Troy Boy 5

Troy Boy

Part 5

Posted: January 4, 2008
Title: Troy Boy
Author: Lostiawen

Summary: Things go from bad to worst.

***

Sean exploded in anger as soon as Orlando stopped talking. "What the fuck? You've got some nerve!"

"And you've been playing me. I deserve an answer, damnit!"

"Fine," Sean said. "We're through."

Orlando blinked in disbelief. He couldn't believe that Sean was going to throw everything away without a second thought, just because he wanted to resolve the uncertainty between them. The idea that he meant so little to Sean caused his temper to flare. "You're fucking having me on."

"No, I'm not. You wanted an answer, you have my answer."

"You're just saying that."

"Christ, Orlando...are you sodding daft? We're. Through. Do I need to spell it out more? Or is that too much for your little brain to take in?"

The condescending tone of Sean's voice just set Orlando off. He hated being talked down to. "Fuck you!" he yelled back.

"Oh, clever," Sean replied. An expression of disgust crossed his face before he flipped the lock open on his trailer door. "I don't need to put up with this shite. If you're still here when I come back, I'm going to kick your arse up and down the set."

Before Orlando could reply, Sean left, slamming the door behind him. That was the last straw; he lashed out, punching the wall of the trailer with his fist. Pain lanced through his hand; then there was a moment of numbness before it became a low, aching throb.

"Ow!" he groaned. He pulled back his hand and saw that his knuckles were bloody. He was also pretty damn sure that he was going to have some pretty impressive bruises if he didn't get some ice on the injury.

The air inside Sean's trailer felt stifling, and Orli couldn't stay there a minute longer. He darted out, hiding his injured hand under his shirt. He tried to avoid people on the way back to his trailer, but a frantic assistant managed to track him down.

It turned out that Wolfgang decided to shoot some of the night scenes, so Orlando was scheduled for a 10 pm make-up call. As soon as he heard the news, Orli wondered who he had pissed off upstairs, because his day was just getting worse and worse.

He was still cursing his luck when he reached his trailer. Orlando pressed his ear to the door, listening for any indication that Viggo might be awake. When he didn't hear anything, he let out the breath he'd been holding. At least something was going right for him.

He opened the door with care. His plan was to sneak in, attend to his hand, and then slip back out before Viggo woke up so that there wouldn't be any awkward questions. The plan went out the window when Orlando whacked his funny bone on the doorknob, causing new pain to flare in his arm.

"Bloody fucking cunting shitarse! What in *fuck* did I do to deserve this?!" He slapped his hand over his mouth after he was done, realizing too late that his tirade was bound to wake up Viggo.

He was right. The next moment, he heard Viggo's sleepy voice saying, "Orli? Where are you, baby?"

Orlando sighed. Looks like the universe decided to fart in his general direction again. Maybe, just maybe, he could still salvage this. "In the kitchen. Just stay where you are, I'm just getting a pint."

His stomach churned when he heard a creak and then the soft pad of footsteps on his carpet. Hoping to put off the inevitable, Orlando turned his back to the entryway of his kitchen, and began to rummage around in the fridge. He tried not to react at all when he heard Viggo coming up behind him, or to tense up when a pair of strong arms wrapped around his waist.

That simple gesture of unconditional love made Orli feel like complete shite. It was time to face the music. "No...but I'm an utter cunt. I bollocksed things up with Sean for good, and I got this as a reward."

He turned around and showed his hand to Viggo. Shame burned on his cheeks, and he worried that Viggo was going to dump him for his impulsive actions. To Orlando's relief, Viggo examined the injury without any reaction whatsoever and said, "Where do you keep the disinfectant?"

"Should be a bottle of isopropyl alcohol in the medicine cabinet," Orlando replied. "I've got gauze and tape, too."

Viggo pulled some ice cubes out of the freezer and wrapped it in a towel. "Here. I'll go get the supplies. Put this on your hand to keep any swelling down."

Orlando nodded and took the cold towel from Viggo's hands, wincing as he pressed it over his aching hand. He was glad that he wasn't being pressured to talk about Sean, but he was surprised that Viggo had

as neutral a reaction as he did. He let out a gusty sigh -- that was one of the things he loved about Viggo, the man never judged anyone until he heard the full story.

