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Viggo had just drained the last of the coffee from his Glyptoteket mug when there came a soft knock on his door.
“Viggo?”
He set down the mug. “Come in.”
Helen had touched up her lipstick. For the record, the state (or quality) of her makeup was hardly the first thing Viggo noticed about a woman but for some reason Helen's pearly pink lipstick always stood out to him.
“What's up?” he asked.
“I'm really sorry to ask but André called,” Helen began with an apologetic smile. “He has to stay for a couple more hours and somebody has to pick up Cody…”
“Okay…” said Viggo slowly.
Her smile turned even more apologetic, hovered on the edge of embarrassed. “I checked your calendar and saw that your six thirty appointment has been cancelled…” She let the implication hang.
Quenching a sigh, Viggo tried to maintain a neutral expression. “Yeah… I wasn't terribly surprised, honestly.”
Of course, client-coach confidentiality firmly forbade Viggo to discuss his sessions with anyone but, well, nobody within a five mile radius had been unable to overhear Matthew Lancaster shouting in Viggo's office the week before. Normally, Viggo worked with him to help him verbalise his emotions, but it had turned out that Matthew was actually really good at that, provided he was allowed to do so while screaming at the top of his lungs.
“No, I suppose,” Helen agreed.
After a moment, when silence threatened to stretch, she tried again, “So would it be awful of me to ask you to cover for me? It’s my last client of the day.”
He would have to, he knew that. After a long spell of unemployment, Helen’s son had finally found work with a specialised road construction company and was currently too new on the job to dare to say no to overtime.
“How do they see anything at this hour?” Viggo asked in turn, briefly glancing out the window.
The sun was down. The late October evening pressed against the window-glass like a palm, intent on blocking out your vision.
“They have very large lamps,” Helen said.
“Of course.” He pushed down his reluctance and squared his shoulders. ”No, yeah, sure thing. You should go pick up Cody.”
“You're a sweetheart,” she said, relief in her voice. ”I owe you one.”
“All right,” said Viggo. He dragged up a smile for her. He liked Helen who was remarkably down-to-earth and drama free. Her husband had passed away three years earlier and André, her only child, Viggo knew meant the world to her. Truly, he was happy to help. It was just that he’d been looking forward to going home a bit early – coming home a bit early – and collapse on the couch in front of a game that he wasn’t particularly invested in.
“Thank you, darling,” she said. “And, really, I don't think you'll find it too bothersome. He's a sweet kid.”
Momentarily thrown off course, Viggo frowned “Who?”
“Oh!” She laughed. “My client. His name’s Orlando and he just needs… some guidance.” She offered a reassuring smile. “Nothing too heavy.”
Viggo nodded. He could do that. Encourage another young adult to – responsibly – go chase his dreams, remember the virtuous combination of doing your taxes and using condoms, and staying away from drugs. “Great. I’ll check in with him and tide him over until your next appointment.”
“You're a sweetheart,” she said again.
When Helen had left, Viggo submitted himself to watching long minutes tick by on his analogue clock. He'd had a sandwich earlier but was beginning to feel the slow, empty twists of hunger in his belly. By six twenty-three he had just decided to get up and investigate whether there was any fruit left among the inedible mini pumpkins in the waiting room when he heard the front door open. All right. He’d survive without fruit, most likely.
He went to open his office door anyway. If Orlando was expecting Helen, Viggo would need to announce his presence.
He didn't know what he had expected. Not anything at all, probably, but the sight that met him on the other side of his door virtually made the air in his lungs evaporate.
Orlando wasn’t a kid. Nor was he, strictly speaking, alive. What he was, though, was tall and slim and goddamn gorgeous, with a perfect tumble of chocolate curls, high, sharp cheekbones and brown eyes that gleamed in the light of the lamp Viggo had bought at IKEA in Brooklyn, New York, and which Helen had found too exotic to not post about on Facebook.
“Good evening,” Viggo forced out, aiming for professional. Because he was one, he had to remind himself.
Orlando, who upon the opening of the office door, had spun to face it, looked surprised.
“Oh, hello,” he said, in a lovely voice with an English accent. “I… have an appointment with Helen. At six thirty.”
