Title: When The Saints Go Marching In
Author: Crimsonsenya
Rating: R
Pairing: Viggo/Orli, Johnny Depp/Vincent Kartheiser implied
Warnings: m/m sex, AU, swearing, underage drinking,
Summary: Orli was hired to build a fence around the church the same summer his brother Johnny was released from prison.
A/N: Trailer Park Verse. The prologue and epilogue are Viggo’s POV, the rest is Orli’s.
*******************************************
Viggo knew he drank too much.
Viggo knew his fist should not break his neighbour’s teeth.
Viggo knew everyone in his parish feared him.
Viggo knew he had the devil in him, no matter how hard he tried to fight back.
Viggo knew he should have preached of love and forgiveness, he preached of judgement and doom instead.
You reap what you sow.
Viggo knew he was the lousiest excuse of a preacher.
When his wife died he had seen the devil immerge in his son. He hadn’t spared the rod or the leather belt.
Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.
If the rumours were true, his son had even killed a man now.
Only once had Viggo seen the devil flee and never come back.
The young boy, who sang in the choir, Orlando, he had had the deceiver’s gleam in his eyes, the burning that came straight from the abyss of hell. Somehow, the angel in him had won. Sigourney, the boy’s mother had come to Viggo's house one summer evening. They had prayed for the life of her younger son and for the soul of the older one, and the woman had leaned on Viggo and snaked her hand on his lap. He had been proud of himself, when he had shown her to the door. After his wife died, he had sworn not to touch another woman again –the only promise he had ever been able to keep.
The next fall, the boy had returned to the choir. One afternoon before the choir rehearsal, Viggo had walked into the church. The boy had stood before the altar at the end of the aisle practicing Amazing grace. The boy’s glistening white halo had dazzled his eyes in the pale winter light, filtering in from the tall windows. From that moment on, Viggo had believed in angels again.
Then, the boy had disappeared, until on Sunday, he had sat down on the first row of the congregation room, and Viggo had seen how the stars still danced in his eyes, and the gates of hell had been closed for eternity.
The all too familiar, blunt ache in his head had woken him up the next morning, and it had taken him a long time to realize that the steady hammering had come from the outside. When he saw the narrow back and the sunburn neck, peeking under long tousles of dark hair, Viggo knew he needed salvation. Indeed, he had never known he needed anything so badly before that moment. The hammer could have been driving nails through him as well. When the boy moved to grasp the next pole, Viggo knew what a drowning man felt when his feet touched the ground.
****************************************
Sunday, 6th of June was a special day for Orli in two ways: first, because his big brother Johnny was released from jail, and secondly, Orli’s momma asked him if he wanted a job, and when he complied, she took him to the church for the first time in two years. In the afternoon, they drove all the way past Pleasant to Belleville to pick up his brother from the State Penitentiary. But not before Orli had sat down and listened to preacher Viggo’s one hour sermon on Daniel in the lion’s den and on his friends in a fiery furnace. His momma had wanted to sit down in the first row, and Orli was certain no flames existed that could burn more searingly than the preacher’s eyes. The congregation squirmed on the hard wooden pews, as Viggo’s words whipped them for their greed and lack of faith. During the last song, every pusher, truck driver, mechanic, waitress, drunkard and hooker put their share into the offering, because no god or devil frightened them more than the preacher Mortensen.
Somebody was needed to build a fence around the church, because the preacher was fed up with dogs digging up the gardenias and pissing on the walls. Orli’s momma told him that, after Viggo had preached four Sundays in a row on how sinners returning to their evil deeds were like dogs returning to their vomit, and after he had shot down both Deputy Kane’s Rottweiler and Angelina’s Pitt bull, the congregation had unanimously decided to hire someone for the work before there were no animals left at the Buena Vista Estates. The only useful thing that Orli had ever been good at was carpentry (besides singing gospel songs, but that was something he tried not to reveal to any of his friends). He had built the fence around his mother’s trailer and around the Brendon’s trailer; he had even built the kennel for his cousin Vinnie’s father. So, there he was, shaking hands with Jimmy’s fierce father. The man seemed to look straight through him with a gaze that suddenly rendered Orli completely unable to form coherent words or thoughts. The skin on the man’s throat was tanned, and a patch of a smooth chest peeked from his unbuttoned collar.