The throb was fading away when Viggo returned. He took Orlando's hand in his own and examined it. "The damage doesn't look too bad. Just some split skin," Viggo said as he rubbed a piece of cottonwool soaked in alcohol over the cuts.

Orlando hissed in pain and winced as the disinfect did its work. "Fuck, that stings like hell, but I deserve it. I...I listened to a voicemail from Sean right after I woke up. He acted like nothing had happened between us, so I just lost it. I cornered him and told him that either we start sleeping with each other, or we're through."

"And he broke it off?"

Orlando couldn't look at Viggo any longer. He stared at the table and said, "Yeah. We had a row and he left his trailer. I decided to have a fight with his wall after that and I lost."

Sadness welled up within him, but Orlando couldn't bear the thought of breaking down right now. He pushed the feeling aside, turning it into self-loathing instead.

"I'm *such* a fuckwit!" A dull pain was now starting to hammer away in his head. He knew that he should calm down, but his last words with Sean kept replaying in his head. Each time he heard Sean's dismissal, the intensity of his headache ratcheted up a notch. He clenched his good hand, wanting to just hit something again to take the pain away.

To Orlando's surprise, Viggo placed a warm hand over his fist, restraining it from going anywhere. "Don't put the blame entirely on yourself. Sean's partly responsible, too."

He tilted Orlando's face up so that they were looking at each other, and his blue eyes were devoid of any judgment. There was a tender concern in his expression, one that warmed Orlando down to his toes. Then that stupid, niggling small voice in the back of Orlando's head decided to pipe up and tell him that he didn't deserve Viggo, either.

Orlando hated that voice. Despite his best efforts, it starting telling him how worthless he was, and that he had bitched things up for good. He almost spiraled into despair, but then Viggo leaned in closer and captured his mouth in a soft, but demanding kiss.

He groaned and opened eagerly. He wanted to forget about his misery, Sean, the fight...everything. He lost himself in the sensation of Viggo's tongue sliding across his own, teasing and licking in between small nips to his lower lip. Orlando craved more, and he pressed himself against Viggo, shivering as his hands slid over bare skin. He still felt distressed, and he needed physical contact more than ever.

"Please..." he gasped, hoping that Viggo would understand.

He didn't resist when Viggo tugged him to his feet and backed him against the kitchen counter. He heard a soft pop and then felt the zipper on his jeans being tugged open. Viggo slid down to his knees and looked up with an almost worshipful expression as he pushed down Orli's jeans and his colorful boxers. He ran his fingers over the skin of Orli's belly, mapping the firm muscles with a gentle touch while keeping his gaze locked with Orlando's.

Orlando moaned when Viggo nuzzled his crotch, burying his face deep in the musky curls. He sucked on the sensitive patch of skin before he turned his head to the side, letting his tongue dart out and flicker against Orli's hardening shaft.

Orlando gasped and braced himself with his good hand, whimpering as Viggo dragged his tongue over the underside of his prick, hitting every one of his hot spots. When he reached the apex, he dipped his tongue in the slit, lapping around until Orlando's hips started to buck forward. The movement was thwarted by the pressure Viggo exerted on Orlando's pelvis, keeping him immobilized while Viggo licked his way back down. He sucked and grazed the sensitive flesh until Orlando was fully erect and throbbing.

Viggo continued his downward path, stopping at the base so that he could mouth a heavy bollock. Orlando whimpered as Viggo rolled the sac in his mouth, doing a wicked thing with his tongue that turned Orlando's knees to water. Orlando arched back, still keeping his eyes focused on the decadent sight beneath him.

"More," Orlando pleaded. The hammering had left his head, replaced by the familiar flush of lust. Still looking at Viggo, he didn't let his gaze waver, even when Viggo opened wide and swallowed his cock in one gulp.

"Christ!" He surged forward, thrusting into that hot, wet mouth. He didn't care that it was going to be fast. He needed this...needed to keep pushing himself to completion and forget everything else. Viggo applied a good deal of suction, rolling his tongue over the area just under the ridge of his prick.