“Yes…” Viggo tried his absolute best to collect himself. Orlando was in spotless, ink-black jeans that looked like they’d never even been on the same continent as a bottle of bleach and a dark plum-coloured button-up shirt of some fancy, smooth cotton. “Helen had to leave early so, unless you’d prefer to reschedule, I’m your coach for the evening. Viggo Mortensen.”
Maybe Orlando hesitated for a heartbeat (a heartbeat he surely didn’t experience for himself). His eyes raked over Viggo where he stood in the doorway. “Right,” he said. He looked a shade uncomfortable.
“Listen,” Viggo began, “I understand completely if you’d rather reschedule. This was short notice and oftenti–“
“No, no,” Orlando said quickly. “No, I don’t mind. I’d just expected Helen, you know.”
“Sure,” Viggo said. “But really, if…”
But Orlando cut him off with a shake of his head. He even flashed a small smile. It was timid and extremely not-in-the-least suggestive, but it made something buttery-warm slide down Viggo’s spine all the same.
“No, it’s fine,” said Orlando, more firmly now. His eyes had travelled to lock with Viggo’s. “I’d love to talk to you.”
Great.
Also – possibly – fuck.
“Come on in,” Viggo said instead, while wondering what he was getting himself into. As a rule – not by his own making but rather as some form of twisted sense of humour on the Universe’s part – he normally found very few people attractive. He never looked twice at clients. As he turned to lead the way back into his office, he grimly wondered how many times he’d manage to inadvertently look at Orlando in an unseemly fashion tonight, before his forty-five minutes were up.
“Can I, um, get you anything?” he asked, forcing it out above his stirring fears. “We have Live it!, every type I’m pretty sure.”
“No, thanks,” said Orlando. “I… actually find it hard to talk while drinking.” He sounded very self-conscious.
Seating himself in his usual low armchair by the window, Viggo gestured at the opposite one. “Oh yeah?”
Somewhat stiffly, Orlando lowered himself into the armchair. He looked vaguely out of place in it, and the hue of his shirt clashed quite brutally with the cheerful corn-blue polyester upholstery.
“Yes…” he said after a moment, picking up the thread again. “I don’t know… that's weird, right?”
Viggo turned over words. “Is this what you want to talk about tonight?”
Orlando gave a small shrug. “It’s as good as anything, I guess.”
Reaching for the notepad and pen he kept on the small table placed between them, Viggo couldn’t say if it was. “How many times have you seen Helen?”
“Three.”
“And… would you be comfortable telling me what you have been discussing with her?”
Again, Orlando shrugged. If he meant to come across as nonchalant, he rather grievously failed. “She thinks I should get out more.”
Viggo arched an eyebrow.
Orlando grimaced. At first, Viggo thought he wouldn't get more than that from him, but, only a moment later, words came spilling forth:
“I’m almost a hundred and twenty and I know that I really should have figured it out by now, but I honestly don’t know what to do with my existence. It was much easier when you could just… I don’t know… stay in some dodgy town by the seaside and not have to answer to anyone – not really – but in this day and age… What with technology and social security numbers and passports and GPS… it’s a lot of pressure.”
Viggo watched him. He always kept the lighting in his office dimmed to a pleasant glow and now it seemed to cradle Orlando. Not that there appeared to be any lines in his face to begin with, but the soft light smoothed out his skin further and nestled in his hair. And just like that, a trace of longing swept through Viggo.
“I went to art school,” Orlando was saying. “And I’ve tried working at a bank, but that was just after us vampires went public so the demand for night shifts was still rather poor. I have a few acquaintances, but vampires don’t do too well in groups. It tends to get too messy for my liking.” He made a face.
“Messy?” Viggo heard himself asking, even though he could almost say for certain that he’d rather carry on his life without knowledge of any finer details of the subject.
“We’re predators,” Orlando said, sounding like he was excusing himself and very much looking like somebody who had never preyed on anyone ever.
Viggo nodded. “And you?”
Orlando shrugged a shoulder. “I’m a lousy vampire. I just want to… do something that feels meaningful to me and… well…” His gaze dropped to settle on his knees.
“And…?” Viggo prodded gently. So far, he hadn’t written down one single word.
He wondered if he imagined a slight rising of colour in Orlando’s cheeks. Viggo was by no means an expert on vampires but it was now close to eight years since they had collectively made their kind known and since then he had done a fair bit of reading. Also, in 2019, just before the pandemic and while he was still living in Copenhagen, he’d briefly worked with a charming, if slightly scatterbrained, girl called Charlotte who had been dead for close to six hundred years and – without meaning to – left a trail of bottle caps behind her wherever she went.
