Music Of The Heart

Music Of The Heart

Posted: July 2005
Title: Music of the Heart
Author: Ariel Tachna
Type: RPS
Characters: Orlando/Viggo
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine. I made it all up in my little head.
Warnings: Violence, some non-con, AU
Beta: namarie120
Author's Notes: This is dedicated to willowwing for helping me prepare a surprise for my wonderful beta without whom I would be completely lost. Thanks also to bailey for giving me the bunny that led to this story.

Summary: Two musicians on a trip to the International Music Festival in Vienna get more than they bargained for.

*****

Chapter 1

The bumps from the turbulence made Viggo lose his place in the music again. He looked around and sighed. He needed to refresh his memory on the piece he was supposed to be playing when they got to Vienna for the International Music Festival. He had agreed to accompany rising tenor, Orlando Bloom, on the piano for a performance at the festival, though he could not have said why, given Bloom's reputation for going through pianists, and lovers, at an alarming rate. Still, he had agreed, hoping that close contact would rid him of the unwanted but undeniable attraction he felt for the young singer. Surely it could not survive daily contact with the arrogant diva. Bloom had not even had the courtesy to call Viggo himself. Bloom's agent had called to discuss what they would perform at the festival. Viggo shrugged off his annoyance. He knew the aria Bloom had selected, but he had not played it in years. That meant memorizing it again from the sheet music and hoping his muscle memory was better than his brain's memory. It usually was, if he could just concentrate on the notes in front of him. Unfortunately, every time the plane bounced, he lost his place and had to start over.

Another bounce, another lost place, and Viggo was fed up. He would learn the music when they reached Vienna. He had a few days before they were scheduled to perform anyway. Usually he preferred to play from memory even during rehearsals, but he would simply have to keep the music in front of him the first day, until he had time to relearn it. And if Bloom had a problem with that, he could just shove it up his arrogant little ass. He had approached Viggo about this gig, not the other way around. With a frustrated groan, Viggo closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep to counter the inevitable jet lag.

An angry shout woke Viggo from his sleep several hours later. He started to stand up, to see what was causing the commotion, when a rough hand pushed him back into his seat. "Stay where you are, mate," the heavily-accented voice ordered. Viggo looked up, about to protest such treatment. The words stilled in his mouth when he saw the gun in the other man's hand.

Glancing around, Viggo saw that the other passengers on the charter flight were no longer in their seats. "Where are the others?" he asked, trying to quell the growing panic. Had they all been killed already and he was next? Surely not. Surely he would have heard the gunshots. Unless they had been killed some other way.

"Locked in various nooks and crannies," the blond terrorist told him. "Divide and conquer, and all that shit."

"What do you want?" Viggo asked.

"The release of 10 IRA detainees in exchange for letting you all go free," the other man replied. The answer sent a chill down Viggo's spine. They were asking for something the British government almost certainly would not give.

"So what happens now? I mean, I don't have any power to give you what you want," Viggo asked since the other man seemed willing to talk. "I'm just a pianist."

"Sean, shut your fucking gob and get in here," a voice interrupted before the terrorist could reply.

"This one woke up," Sean shouted back.

"Well, bring him with you," the voice replied.

"Let's go, Elton," Sean ordered, gesturing toward the back of the plane with his gun.

"My name isn't Elton," Viggo said as he rose slowly and started in the direction Sean indicated.

"Elton John?" Sean asked. "Piano player? Ring a bell?"

"I'm a classical pianist," Viggo replied. "I don't listen to that sort of music."

Sean shook his head at the inherent snobbery in that comment. They were all alike, these blue-bloods, thinking they were better than everyone else because they had a talent. He'd bet Elton could play just as well as this guy.

Disjointed thoughts ran frantically through Viggo's head as they moved through the plane. How many terrorists were there? How desperate were they to get what they'd demanded? Would they be willing to kill?

When they passed the partition that divided the front compartment from the rear one, Viggo's blood chilled in his veins. Four other men, all armed to the teeth, stood around a woman whose hands were bound and who wore a brutal looking gag. "What are you doing to her?" he demanded, before he could stop himself. He had never been able to stand anyone being mistreated, especially women.

The blow landed on Viggo's jaw before he ever saw it coming. "Shut up, if you know what's good for you," one of the men ordered. "Next time, I'll use the gun instead of my fist."

Viggo cradled his sore jaw, knowing he would have a bruise and considering himself lucky that it was not broken. "That's enough, Pierce. Sean, lock him in with the other troublemaker," the leader ordered.

"Yes, Liam," they both replied like scolded children.

Having started down folly's path, Viggo took the next step. It was foolish, perhaps, but he knew from what he had read and heard on the news the type of men he was dealing with, and he had seen enough bullies growing up to recognize the signs. They did not respond to logic, only to bravura. They were certainly using the woman as leverage in whatever negotiation they were planning. Hiding the nerves threatening to bring him to his knees, he braced for another blow and suggested, "Why don't you lock her in with the singer and I'll take her place?"

In the moment it took the leader to respond to his suggestion, Viggo wondered if he would live to see the sunrise, and he realized that he was not ready to die. He had too much to do, too much to see still.

Sean laughed. "You're just a piano player, mate," he replied. "She's the Canadian ambassador to Austria. I think we'll get better results with her sitting here.

"That's enough, Sean," the leader growled. "Get him out of here."

Viggo suppressed a sigh of relief as Sean grabbed his arm and pushed him deeper into the plane, opening a door and shoving him roughly inside. "Stop trying to impress the lady by playing the hero," he said in parting. "It won't work, even if she's still around to appreciate it."

"I had no idea you were such a ladies' man," a smooth voice intoned from behind him. Viggo spun around to see who had spoken. He let out an annoyed sigh when he saw it was Orlando. He did not have the patience to deal with the diva right now.

"I'm not," Viggo answered shortly, "but they're holding a woman out there."

"Let me guess," Orlando drawled. "You offered to take her place."

"What's wrong with that?" Viggo replied defensively.

"Nothing, if you have a death wish," the tenor shrugged. "I don't happen to have one."

"You're awfully cavalier about this," Viggo observed.

Orlando laughed, a short bark of a sound. "I've got you fooled, too, have I?" he asked. "I'm scared shitless. I learned a long time ago that bravado is a good front. It keeps the bullies from realizing they've got you running scared."

Orlando's admission surprised Viggo and whetted his curiosity. This was not the arrogant tenor he knew, mostly by reputation. The attraction he had been trying to smother flickered back to life. If there was more to Orlando than met the eye, then perhaps... He stopped that train of thought. They had other, more important things to think about. Like staying alive.

"They're demanding to have some prisoners released. They need us as bargaining chips to negotiate," Viggo pointed out. "We're more use to them alive than dead."

"She's more use to them alive than dead, you mean," Orlando replied. "We're dispensable. And if they kill a few of us, they prove to someone that they're serious." He was still not ready to admit to the terror he had felt when the door opened a few minutes earlier, before he saw Viggo. Hearing the lock open, seeing the knob turn, he had been sure they were coming for him, and that could not have been good, no matter what they wanted him for.

"You've thought about this," Viggo observed.

"I've had time. I've been in here for half an hour already. They must have left you alone since you were asleep until they had everyone else under control."

"I suppose," Viggo said, surprised that Orlando had paid enough attention to him to realize that he had been sleeping. "So what do we do now?"

"What do you mean, what do we do? We sit here and hope to God that they either get what they want or that someone rescues us! We sure as hell aren't going to do anything stupid that would get us killed!" Orlando half-shouted, his voice low but intense, gesticulating wildly.