After a few minutes of frantic pumping, Orlando cried out and pushed forward one more time, his body trembling as he found his release. Stars exploded behind his eyes and he slumped into Viggo's arms, his head spinning out of control.

While Orlando was drifting in a haze of bliss, he vaguely realized that Viggo had pulled off his jeans and boxers. He was being nudged towards the bedroom, and he stumbled along as best he could. His legs soon hit the mattress and he half-collapsed, half-tumbled into bed.

As consciousness left him, he heard Viggo saying, "You'll feel better after you've had some sleep."

Orlando tried to murmur out an agreement, but he blacked out as soon as his head touched the pillow. He dozed without having any dreams, and he was grateful for that.

Hours later, he woke up to find that he had rolled over and pressed his face into Viggo's furry chest. Orlando crinkled his nose as a hair tickled it, and he lifted his head reluctantly. He would have preferred to stay wrapped in Viggo's arms, but if he stayed in this position, he would sneeze like mad and that was just downright rude.

"How do you feel?" Viggo asked. He was gazing at Orlando with an indulgent smile. There were huge, dark circles under Viggo's eyes, but he otherwise appeared to be alert.

"Were you awake the entire time? I thought you were knackered." Orlando asked.

"I can sleep later, you needed me after you came back." Viggo ran his fingers through Orlando's curls, smoothing them off his face. Orlando felt both guilty and relieved that Viggo cared for him that much.

"Yeah, I did. Thanks." He snuggled closer, just wanting to preserve this quiet moment.

"You know, I could watch you sleep for hours."

"Watched me? You're creeping me out, old man!"

"I could have doodled on you, instead," Viggo replied while giving Orlando that nutters look of his.

Orlando was about to grab a pillow and whap Viggo in the face when his stomach interrupted by rumbling quite loudly. "Shite, what do we do about supper? Sean wanted us to pop by."

Viggo stroked Orlando's hair and said, "I don't think Sean's going to be in the mood to see either of us for a while. He needs some time to himself."

Orlando groaned and flopped back onto the bed. Why did everything have to be so damn complicated? "I wish I didn't have to work tonight. I got a call sheet just before I came back."

"I can't do anything about that, I'm afraid."

"I know...I just wanted to stay here." He looked down and noticed that his t-shirt had been stripped off. "You pervy bastard, undressing me in my sleep while I was helpless."

Viggo let out a derisive snort. "Helpless? Is that what you call flailing around and belting me when I tried to strip you? I'm not so sure that those muscles are such a great idea -- you kicked me in the calf and left a huge bruise."

"Wanker," Orlando said. He peered down and noticed a rather large purple-black mark on Viggo's skin. Guilt seized him, and he leaned over and kissed the injury. "Better?"

"Here, too," Viggo said while pointing to another bruise on his shoulder.

Orlando rolled on top and kissed that area. "Anywhere else?"

Viggo waggled his eyebrows and said, "Come to think of it, I think you tagged my ass."

Orlando chuckled and was about to roll Viggo over when he noticed the time. "Shite! I have to clean up and dress!"

Viggo gave him a quick peck on the lips. "I'll wait up for you."

"That's not a good idea, because I don't know when we'll wrap." He started chewing on his nails, because he couldn't leave Viggo here for who knows how long. A lightbulb went on in his head and he dialed the hotel's front desk on his mobile.

The clerk was quite helpful, and Orlando had no problem arranging for Viggo to get a second key to his room. After he was done, he scribbled the name of the hotel on a pad of paper and gave it to Viggo. "You'll be much more comfortable over there. Just go to the front desk and they'll give you a key to my room."

Viggo smiled and said, "Thanks, babe. Now go on and have fun saving Troy."

"More like 'have fun making an arse out of myself,'" Orlando laughed. " Paris isn't very heroic. In fact, he's a bit of a rotter."

"You'll be great, whatever you do," Viggo said.

Orlando beamed and hugged Viggo with all of strength, ignoring the throbbing in his hand. "Thanks. Now I've got to shower or else Wolfgang's going to give me what for."

