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Title: Bodies, Rest and Motion
Author: wede
Pairing: ViggOrli Orli/Other
Rating: Mature
Summary: Particles of Truth from Viggo's perspective.
Particles Of Truth
Warnings: Het references, comma abuse, lack of plot, rambling, general obtuseness.
Disclaimer: I don’t know either Orli or Viggo but if they knew about this, I'd love for them to take it as the highest form of worship. Archive: my fic journal.
Author’s Notes: Viggo's way of seeing is such a fascination for me. It seems to transcend common sight and thought to someplace that seems magical. I think he's just further along the path than we are. New technology always looks like magic in the beginning.



He knows, has known for a long time that you can have something vital, volatile, inviolate in you and still function. He writes and reads and thinks but mostly he flies and rides trains and cars and walks and poses for photos and still feels the liquid hot wash of Orlando inside him.

It pools and eddies between what he sees and how he thinks. He feels the tendrils of it twining around each thought as it winds from his head to his hand, out his pen, onto paper, cloth wood air.

He's had a lot longer to become accustomed to this kind of occupation than Orlando so he's not surprised that time goes by, fast slow, before the phone screeches Orli's ringtone finally.

And he's old enough for it not to set the butterflies off in his chest but not for it to settle inside him like at last or ah, okay or yes, please. But he is old enough for it to be okay to just wait until Orli says something.

So he waits. Listens to the pulsing music and frantic voiced crowd and the rabbity chuffing of Orli's breath just before he says, "Hey." Hears the unspoken longing or thinks hopes wishes he does and lays back on the bed and says the only word that's safe.

"Orli." And "Breathe, baby."

"Yeah." Comes too quickly but he knows the reason and wants to back away, make a space, invite something else, something more than tinny sounds and longing. So he says, "Anytime." And smiles but knows that's the end of it for now and when the return "yeah." Comes, he doesn't flinch.

He doesn’t let it go but he forgets, for a while, hours, a day and when the phone rings again, downstairs near the spider plant that Orli nearly killed, he runs to catch it.

He turns around because he always does on this phone and sees feels knows Orli’s there just beyond the small patch of grass, between the wall he built and the bougainvilleas.

‘How odd,’ he thinks, as he licks the blood from Orli’s palm and then he doesn’t think at all he just pushes and is pulled and hours go by before Orli says anything other than ‘yes.’

He watches the dawn break through the tangle of Orli’s hair and feels the stillness that closeness allows.

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