Viggo raised his hands placatingly, trying to calm the other man down. When it seemed that Orlando was only getting more upset, Viggo moved to his side and placed his hand on the tenor's shoulder. The reaction was immediate. Orlando turned into his arms, burrowing himself against Viggo, his face hidden in the crook of Viggo's shoulder. Unsure exactly what to do, Viggo patted Orlando's back awkwardly, trying futilely to suppress the surge of attraction. This was not the time, he lectured himself, but his body was in no mood to listen. The tenor was an undeniably handsome man, lithe and sleek, with chin-length hair and velvety brown eyes that seemed to call to something deeply buried in Viggo's soul. He cursed himself for being ten times a fool, but it did not dampen his reaction. He shifted, trying to hide his body's inappropriate reaction, concentrating on soothing the tremors that shook the singer's body. As the shaking eased at last, Orlando turned to rest his head against Viggo's chest. The rush of unexpected tenderness Viggo felt at this action was matched by a sudden tightness further below. He shifted again, but the movement had the opposite effect, drawing Orlando's attention to his growing erection

"Not a ladies' man at all, I see," Orlando teased, rubbing against Viggo provocatively.

That was enough to break the spell. He pushed Orlando away from him, not roughly, but enough to make his point. "There's no denying you're attractive. You certainly don't need me to tell you that, but I'm not one of your playthings," Viggo scowled, turning his back. 'I won't be,' he added silently.

"Playthings? Is that what you think they meant to me?" Orlando asked bitterly.

"What else?" Viggo inquired. "You use them and toss them aside. I've heard the stories."

"The stories..." Orlando had heard them, too, of course. He knew what people in the industry said about him, how they called him fickle because he had so many lovers, but no one ever bothered to ask why, to find out the whole story. They simply took his exes at their word and condemned him as a gigolo and a tease. "Don't believe everything you hear," he said, holding back tears.

"What's to believe?" Viggo challenged. "Do you deny that they were your lovers? Do you deny that you ended the relationships?"

"No," Orlando replied shortly. He had hoped for a minute that Viggo was different, that he would look behind the mask Orlando habitually wore and had let slip for a moment, but it seemed the older man was exactly like all the rest, judging him without ever getting to know him. "That doesn't make the rest of the stories true," he muttered in frustration.

Viggo heard the whispered words, though they were clearly not meant for him to hear. He could not have explained why they touched him, but they did. He remembered the open look on Orlando's face when he admitted his fear, when he turned to Viggo for comfort. That openness was gone, the arrogance back in full force. The contrast between the two made Viggo wonder, suddenly, if the arrogance was also a mask, put on for the public to protect Orlando from prying eyes the same way the bravado had protected him from bullies. "Then tell me, what is the truth?" he suggested, turning back to Orlando.

"Why should I?" Orlando asked.

"Because we might die here, and this way, you'll have let at least one person know the real you."

"The real me?" Orlando scoffed, opening his arms wide. "What you see is what you get."

"Stop it with the diva act, Orlando," Viggo ordered. "There's more to you than that, and we both know it."

"Oh, we do?" Orlando pushed. He resented the tone of Viggo's statement, but a part of him thrilled to know that someone, finally, was looking beneath the surface. "How exactly do you know it?"

"Two ways," Viggo replied. "First, if the stories were all there were to it, it wouldn't bother you to have me believe them. Secondly, you already let down your mask once, when you admitted you were scared. If you're hiding one thing, you're likely hiding others. Would it be so terrible to let me in?"

"I don't know," Orlando answered softly. "I haven't in years."

"Then isn't it about time you did?" Viggo pressed.

Orlando's eyes closed, as if he were warring within himself. "Not one of them, lovers or accompanists, ever bothered to look beyond the mask as you put it. Hell, I don't know if they ever even saw the mask. The accompanists wanted Orlando Bloom on their resume, and the lovers wanted Orlando Bloom on their social calendar. Do you blame me for getting rid of them if that's all I was to them?"

Could it really be that simple? Viggo wondered. Had he blindly accepted malicious gossip started out of jealousy and spite because he wanted to believe it? Because it helped him deny the unwanted attraction he felt? He was just as guilty of seeing only the mask as any of them had been. But not any longer, Viggo decided. He knew the truth now, and he was determined to meet the real Orlando, whoever that was.

Before Viggo could tell Orlando any of that, the door to their cabin swung open and two of the terrorists walked in. The one called Pierce crossed directly to Viggo, gun pointed at the pianist's chest, and pushed him into back against the wall. "Don't do anything foolish," he ordered. "I'd hate to have to shoot you."

"What do you want?" Orlando asked, looking at the terrorists and then at Viggo. He pulled his bravura fully back into place, not wanting to show any weakness before the thugs.

"A little taste of you," the other terrorist replied, advancing on Orlando. "I know who you are, Mister Famous Singer. I've been watching you since we got here, and I like what I see."

"Too bad the feeling's not mutual," Orlando retorted with a glare.

"It better be," the bully said.

"And why's that?" Orlando scoffed.

"It's quite simple, actually," Pierce interrupted. "You do what Colin wants or I shoot your friend here."

"It's not like you're all that particular anyway, from what I've heard," Colin pointed out.

"Give him some credit for taste," Viggo interjected.

The words were barely out of his mouth when the butt of Pierce's gun connected brutally with his stomach, forcing the air out of his lungs and bending him over double.

"From what I've heard, he'll do anything with a cock," Colin drawled with a nasty smile. "Let's find out, shall we?"

"Let's not," Orlando replied before he could stop himself.

The butt of the gun connected with Viggo's jaw, slamming his head back against the wall of the cramped cabin. "Are you sure you don't want to reconsider that last comment?" Pierce asked calmly, the gun poised to strike again.

"Stop," Orlando said. "Leave him alone."

" Orlando," Viggo protested, realizing what Orlando was about to do.

Orlando forced a laugh. "It's not like I'm picky anyway, right?"

Viggo winced when he heard Orlando's words and understood what the tenor was accepting in exchange for his own safety. A part of Viggo wanted to look away, but he did not. He would watch and he would remember what Orlando had done to save him, and if he could give the younger man strength through his gaze, he would.

Orlando felt Viggo's gaze and looked back at the older man. Inside, he was trembling, but he took heart from Viggo's solid stare. As long as he could hold onto that, he would be all right. 'Just don't look away,' he pleaded silently. Viggo must have understood, somehow, because he nodded and gave Orlando the slightest hint of a smile. And his eyes never wavered.

"What's your pleasure then?" he said to Colin, without looking at him. His gaze remained locked on Viggo, his lifeline amidst the terror his life had suddenly become.

"I think I'll start with a kiss. Open wide," Colin smirked, grabbing Orlando's jaw and forcing their lips together. Viggo tensed as he watched the obscene spectacle. He could see Colin grinding his lips against Orlando's and from the movement of the terrorist's jaw, he guessed that Colin was forcing his tongue inside Orlando's mouth, raping him orally.

"Can't look away, can you?" Pierce sneered. "What's it like watching your boyfriend with someone else?"

Viggo did not dignify the comment with a response, his entire attention fixed on supporting Orlando as best he could. It was little enough, but he was not Superman. He could not take on the two terrorists and have any hope of surviving. All he could do was let Orlando know that he was not alone. And perhaps help him pick up the pieces when Colin was done with him. If the terrorists left them alive, that was.

Orlando fought his instinct to gag when Colin thrust his tongue into the tenor's mouth. Everything in him screamed at him to struggle against this violation, but he knew what the result would be. There was no escape, even if he did fight, and Viggo would pay the price, succeed or fail. He heard what Pierce said to Viggo and a part of him waited for the inevitable denial, but it never came. Viggo's gaze never wavered, not even when one of Colin's hands grabbed the collar of Orlando's shirt and yanked, popping buttons and tearing cloth.

"Attractive boy you've got there," Pierce drawled. "Maybe when Colin's done, I'll take a turn. After all, with his track record, what's one more?"

Again, Viggo remained silent, his gaze never moving, but Pierce's words hit a nerve. Orlando did have a track record, even if he had his reasons, and Viggo did not want to be the next on that list, not unless he was reasonably assured of being the last. That was a matter for later, though. What mattered now was staying alive long enough for any of it to be an issue.