He squeaked when Viggo sent him on his way with a slap to his bum. His stomach was still rumbling, but he figured that he could grab something from the services table while he was waiting for his shot. After throwing on some clothes, he kissed Viggo good bye and made his way to the make-up trailer. He felt much better, and he hoped that the rest of the night would be easy.

"And how are you tonight, luv?" he asked as he whipped the door open.

Claudia didn't reply, because she was looking at Orlando with an expression of absolute horror. Orli wondered what was wrong -- did Viggo leave a hickey on him?

"Oh my God, what happened to your hand, Orlando?" she asked.

Orlando turned beet red and thought of a quick cover story. "Eric was making cracks about how Paris couldn't figure out which end of the sword to hold, so I told him that I'd hand his arse back to him. We sparred a bit, and he clipped me right there."

She stripped off the bandages and frowned when she saw the gashes. "The skin's still open, so I can't really do much. It's a good thing that they're not shooting you in close-up tonight."

As Orlando settled in his chair, a PA came by with some script changes. He took them graciously and started reading as Claudia began working on his hair. The bottom fell out of his stomach when he saw that they had re-written part of Achilles' death scene to include Odysseus. He wasn't ready to face Sean, not yet.

"This just isn't my day," he muttered. He tried to focus on the pages, but he started worrying about how Sean would react to his presence. That made his stomach churn, and he decided to skip the food. He just didn't have the appetite for it.

The tugging on his hair stopped and Claudia made a desultory noise. "Damnit, I forgot to re-stock my hairspray."

Orlando said, "It's okay if you want to run out and fetch it, I could use some time to memorize my new lines."

She smiled and said, "You're an angel. I'll be right back."

Brad arrived as Claudia was running out, so she stepped aside to let him in. He was chewing on an apple, and Orlando envied the fact that he had an appetite right now.

"Hey, what's with the long face?" Brad said.

Orlando managed to hide his hand behind his script before Brad could spot anything. He didn't want to talk about Sean at all, and the more he could avoid the issue, the better.

"Nothing," Orlando said with a shrug. "Just feeling off. It's the night schedule, yeah?"

Brad looked like he didn't believe a word that Orlando said, but he didn't push anything. He just slapped Orlando's back and said, "At least you're not the one who's getting shot up. You up for drinks afterward in my room? Rose is in."

Orlando stopped the first impulse to leap into his head, which was to agree. After all, going out meant that he would get monged. If he got monged, he was guaranteed to spill the beans about Sean. That meant pesky questions and a right mess to sort out afterward.

"Uh, no. Viggo just dropped by this afternoon. I want to spend as much time with him as possible."

Brad was looking at Orlando skeptically. "So, if Viggo's here, why are you acting like someone kicked your dog?"

"Just tired, I guess. You know how Viggo is."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Orli realized that he had just opened up a can of worms he was hoping to avoid. Brad leaned in closer and said with amusement, "No, I don't. How about you tell me some of those details you keep dancing around?"

"Um..." Orlando replied. To say that he wasn't in the mood to talk about his sex life was the understatement of the year.

Brad's eyes twinkled with a mischievous expression. "Does he fuck you hard? I bet he does, you were moaning pretty loud this afternoon."

The thought that everyone on set could hear exactly how glad he was to see Viggo made Orlando turn a new shade of red. "I was not!"

"Then who was yelling, 'Christ, Viggo...more!' at the top of his lungs?" Brad's imitation of Orlando's voice was spot-on, and Orlando just wanted the ground to open up and swallow him. He tried to sink further into his chair, but Brad wouldn't let up. "Come on, man, answer me."

Orlando muttered, "It sure as hell wasn't Sean. He never bottoms."

Brad whooped and clapped Orlando on the back. "Now that's the kind of shit I've been trying to get out of you!"

"Thanks, I think." He gave Brad a wobbly grin.

"No, this is cool!" Brad pulled up a chair and reversed it before he straddled the seat. "What's it like with Viggo? How batshit crazy is he with his method acting? Does he bring any of his characters to bed?"

"Bugger off," Orlando said. Brad's suggestion caused him to have a brief flash of Legolas being dominated by Aragorn, but he squashed it down. "You know, for someone who's not interested in me, you're incredibly fascinated with my sex life. What in fuck, man? It's completely mad."

