you need some time apart to cool off and to think. You're not helping him by staying with him right now and, quite possibly, if you're not there for him, he may realize what he's doing to himself and to you." "He's right, Viggo," Sean said softly, picking up my bag and his. "I'll stay with you if you like." I just nodded, too numb to speak. So hard to think. My eyes sought out Orlando, still in Hugo's grasp, and I knew when he realized I was leaving the hotel without him. "Viggo, no!" More struggling, frantic this time. No anger in his words. "Viggo! Don't leave! Please!" Tears now. I could see them from where I stood, lines of silver streaking down his face. But Hugo held him tightly. "Don't leave me! Viggo, I love you! I'm sorry, please, Viggo, don't leave!" I could feel my heart shattering as I let Ian and Sean push me out the door. Orlando's tearful entreaties rang in my ears and my last image was of Hugo and John holding him back as he fell to his knees, his tears falling like rain. + + + Christmas Day, 2002 Redondo Beach, California The wind blowing in off the Pacific was cold as I stood there watching the sun set. I didn't feel it. Not really. It had been exactly eleven days since I had really felt anything. Eleven days since I had walked out of a hotel lobby in London and left my lover on his knees in tears there. Eleven days that I had spent in a small cottage by the ocean in Redondo Beach, well less than an hour from my house. The first day back, the morning we arrived, I had talked Sean into taking me to my house. Regardless of what anyone else wanted, I needed to be there for a little while. Sean seemed to understand. He dropped me off and told me he'd return in a couple of hours, waiting in the driveway until I closed the front door behind me. I stood in the living room for a few minutes, just looking around. Every surface was imprinted with some memory of Orlando. I could smell that faint, subtle, spicy scent that he wore still lingering in the air and I smiled a little sadly as I let my fingers trail over the cover of a notebook he had been using as a journal. I was barely aware that I was crying as I slowly made my way upstairs. There. The master bedroom. The room I had shared with him since returning from New Zealand. The bed we had slept in, and made love in, every night we were home together, every night that one, or both, of us wasn't off on another location filming another movie. I just stood there, staring at it for God only knows how long. I lost track of time. Then, in a rare display of rage, I picked up the chair by the window and swung it. I had little recollection of what followed, only knowing that it was quick, violent, and full of rage. Over and over in my mind, I pictured Orlando lying on that bed, his naked body curled around Lij's, their legs tangled together, their bodies moving as one. When it was over, I was on my knees in the middle of the floor, my breathing loud and harsh in the silent room. The bed that we had spent so many nights together in, the same bed he had betrayed me with Lij in, lay in pieces across the floor. Some of the pieces were no bigger than splinters. Not a single board was unmarked. Bits and pieces of wood surrounded me, the mattress leaned drunkenly against a wall, the pillows and bedclothes were lost in the wreckage somewhere. And I was crying. Silently. The tears seemed to pour out of my very soul as I knelt there, hunched over, my fists clenched tightly in my lap. That was where Sean found me an hour later. The three days after that had been silent ones. I spent most of my time sitting on the beach, watching the waves break on the sand, and thinking about the past three years. Brooding, Sean called it. Ironic. He usually referred to it as brooding, too. Three days of silence and thinking and being alone. And constantly, my thoughts drifted back to him. Regardless of where I looked, I always saw something that brought him to mind. Walking down the beach at night reminded me of that first night together in New Zealand when I had shown him the Southern Cross, as well as all the other nights we had lain in the yard or on the beach at home and watched the stars. Seeing the waves roll in during the day brought to mind visions of him surfing and the brilliant smile he always wore when he knew I was watching him. And the sunsets. Each one, vibrantly colored in indigo, crimson, tangerine, and fuschia, was like a knife through my heart. I couldn't even begin to count all the sunsets I had watched with him, both summer and winter. Summer would find us sitting on the beach in just shorts, usually sitting just in the water's edge so that the waves washed over us. Winter would find us sitting farther up the beach so we wouldn't get wet, a blanket wrapped around us. And yet each of the past ten nights had found me out on the beach, watching the sun sink below the horizon. The morning of the fifth day, Sean had apparently had enough. I woke around noon, unsurprised to see I had slept so late. The night before was a haze of tears, pain, and alcohol. I laid there staring at the ceiling for several minutes, trying to figure out what had woken me, when I heard it again. Muffled clinking and soft curses