The force Colin employed to rip Orlando's shirt jerked the younger man away from the wall, bringing his body into contact with the terrorist's. He shivered with repulsion, struggling to keep his eyes on Viggo. When the terrorist's cold hands started moving with unwanted familiarity over Orlando's chest, he stared into the reassuring blue orbs and imagined it was Viggo's hands on his chest instead of Colin's. It almost worked until the fingers grabbed a nipple and pinched cruelly. Viggo had never touched him, but Orlando knew that the fingers that coaxed such beautiful music from the keyboard would never be so callous. His pained gasp sounded as loud as thunder in his ears.

Viggo could not see exactly what Colin was doing since his body blocked the view, but he saw the pain on Orlando's face and could guess that the terrorist was abusing the singer in some way. Even if Colin's body had not been in the way, Viggo would not have looked down. He did not need to see the details. He only needed to provide Orlando all the support he could.

"The top half's not bad. See what he's got on the bottom half," Pierce suggested nastily.

Colin glanced over his shoulder and grinned at his partner. His hand moved to Orlando's groin and squeezed his flaccid shaft roughly, laughing at the flinch Orlando could not hide.

"I don't know," Colin sneered. "Doesn't feel like much."

"Maybe you're not doing it right. Want me to try?"

"Nah, I'll get him worked up. Just give me a minute." And his fingers started fondling Orlando in earnest. Orlando tried to remain impassive under the unwelcome assault, but he could not stop the reflexive movement away from the invasive pawing.

Seeing the flinch, Pierce grabbed Viggo's hair, pulling his head back sharply and pressing the gun against his temple. "You don't want to do that, mate, do you?" he asked.

It was hard to keep eye contact with Orlando with his head pulled back, but Viggo did his best. He would not abandon the younger man, not now.

"Maybe you'd rather have my cock in your mouth?" Colin suggested, his hands going to Orlando's shoulders and forcing him to his knees. "Would that suit you better?"

Orlando did not reply, terrified that any movement on his part would set the terrorists off and end Viggo's life. And if that happened, Orlando would never forgive himself. He waited in trepidation as Colin unzipped his pants and pulled out his straining erection. Then the terrorist stepped in front of him and blocked his view of Viggo. Panic surged through Orlando. He could do this because Viggo was helping him, but without that lifeline, he suddenly felt adrift. 'He's still there,' he admonished himself. 'He hasn't disappeared just because you can't see him.'

"I'm here, Orlando." Viggo's voice reached Orlando's ears as the panic threatened to overwhelm him. A harsh grunt followed and Orlando knew Viggo had suffered another blow for daring to speak, but Orlando could not be sorry he had. Those few simple words had steadied him, had given him the courage to deal with what was happening to him. Suppressing a grimace, Orlando opened his mouth and prepared to endure the inevitable.

Viggo glared at Pierce after the most recent blow, knowing Orlando could no longer see his eyes. Then, returning his gaze to the sick tableau in front of him, he muttered, "You didn't say I couldn't talk," Viggo pointed out. "You simply said not to do anything foolish."

"Well now I'm telling you not to talk," Pierce growled menacingly, his own regard returning to Colin and Orlando. "He's a beautiful little slut, isn't he?" Pierce asked. "Look at him, mouth already open. He's not even fighting. He obviously likes a take-charge man."

Viggo did not rise to the bait, sickened by Pierce's words and by his own desire to be in Colin's shoes. With a willing Orlando, of course.

The first touch of Colin's shaft to his lips caused Orlando to flinch again, but the terrorist's eyes were closed and he did not see it, fortunately. Orlando forced himself to relax so he wouldn't gag if the other man thrust. And he did, driving his erection hard into the back of Orlando's throat. He caught his breath when Colin pulled back, consciously stopping the urge to pull his mouth away and spit out the unwelcome flavor. He would not be responsible for them causing Viggo more pain. It was bad enough that one of them had to suffer.

Colin thrust a second time, and a third, and Orlando was finding it harder and harder not to struggle as his sense of violation grew. He could hear Pierce in the background, trying to goad Viggo, but the words were a blur as he felt himself losing touch with reality. 'Don't faint,' he ordered himself. 'Please God, don't let me faint.'

Chapter 2

"Colin, Pierce," Liam's voice shouted. "Get your asses out of whatever cubby hole you're hiding in and get in here."

"Fuck!" Colin muttered, "just when this was getting good. Don't worry, pretty boy. I'll be back to finish what I started, just as soon as I see what the boss man wants." He pulled away and zipped himself back into his pants. He nodded to Pierce who kept the gun on Viggo as they backed out of the little room.

Orlando did not move for several long moments after they left. "Are they really gone?" he asked Viggo softly, his eyes closed.

"Yes, it's just us," Viggo replied, moving to sit on the floor next to Orlando. He could not help admiring the planes of the younger man's chest as they sat there. Viggo wanted to reach out, to offer a comforting embrace, but he had no idea whether Orlando would welcome that or not.

Orlando shuddered and opened his eyes. "Thank you," he said, turning to face Viggo.

"For what?"

"For not looking away." He shivered again, the panic receding only slowly.

The shivers drew Viggo's attention back to Orlando's torn shirt. "Do you want my sweater?" he asked, reaching for the hem to pull it over my head.

Orlando stared blindly ahead as the shivers increased. He knew they were gone. He knew it was over, but for how long? The panic was regaining the upper hand again at the thought of what they would demand of him if they returned. He heard Viggo's voice, but there was, once again, the feeling that he was about to lose consciousness.

Seeing the blank look on Orlando's face, Viggo stripped his sweater off and draped it over Orlando. "Relax and breathe," he ordered, taking the tenor's face between his hands.

Orlando started to fight him, but Viggo held on, talking calmly. "Look at me. They're gone," Viggo insisted.

Orlando grabbed onto the lifeline that had kept him steady for as long as their connection had lasted. Viggo's eyes were right there, willing him to be strong, to push back the panic. "I know," Orlando said softly. "Aftereffects, I guess."

"It's all right," Viggo assured him. "You have every right to be upset. Just don't panic on me again. Why don't you put on my sweater?"

Orlando looked down at the ratty grey sweater draped across his chest. "Can you be any more stereotypical?" he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Viggo had been about to release Orlando's face, seeing that the panic had passed, but that comment made him tighten his grip. "Don't put the mask back on," he warned. "I know you had to do it while the terrorists were in here, but you don't need it with me."

Orlando sighed. "I've gotten so used to it that I don't know what is mask and what is me anymore." He paused for a moment, considering what he was about to say. The concern in Viggo's eyes gave him the courage he needed. "Can I ask you a favor?"

Viggo nodded.

"I need to feel safe again. Will you hold me?"

"Put the sweater on first, then I will," Viggo agreed, not wanting the temptation of bare skin. Orlando needed comfort, not some horny old man.

Orlando dutifully did as he was told, realizing as the sweater touched his skin that while it might be old and worn, it was also soft and warm. He could smell Viggo's cologne as he pulled the wool over his face. He inhaled deeply, letting the scent wash over him and add to the feeling of safety that he was beginning to associate with the older man. When his head popped out, he saw Viggo's open arms and he went straight into them, his head bumping the pianist's jaw lightly as he settled against Viggo's shoulder. The hiss of indrawn breath reminded Orlando that he was not the only one who had suffered over the past minutes. He reached up and cradled Viggo's jaw. "I wish I had some ice for you," he said regretfully.

"This wasn't your fault," Viggo insisted, tilting Orlando's head up so their eyes met again. "It wasn't either of our faults."

"Maybe if I hadn't..." Orlando began, trailing off into silence.

Viggo frowned. He had heard stories of victims of abuse taking the responsibility for what had happened to them, as if they had somehow asked for it, and he did not want Orlando to go down that path.