Brad laughed out loud. "Sorry. I just can't get over the fact that you three made it work. Usually when people share, someone gets jealous and it all falls apart. But you guys...you're something special. I just wanted to live vicariously because there's no way I could pull it off."

Orlando bit his lip. Yeah, they were special all right. So special that he just cocked it up beyond all belief. He kicked himself when that negative thought popped into his head. He needed to pretend that nothing was wrong or Brad would get suspicious.

He plastered a fake smile on and said, "Thanks, mate. I still wonder myself how we keep it together."

The door creaked open as soon as he had finished speaking signaling that Claudia had returned from her errand. Brad moved over to his make-up station and said, "Talk to you later, man. I have to prep myself so that I can get my ass shot full of arrows."

***

"Cut!" Wolfgang bellowed out. "Sean, you're supposed to look horrified when you come into the shot, not mad as hell. That comes later."

"Sorry," Sean said. He turned around and started to go back to his mark, but he shot a poisonous glare at Orlando first.

Orlando sighed. This was the third take that they had muffed. He had blown the first two, since he couldn't be around Sean without cringing. True, Paris was a coward, but he was supposed to find his courage when he shot the fatal arrow at Achilles.

His glum mood didn't lift as he shuffled over to his mark. This was a pivotal scene -- Paris was supposed to redeem himself by standing up to a grief-stricken Odysseus. He would deliver a dramatic speech that would persuade the Greek warrior to let himself and Briseis go free, instead of seeking vengeance.

Right now, Orlando had about as convincing a delivery as a boy in primary school. He couldn't bear to look Sean in the eye, and when he managed to, he flubbed his lines. He couldn't figure out why -- true, he had a lot to be upset about, but something else was bothering him, and he couldn't put his finger on it.

He scuffed his toe in the dirt and kept looking down, glad that Sean was keeping as far away from him as

he could manage. He wasn't sure how to make things better, and he was afraid that if he said anything, it would get worst.

Part of him wondered why he was having this reaction. Admittedly, he shouldn't be dancing for joy because he and Sean weren't speaking to each other, and he had been a complete twat with the ultimatum;

but something about the last argument they had hurt him on a level he couldn't define. He decided to push it to the back of his mind, since he needed to be present if they were ever going to wrap up this scene.

On the next take, one of the cameras was having trouble, so Wolfgang called for a fifteen minute break. Orlando immediately scurried over to catering table, hoping that he'd feel better after getting some hot coffee. It figured that this location would be boiling in the afternoon and cold as a witch's tit at night.

His jaw dropped open when he saw Eric. "Thought you weren't needed tonight."

Eric shrugged. "I needed to talk to Wolfgang about some changes, so I thought I'd drop by. How are you doing, little brother?"

"Fine," Orli replied with a conviction he didn't feel. And apparently, Eric didn't either, because he was looking at Orlando with a curious expression on his face.

"You don't sound fine. What's the matter?"

"Nothing. Just tired," Orlando replied.

Eric wasn't convinced at all. "Why is your hand fucked up?"

Orlando sighed in resignation. He was tired of maintaining this secret. "Sean and I had a row. A bad one. And before you ask, I didn't get this from punching him."

Eric replied, "Shite, Orli. What happened?"

"He was acting like nothing happened, because he thinks that shagging me was a mistake. I couldn't go back to the way it was, so I gave him an ultimatum. I thought it was the kick in the arse he needed to make up his mind...and it backfired on me. He said we were over and I took it out on the wall of his trailer. God, I'm a cunt. How can you stand to be around me?" Memories of Sean's enraged face flashed through his mind, and he trembled, trying to hold in the sadness that tried to overwhelm him.

Eric folded Orlando into a tight hug and ran a hand through his curls. "Hey, hey, hey...it's not your fault. Come on, don't think about that right now, you have to finish shooting the scene."

Orlando groaned, "Bugger the scene."

"Don't be like that, people are counting on you. Listen, the faster you grit your teeth and finish, the faster we can go back to my room and get you good and monged. You sound like you could use a drink or three." He kissed Orlando on the forehead. "Go on, I'll wait up for you."