All that to say, he still wasn’t one hundred per cent sure vampires could blush, although he had to admit it looked like Orlando was currently doing exactly that.
“Well, it’s…” Orlando said now. He appeared reluctant to look Viggo in the eye. “It’s silly, really.”
“Try me,” said Viggo. “Besides, I’m not here to judge.”
“I know, it’s just…”
Orlando licked his lips – the quick flash of a red tongue before Viggo could fully register it. When it did, however, he had to make an effort to wrench his thoughts in a more proper direction.
In the end, Orlando grimaced again and, briefly, his gaze skidded over Viggo’s face. “I guess I’d like to meet someone.”
It shouldn’t but it landed inside Viggo with a heavy thud. He swallowed against it. “That is a very common desire,” he said. “There’s no reason to feel ashamed because you’d like to find love.” The word had never felt so awkward on his tongue before.
“Yeah, but…” This time, Orlando did look up. “See, I don’t… it’s a bit tricky for me.”
“How so?”
He hesitated again. “I haven’t even told Helen,” he said.
It made Viggo smile. “You don’t have to tell me either.”
Orlando lifted a hand. For a second or two he let it hover, but then he thoughtfully ran his palm over the blue fabric of the armchair. And how such a simple movement could send a swell of warmth through Viggo was positively incomprehensible, but so it did all the same. All in all, the way Orlando performed that light stroking of the polyester was at odds with how he appeared to carry himself in general; this was a deliberate touch, with a hint of power behind it that made Viggo’s jaw feel tight.
“The thing is…” Orlando began quietly. “Among vampires it’s extremely common to be what you would call… pansexual.” Now he was definitely blushing. “But I… I’ve always fancied men... exclusively…?”
Viggo surely felt the chair shift underneath him. Which was irrelevant because Orlando was his client – Helen’s client, to be precise – and his sexual orientation had absolutely no bearing on Viggo.
“I see,” he said, voice maybe a little weaker than usual.
“Yeah… And it’s complicated with humans because… well, mainly because of the blood thing.”
Viggo nodded. “Of course.”
It would be. It was. He had read the articles, listened to the debates, seen the shows. And social media had a way of inserting itself into your awareness even though you didn't have a social media presence yourself.
Orlando was still not looking at him. Instead, he appeared to have fixed his gaze to the non-descript, harmonious-tones-of-beige-and-navy, carpet. “And, what’s more, vampires aren’t really known for a monogamous lifestyle whereas I… I’d prefer that, you know?”
Oh, he knew. Only Viggo’s dating history wasn’t all that impressive either.
In an attempt to gather himself, he drew a deeper breath. “So… what are you doing to improve your chances of meeting somebody?” he asked, not sure if he should be trying to catch Orlando’s eye or not.
“Nothing, really,” he admitted. “Hence Helen telling me I should get out more. Maybe take a class. I was considering Homeric Greek because it could be fun to read the epics as they were written."
Viggo nodded slowly. “In my experience, setting out with the explicit objective of finding a partner might not be the absolute best way to go about it. Better to just let it happen organically.”
At that, Orlando finally looked up. “Has that mindset worked for you?”
“Um…” Having not at all been prepared for that question, Viggo found himself at a loss for words.
“I’m only asking because that’s such a common piece of advice,” Orlando said, though he didn’t at all sound accusatory.
“Wow… Yeah. Right.” Viggo rubbed the back of his neck. “You want your money back?” He didn’t know if he’d meant it as a joke.
Orlando, however, only looked confused. “No?” He frowned. “No, I was just curious.”
“Right,” Viggo said again. “Well… No. I guess. I’m single.”
“Oh,” said Orlando. The weight of his brown gaze on Viggo was gradually turning into a physical sensation.
“Listen,” Viggo began, fully conscious of the fact that he was not supposed to take this route but also seemingly completely unable to steer in any different direction. “I’m nowhere near your age, obviously, but I came out when I was fifteen, in a time when the level of acceptance of queer people on the whole was far lower than it is now. I knew it might be rough, but I also knew I had to be true to myself.”
Orlando’s eyes had widened significantly. “You’re…”
“Gay,” Viggo provided for him.
Something moved over Orlando’s face and it was impossible to say what it was. “Like me.”