"If you hadn't what?" he probed, hoping Orlando would answer him.

"He knew who I was," Orlando explained. "He came after me because of my reputation."

"And you think that if you hadn't had so many lovers, he wouldn't have seen you as easy prey?"

Orlando nodded.

"I don't buy that," Viggo scoffed. "They saw an attractive man in a situation they could exploit. It wouldn't have mattered if you were completely unknown. They might have taunted you differently, but they would still have come in here. And they still would have used me as a guarantor of your cooperation. You aren't to blame here, Orlando. They are."

Orlando mulled Viggo's words over carefully. He knew what Viggo said was right, but it did not completely ease the burden of guilt he felt. Still, it helped to know that Viggo did not blame him, even if he still blamed himself in part. In an effort to distract himself, he chose to focus on something else Viggo had said. "You think I'm attractive?"

"Of all I said, that's what you choose to focus on?" Viggo asked with a sigh.

Orlando looked down, ashamed that Viggo thought him so shallow. "No," he said. "I heard the rest of what you said, and I thought about it. You're right, of course. I just don't want to discuss it any more. I want to forget what happened, not rehash it incessantly. And you didn't answer my question."

Viggo sighed again. He could deny the attraction, he supposed, but what good would that do? Orlando's confidence had clearly taken a beating, though he had not let the terrorists see that. If an admission could help restore the singer's balance, it seemed the least Viggo could do. "Yes, I think you're attractive," Viggo answered finally. "I'd have to be blind not to."

"Or straight," Orlando murmured, his words lost against Viggo's shoulder.

"What was that?" Viggo asked.

"Nothing," Orlando replied, looking up with a small smile. "Can we stay like this for a while?"

"For as long as you want," Viggo promised, tucking Orlando's head back into the crook of his shoulder.

They sat that way for several long minutes, each enjoying the feeling of the other's closeness without being willing to admit it. Finally, Orlando stirred a little. "What will you regret most if we don't make it out of here alive?" he asked softly.

"Don't think that way," Viggo scolded gently. "That's what negotiators are for. They'll come up with a solution."

"But if they don't?" Orlando pressed.

Viggo considered the question for a time. "I guess not spending more time with my son," he replied. "I travel so much that I rarely get to see him."

"You have a son?" Orlando asked, his heart sinking. At the very least, that meant Viggo had been in a serious heterosexual relationship once upon a time. At the worst, the pianist was married.

"Yeah," Viggo said. "His mother and I divorced several years ago. She has custody because I can't provide a stable environment traveling the way I do to perform. I haven't seen Henry in six months, though we talk on the phone every couple of days. What about you?"

"Me?" Orlando repeated. "Oh, you know, that I haven't performed at the Met, that I haven't recorded my own album, that sort of thing."

"That mask is getting in the way again," Viggo chided.

"That nobody's ever loved me for me, all right?" Orlando spat out, pulling away slightly. Viggo's arms tightened, bringing the tenor back against his chest.

"Nobody?" Viggo asked. "What about your parents?"

"My dad died when I was too young to remember him," Orlando explained, "and I showed an aptitude for singing so early that my mum pushed me into formal training. She always felt like such a nobody. I think I was her chance to be somebody, if only by association. I didn't ever have a say. By the time I was old enough to tell her to sod off, this was the only life I knew and the only thing I was good at. So here I am, stuck in a life I didn't choose, with no way to do anything else." His smile was bitter. "I enjoy the singing, don't get me wrong. I can lose myself in the music like I can nowhere else. When I'm singing is probably the only time I feel whole."

"Keep the mask down long enough and maybe you'll find someone to fulfill your dream," Viggo encouraged, incredibly saddened by the life Orlando had described. He knew he was not a perfect parent, by any means, but he hoped he and Chris were more attuned to Henry's needs than Orlando's mother had been.

Orlando laughed at Viggo's words. "You're the only person in years who's seen me without my mask, as you call it, and you're straight. Bloody lot of good that does me."

It was Viggo's turn to laugh. "Don't make assumptions," he chided gently.

"But... you were married. You have a son," Orlando pointed out, confused.

"Yes to both of those things. What you don't know is why my wife and I got divorced."

"Why?" Orlando asked automatically. It took him a minute to realize what a personal question he had just asked. "I'm sorry. That was rude. I shouldn't have been so personal."

"It's all right," Viggo assured him. "Christine and I parted ways for a lot of reasons, but one of them was that I finally came to terms with my own sexuality, and that didn't include her."

Orlando took a moment to absorb Viggo's revelation. It was too soon and the circumstances were too dire, but maybe if they both survived this, he would have the opportunity to get to know the man better. Maybe he would finally have someone who cared about him, not about his fame. Viggo was the first person in eight years to even see the mask Orlando wore, much less try to look behind it, and that made him the most attractive person Orlando had met in that time. He had learned the hard way that physical beauty was not a reliable indicator of inner beauty, though, thinking it about it now, Orlando had to admit Viggo had plenty of physical beauty as well. As nice as it was, though, Orlando was beginning to realize that it did not really matter to him. What mattered what that Viggo seemed to genuinely want to know the man behind the mask. Orlando hoped he remembered who that was well enough to show the pianist, because he had a feeling that if he did not, he would lose Viggo's interest almost immediately. And keeping Viggo's interest was suddenly of utmost importance.

Orlando's thoughts came grinding to a screeching halt as he realized that silence had fallen between them while he imagined a future with a man he barely knew. "Wow,... um... I don't know what to say," he stammered uncomfortably.

"You don't have to say anything," Viggo replied calmingly. "It's not a secret, but it's also not something I choose to flaunt."

"Unlike me," Orlando answered bitterly. "What you must think of me, with my flamboyant ways and checkered history."

"What I think is that you're a lonely young man who's had some bad luck in his life. That doesn't make you a bad person. I don't know you well enough to have more of an opinion than that, although perhaps that will change as we work together for the Festival."

"I'd like that," Orlando said with a shy smile. "We can discover the real me together. It's been so long, I think I've forgotten who I am."

He looked up into Viggo's stunningly blue eyes, mesmerized by the kindness and interest he saw there. More than anything, he wanted to lean up and kiss the lips that formed into a tender smile at his words, but fear held him back. Kissing someone he had only just met was something the diva would do, part of the bold, brash persona he displayed to the world. Was that who he really was? It did not feel like he had just met Viggo. That was the crux of the matter. The situation in which they found themselves had led them both to reveal far more of themselves than they would have on so short an acquaintance. Yes, they had just met, but they were not strangers. Not anymore. Gathering his courage, Orlando looked into Viggo's eyes again for any sign that the pianist would not welcome his attentions. Seeing nothing to discourage him, he shifted a little in Viggo's arms so that he could bring his mouth level with the other man's. Viggo's arms shifted to accommodate him, providing all the encouragement Orlando needed. He leaned closer, eyes locked on Viggo's as the anticipation grew. When the door to their cabin slammed open, both sets of eyes flew to the doorway.

"What's this?" Colin asked. "Are you such a slut that you couldn't even wait for me to come back?"

Orlando knew he should not show any fear, but he could not hold the eye contact with the terrorist. He let his head drop back to Viggo's shoulder, knowing the pianist would not be able to protect him, but drawing strength from their embrace nonetheless.

"Leave us alone," Viggo said softly.

"Or what?" Colin asked. "You'll burst my eardrums with a high note? Strangle me with a piano wire? I don't think so." He drew his gun. "Get away from my toy."

Orlando's and Viggo's arms both tightened reflexively, neither willing to let the other go. Colin crossed to them, his fingers digging cruelly into Orlando's shoulder, jerking him roughly out of Viggo's arms. "Get over there against the other wall," he ordered, "or I'll shoot you both and then I'll still take what I want. My aim's good enough that I won't hit anything essential. I wouldn't want to spoil our fun."

"It's all right," Orlando whispered hoarsely. "Don't make him shoot you."

