Title: Waiting

Author: Joey Richards

Addy: lazlototh79@yahoo.com

Pairing: Orlando/Viggo

Rating: R

Summary: Orlando and Viggo, from Orlando’s POV. In blank verse.

 

Waiting

 

If I propped myself up on one elbow,

I could look through the window and there see

His shirt on the lawn, wet with dew where he

Dropped it in his rush, his fury, frenzy;

Desperate to have what he’s wanted for so

Many months of staring, flirting, talking,

Waiting for a dream, a wish to come true.

 

My shirt lies between grass and patio

Half on one, half on the other, where I

Stripped myself for him to see, under moon

And stars, with no costume to hide my flesh,

No excuse for my behavior but desire.

A T-shirt, his, lies by the sliding door

My shoes are strewn across the kitchen tile.

 

I know my jeans are on the stairs, I can

Still feel the nose of the tread digging in,

His fingers scrabbling on my thighs and lips,

As soft as feathers trailing up my leg.

He wanted time to savor, to revel

In all he’s waited for, for all those months,

Of staring, flirting, talking, delay.

 

While the moon still shone he took me by the

Hand and led me up the stairs, shedding clothes

Like shedding skin, shedding layers of costume,

No more hiding. His jeans on the landing.

Even my watch is on the floor. Nothing

Else to remove, we hit the bed laughing

Until it was time to be serious.

 

This I knew; this playing, searching, tumbling,

Fumbling hands and wet kisses and thrusting.

This I understood; this game of bodies

Weaving, touching, shifting, sighing, showing.

Sharing space and sharing air and sharing

For a moment but the moment isn’t

Mine to keep for evermore. I knew this.

 

How could I feel so safe? So very naked,

On my hands and knees, where he put me. Spread.

I could not expose myself to this man

Any more, or so I thought but then he

Touched me, filled me, made me open to his

Questing tongue and tender fingers, coaxing

Soothing, filling, tasting, testing, aching.

 

Moaning without words, speaking without voice,

Telling without a tale to tell, but telling

All the same. Then I realized it was

Not just he who spent these past few months in

Longing. Staring. Flirting. Talking. Delay.

Not just he who yearned for more and had no

Way to make the story known. It was us.

 

Fingers tracing down my spine, a searching

Tongue, and skin that longed to cover all it

Could. Whispers of something deeper than mere

Words. Words swallowed by air, air forced through teeth,

Teeth tugging on skin, skin on fire, on ice,

His words in my breath, my heart in his hands,

Where it was safe. At least for then. But now,

 

Forearm lies across my middle, resting,

The golden hairs caress me while he dreams.

His body pressed so tight against me now,

As if we were still joined as one, as we

Are bathed in light, rising sun announces

A new day without the pain of waiting,

No wondering when it would come to pass.

 

And when the rays of light cause him to wake,

He pulls me closer yet and rumbles in my

Ear, to never rise or greet a new day

Without me in his arms again, without

Me in his soul again, to wait no more

But stare and talk and flirt and dream and live.

Now this is what I know. No more waiting.

 

The End