Viggo nearly bit down on his own tongue. “Like you,” he confirmed.
Orlando needed a moment to digest that. “And does that...” he hesitated, “work for you?”
“Work for me?”
“Well... I mean, does it...” But he trailed off, looking indecisive and just on the wrong side of the border to forlorn, which unfortunately made Viggo want to get up and put his arms around him. He never put his arms around a client.
“I'm not sure my experience with dating should colour your view on it,” he said instead. “But I'll tell you that choosing to come out – which is something you find yourself doing over and over again, not just once – was the best decision I could have made, in the end. Even if I haven't exactly been successful on the dating scene.”
Well, there was more information about himself than he ought to have relayed, for sure.
Orlando searched his face. “How do you mean, ‘over and over again’?”
It became Viggo's turn to shrug. “You change jobs. You move, maybe. Change social circles, colleagues... Friends come and go – that’s normal – and you find yourself coming out to all these new people time and time again.”
“Sounds draining,” Orlando sighed, with not a little hopelessness mixed in.
Viggo smiled. “You’re a vampire,” he said gently. “Isn't the process similar?”
Orlando shook his head. “Anyone can tell I’m a vampire just from looking at me. I could never guess your sexuality from simply observing you. Then again... I'm rubbish at being a vampire, really.”
Viggo needed to bring this conversation back to whatever track it was supposed to run on.
“I'm sure you’re an excellent vampire,” he said, but before Orlando could comment on that, he went on, “Is this what you came here to talk about tonight?”
“I don't know,” Orlando said. “Truth be told, I saw your advertisement online and booked ten sessions without thinking too deeply about it. Even though talking to a ‘life coach’ seemed somewhat ironic.”
“Yeah, sorry about that,” Viggo said with a lopsided smile. “Ever since we started getting vampires as clients, we've debated if we should rename our services...”
“But ‘death coach’ just doesn't have the same zing?” Orlando asked. A shy glimmer had worked itself into his eyes.
Viggo laughed. “Something along those lines.”
“Is that why you were available this late? Because you had another vampire client?”
“No. One of my clients is a very successful CEO with an insane number of meetings per day. Evenings works best for h-... them.”
Orlando watched him. “Are you allowed to divulge that?”
Viggo opened his mouth. Paused. “I am not,” he said finally. He couldn't quite put his finger on what exactly had changed between them, or how, but it felt like a shift in the air. And a light, but unfortunately not unwelcome, pressure on his chest.
The glimmer in Orlando's eyes grew in strength and his mouth curved in a small smile. If he had been handsome before, lit up like this he positively shone. Viggo felt a tingling warmth in his fingertips, which was odd.
“Have you been doing this for a long time?” Orlando asked him.
“I think your definition of ‘long’ might differ from mine,” Viggo said, entirely unable to hold back another smile, “but for just over a decade now. I got my education and certificates in Denmark but my partner at the time was Canadian and eventually I came here to Ottawa with him.”
“Why is he your ex?”
“Um...”
“Sorry,” Orlando said quickly. “I know I'm not supposed to be asking you personal questions... It's just been a while since I talked to anyone... like this.” He looked like he wanted to bite his bottom lip. “Like there was some...”
“Connection,” Viggo supplied. It slipped out of him before he knew what had happened.
“I'm sorry,” Orlando said again.
It was with an effort that Viggo dragged his eyes away and half turned his head to look out the window instead. Tomorrow was Halloween, a holiday that for many had simultaneously lost some of its mystique and acquired a more thrilling edge after the vampires went public.
“No, it's okay,” he heard himself say. Then, after another moment, “I rarely fall for people. My ex was a nice guy. We had fun together, grew as people together... I'm just not sure I was ever, truly, in love with him.”
The silence that followed that was dense.
“So you broke his heart?” Orlando asked at last. The tone of his voice was difficult to pin down. Maybe he sounded a little wary.
With a sigh, Viggo watched the lights across the bridge in the distance. “I did... Even though I think he suspected it was coming.”
Orlando didn't comment. After a while, he shifted in his seat. “I think my time is up.”
“What? Oh.” His own cheeks flushing now, Viggo kicked himself into motion. “I'm not sure we really got anywhere tonight. I won't charge you for it.” Leaning forwards, he returned his pen and the notepad to the table. “Maybe you should see Helen next time.”