from the living room. I dragged on a pair of jeans and went to investigate. Imagine my surprise when I found Sean in the living room, busy setting up a Christmas tree. I didn't know what to say so I stood there for a long time just watching him. I was strangely touched by his gesture. Finally he glanced up. We looked at each other for a moment and then he smiled and shrugged. "It's Christmas," he said. "I thought we should have a tree." And that was all that was said about it. By the time he was finished, the cottage was festive enough to please anyone. Part of me wished my spirits matched it, for Sean's sake if nothing else. But the rest of me -- and that was a much larger part -- could only think of the tree sitting in the living room at home. The tree that Orlando and I had set up and decorated together the day before the Los Angeles premiere. The same tree that had a small mountain of presents beneath it that we had bought for each other. I think Sean knew because, after he had the decorations to his liking, he bustled me out of the house on the pretense that he had to do some Christmas shopping of his own. I didn't really believe him, but I silently thanked him for his efforts. He really did try. The entire time we had been in the cottage, he tried. He made sure the meals were cooked and that I ate them. He made sure that laundry was done and that the house was locked up at night when we went to bed. Several nights in that week and a half, I fell asleep with my head on his chest, tear tracks drying on my face. Without fail, he was there, offering a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen, or just quiet companionship. He gave me time and space to start healing and listened to me when I was ready to talk. Without judging, he listened as I finally admitted to myself that Orlando was addicted and that our life together in the past several months had been a huge mess. But, through it all, I couldn't bring myself to tell him of my part in starting Orlando on the downward spiral he was caught in. And so Christmas night found me on the beach yet again, my eyes watching the sun sink into the waves. The wind's icy fingers crept through my clothes and I shivered slightly, hunching my shoulders and shoving my hands deep in my pockets. But I wouldn't move. Couldn't. All I could do was stand there and think of Orlando, wondering where he was, who he was with, what he was doing. I wondered if he had opened his presents that morning or if he was waiting and hoping I would come home. And a quiet voice in my head would question if he was high. I hated that voice. It had become my constant companion over the last eleven days. I was so lost in my thoughts that I jumped, startled, when Sean draped a jacket around my shoulders. "You're going to catch your death of cold if you stay out here in that thin shirt," he said quietly. I just looked at him. "Thanks," I said just as quietly. He shrugged as if it was no big deal. Somehow, I didn't think it was a big deal to him. It was just one more facet of Sean. We stood there in silence for a few more minutes, watching the last sliver of the sun vanish beneath the water. We didn't need to talk. I pulled the jacket tight around me, folding the collar up, and smiling as I inhaled deeply. It was his jacket. Instead of bringing my own jacket to me, Sean had pulled on a sweater and brought his heavier leather jacket. It was something he would have done as well. Thinking of that, I realized just how much alike they were. While Sean was quieter, a little more mature, and not as adventurous, inside, where it counted, he was so much like Orlando it hurt to be around him just then. I blinked back tears and turned to stare out over the waves once more. I hadn't told Sean, but earlier in the day I had made a phone call. Just one. To the house. I was only a little surprised when the answering machine picked up instead of Orlando. I was more sad than anything. Hearing his voice on the machine, remembering the afternoon he had recorded that message, sent me into an emotional tailspin and it was all I could do to leave a message. All I said was "Merry Christmas, angel. I love you," but it had been enough to leave me shaking and near tears. It wasn't until I had hung up that I realized how badly I had wanted him to pick up the phone during the message and beg me to come home. That realization had been enough to drive me back into my bedroom, the door shut between me and the rest of the world, the pillows soft and inviting and welcoming my tears. As I stood there staring at the rapidly darkening sky, I wondered if I should tell Sean. "I kept dinner hot," he said. Still quiet, still patient. I looked at him in surprise. "You shouldn't have," I said. He just shrugged again. "You need to eat, Viggo," he said, turning to face me. "You missed lunch because you were upset he wasn't home earlier when you called. I don't want you to miss supper as well." I stared at him in shock. He calmly returned the look. "You knew?" "Not until just now," he said. Resignation in his voice. "I figured you might have though because my cellphone wasn't where I had left it and you were locked away again." "I'm sorry," I said softly, letting