*******************************************
Broken knuckles, long, dishevelled hair, tattoos on his arms, laugh, speed, and impulsion, had been Johnny in a nutshell. Now, his brother’s fists were even stronger looking, his hair short and spiky, his mouth a thin straight line, and even more tattoos covered his trimmed body. Five years inside and Johnny had finished his high school diploma. He had even taken college courses in correspondence. Not much to do in the jail besides boxing, apparently. Quiet and serious, with no future, but frying burgers in the same diner their momma had worked for, before she became a waitress at the old truck stop by the highway. Yet, she didn’t care about the lack of smile on Johnny’s face, she cried, and cried, and hugged them both tight at the parking lot. She had her boys back, and Orli knew that people considered her foolish because of her unwavering dreams of happiness. Johnny stroked their momma’s wavy brown hair. She went to the hairdresser regularly to get better tips. It was common knowledge that Ms Sigourney Weaver sometimes climbed on the cockpits of trucks, and there was a word for a single woman, whose two sons had different fathers, but for Johnny and Orli their momma had always been the most beautiful woman in the whole world.
*************************************
The sun poured down its beams on Orli’s naked back, and the white wall of the church radiated heat. Various sprinklers rotated on the lawn, irrigating the huge bushes of creamy white gardenias. Orli jutted poles on the ground with his hammer. Vinnie usually came by at noon, and Orli shared his bologna sandwiches with his cousin, who never got enough food at home. After lunch, Vinnie used to hang out with him for a while. His cousin lay on his back on the grass, toying with a straw between his lips, and they usually shared a joint, while Orli continued the hammering. But Vinnie always disappeared before the clock struck one, because the preacher woke up by that time. It wasn’t a secret that Viggo had a soft spot for whiskey, and people often repaid for his services with beverages.
Viggo was an ex-marine who he knew how to sneak behind people’s backs. He scared the shit out of Orli every time he uttered a sudden and raspy ‘good afternoon, Orlando’ right to his ear. At least, Orli had learned to hold on to his hammer: the first times he had dropped the tool they had both rushed to reach for it, hands overlapping, and heads bumping hard together.
“Damn!” Viggo swore, and Orli stumbled an apology, completely terrified. But instead of an angry outburst, Viggo just grinned, eyes sparkling behind the strands of his jaw length sandy hair. “Beware or you’ll hit yourself with that thing, boy.”
“Yes, sir. I will.” Orli tried to hide his trembling hands behind his back. But when Viggo walked to the garden hose that was attached to the church wall, Orli kept glancing at him furtively, as he started spraying water on the gardenias. The preacher didn’t wear shirts, except for the church, and Orli suspected he had even more tattoos on his tanned torso than Johnny. The low hung jeans had revealed to him that Viggo wore a moon on his lower belly, right on the opposite spot to where Orli sported his only tattoo –a hollow sun.
“How’s your momma doing now that your brother’s back?” Viggo asked him one day, and Orli could only answer that she was doing just fine, but he thought that perhaps the same couldn’t be said about his brother. Nothing was exactly wrong, which was more than disconcerting of his hell raiser of a brother. Johnny worked long days at the diner and brought his untouched paycheck to their momma, who bought a new air conditioner to their trailer. Orli didn’t know anymore, how to be around his brother. They shared the bed like before, and Orli kept watching Johnny’s unnatural stillness. As far as Orli could remember, Johnny had always been in constant move: fidgeting his thin cigars, dancing in the boxing ring, running away, punching trees, fences, self-made boxing bags, or just simply making funny faces behind everybody’s back. He still smoked those thin brown cigars, but his every move was controlled and functional, full of alert tension. Certainly, 5 years in jail could change anybody, and he had been 17 when his sentence began.
Orli died to ask his brother about his life inside, but Johnny’s gloomy face was the biggest possible stop sign. His brother didn’t talk much anymore either, nor did he go out to the roadhouse his old gang visited nowadays. He didn’t even join Orli to the swimming hole. In the evenings, Johnny either sat on a plastic chair by their trailer, a cigar dangling from his fingers, staring at the stars and the dark line of trees growing nearby, or he went to shoot empty canisters with his shotgun at Iggy’s backyard that stunk like gas and turpentine. At least, Johnny wore the skull amulet Orli had nicked to give him as a homecoming present. In that case, could Johnny be very mad at him?
