Work Text:
Title: Spelunkers in Spain
Pairing: VigOrli
Rating: R
A/N: For my marvellous beta on her 2007 birthday. Here's a little present that includes some things she likes: two men madly in love, a moustache (shudder - but I know you love that moustache), and a Really Bad Pun. An on top of that, I've given her one of my own favourite childhood memories. Hope everybody enjoys it!
Spelunkers in Spain
The sun was just setting as their little group approached the entrance to the Cuevas del Drach ("Dragon's Caves", Viggo translated automatically in his mind), one of the most popular tourist attractions in Majorca. Fortunately, this tour had been expressly arranged for any interested cast and crew of Alatriste, plus a few special friends, so there would be no elbowing or straining to hear the guide.
Viggo wished he could see this through the eyes of a child. He knew these caves would be spectacular, but he also knew that the adult part of him would be doing running commentary on tacky lighting and stupid gimmicks and tourist traps, not to mention comparisons with all the other collections of stalactites and stalagmites he had already visited. If he were able to turn all that off, perhaps it would - somehow - still manage to be magical.
Tickets duly punched, they toiled up a long set of stairs into the garishly-lit entrance cave, their guide speaking volubly and anecdotally, happy to be able to use his native Spanish for this group.
"Wow," said Orlando quietly, taking in the frozen falls of stone, illuminated green and blue and red and gold. "Just wow." And, since they were among friends, he took Viggo's hand. Viggo smiled. Magical.
Hand in hand, they made their way down the well-trodden, easy pathways, aware of the dank penetrating aroma of wet limestone, with a curious tinge of coconut that Viggo eventually identified as sunblock lotion, on his companions and no doubt lingering from busload after busload of daily tourists. The sound of the guide's narration echoed up to them at the back of the straggling line, where they had taken their place by silent agreement. Neither was listening.
Orlando cocked his head and grinned over at Viggo. "'Spose Dwarves live in these caves?" he asked.
"Alongside the Dragon, you mean? I doubt it. But maybe some Mirkwood Elves - they like caves!"
"Or fairies," mused Orlando. Viggo quirked an eyebrow. "My mum would call these 'fairy lights'," Orlando explained. "I grew up looking for fairies anywhere there were lots of coloured lights. 'S why I went into theatre!" Viggo chuckled, and they walked on, noticing how the stalactites closest to the path and within arm's reach were worn smooth by several generations of human touch. Orlando couldn't resist either, though he drew his fingers back guiltily after trailing them over the cold stone.
Eventually they found themselves in a large underground amphitheatre with a fair-sized underground lake before them. Rows of wooden bleachers were arranged near the shore of the lake, and they seated themselves quite comfortably at the guide's request. Suddenly the lights went completely out and strains of a gentle Chopin nocturne filled the darkness, played on flute and guitar rather than a piano. In the echoing chamber, Viggo couldn't quite decide where the music was coming from, but he knew instinctively that this was not recorded music. There were real people - or perhaps real fairies - playing for them. He put an arm around Orlando's back and snuggled him close. Orlando sighed slightly, resting his head on Viggo's shoulder.
"It's coming from the lake." He overheard the surprised whisper from one of their companions, and wondered if it could be true. He didn't have to wait long to find out, for as the nocturne came sweetly to a conclusion and segued into Offenbach's "Barcarolle", three creatures, outlined in snakes of white light, appeared upon the lake, gliding gently towards them. Eventually, Viggo's eyes resolved the illusion: there were three boats, each decorated along their principal lines with light, and when combined with their reflections in the absolutely calm black water, they seemed to be symmetrical figures moving through a dark void, slow, glowing, musical natives of this alien place. If he strained, Viggo could just make out the shadowy figures of the musicians in the boats, and the oarsmen making their nearly imperceptible strokes. Almost immediately he relaxed back into the illusion, and, feeling Orlando's head stir upon his shoulder, he bent his head and pressed his lips into the offered kiss, feeling Orlando nuzzle approvingly into the huge moustache he'd grown for the current role. Lights gradually came up beneath the water, greenly illuminating strange growths of stone beneath the surface, and eventually, as the boats approached the point where they sat, the lights amongst the stalactites overhead were turned up too. By the time the Barcarolle concluded, the tourists were able to see and smile at the musicians as they gave their enthusiastic applause.