him turn me towards the house. "Don't be," he said as he draped an arm around my shoulders and guided me across the sand. Acceptance. I think, deep in his heart, Sean knew that I would eventually go back to Orlando. I had to. Even if it was for nothing more than to give the relationship one last try before cutting him loose completely. I couldn't let it end like it was then and he knew it. There was too much pain and too many lies between us. And overlying it all was that one act of betrayal that, even eleven days after hearing it, I still wasn't sure I could ever forgive. + + + "So tell me again why we came to see that truly horrid movie?" I asked as we walked out of the theater. The cold wind slapped us in the face and I pulled my jacket up around my ears. Sean just laughed. "Because it seemed like a good idea at the time?" Sean laughed again at my frankly skeptical expression. "Okay, we came because we both needed to get out of that house. Especially you." "I suppose," I said. Very non-committal. So like everything in my life just then. I knew it irritated Sean some, but I couldn't help it. I didn't want to commit to anything. To commit would be to make a choice and I just wasn't ready for that yet. I had come to understand why Orlando had found it so easy to succumb to the temptation of addiction. Numbness was a blessed relief at times. The only difference was that mine wasn't chemically induced. "So," Sean said as we started to trudge across the parking lot, heads down in an effort to keep our faces from being frozen, "Where shall we go to eat?" "Doesn't really matter to me." I walked several more steps before I realized he wasn't with me. Stopping, I turned back. He was frowning. "Viggo, I want to know where you want to go to eat," he said, taking care to say each word slowly. "I'm sure I could pick any restaurant and you'd sit there and pretend to eat and think I didn't see you pushing your food around on your plate. But I want you to actually eat something tonight. And so I want you to pick the restaurant." He paused and took a deep breath. "Please?" I looked at him and then sighed softly. "I have been pretty self-absorbed lately," I said softly. "Haven't I?" "You're entitled to it," he said with a shrug, crossing the few feet between us. "You've been through a lot in the past few months, and more so in the past few weeks." "Maybe," I said as I turned around and ran right into one of the last people I wanted to see just then. Sean's hand on my arm steadied me as I stumbled back, staring into luminous blue eyes that stared back. A shock of unruly black hair fell over his forehead. Dark smudges beneath his eyes. Pale, pale skin. And the ever present cigarette dangling from his partially open mouth. I didn't have to inhale to know it was clove. "Oh, Jesus," Lij breathed, staring up at me. "Imagine running into you here," Sean said softly, making his presence known. Lij slowly looked at him before his eyes were drawn back to me. "Viggo," Lij whispered, a shaky hand running through his hair. "I...." I just stared at him. Every single mental image I had had of him with Orlando in the past two weeks came rushing back, nearly staggering me with their intensity. I couldn't think of a single word to say. It was all I could do to remember to breathe as we stood there facing each other. Then he took one small step towards me, stopping when Sean stiffened. "I...can I talk to you, Viggo?" He asked very softly. "Please?" Sean muttered something, his words almost inaudible. I just stood there. My mind kept replaying the images that I had tortured myself with for two weeks. Images of Orlando and Lij in bed together. In our bed together. I knew I should turn and walk away and not look back. I knew it. I also knew that I wasn't going to do that. Sean knew it as well if the mildly disgusted sound he made was any indication. I studied Lij for a moment, noting how he looked as if he hadn't slept in days. Then I nodded. "Fine," I said, shoving my hands deep in my jacket pockets. "What do you want to talk about?" He glanced hurriedly at Sean and pulled his shoulders up, looking much younger than his age at that moment. Sean looked at him calmly, not budging an inch. Finally Lij sighed and looked away from us both. "Can we talk in private?" From the corner of my eye, I could see Sean struggling with himself for a brief moment before he lowered his head. His fists clenched at his sides, he looked back up at me, his eyes never once straying to Lij. "Viggo, I...I'll wait in the car," Sean said quietly. I nodded and watched as he walked away. Then I turned my full attention to Lij. "You're with Sean now?" He asked, his eyes following Sean. "No, we...we're just friends," I said. I wondered why those words sounded so wrong in my ears. "Ah," he murmured. Several minutes passed before he said anything else. In those minutes, he fidgeted as I watched. Then, "Viggo, I want to talk to you about...about Orlando." I tensed. It felt like an iron band was being tightened around my chest. I had known that this was what Lij had wanted to talk about. What else was there between us? A bond of friendship formed in New Zealand that had held firm for so long. Our mutual respect for