Feeling incredibly helpless, Viggo did as Orlando asked, moving to the opposite wall. He tried to meet Orlando's eyes, to offer the same support as he had through the first ordeal, but Colin's body was already blocking his view of Orlando's face. He could hear the terrorist undoing his zipper, could imagine him pulling out his erection and shoving it into Orlando's face, into his mouth. Anger began a slow burn in Viggo's heart. He could not simply sit there and watch Colin rape Orlando. The terrorist was alone this time. His back was turned and he was engrossed in his torture of Orlando. If Viggo were quick, he might be able to wrest the gun from Colin's hand before he realized Viggo had moved. It was risky, but he had to do something. He would not have taken the risk if he were alone, but Orlando's quiet plea to be loved for himself had touched Viggo's heart. Another minute! If Colin had given them even another minute, Viggo would at least have known the flavor of the lips he so desired. Instead, he was probably about to get himself killed without ever knowing that pleasure.

The whimpers he heard from Orlando were the final straw. Getting up from his place by the wall as quietly as he could, he launched himself at Colin's back, reaching for the gun with both hands made strong with years of work. He managed to knock the terrorist away from Orlando, but Colin's grip on the gun remained firm. Viggo cursed under his breath as they struggled. Then a searing pain shot up his arm as the gun fired, the bullet hitting his bicep.

The gunshot brought the other terrorists running. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Liam demanded when he saw Colin's undone pants and the wound in Viggo's arm. "I gave strict orders not to harm them unless the negotiations went badly. We're still talking out there and you're in here fucking around. Get up, and don't even think about leaving my sight again until this is over."

Colin shot them an ugly glare, as if promising he was not done with them yet. Viggo slumped to the floor, clutching his bleeding arm, as the terrorists all filed back out, leaving the two musicians alone again in the tiny space.

As soon as the door closed, Orlando was scrambling to Viggo's side, pulling the sweater over his head so he could remove his torn shirt. He grabbed the sleeve and ripped it free of the seams, tying it tightly around the gaping hole in Viggo's flesh. "Lift your arm," he ordered. "We have to get the bleeding to stop."

In a daze, Viggo did as he was told, flinching when Orlando tightened the makeshift bandage again. "I'm sorry. I know it's got to hurt," Orlando babbled, "but if we don't stop the bleeding, you'll die. I've just found you. I don't want you to die!" The last came out in a hoarse wail.

"I'm not going to die," Viggo promised him. "It's just my arm. The bullet didn't get anything vital."

"But it's bleeding so much!" Orlando worried.

"Fold up the body of the shirt and put it under the bandage," Viggo suggested. "Push down on it. Maybe the pressure will stop the bleeding."

Orlando did as Viggo instructed, tearing his shirt again and folding it into a thick pad. He slid it between the bandage and Viggo's arm, thereby increasing the pressure on the wound. "Give it a few minutes to work," Viggo said.

Orlando nodded, looking at Viggo oddly.

"What?" Viggo asked.

"You saved me," he replied.

"Well, I tried, anyway," Viggo joked self-deprecatingly.

"Stop that! You risked your life for mine."

Viggo tried to shrug, but the movement hurt too much.

Orlando shook his head and moved so that he was sitting on Viggo's uninjured side. Gently, he reached out and cradled Viggo's face in his hands. "Thank you," he said softly, leaning in to kiss Viggo.

Viggo averted his face, unwilling to have their first kiss be one of gratitude.

"Why are you pulling away? I thought you wanted to kiss me," Orlando demanded.

"I do," Viggo admitted, "but not because you feel like you owe me something."

"I do owe you something, but that's not why I'm kissing you. Do you know what my greatest fear was when that pig was in here?" Orlando asked.

Viggo shook his head.

"That after he was done with me, you wouldn't want me anymore. I'd finally found someone who was willing to give me a chance to be me, and before I even got to kiss you, that bastard was trying to... to..." He trailed off, lingering fear making him unable to finish the sentence.

"It wouldn't have mattered," Viggo whispered. "Nothing he could have done to you could stop me from wanting you."

"Then kiss me already," Orlando demanded.

Viggo gave up fighting his desires. There was no point anymore, not when Orlando clearly felt the same way. He tilted his head forward to capture Orlando's lips in a tender kiss. Orlando's lips were velvety smooth beneath his, moving in willing abandon to the rhythm that Viggo set.

Orlando sucked Viggo's tongue into his mouth, letting his fear and his hunger into the kiss. He needed Viggo's mouth on his, needed to wipe away, even if only for the moment, the memory of what he had so recently endured. He gripped Viggo's face, pulling him up and into the conflagration the kiss had become. Viggo moaned against Orlando's mouth, his own fear and anger subsumed by the passion growing between him. He started to embrace Orlando, to draw the younger man close, but the movement reminded him jarringly that he could not do that. He broke the kiss, gasping in pain.

Orlando looked at the blood-soaked shirt against the wound on Viggo's arm. "The bleeding isn't stopping," he said unnecessarily.

Viggo took Orlando's hand and pressed it to the underside of his arm, just below his armpit. "Press there, as hard as you can. That's the pulse point for my arm. Maybe that'll work."

Orlando pressed as hard as he could against Viggo's arm. He could feel the pulse beneath his fingers, so he knew he had the right spot, but he could not tell that it was having any effect. "Viggo?" he asked, his voice worried.

"Get the other sleeve from your shirt," Viggo answered in a pained voice. "We'll have to make a tourniquet."

"But... your arm... a tourniquet could damage it so much that..." Orlando suddenly realized exactly what price Viggo might pay for attempting to save him. The gunshot could cost him his arm, and that would end his career.

"We'll loosen it as soon as the bleeding slows, but if I die from blood loss, it won't matter about my arm," Viggo pointed out.

Orlando reached for what remained of his shirt, separating the sleeve from the tattered garment.

"Wrap it in the same place you were pressing," Viggo said, his voice growing faint as he grew dizzy from the blood loss. "Tie it as tight as you can."

"Don't pass out on me," Orlando ordered. "I'll fall to pieces and then where will you be?"

"You won't," Viggo replied. "That's not who you are, remember?" His vision was getting blurry and he knew he was not going to be able to stay awake much longer. "You're stronger than that."

Feeling not particularly strong at all, Orlando tied the tourniquet where Viggo had indicated, tightening it until he could not pull anymore.

"When the bleeding stops," Viggo whispered, "loosen it until you can feel a pulse in my wrist." And with that, he passed out, his head lolling to the side.

Orlando grabbed Viggo's shoulders, easing the pianist onto his lap. He brushed the shaggy blond hair back from Viggo's face and leaned down to press a kiss to the unmoving lips. "Hang on," he pleaded. "Don't leave me here alone. I've only just found you. I don't want to lose you now."

The words babbled out of him, for how long, he did not know. He felt the plane begin a downward descent, but his attention was focused squarely on the man in his arms. When he noticed that the bleeding had slowed, he did as Viggo suggested, loosening the tourniquet and feeling anxiously for a pulse. It took a moment to find it, a moment filled with panic and the assurance that Viggo would hate him if Orlando was the cause of his career's demise, but then he found it, faint and thready, but definitely there. Even better, the bleeding did not resume with the loosened tie. Orlando allowed himself to hope again, even if only a little. He kept Viggo cradled tightly against him through the jarring landing. Moments later, he heard gunfire. He hunkered down over Viggo's prone form as if his own body could be some protection against whatever was transpiring outside.

Chapter 3

When the door to the cabin opened, he looked up fearfully, to meet the eyes of a soldier. "W ir haben die Terroristen. Sie sind jetzt in Sicherheit, " the soldier said.

"I'm sorry. I don't speak German," Orlando replied, not looking up from Viggo's face.

"We have the terrorists," the soldier repeated in English. "Do you need assistance?"