Buoyed by Eric's encouragement, Orlando trotted back, hoping that he could get through the next take. Eric was right, if he could concentrate long enough, it would be all over and then he could relax.

***

"Oh God," Orlando groaned before he retched again into Eric's toilet. He slumped to the floor after he was done with his technicolour yawn, pressing his cheek against the cool porcelain of the bowl. He just wanted to stay there -- he was overheated, and the cold material felt good against his skin.

That was the only thing that had felt good about this evening. Sean had been a right pain after he returned from his break, and he kept sniping and grumbling at Orlando. Brad had given the two of them some odd looks, but he didn't ask any awkward questions.

It seemed to take forever before Wolfgang wrapped for the day, and Orlando couldn't get out of his costume fast enough. He met up with Eric in record time and they drove back to the hotel.

He had only intended to have one, maybe two drinks; enough to numb the deep hurt that he was feeling. But once he was pleasantly buzzed, he didn't want to sober up, because that meant the return of the uncertainty, the memory of Sean's angry face, and the sniping that occurred afterward. Orlando

wanted to wipe all of that out, so he downed another two drinks; preferring to float in a soft, dreamy, alcohol-induced haze over the reality awaiting him.

He started rambling to Eric while sipping more drinks -- yabbering about the argument they had earlier,

and how hard the scenes from tonight's shoot were. He then detailed how he wished things had turned out differently, about how he was a git for bollocksing everything up, especially since he had lusted after Sean and how he was the most fantastic person on Earth and maybe he had just wanted to shag him at first, but now he couldn't think of anyone besides Viggo whom he'd want to spend the rest of his life with...

Eric blinked and stared at Orlando. "Uh, did you just say that you loved him?"

"I...what?" Orlando's brain was fuzzy as hell, and when he tried to concentrate, his mind wandered back to the fact that he was sprawled on Eric's carpet and it was damn comfortable to just loll on the floor. The floor was good. Nice floor.

"You just told me you were in love with Sean. Is that true?"

Orlando was about to say that he was just taking the piss, but then that thing that was bothering him earlier bubbled to the surface. He had been gutted by Sean's rejection because he had wanted more from his erstwhile friend. When he had first met Sean, it was mere lust. But as their friendship deepened, it became so much more.

Orlando knew this in the back of his mind, so he didn't allow himself to acknowledge his feelings. Instead, he kept concentrating on how to get a good rogering out of Sean because that would keep him from going down the road of heartbreak. That proved to be a big mistake because ignoring what he really felt for Sean fueled some of Orlando's more impulsive actions -- such as the ultimatum.

"Fuck!" Orlando yelled out before he lurched to his feet. He couldn't believe that he had made such a fool of himself and bitched up everything. He stumbled over to the mini-bar and proceeded to down the contents of one of the bottles, hoping that drinking more would erase the memory of what he just done.

"Take it easy there, mate. You shouldn't mix cheap rum with some of the stuff you've been pounding."

"Bugger off," Orlando said before he polished off the small bottle of Bacardi. Just for good measure, he decided to finish off the last of the cheap whiskey that was lying around. His overtaxed stomach revolted at that point and he barely made it to the toilet before he threw up.

His nausea hadn't stopped, and he had puked for three hours straight. Just when he thought he was done, something more would come up. So now here he was, parked in front of Eric's loo and afraid that if he budged at all, he'd hurl on the carpet.

He took in a long shuddering breath and felt his stomach do a couple of somersaults. He had never gotten this ill from drinking before. Hell, even when he had gone on benders at 'Lij's house, he had woken up with a bad hangover at most.

The thought of benders reminded him of how he first hooked up with Viggo and his stomach churned. He retched again, wondering just how long it would be before he'd run out of stuff to throw up.

He heard a soft knock on the door and Eric said, "Are you okay in there?"

"Do I sound okay?" Orlando snapped. His head was still spinning like mad. Holding it up gave him vertigo, so he sagged back down, clinging to the toilet.

The door opened and Orlando panicked. He couldn't let Eric see him like this. He waved his hand frantically and said, "Go away, man. Don't look at me."