each other as actors, as people. And Orlando. Of all those things, only Orlando bore the stain of betrayal. Only his link between us was tarnished. I could have spoke then, but I remained silent. Lij took a deep breath. "That night," he said and then paused, taking another deep breath. "There are some things I need to tell you. I know that you hate me now and I don't blame you. I deserve it. Anyway, that night.... I don't even know where to begin. So I'll just start at the beginning. You were in New York and Orlando had been moping around for a few days, so Dom and I talked him into going out with us. Then Dom left and Orlando and I ended up back at your place. We were just hanging out in the living room, talking a bunch of shit and drinking. I didn't think anything of it because it was nothing we hadn't done a lot of times before. I guess we were both feeling pretty mellow because we ended up laying on the floor in front of the fireplace, discussing some really weird shit like the meaning of life and all that. I kept teasing him that he'd been around you too long." I had to smile slightly at that. Orlando's tendency to take odd turns in his conversations had nothing to do with me. It was something he came by quite naturally and, I suspected, was a major part of what drew me to him in the first place. He was never predictable. I watched as Lij dropped his cigarette to the pavement and ground it beneath the toe of his shoe. "Somehow we ended up in your bedroom," he continued softly. "At that point, it was basically just two drunk idiots sprawled across the bed and talking more shit that we didn't really understand when we were sober, but made a hell of a lot of fucking sense after a couple six packs of beer. Then...." He paused, staring at his hands. I noticed they were trembling. "Then he got out the coke. I didn't...I guess I wasn't really thinking clearly. I mean, I'd known for a couple months that he was doing drugs but I thought it wasn't anything heavy like that. Hell, I'd even gotten high with him a few times, but it was only pot or speed. That night, though.... I guess I was drunker than I thought because when he offered it to me, I took it. I know I shouldn't have, but I did. He showed me how to do it and then he watched me." I closed my eyes, not wanting to listen to the words coming out of his mouth. I couldn't help myself though. My life had become such a trainwreck that all I could do was sit and stare, shellshocked, at the broken remains. "A...a few minutes later, I guess it kicked in because there was this incredible rush. And then Orlando was kissing me. Or I was kissing him. I honestly don't know who started it. It just...it just happened and it went so fast that I couldn't think. I knew deep down inside that it was wrong but it was like I couldn't stop. And then we were in the bed and...and...." He stopped, turning away suddenly, blinking furiously to keep the tears at bay. I could feel my own tears prickling hotly behind my eyelids. "Afterwards," he said, turning back but not looking at me, "We just kinda laid there, not talking. I don't think he believed what had happened. I know I didn't. It didn't seem real. And then he started crying and freaking out because of it, saying you were going to hate him and that he should kill himself and a lot of other shit that really scared me. That sobered me up pretty quick and then it all hit me and I guess I kinda fell apart. I thought I was gonna be sick, knowing what we did and how it was going to affect you. I felt so guilty that I didn't sleep or eat for days. I wanted to tell you so bad but I couldn't. I guess I was hoping that if I didn't tell you, I could pretend it never happened. Pretty fucked up, huh? When he told you he'd cheated on you that night in New York, it brought it all back and I knew I couldn't just ignore it any longer. I knew that Orlando had really been hitting the drugs pretty hard since that night because of how he was acting and I guess he was feeling as guilty about it as I was. In New York...I told him I was going to tell you and we argued about it. And then he said what he did to you in front of everyone and I wished someone would kill me then. I don't think I slept from that night until I told you in London. I couldn't go on hiding it from you. The guilt was killing me. I had known for a while that he was doing drugs, but I swear to you, Viggo, I didn't think it was as serious as it was. I mean, I knew you smoked pot once in a while and I thought that's all Orlando was doing. And then that night at your house...." I looked over his head, my jaw clenched so tightly that my whole head was aching. I couldn't look at him. My eyes burned with unshed tears as Lij's soft voice painted pictures that I didn't want to see. "We were careful, Viggo," he whispered softly. "He used a condom." "Like that's supposed to make me fucking feel better?" I snapped. He flinched, keeping his eyes firmly on the toe of his shoe. Calmly. Had to control myself. I rubbed my eyes and sighed. "No, I guess not," he said in a small voice. "I just...I thought you should know, that's all. We were drunk and high, but we weren't as stupid as we could have been. And I know everyone pretty much