Orlando was looking at him, his dark eyes hard to read. “I probably should,” he agreed.
“All right.” Getting up, Viggo felt stiff. Unattractive. Not that that had anything to do with anything.
Orlando followed him to the front door. He didn't appear to have brought a coat despite the raw chill outside. “Thank you for your time,” he said quietly.
They stood face to face.
“I feel like I did a terrible job tonight,” Viggo told him earnestly, without really meaning to.
He watched avidly as the corner of Orlando's mouth quirked upwards in an amused smile. “I think you did fine.”
Viggo shook his head. “I didn't.”
“Well...” Orlando briefly glanced down. The light from the IKEA lamp slid over his temple and cheek, sending a new, stronger, surge of longing through Viggo's stomach. “It meant something to me,” he said softly. When he looked up again, his eyes were entreating.
“Orlando...” Viggo said in some pale, half-hearted warning. His pulse was picking up and tightening his throat.
“I know.”
“Good...” Viggo said vaguely, as he watched his own hand lift, hesitate, and then finally, very carefully, cup Orlando's cheek. The vampire was a fraction cooler to the touch than a normal human being would be. “You’re...”
He let the pad of his thumb smooth over the ridge of Orlando's finely sculpted cheekbone. “You’re so beautiful,” Viggo whispered.
It hung between them, like an echo that didn't want to die away. Not that life or death were all that clear-cut any longer.
“Not like you,” Orlando said, and he was almost whispering, he too. Then it sort of rushed out of him: “You're really, really handsome.”
Viggo smiled. Shifting his gentle hold, he dared to dip his fingertips into the curls at the base of Orlando's neck. “I don't know what I'm doing,” he confessed.
It felt like Orlando, even though he stood perfectly still, was drawing closer.
“If it's any consolation, I don't either,” he said, but his new grin was the brightest Viggo had seen from him thus far and it hit him like a bolt of lightning.
“I'm not sure it is,” Viggo told him. Orlando's hair was soft, the skin of his neck even more so. The tingling sensation in his fingertips was returning and he ached to run them down Orlando's back, all the way from the base of his skull to the tip of his tailbone. Before him, Orlando's eyes were clouding over and his lips were parting.
“I think I might need some bottled blood, after all,” he mumbled.
Viggo tried to find his voice. To form a coherent reply. “What type?”
“O, preferably. O negative if I’m allowed to be really picky.”
It made his tongue feel thick and unwieldy in his mouth. “That’s... rare,” he managed.
“Tell me about it,” said Orlando, with a downwards turn of his mouth. Then his eyes cleared somewhat and widened. “Not that I normally drink from humans. Just... you know, if it ever happens it’s my...”
“My blood type,” Viggo said, silencing him. He wasn’t sure he could feel his feet any longer. “I’m O negative.”
Orlando closed his mouth. Then his gaze dropped – it looked instinctual – to catch on Viggo’s throat. “Really?” he asked, and there had come a breathy quality into his voice.
“I don’t think I’d dare joke about that,” Viggo said, meaning to smile but Orlando’s intense stare was burning a hole straight through him. In the end, he had to open his mouth to be able to breathe. “Will you report me if I kiss you?” he rasped.
“Never,” Orlando promised him, which, considering he was the one likely to see precisely how long that was, Viggo decided was good enough.
With a light press of his fingertips against Orlando's neck, Viggo brought them only an inch or so apart. His blood felt like it was rising in his veins to pound at his body from the inside. It struck him that maybe Orlando could sense it. That maybe he should care about that.
He found he didn't. Not in a way that made him think twice about what he was about to do, anyway.
Orlando's lips were cool silk. He let go of a mesmerising little whimper as Viggo pressed his own mouth against them. He tasted like nothing Viggo had ever known before: of clean air, of sultry midnight, of strong coffee – strangely – and ecstasy. It sank into him, layer upon layer, until he didn't really feel like himself any longer – as if through this kiss alone Orlando was transforming him – and, all the while, the kiss deepened. Orlando's hand was at his waist now, fingers lightly curled into his woollen pullover. Thoughts grew muddled as the vampire opened up further and his tongue came to slide against Viggo’s own.
“God,” he mumbled, carefully angling Orlando's head a little to the side to see if he could add another dimension to the experience.