"Orlando," said Viggo. "Orlando, we go in the boats now." Orlando seemed lost in thought, gazing intently into the little forest of stalagmites near their bleachers.
"What? Oh, sorry." He rose to his feet, and soon they were happily squashed into one of the little boats, along with Viggo's castmates. The spell of the music had been well and truly broken, and now they talked and laughed loudly, enjoying the way their voices bounced around the cave. Some trailed their fingers in the cold water, "tempting the dragon," the guide told them with a laugh. All too soon they arrived at the other side and were ushered out of another opening to the caves, right next to the parking lot where their bus awaited.
The ride back to the hotel was lively, conversations going in at least three languages, and Orlando seemed his usual convivial self. But every so often Viggo caught Orlando peering out of the window, hiding a secret little smile.
"What are you thinking about?" he murmured.
Orlando slowly, provocatively, ran the tip of his tongue across his upper lip. "You," he said.
Viggo's eyes darkened. "How far away is that bloody hotel?" he muttered.
Fortunately, it wasn't far.
#-#-#-#-#
Half an hour later, they reluctantly separated their sticky selves and lay back on the pillows. Viggo ran his fingertips through the beloved tousled curls, saying, "Good grief. What brought that on? Not that I'm complaining…"
Orlando bit his lip endearingly. "You'll laugh at me."
"Probably," agreed Viggo. "Tell me anyway."
"Well, it was just something I saw in the caves." Orlando buried his face against Viggo's chest in case he started blushing. And then a little kissing and teasing of a nipple seemed like a good way to procrastinate.
"And?" Viggo prodded, squirming happily under the stimulation. Orlando cursed himself for getting a multi-tasker for a lover.
"And it turned me on, that's all." Orlando redoubled his efforts, hoping Viggo would lose track of the subject. No such luck.
"You know, that's strange," Viggo mused, indulging himself in a long caress down Orlando's back as far as he could reach. "And there I was thinking your reactions were so innocent, so child-like. Being with you actually brought me back to being able to feel the wonder of a place like that."
Orlando stopped hiding his face and stretched up to kiss Viggo. "I was, though - I was feeling just like a kid in a candy-shop."
"Until?"
Orlando mock-slapped him. "You never give up, do you? OK, I saw one of those thingymajiggies and it reminded me of you."
"Which thingymajiggies? Stalactites - the ones that hang down from the ceiling?"
"No, the other ones. I can never remember which is which."
"OK, so there was a stalagmite growing up from the floor that reminded you of me. What, did it have a caterpillar on its face and everything?" Viggo rubbed said caterpillar strategically over a spot on Orlando's neck that produced a little whimper every time.
Orlando whimpered. "No, not that you." His hand dipped between them and found the tumescence it was looking for. "This you."
Viggo snorted. "Sounds like it would be an uncomfortable substitute!"
"Oh it wasn't pointy," Orlando assured him. "It was beautifully knobbly and rounded at the end, and just about the perfect size…"
Viggo laughed aloud and pretended to push Orlando off. "Go!" he exclaimed dramatically. "Go back to your other lover, your perfect, permanently hard lover…!"
Orlando would have said, "Not in a million years," but he was much too busy kissing, grinding, clutching. When he finally surfaced, he reached behind him and said instead, "Not bad for an old man."
Running a delicate finger over the engorged flesh in front of his face, Viggo replied, "and I see you're growing your own stalagmite, Elf-boy." He pushed Orlando off in earnest, and stood up. "I'll be back in a minute. Just need to get a cloth - I'm sticky and uncomfortable."
Orlando stood with him, and wrapped himself around Viggo's back. "You're leaving me alone?" he wheedled.
"What, you can't live two minutes without hanky-panky, silly boy?" teased Viggo.
"Oh no," said Orlando, with a child's seriousness. "I don't want hanky-panky."
Viggo played along. "What do you want, then?"
"Hunky-spelunky!"
Viggo bent over and clutched his stomach with an exaggerated groan.
And sweet, childlike Orlando pushed him forward onto the bed with a laughter-filled growl and took flagrant, ungentlemanly advantage until Viggo proved he was very definitely not made of stone.
finis