hates me now because of it, you most of all, but I had to talk to you and tell you what happened." "I don't hate you, Lij," I said tiredly, finally looking at him. "I don't particularly like you very much right now, but do you really blame me? I love him more than life itself and you knew that." "I know," he said. So miserable sounding. "We're brothers, Lij. That's what we swore when we left New Zealand, and that still stands," I reminded him. "But all this.... There's a lot of hard feelings here and I can't just forget it happened and tell you everything's going to be okay. I wish I could, but I can't. Hell, I don't even know what I'm going to do about it yet." "I saw him the other day," Lij said softly, lifting his eyes to meet mine once more. I looked at him, not comprehending what he had said for a moment. "You saw...." He nodded. "The day after Christmas," he continued. "He...he looked bad, Viggo. I don't know what he's doing, but I don't think he was sober when I talked to him. It was like...like...like he didn't really care what happened to him now. All the presents were still under the tree but the house was a mess. He kept talking about you and how he'd fucked everything up and how you hated him now. He said that you'd left him and it was all over and he should just go away so no one would ever have to deal with him again. He scared me." "You know Orlando tends to be overly dramatic," I said, trying to ignore the vague alarm that raced up my spine. "He said the same thing about going away when he blew up the microwave two years ago." "I know, but...." Lij trailed off and then sighed, his shoulders moving in a tiny shrug. "I guess you're right." "Look," I said, glancing at the car where Sean waited. "I really need to go before Sean comes back over here. I...I'll call Orlando in a few days and try to talk to him." He nodded. "I'm sorry, Viggo," he said in that soft voice. "Really sorry for what I did." "I wish I could say I forgive you, Lij, but I can't," I told him. "I'm not ready to forgive anyone yet." "I understand. I just thought you should know all that," he said and then smiled faintly. "I'll see you later." "Yeah," I said and watched as he walked off. Shaking my head, I turned away and went to the car, saying nothing as I closed my door and Sean pulled out of the parking lot. There was nothing I could say. Not then. I should have, but I couldn't bring myself to talk yet. Sean seemed to accept that, only asking where we should go for dinner. I directed him to a small Italian place and knew that I'd once again be pushing my food around on my plate as my mind tortured me with thoughts of Orlando. + + + New Year's Eve, 2002 Redondo Beach, California The sky was leaden and overcast as far as I could see. A chill wind cut across the open areas, barely deterred by the scattered trees. I wanted to see the sun. Needed to see the sun. As I stood there, my head down, rain fell on me. A cold drop slid down the back of my neck, rolling beneath my collar and down my spine. I lifted my head as a hand touched my arm, and I wasn't sure if the wetness on my face was raindrops or tears. It was hard to tell. I'd been crying so much in the past few days. "Viggo, it's time to go," Sean said softly. I just looked at him, too numb to speak. He looked as if he'd been crying, too. But it could have been the rain. I turned away, my hand reaching out to lightly caress the smooth mahogany surface in front of me. He murmured something and stepped back. Not too far, though. I doubted he'd go too far from me for a long time to come. I didn't think any of them would. Not for a while at least. They were all back there behind me, clustered in a small knot, crying and sniffling and talking softly. Our dear, dear hobbits all together, holding on to each other. Ian, too. Probably with Hugo and Peter. John and Liv were around. I remembered seeing them earlier. At least, I thought I remembered seeing them. Everything was a blur. Just one big, hazy blur. It didn't seem real. I felt the tears roll down my face as I stood there staring at the flowers. Yellow roses and lilies. Yellow. His favorite color. My fingers brushed a rosebud, the surface of the petals velvety soft against my skin. My vision blurred as I stood there staring at the blanket of flowers covering the lid of the coffin. So cold inside. Outside, too. Cold and wet and dismal. The angels cry for their own when they fall. So much beauty. Gone now. Wasted. It hid so much pain at the end. Even my love wasn't enough to save him. And now my last sight of him would always be the moment they closed the coffin lid, shutting his still, lifeless body inside. His face, so peaceful in repose, so relaxed. So still. So unlike my beautifully demonic angel. Orlando was never that still. Never. I felt the world tilt around me and heard someone screaming. Me. My voice screaming to God to give him back to me. Sean's arms around me, his voice soft in my ear. I struggled to touch the coffin one more time. Wanted to be inside it with him. I wanted to be with him so badly. I couldn't let them take him away, couldn't let them put him in the cold, hard ground. He'd die caged up like that. Orlando was free. Always, always free. Always -- "Viggo, wake up!" My eyes snapped open and for a split second I had no idea where I was. Then strong hands shook me again and it all came rushing back. A nightmare. Orlando dead. I couldn't handle it. "Oh, God...." I couldn't speak. I wanted to curl in on myself and block the image of that coffin from my mind. "You were screaming," Sean said softly, his hands gentle now on my shoulders. I lifted my head and looked at him. From his reaction, I could only imagine what I looked like. What did he see in my eyes? I didn't really want to know. "Jesus, Viggo," he said in a soft hiss. "You look like someone died." "Orlando," I choked out and then the tears came in a scalding rush. "No, no, he's not dead," Sean whispered, drawing me into his arms. That only made me cry harder. His hands, so warm and gentle, stroked my back as he rocked me. A small part of me knew how hard it must have been for him to hold me like that. He didn't say anything else for a long time, just made soothing noises and held me close, letting me cry myself out. I had no idea what time it was when I finally stopped crying. After midnight. I vaguely remembered saying something about not feeling up to ringing in a new year and going to bed early while Sean stayed up to watch the ball drop in Times Square. He spent his New Year's Eve with Dick Clark. I spent mine with a pillow and blanket. I wondered who Orlando had spent his with. That thought brought fresh tears and Sean continued to hold me as I sobbed like a little boy against his chest. "Do you want to talk about it?" Sean asked when I quieted down again. He shifted and slid up the bed to lean against the headboard, pulling me with him so I was still resting against his chest. His arms, so strong and warm, held me tightly, and one hand stroked my hair, his fingers smoothing it back. I laid there, drained of energy, letting the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat soothe me. It felt so good to lay there like that. So good to have someone hold me again. "It...it was horrible," I said in a thick voice, my eyes staring at the contrast my darker hand made on his fair skin. Only then did I realize his shirt was off. It must have been later than I thought because Sean looked as if he'd hastily pulled on his jeans, leaving them only half zipped when he came to check on me. "You dreamed that Orlando was dead," he said softly, carefully phrasing it as a statement and not a question. I nodded, trying hard not to start crying again. "It was raining and the coffin was...was...." "Shhh," he murmured, pulling me closer. It seemed like years since anyone had held me. Years since I hadn't hurt. I wondered when I had started to feel again. "Sean," I said, hating the way my voice sounded. So rough and raw. I lifted my head and looked at him. He lifted a hand and touched my cheek lightly, his fingers moving to brush back a strand of hair. His eyes searched mine for several minutes, even as his fingers moved back to brush away a lingering tear trail. "It was just a dream, Viggo," he said quietly. "Orlando's not dead." I closed my eyes, trying to swallow around the thickness that threatened to choke me. His fingers on my face where soft and gentle and, before I could stop myself, I turned my head, my lips touching his palm. He didn't say anything and he didn't pull away. "Call him in the morning," he said. I could hear the resignation and defeat in his voice. "You told Lij you would." He was right. I had told Lij several nights earlier that I would call Orlando. And I had yet to do that. Every time I picked up the phone, I had set it down again, the number undialed, the words unsaid. I wanted to talk to him. But I knew that hearing his voice again would be the final straw and I'd go back to him. His hand dropped and my eyes flew open as he started to sit up. He wouldn't look at me. He didn't have to. I knew what was happening. He was leaving. The nightmare was over and now he was going back to his own room. Suddenly, I couldn't bear the thought of being left alone. "Sean, don't go," I said, reaching out to grab his arm. "Viggo, me being here like this," he said as he gestured at the bed, "Half dressed, you naked under that blanket, is a bad idea. A really bad idea." "I don't want to be alone. Please." I knew I was begging and I didn't care. Anything to keep from having to be my own company for the rest of the night. He studied me for a moment and then sighed. "You don't know what you're asking," he whispered. I leaned against him, pressing him back against the headboard. He watched me a little warily, his eyes widening a tiny fraction when I shifted so that I was half lying on top of him. Carefully, slowly, I placed my hands on either side of his body. "I do know," I said, my eyes locked with his. He tilted his head to the right, still watching me. "Viggo," he said. "Hush," I whispered and then I kissed him. Mildly surprised when he didn't pull away. It was a soft kiss with no pressures, no sense of urgency. I pulled back and smiled faintly at his wide-eyed expression. Then he shook his head. "We shouldn't be doing this," he said. "You're upset about the dream and --" I didn't want to hear it. Not at that moment. So I did