"My friend was shot in the arm," Orlando answered, still not moving. The soldier nodded and barked something in German into the radio on his shoulder.

"Medics are coming," he informed Orlando.

"Thank you," the tenor replied from his place on the floor, shock still keeping him immobile.

Moments later, medics swarmed into the room, taking Viggo's pulse, listening to his heart. Orlando was pushed gently aside as they worked. He grabbed Viggo's sweater and pulled it on, then went to Viggo's good side, trying to keep hold of that hand, for his own reassurance if nothing else. The medics asked him politely, but firmly to move so they could insert an IV. "Do you know his blood type?" one of the medics asked.

"No, I... we just met," Orlando explained. "He saved me."

The medic looked surprised, but switched back to German and issued orders to the rest of the team. As one, they lifted Viggo onto a stretcher and began rolling him off the plane. Orlando stayed as close to them as he could, not intending to let Viggo out of his sight until he knew the older man was going to be okay. He got as far as the door to the plane when his manager waylaid him.

"Are you all right?" Robin asked, looking at Orlando's blood-stained pants. "Do we need to get you to a doctor?"

Orlando tried to pull away, but her grip was firm. "No, I'm fine. I just need to..." He could hear the panic rising in his voice as the medics carried Viggo toward the ambulance without him.

"Calm down," Robin soothed. "Everything's fine now. We'll just go to the hotel and you can take a long, relaxing bath."

"No, I have to go with Viggo," Orlando insisted, pulling away.

"I'm sure he'll be fine. It's you we have to worry about. You can't perform at your best unless you're well rested after all this excitement," Robin droned on in what was supposed to be a calming voice.

Orlando did not answer, sprinting across the tarmac toward the ambulance. "Wait!" he shouted, but the ambulance pulled off despite his pleas. Orlando sank to his knees, shivering convulsively as all that had happened overtook him. Robin was at his side almost immediately, patting his shoulder comfortingly.

Orlando jerked away from her, rising to his feet. "Why did you stop me?" he asked angrily. "He saved me. I wanted to go with him."

"They wouldn't have let you anyway," Robin said. "The authorities need to talk to everyone about what happened."

"I don't care," Orlando shouted. "They can talk to me at the hospital. For once in your life, do something useful and find out where they've taken him."

Robin raised her hands placatingly and went to see what she could find out. Before she returned, though, the Austrian authorities were at his side, insisting that he tell them everything that had happened. He tried to insist that he needed to go to the hospital, but when they asked him where he was hurt, he had no answer. They escorted him to a conference room in the airport to quiz him until they were satisfied. Orlando tried to answer patiently, but he could not stop his growing frustration and worry about Viggo. He was getting fidgety by the time they finished, anxious to be once again at Viggo's side.

"Thank you for your help," the Austrian officer said when they were finished.

"Please," Orlando said, "my friend who was shot, can you tell me what hospital he was taken to?"

"Of course," the officer replied. "He was taken to the Allgemeines KrankenHaus here in the city."

"Thank you," Orlando said fervently. "I have to find out if he's all right."

*****
Viggo opened blurry eyes to a scene of unfamiliar faces. He could hear the faint sound of the siren and guessed he must be in an ambulance. His senses were hazy with pain, but he looked around, trying to find Orlando. Seeing no sign of the younger man, he let his eyes close again, sinking back into unconsciousness.

When next he woke, Viggo was in a hospital room. His arm was bandaged and elevated and a very efficient nurse was standing at his bedside, taking notes.

"Ah, Herr Mortensen, you are awake," she said with a strong German accent. "How are you feeling?"

Viggo took a moment to consider her question. His arm no longer pained him the way it had on the plane, but he suspected that was because of the drugs they had surely given him. "A little groggy," he said finally.

"That is to be expected," she said. "You lost much blood. Rest now. We will take good care of you."

"Wait," he said as she started toward the door. "My friend, Orlando Bloom, has he come by the hospital?"

"You have not had any visitors," the nurse replied, "but if he comes, I will bring him in."

"Danke," Viggo said as she left. Orlando had not come. After all that they had shared on the plane, Orlando had left him alone to face this ordeal by himself. Viggo suppressed a sigh. He had hoped that Orlando would be there with him, or at least would have called to check on him. Everything after getting shot was pretty much a blur, but he remembered the kiss clearly. He had never had a first kiss like that before. 'Stop being silly,' he told himself. 'Orlando got held up for questioning. He'll be here when you wake up next time.' He let himself drift back to sleep.

*****
Orlando rushed out of the conference room, determined to find a taxi and get to the hospital as quickly as possible. He had not counted on Robin or on the media. As soon as he appeared, he was surrounded by reporters shoving microphones in his face and shouting questions at him. He tried to push his way through, answering a few questions as he did, but they did not move out of his way. Finally, Robin appeared with a security guard who dispersed the reporters. "Thank you," Orlando said to Robin. "I have to get to the hospital."

"Why? Are you hurt?" Robin asked. "You should have said something sooner."

"I'm not hurt. I have to check on Viggo."

"There will be plenty of time for that," Robin assured him. "Right now, we need to decide what you're going to tell those reporters. You can't buy this kind of publicity. Your name will be a household word because of this."

"But..." Orlando began.

"No, no," Robin interrupted. "Just listen and I'll tell you exactly what you need to say."

*****
Viggo woke again, feeling remarkably less groggy than the last time. He turned his head to look at the chair next to his bed but it was still empty. He glanced at the clock by the bed. It had been two hours since he last awoke. He had no idea how long since the hijacking had ended, but surely the authorities would have released Orlando already. After all, they had spent most of their time in that little cabin. They had very little to tell. Realizing he was thirsty, he rang the bell for a nurse. She came and poured him a glass of water, helping him to sip at it. When he asked, she told him that only his manager had called to check on him.

When she was gone, Viggo sighed again. He had no idea what could be keeping Orlando. He wanted to give the young man the benefit of the doubt, but it was getting more and more difficult. He thought he had begun to mean something to the young tenor. Surely his own actions had proclaimed his feelings clearly. He had risked his life to save him from the terrorist. He had thought the kiss they shared had affected Orlando as much as it had him, but maybe not. Maybe it was just relief and gratitude that had made Orlando kiss him. 'Not like that,' he chided himself. 'Relief and gratitude do not lead to that kind of kiss. He'll be here next time I wake up.'

*****
Orlando stared down at the clean pair of slacks and fresh shirt Robin insisted he put on before facing the press again. With a sigh, he stripped off his bloody pants and changed into the clean ones. He donned the shirt as well, looking at the sweater in his hand. Robin could say what she wanted. He was going to wear that sweater. He draped it over his shoulders, tying the sleeves in a loose knot on his chest. Let them ask. He would tell them what had really happened. That determination lasted for all of two seconds. He did not want anyone to know what had happened. He did not want to talk about the two near misses with rape. He did not want to talk about Viggo being shot or the rescue or anything else. He wanted to go to the hospital and see Viggo. With a sigh, he took the sweater back off and tucked it safely into his bag. He would say what Robin told him to say so he could get this over as quickly as possible. Then he would be able to go to the hospital.

Pulling his mask back in place and promising himself it was for the last time, he stepped out of the room to face the press.

The barrage of questions took him aback. He raised his hands a little. "Please, if you'll let me give my statement, then I'll try to answer any other questions you might have."

They quieted down enough that he could speak.

"As you know, the charter flight I was on from New York to Vienna was hijacked. There were five terrorists who were demanding the release of some prisoners. Almost immediately, they locked me and another passenger in one of the smaller cabins where we stayed until after the authorities had resolved the situation. As some of you may have heard, one of the other passengers was shot in the arm. I don't know anything else about his situation at this point. I only know I..." Orlando trailed off. He could not say the words Robin had written. He could not simply say that he hoped Viggo was doing well. There was too much else going on.