Orlando's hand in the small of his back. Slick tongue against Viggo's. He heard his own breathing, deep but quick, ring in his ears. Then he felt them: sharp, hungry. It caused the kiss to stumble and break as a spear of mingled want and fear was driven straight through him.
“I'm sorry!” Orlando’s hand flew to cover his mouth. His eyes were wide with horror. “I didn't mean to...”
Viggo's mind was swirling, not precisely his own, it felt like. He tried to draw even breaths but the floor was tilting under his feet, he was half hard and to another ripple of fear in his breast, he discovered that he wanted nothing so much as to tip his heavy head to the side and offer up his neck.
“It’s okay,” he forced out, voice nearly gone.
Behind his hand, Orlando shook his head. Viggo saw it as if through a pane of frosted glass. “No, I'm really sorry.”
“Don't be,” he decided, and then he was reaching for Orlando's hand and pulling it away.
His heart beat madly as he joined their mouths together again, with whatever resistance that had stirred in Orlando swiftly evaporating. The kiss felt warmer now, or maybe he’d got used to the vampire’s lower body temperature. Then he was right there, pressing his tongue tip into the ridges of Orlando's teeth, exploring them until he found the sharp pointed ends of his protruding canines.
At the sensation, Orlando let go of a moan that made Viggo feel like he was melting. Need thrummed in him, rattling his bones and making his skin sing. Arousal returned tight on its heels and his cock strained beneath the respectable charcoal grey of his slacks. Seeing one way forward, and one only, Viggo pressed in tighter and drove his tongue upwards, into Orlando's teeth.
The vampire froze. The sting of the stolen bite shook Viggo to the core. It both hurt and did not. For an awful human heartbeat Viggo was plunged into the ice-cold, rocky waters of doubt, but then Orlando relaxed and hummed into the kiss, and every edge grew buzzing and fuzzy again.
The thick taste of his own blood filled Viggo's mouth only briefly before Orlando began sucking on his tongue with a tenderness that nearly brought him to his knees. Hands came to support him, now between his shoulder blades, now the back of his head. Orlando was still humming, making small purring noise of pleasure that Viggo felt reverberate through his entire body. His blood welled up, poured out of him and into Orlando, and he would have given more if only he knew how.
When it came to an end at last, he was not sure he knew his own name any longer. Least of all what he should be doing as Orlando slowly withdrew, small lingering nips and licks, and looking so dazed and sated Viggo was convinced there was no word for it.
Belatedly – so late – he realised he had come, release dampening his underwear like he was some teenage kid at the movies, but Orlando didn't seem to think that strange or off-putting at all. As a matter of fact, it was probably Orlando holding him upright. The vampire had looped an arm around his waist and Viggo knew he was leaning into the embrace.
“You need to sit down,” Orlando said softly. “The first time is always the weirdest.”
Viggo let go of a shaky laugh.
“It's also....” Orlando licked his lips, slower this time, tongue scarlet, “really good...” he finished, ending it on a question of sorts.
“Really good,” Viggo affirmed. His own tongue felt sore but there was no pain.
Still woozy, he relied on Orlando to lead him safely to the waiting room couch and lower him down to sit on the edge.
“Can I get you anything?” Orlando asked. “Maybe some water?” He looked nervous now, Viggo gradually realised, and a little twitchy.
“Maybe...” With a hand the felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, he patted a spot on the sofa next to him. “Come here?”
Orlando obediently sank to sit beside him. “I hope I didn't take too much,” he said. “It’s been ages since I last drank from a human.”
“How come?” Viggo asked. His senses were slowly settling and his eyesight was stabilising.
Orlando shrugged. “I guess I want it to mean something, not just be a means to an end.”
“As in getting fed?”
“Yes.”
There was a long pause.
Viggo took a deep breath. “You said you went to art school?”
Orlando frowned. “Yes. In the seventies.”
Viggo swallowed. “So... I used to paint. I’ve sort of drifted away from it... No real reason why, just... life. But... we could start there. See if we have something in common?”
He thought he would never forget the way light burst into Orlando's face. “You want to...?”
“I think I'm asking you out on a date,” Viggo said, above a very flimsy breath.
Orlando's glowing eyes were practically glued to his. “Are you serious? Because I really, really want to say yes.”
Smiling, Viggo reached for his hand. “I'm forty-six,” he said, for some reason. “But I guess age is only a number...”