what felt natural. I kissed him again. And there was no holding back on that one. He had been in mid-sentence, so his mouth was partially open, a perfect invitation for my tongue to explore. So it did. The taste of cinnamon and strawberries flooded my mouth. A soft groan, I wasn't sure from who, and his hand came up to tangle in my hair. Time slowed to a crawl. "Viggo," he said raggedly, managing to pull away. "Stop. You don't want this." "Yes," I said, anchoring my hands in his hair and forcing him to look at me. "I do." "You don't," he whispered. I could hear the anguish in his voice. "You don't want me. You want --" "I want this," I said, a little surprised at my aggressiveness as my hand slid down his body to cup him through his jeans. He gasped softly, his hips involuntarily arching against me. And then it was my turn to be surprised when he suddenly rolled over and pinned me beneath him, his hands catching my wrists and pinning them to the pillow above my head. "You want this, do you?" He asked as he ground his hips against mine. The blanket and denim separating us did nothing to hide his state of arousal. Didn't do much to hide mine either. His eyes glittered in the moonlight as he loomed over me, his body pressing me into the mattress. "Yes," I whispered as I lifted my head and kissed him softly. "I want you, Sean." He muttered something under his breath and then his mouth crashed down on mine with a wordless growl. I lost track of everything around me as he kissed me, his hands moving over my body and touching places that only Orlando had touched for years. Somehow, his jeans ended up on the floor beside the bed after he fished his wallet out of the pocket and dropped it on the nightstand. The blankets were a heap at the foot of the bed, kicked there in our frenzy to touch each other everywhere. All the tiny details stood out clearly in my mind, even though it all seemed so surreal. The feel of his mouth on the tattoo on my hip. His fingers tracing the lines of my ribs. The gentle way he urged me over to my hands and knees. The feel of the bed dipping as he shifted around. The small tearing sound when he ripped open the foil covering the condom. The cool slickness of the lotion on my skin. The tiny thud of the bottle as he dropped it on the floor. And then he was inside me and I couldn't breathe. So much sensation, overloading my brain. Pain because I wasn't quite ready. Pleasure as he moved in slow, smooth strokes, hitting that small spot that sent sparks racing across my nerve endings. Soft groans and gasps from both of us. Warm breath against my ear as he kissed the side of my neck, my shoulder, my spine. Fingers, lightly calloused, gripping my hips gently, moving across my back as I rocked against him. Bracing myself with one hand on the headboard. Head thrown back as the other moved to ease the throbbing between my legs, my hand moving in perfect rhythm with his hips. Too much and not enough. So like, yet so different from, all the times Orlando had taken me. All that emotion built up inside us. All the pain we had caused each other. It all seemed to come down to that one moment. I think I cried at the end when Sean collapsed against my back, our breathing harsh in the now silent room. When he pulled away, I missed the warmth of his body. But only for a brief second. Then he was back, his hands pulling me to him so we lay nestled together in the darkness, his lips kissing away the few tears. "Any regrets?" He asked in a very soft voice, a touch of fear mingled with his words. I shook my head. "No," I whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to his collarbone. "I --" "I know," he whispered back, shifting slightly and kissing me before I could finish speaking. The darkness didn't seem as oppressive as he held me, kissing me softly, his lips touching my mouth, my cheeks, my closed eyelids. I sighed, moving against him as I got comfortable, my arm stealing around his waist. I waited for the guilt to come. It would. It was inevitable. I had finally did the very thing that Orlando had been accusing me of when he was high. It didn't matter that I hadn't seen him in over two weeks. It should have, but it didn't. I closed my eyes tightly, pressing my face against Sean's shoulder. He knew. I could tell by the way his arms tightened around me. "Viggo," he said and then we both jumped when the phone rang. I tried not to smile as he cursed under his breath and rolled out of bed. The odd, musical trilling continued as he stalked into the living room and snatched up his cellphone. I did smile when he stomped back into the bedroom before answering it. "This better be good," he growled as he sat down on the edge of the bed. "Hello?" I could only hear his half of the conversation, but I wasn't too proud to eavesdrop as I sat up and kissed his shoulder. I froze at his next words. "Lij? What? Calm down! I can't understand a word you're saying," he said, glancing at me as I settled down beside him. "No, Lij, just...what? Bloody hell, Elijah! Take a breath and speak slowly! No...yes, he's here...no. No...just tell me already...I see...where are you? Viggo's? Is...what? Orlando did what? Is he okay? Lij...he...but he's okay?" continue...