"It was rough," he said, dropping the mask and adlibbing a little. "There were moments when I was sure we wouldn't make it out alive. I owe a lot to one of the other passengers. Without him, I would surely have gone mad or been killed. Now, I know I said I would answer questions, but I'm suddenly feeling a little ill. If you will excuse me, I need to lie down."

He stepped away from the podium, ignoring the shouted questions as he walked back into the room. "That wasn't in the speech I gave you," Robin hissed at him when he closed the door behind him.

"I know," Orlando replied, "but it was the truth."

"You know that'll just lead to more speculation about you and your profligate ways," she reminded him. "We've talked about this."

"Yes, we have," Orlando replied coldly, "and we're not going to talk about it again. Viggo took a bullet in his arm to stop one of the terrorists from raping me. Now, I'm going to the hospital to see how he is, whether you like it or not."

*****
Viggo's eyes fluttered open at the sound of the door opening. He looked up to see Orlando standing nervously at the door. Orlando stared at the bed in shocked silence. He did not know what he had expected to see, but Viggo looked so vulnerable lying there, a huge bandage around his arm and needles still in his arms, pumping fluids and drugs and who knew what into Viggo's body.

"How are you?" the tenor asked, forgetting explanations and everything else in the surge of protectiveness that overwhelmed him.

"All right, I guess," Viggo said, unsure what else to say. He had been hoping for some kind of an explanation why Orlando had not been there earlier, but he was not about to ask. That would sound too needy. "They got the bullet out and said I should recover full use of my arm, but not in time to play for the festival."

"That's all right," Orlando said, the festival the last thing on his mind. It did not matter who played the piano. His only concern was Viggo's health. "I'll find someone else to play for me."

The words tore at Viggo's heart. It had been a fluke after all, a product of a tense situation and not something real. If Orlando was already talking about replacing him, he clearly did not mean as much to the younger man as he had hoped. "I heard Karl Urban is supposed to be here. He's good, and I'm sure he's handsome enough for your tastes."

Orlando frowned. Why was Viggo being so distant? He thought they had grown closer than that on the plane. Had their kiss meant nothing to him?

"I'll have my manager look into it," Orlando replied, intending to spend every free minute at the hospital with Viggo.

"I wouldn't," Viggo said. "Urban has a bit of a reputation. You should approach him yourself. Otherwise, he's likely to refuse."

Why was Viggo pushing him away? Did he not want Orlando there with him?

"I guess I could," Orlando began. "I just thought..."

"It's all right," Viggo said, though his heart broke a little more every time Orlando did not say that Viggo was more important than his career. "It would look bad to back out now. Do what you need to do."

It was suddenly more than Viggo could take. He could not stand another moment of waiting for Orlando to tell him that it was all a mistake, that what happened on the plane meant nothing. He faked a yawn. "You should find Urban right away if you want him. I think I should sleep some more anyway."

Feeling more than a little confused, Orlando nodded and left, not sure what had gone wrong, but sure that there was some terrible misunderstanding going on. Still, Viggo was obviously in pain. He would let him rest and talk to him again later, when he was feeling better.

Viggo sighed when the door closed behind Orlando. So, that was it, then. The Orlando he had seen on the plane was obviously just a product of fear and stress. The mask was just a figment of Viggo's imagination. What you see is what you get, after all. He closed his eyes, telling himself it was better to have found out now than to have fallen more deeply in love and to have his heart broken later.

*****

Orlando followed Viggo's advice and approached Karl Urban with the idea of having him accompany Orlando at the festival. Orlando was very careful to explain that it was just for this one performance, until Viggo was well enough to play again. If Karl was surprised by that, he gave no indication, simply agreeing to play the aria Orlando had selected.

With only limited time until the festival performance, they had to begin rehearsing immediately. By the time they were finished for the evening, visiting hours at the hospital were over, leaving Orlando no choice but to go home. The nurses were deaf to his pleading, although they did tell him that Viggo was improving and would probably be released the day after tomorrow. Orlando thanked them for that, promising himself that he would be there when Viggo was released. The pianist had supported him through his ordeal; he would support Viggo through his recovery.

*****

Viggo stayed in the hospital overnight, waiting with futile hope for Orlando to return that first day, but when visiting hours ended and Orlando had not returned, Viggo put aside his dreams and resigned himself to reality. He had lost Orlando. Or maybe he had never really had him in the first place.

The next day, he signed himself out of the hospital, despite the doctor's wishes that he stay one more day. Viggo could not make himself lie around doing nothing but brooding any longer. He could not play, but he could attend the festival where the music might soothe his soul.

When he got to his hotel, he switched on the TV for a moment to see if there was any coverage of the hijacking, but that was yesterday's news. The media had gone on to other, more current events. Viggo snapped the TV back off. He had no interest in the local sports scores anyway. Yesterday's news. That was all it was, to everyone but him, it seemed. The media had moved on; Orlando had moved on. Only Viggo was left behind, wishing he could recapture those precious moments when he had seemed to matter as much to Orlando as Orlando mattered to him.

'Stop feeling sorry for yourself,' he chided himself. 'Get dressed and get to the festival. And don't let anyone see you're hurting.'

*****
The rumors assaulted Viggo almost as soon as he arrived at the festival. He heard only snatches of what people were saying, but he heard Orlando's name and "someone new" and "helped him out of a jam." Stone-faced, Viggo walked away, refusing to let his emotions show. That fast. Orlando had moved on that fast. From the sound of the whispers, Orlando and Urban were getting on famously. Once again, Viggo was left alone. He would hold his chin up during the festival because his pride would not allow him to do less. Then, he would go home and lick his wounds.

*****
Despite Robin's and Karl's insistence that they needed to rehearse, Orlando left at noon on the second day after the hijacking. He was going to the hospital to see Viggo and fix whatever misunderstanding there was between them. He valued his career, but the time on the plane with Viggo had made him reevaluate his priorities. And Viggo came first.

He got to the hospital and went straight to the ward where Viggo had been staying. He arrived at the nurse's station and asked if he could see Viggo.

"He's not here," the nurse told Orlando. "He went home yesterday."

"Danke," Orlando replied reflexively as he turned around to leave. Yesterday. Viggo had been out of the hospital for a day and had not contacted Orlando at all. Had their time together on the plane really meant so little to the pianist? Granted, Orlando had been busy since then and had not made as much of an effort as he should have to come see Viggo again, but Viggo had not made the effort either. He was obviously no different than any of the others, seeing only the surface and judging without looking beyond the obvious. Viggo had not even given Orlando a chance to explain!

*****
The next two days were a blur for Orlando. He spent long hours rehearsing with Karl, but his heart was not in it. Every atom of his being screamed at him that this was a misunderstanding, that what they had felt on the plane was real. If only Orlando could figure out how to bridge the gap. Then he heard that Viggo was attending the festival performances even though he could not participate and inspiration struck.

"Karl!" he called.

"What is it?" the pianist asked, coming in from the other room where he had been taking a break.

"There's been a change in plans."

Chapter 4

Viggo attended the performances that interested him and rested at his hotel during those that did not. He thought often about going home, but that felt too much like running away. Besides, a part of him still hoped that he had been wrong about Orlando and that the tenor would come to him and explain. Viggo wanted it to be just a misunderstanding, but he could not make himself take the risk of approaching Orlando himself. The festival would last two more days. If Orlando had not said anything by then, Viggo would accept that he had been wrong about the younger man.

*****
Orlando stood backstage nervously. He had not told anyone but Karl about what he intended to do today. If it worked, it would not matter who knew. If it did not... That did not bear thinking about. He heard his introduction and quickly tied the mask in place over his nose and eyes. Taking a deep breath, he walked on stage to thunderous applause.