It hadn’t been Orli’s fault. That’s what his momma had kept saying, and Johnny had said it too, but still, Orli couldn’t help feeling slightly guilty. It had been him, who had gotten himself into trouble by overhearing some pushers’ deal with Vin Diesel, and by making himself noticed by accidentally kicking a tin can. He had tried to run off, but the rotten plank floor of the hayloft had given way, and he had landed on his back 14 feet below. It had been his back that had broken, and he had been the one to lie the 13th summer of his life in a hospital, wrapped up in bandages, spending all their momma’s savings. Nobody heard about the pusher again, after Johnny’s gang found out where he lived. But Johnny had met Vin outside the local dive two weeks after the doctor had declared that Orli most probably wouldn’t walk again, and Vin had ended up in the hospital with an army knife in his guts. To pay the lawyer momma had to sell Johnny’s bike, his dearest possession along his guitar. The thought that the bike had been stolen in the first place hadn’t made Orli feel less bad.
The lawn was soaked under Orli’s bare feet, and there was mud between his toes.
“Your brother had the devil in him,” Viggo spoke as if he was talking to himself, not looking at Orli at all, folding the green hose slowly in his hands. “He rode around with bikers and fought in illegal fights worrying your momma to death. She once asked me to pray for him.” He hung the hose on a rack. “You had the devil in you too.” Viggo raised his steely blue eyes from the hose and stared unblinkingly at Orli, who gazed back mesmerized, feeling like a rat caught by a snake.
Perhaps the preacher Vig was right. The devil in him had caused him to make so much havoc in both his momma’s and his brother’s life, but Orli had tried to atone. He really had. He had started to take care of his cousin Vinnie, who could have walked before a train without his drunkard parents missing him. Orli remembered from the Sundays of his childhood that God liked good deeds and giving your shirt to someone, whose own had worn to threads, counted as one. But if Viggo said he had had the devil in him, did it mean it was now finally gone? Orli was puzzled, but Viggo didn’t explain himself, he only asked why Orli had stopped singing in the church choir. The breaking of voice was a lousy excuse, but it was the only lie he could make up with the half naked preacher in front of him. Sweat glimmered on the spider web tattoo on his chest, and the finely defined abs rippled as he moved closer to Orli. Somehow, it was even possible to discern the extra heat Viggo radiated under the blazing Southern sun. The smell of bourbon, cigarettes, and Ivory soap hit Orli at full force and made him fold his arms protectively over his chest. Viggo stretched his hand to feel the pole, and Orli released the breath he hadn’t noticed he had been holding.
“Our Lord was a carpenter too. Good work, this fence will hold.” Viggo’s lips curved in a light smile that completely surprised Orli in its kindness. He even dared to smile back.
“Thank you, sir. I’ve tried my best.” Viggo smiled still, but his eyes scrutinized Orli again.
“Why don’t you come with me to the wedding of Denisof and Hannigan next Saturday. I bet you sing better than any of those old cunts.”
*******************************************
Johnny had been the more talented one. Before the prison, he had sung and played guitar in a band called Sweet Little Missy, named after a Lynyrd Skynyrd song. Their momma had had to sell his electric guitar too to pay Orli’s medical bills, so Johnny couldn’t even play anymore, when he got back from jail. But Orli was a singer too, he had sung in the church choir since he was seven, and he had only quitted when he was 14 and his momma had become too busy working to visit the church and when he had started to fear his friends would start calling him a fucking pussy and queer. Orli would have loved to sing though, or at least, listen to his brother’s band play, but Johnny had been sent away because of him, and none of Orli’s friends understood music.
Who could have said no to Viggo? Orli told Johnny about the preacher in the evening, and for the first time after his return, Orli managed to elicit a laugh from his brother. Johnny’s golden canine tooth glimmered in the pale light that streamed from the windows of the trailer.
“Orli?” A quiet hesitant voice interrupted their laughter. They both swung they heads at the opened gate. A thin young man with shoulder length auburn hair and eyes like the lake in the fall. Johnny stopped laughing and stood up, his whole body tensed and hunched forward like in the beginning of a match.
“Vinnie!” Orli exclaimed. Johnny eyed their cousin like a predator, and Orli felt the hairs rise in his neck. His brother had become absolutely scary. “What’s up, Vinnie? Aren’t you supposed to be home feeding the dogs?” Orli failed at his light tone. Their cousin shifted his feet, curling the hem of his tee in his long fingers.
“I already did, and my mom and dad are out, and I couldn’t get sleep, and I thought, that… maybe… you… you could hang out with me for a while.” The words came out of Vinnie’s mouth in quick breaths as usual when he was nervous. Johnny slid to him, quick and smooth like a cat.