Orlando grinned and the sight of it was like being thrown into the midst of a cascade of fireworks. “Where would you bring me on a first date?” he asked eagerly.
Viggo laced their fingers together. It was entirely possible that he wasn't making the cleverest of decisions right now – not with the memory of Orlando's fangs piercing his tongue still moving through him. Not with his own release drying in his boxer briefs.
“That depends,” he said. “Whether you're particular about the setting. I... Well, I need to eat and there’s a perfectly acceptable French place just around the corner. I'm pretty sure they have blood as well.”
Orlando was staring at him. “Tonight?”
A bit of an uncomfortable blush rose in Viggo's cheeks. “Unless...”
“No,” Orlando said quickly. “No ‘unless’. I’d love to watch you eat French food.”
Viggo's laugh was a little unsteady. “All right. And if they don't have O negative... I guess we can find a solution to that later.”
“I'm not going to drink you dry,” Orlando said firmly.
“Honestly? Good to hear it.” Releasing Orlando's hand, he made an effort to push himself to his feet. “Just let me clean up a bit.”
“You keep a change of clothes here?”
“In my gym bag,” Viggo told him with a smile. “So I should at least be able to produce clean underwear.”
Orlando tactfully remained on the couch as Viggo returned to his office to retrieve a new pair of briefs and then dove into the restroom for a quick wash. Upon exiting, he found Orlando watching him with a fond expression that made an unforeseen sweetness settle around his heart.
“I'm glad Helen had to leave early,” Orlando said quietly.
“She had to pick up Cody,” Viggo explained, in the moment finding that easier than to acknowledge what he might suddenly be feeling.
“Her... child?”
“No, her son’s dog,” Viggo told him. “From dog daycare.”
“Oh,” said Orlando, having clearly not expected that. “You really have evolved, you humans.”
Chuckling, Viggo flicked off the light in his office. “Are you going to book a new appointment with her?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Orlando said. In one fluid motion he stood and once again Viggo was struck by the discrepancy between the elegant way he moved and the deep sense of self-awareness in his expression. “Especially if we are... Well, if we actually end up dating, I’m probably going to need help to navigate that... It’s not really my... area of expertise...” He trailed off as Viggo stepped up closer.
“Not mine either,” he said softly. “And Helen is going to have a field day once I tell her. Which I'll have to do tomorrow.”
Orlando was staring at his mouth, watching him speak. If nothing else, it made him very conscious of his own lips. Slowly, he lifted a hand to place two fingers under Orlando's chin and gingerly he angled his face towards the only remaining source of light in the room: IKEA’s ‘UPPVIND’. Orlando's beautiful eyes were glowing. Viggo felt his entire heart expand and excitement sped through him.
“Tell me you're real,” he whispered.
Orlando's dark brows drew together. “Real?”
“It's Halloween,” said Viggo, with a self-conscious grimace. “You might be some... trick of the season.” He let his hand slide back into the perfectly tousled curls. He had mostly posed his question as a joke but now he found that he genuinely meant it. “Tell me?”
Orlando took a tiny step closer, like one who very much would like to accommodate himself in Viggo's arms might do. A small smile came to play on his lips. He looked excruciatingly shy and immensely powerful, both. “Kiss me and find out?”
So Viggo did, and when it was over and Orlando was still a solid form against him, he felt like the luckiest person in the world. His own blood sizzled lazily just below the surface of his skin as Orlando rested his head on his shoulder. This time, Orlando had abstained from biting him but, in the long run, how Viggo was supposed to maintain a healthy amount of blood in his body was something he'd have to research; it was altogether much too tempting to invite the bite, he was rapidly discovering. But, then again, if others could do it, Viggo supposed he could as well.
Pressing a kiss into Orlando's hair, he smiled. “Ready for dinner?”
The way Orlando looked so incredibly content as he lifted his head made his lungs all but cave in. And they had not done anything beyond kissing. However, there was also a merry glimmer in his eyes. “I'm going to review you online,” he said.
“Oh yeah?” Viggo was loath to release him but, if he paid it attention, by now he admittedly felt close to starving.
“Yes,” Orlando said as Viggo shrugged into his coat and they made ready to leave. “Because your services have seriously improved my quality of... well... unlife, I suppose.”
Viggo laughed. As the cold October night wrapped around them, he rather decisively wrapped his fingers around Orlando's, and held on.