"Why? Because you puked?" Eric said. "Listen, Klaus used to projectile vomit his applesauce onto me, *and* he's got spot-on aim when he pees on me during bathtime. Should I go on and mention the contents of his nappies?"

Orlando turned a new shade and green and said, "No thanks."

"Then shut your yap and let me help. Can you keep this down?" Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eric's large hand hovering under him, holding a glass of water. Orlando wanted to lift his head to look Eric in the eye, but even the slightest movement sent his whole head spinning. He just kind of slid to the side and waited for Eric to bring the glass to his mouth.

Orlando took a few messy sips, and he was glad that Eric held the glass for him. He was grateful that the water was lukewarm, because he wasn't sure if his stomach could take anything cold.

While he was still trying to get his bearings, Eric left his side. It figured, Orlando thought. He was a complete wreck, and he didn't blame Eric for throwing in the towel. Another wave of nausea hit him and he sighed as he assumed the position in front of the toilet bowl.

After the spasms had passed, a hand rubbed his back. "Poor baby," he heard a rough, raspy voice saying.

That was odd. It sounded like Viggo. But he didn't remember asking for Viggo. On the other hand, the touch on his back was incredibly soothing, so maybe he wasn't barmy, and Viggo really was here.

Orlando couldn't spare the energy to lift his head. He flopped down onto the floor and groaned out, "Vig? Is that you?"

"Yeah. Eric called me. Can you turn over?"

"Too much effort," Orlando replied. He just wanted to lie there and not move. He didn't resist as firm hands turned him onto his back, but the light hurt his eyes -- it felt like a million pinpricks were stabbing down. He tried to fling his arm up to cover his face, but Viggo grabbed the flailing limb.

"Don't do that, you'll stain your clothes. Eric, can you hand me that washcloth?"

"Sure," Eric replied.

Orlando vaguely registered the sound of water running, and then he felt something warm dabbing at his mouth.

"There," Viggo said. "I'm going to need help walking him back to the room. He's a dead weight and someone needs to hold him up if he pukes again."

"No problem," Eric replied, "I'll grab the rubbish bin in case he has to toss his cookies."

"Sounds good."

Orlando was about to protest the fact that Viggo and Eric were talking over him, but he didn't really have the energy to bitch. Hell, even trying to open his eyes took too much effort.

Strong hands went around his waist and shoulders, and Orlando felt the ground lurch underneath him. "Don't wanna leave. What if I throw up again?" he whinged.

"That's what the garbage can is for," Viggo said gently. "Come on, baby...you'll feel better once you lie down."

"I'll puke in the bed," Orlando moaned. He hated feeling so helpless. He vowed never to get this drunk again.

Viggo rubbed his back and kissed the side of his head. "Then I'll put the can by the side so you can lean over and heave. It's not far. I know you can do it."

They started moving, and Orlando stumbled between Viggo and Eric, feeling his disgust rise with each step. The events of the past half day overwhelmed him and he felt tears trickling down his cheeks.

Great, just great. Now he had start bawling like a girl. "You both probably think I'm a complete git," he sobbed out.

Eric replied, "No, I don't. If Rebecca kicked me to the kerb, I'd be in your position right now."

That didn't make Orlando feel any better. "You wouldn't be puking your guts out. Neither would Viggo."

Viggo replied, "No, I just wound up in the emergency room getting seventeen stitches. Trust me, the nausea is better."

Fuck. He had forgotten about how Viggo had received the scar on his lip. He felt petty for whinging so much and he stumbled down the hallway without any more arguments, sniffling and leaning his full weight on Viggo and Eric.

Viggo retrieved his card key and opened the door. It seemed to take an eternity before Orlando felt

his legs touch the side of the bed, and he sighed when he was lowered onto the mattress. The room didn't lurch quite so badly now, even though his head was spinning out of control.

A tissue dabbed at his cheeks with gentle strokes, wiping away the tears. Cool lips then brushed across his forehead and Viggo murmured, "Sleep."

That sounded like the best thing Orlando had heard all day, so he closed his eyes and let the darkness overtake him.

*****

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