*****
Viggo had debated with himself since he left the hospital about whether he should attend Orlando's performance. Whatever his personality, whatever was or was not between them, the tenor was truly an outstanding talent, and Viggo loved opera when well performed. He had convinced himself that he should go, regardless of his feelings, but when he heard Orlando's name announced along with Karl Urban, Viggo realized he could not possibly sit and listen to the man he had fallen in love with sing with another accompanist. Excusing himself to the woman sitting between him and the aisle, he rose and started toward the back of the auditorium.

The applause as Orlando came on stage was every bit as loud as any so far, but Viggo did not turn. He would not torture himself with the sight of all he longed for when he knew he could not have it. He had reached the door when Orlando's voice stopped him.

"As I'm sure all of you know, I had a bit of adventure on the way here," he began. Sympathetic laughter filled the room. "I realized something then, and I want to share it with everyone. Someone very special made me see that I've been wearing a mask for years and it's time I stepped out from behind it."

As soon as Orlando finished speaking, the piano began, and Viggo turned in surprise. That was not the introduction to the aria Orlando was supposed to be singing.

Looking at the stage, he watched as Orlando reached up and removed the mask that covered his face and began to sing.

"A te, o caro, amor talora."

Viggo knew that opera, knew that aria. He also knew that Orlando had sung the words wrong. He should have sung, "A te, o cara, amor talora." It could have been a slip of the tongue, but Orlando was more professional than that. If he had changed the words, he had done so for a reason. The aria spoke of an impossible love finally played out and brought to fruition. And Orlando had changed the words. Not cara, but caro. Masculine, not feminine. He had taken off his mask and changed the words.

The aria was a passionate one in any case, but the pleading in Orlando's voice as he sang, entreating his dear one to accept his feelings, was unmistakable. Orlando's voice was pleading. He had taken off his mask and changed the words. He had changed the aria he was supposed to be performing at the last minute. His voice was pleading.

Viggo stood rooted to the spot, transfixed by the performance on stage. Because it was a festival, and not an opera, most of the other singers had simply stood and sung, but not Orlando. He moved with the words, his gestures entreating, his face expressing his torment, his joy, his fear, his exultation as he sang Lord Arturo's words, always with that one change. Not cara, but caro.

When the aria ended and only the instrumental coda remained, Viggo pushed through the doors, running as fast as he could for the performers' entrance. He bullied his way inside, determined to be in the wings to greet Orlando when he came off stage. He had no idea what had happened, what had changed, but he was not about to let such a grand gesture pass.

The applause when the music died was deafening. Orlando bowed and gestured for Karl to do the same, but his movements were almost absent-minded. His eyes were searching the hall for some sign of Viggo's presence. The lights were too bright, though, and Orlando could see only the blur of the standing ovation. He bowed again as shouts of "Bravo!" and "Fantastico!" rained down on him. They were familiar accolades, ones that had brought him great pleasure in the past, but they did not interest him now. The only accolade he was interested in would come from Viggo's lips. If he was there. If he had understood. With a final bow, Orlando walked off the stage, praying Viggo was there to meet him.

His eyes searched the wings as he passed through the curtains that hid the mechanics of any theater from the eyes of the audience. "What the hell was that?" he heard Robin screech, but he ignored her. It did not matter what she thought. All that mattered was the tall, still form that stood just inside the stage doors. Viggo had come. Viggo was there, waiting for him, arms open to embrace him. Forgetting about dignity and anything else besides Viggo's open arms, Orlando sprinted across the remaining distance into the comforting embrace.

"Tell me you understood," Orlando pleaded.

"I understood. Tell me you meant it," Viggo replied.

"I meant it."

They both took a deep breath. "I love you," they said in unison. That sent them both into fits of laughter that eased only when Viggo dipped his head and captured Orlando's mouth in a deep, passionate kiss.

"Let's go somewhere a little more private," Viggo said when he finally lifted his head.

"May I suggest your hotel room?" Orlando said. "Because my manager is going to be looking for me with murder in her eyes, and I'd rather she not kill me right away."

"I'll protect you," Viggo teased.

"Even after what happened last time?" Orlando responded in the same tone.

Viggo sobered a little at the thought of how close he had come to losing Orlando before he ever had him. He heard a woman's voice calling Orlando's name and guessed that was his manager. "Let's go. We can talk more when we get to my room."

"Lead the way," Orlando replied.

*****

They had hailed a cab outside the concert hall and had settled in the back seat for the ride to the hotel, hands intertwined. It had not taken long for Orlando to scoot closer to Viggo, leaning up for a tender kiss. One kiss had become two. Two had become three, and by the time they reached the hotel, such things as conversation were long forgotten. There would be time later to talk. All that mattered now was proving to themselves that they were alive and together in the most physical way possible.

Viggo's fingers fumbled blindly for the key to his room, hampered immeasurably by the warm body pressed against his and the lips that were currently attached to the side of his neck, licking and kissing, occasionally biting, and driving Viggo altogether insane. He finally managed to get the door open, the two of them stumbling inside as Viggo pushed the door closed with his foot. Fingers tore at clothes in a frenzy of unfulfilled desire, fear, and relief, until they were both naked and panting on the bed.

"Please tell me you have supplies," Orlando whispered, breaking yet another heated kiss.

Viggo shook his head apologetically, mentally trashing his shaving kit to see what they could use for lube.

"Make me do all the work," Orlando teased. "I have stuff in my pants' pocket."

"Let me up. I'll get them" Viggo replied.

"Not a chance," Orlando retorted, clinging to Viggo like a limpet as the older man tried to reach for Orlando's slacks. The unexpected weight caused Viggo to stumble, falling to the floor on top of Orlando. He winced as the fall jarred his shoulder, hiding his face against Orlando's chest so the tenor would not see it. He did not want anything to mar the moment.

"All you had to do was ask," Orlando joked. "You didn't have to dump me on the floor to get me under you."

Viggo retaliated by poking Orlando in the side. When Orlando shied away almost violently, Viggo did it again.

"Don't," Orlando pleaded. "I'm ticklish."

"Oh, really?" Viggo asked, wiggling his fingers suggestively.

Orlando let go and scooted away. "I'll be good. I promise. Just get the supplies."

Viggo laughed and rummaged in Orlando's pants until he found a packet of lube and some condoms. "Optimistic, were you?" Viggo teased.

"It had to work," Orlando said seriously. "It was the only thing I could think of to get your attention."

"You've had my attention," Viggo admitted, returning to the bed. "You captured it years ago, but I didn't want to be just another in your string of lovers."

"You won't be," Orlando assured him. "You're the one I'm keeping, the one I was waiting for. The rest were just practice, so I'd be good enough for you."

"You are," Viggo replied solemnly, pulling Orlando back onto the bed and into his embrace. He bent his head and kissed Orlando again, pouring all his devotion and love into the kiss. Orlando met his lips with equal fervor and they were quickly lost in each other again, hands and mouths exploring, seeking tender spots on which to lavish pleasure, driving each other higher and higher.

Their moans were a symphony of two, a delicate duet that played out between them and for them, each one complimenting the other, the perfect accompaniment to the hungry movements of their bodies. The words that tumbled from their lips were variations on a theme, a capriccio of words and sounds dictated by their hearts and bodies as they matched the cadence of a melody that only they could hear. This was their song, their concerto con amore, and they played it to the best of their abilities, their bodies the instruments, their movements the beat, until they moved as one.

Desperate finally to be joined to Orlando as intimately as possible, Viggo rolled on a condom and slicked it with the lube that remained on his fingers. He started to roll Orlando beneath him, but his arm was not ready to bear his weight.

The hiss of pain was not in keeping with the sounds that had gone before, and it focused Orlando's attention back on the practicalities of their lovemaking. He pushed Viggo onto his back and straddled the pianist. "Let's try it this way," he suggested, scooting back so that Viggo's cock nudged his entrance. He sank down slowly, adjusting to the girth and the feeling of fullness. Viggo's groan of pleasure was all the encouragement Orlando needed to take up the rhythm again, picking up where they left off, following the music of their hearts all the way to paradise.

*****

THE END

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