“Cousin Vinnie? I didn’t fucking recognize you!” Johnny lifted Vinnie’s chin, forcing him to look at him. They were about the same height, but Orli noticed how breakable his cousin looked beside the self-assurance his brother had radiated, ever since he was at middle school. Vinnie looked Johnny straight in the eyes. Fuck, his cousin would have looked an alligator in the mouth. One unruly strand of hair crossed Vinnie’s face, lips parted to a soft “Nice to see you, Johnny” and Orli saw, how Johnny’s face was lit by a genuine smile.
“Damn, I’ve been away for a long time,” Johnny said and kept holding Vinnie’s chin. Vinnie had stopped twitching, but Orli felt uncomfortable.
“Guess we could go and smoke a joint somewhere and see what the guys are up to. Let me get my sweater.” Finally, Johnny let go off Vinnie’s chin. He sat back down into the plastic chair and lit yet another cigar.
“Get your cousin one too,” he said, exhaling smoke. When Orli came back with the shirts, he saw Vinnie standing in the same position at the gate, his hands hanging by his sides, still looking over at Johnny, the one smile on his face that made everyone think he was reliving some dream nobody else had access to.
*********************************
Next afternoon, when Orli came home, he saw Vinnie sitting legs crossed on the grass opposite his brother. Vinnie was smoking one of those thin cigars too, and Johnny was showing him the number 3 tattooed between the thumb and the index finger of his left hand. For some reason, Orli felt angry at the sight.
“Hi!” Orli said mirthlessly, and Vinnie bounced back.
“Would you like to go to the swimming hole?” Vinnie asked.
“Yeah, whatever.” Orli jumped in the trailer to fix himself something to eat.
“Would you like to come too?” He heard Vinnie ask his brother.
“Nay, you just go there without me.”
Orli took a towel and the peanut butter sandwich with him.
“Have fun,” Johnny said. “Nice to see you again Vinnie. Why don’t you come over to the diner someday for breakfast?” Orli noticed how Vinnie’s cheekbones turned a little red from the excitement.
“Really? I’ll come by some day. Thanks, Johnny,” he muttered, and Johnny laughed again. Orli dragged his cousin by the arm half the way to the lake.
Johnny was still sitting outside and smoking, when Orli hung his wet towel onto the rope behind the trailer.
“And what the fuck was that?”
“What do you mean?” Johnny asked, looking slightly puzzled.
“With Vinnie. What were you doing?”
“Can’t I invite my famished cousin over for some pancakes?” His surprise turned to amusement.
“I just don’t want you to play any games with him.”
“What the fuck?” Now, Johnny looked straight out mad. “You think I like to play games with people?” Orli had turned his back, but Johnny spun him around. One hand gripped his wrist, another clutched his shoulder. “Who the fuck you think I am?”
Orli looked at the dark dilated eyes, at the stone cold face. This was supposed to be his brother, but Orli didn’t know for sure anymore, and Vinnie had no one else to look after him. The time stood still, and long tentacles of fear started to creep up Orli’s spine. He must have looked terrified too, because he saw the impenetrable expression on Johnny’s face start to crackle, revealing it to be only a mask. Johnny eased his grasp and bowed his head, hair falling on his face, and Orli thought, what a coincidence it was, that they both had grown similar whiskers and goatees without having seen each other for four years. He only wished he would ever look that cool.
When Johnny raised his head, his eyes were tired and –resigned. Orli swallowed, because his mouth had become unusually dry, and his eyes oddly moist instead.
“If you only talked to me…” The words faded in the dusk, and they heard moths splattering against the naked bulb above the screen door. “If you’d let me see you…”
“See what? The fuck-up I was?” Johnny almost spat out the question. “You wanted to see me living worse than a dog on a leash? I only stayed alive the first two years because of my cellmate, Russ, and he wasn’t a fuckin’ Snow White. Taking it up the ass everyday, how and wherever he wanted, shooting up junk and when he was released going through cold turkey. The fucking walls were crumbling in. And the whole fucking time I was worried you’d end up in that hellhole too.” A forced grin spread on Johnny’s lips.
“Is that what you want to hear?”
“I’m…sorry…” Orli’s throat choked and his voice betrayed him. He blinked hard. “I’m so fucking sorry...” His voice faded again and Johnny turned back to his chair, groping for his cigars.
“There’s no need to be sorry, Orli.” Johnny’s voice was husky and lulling. “Go to sleep now.”
Orli lay coiled in the bed, eyes closed, yet full awake. After what seemed like an eternity, Orli felt the bed dip and the warmth of his brother brushed his bare back. Strong calloused fingers traced his spine, until they found the end of his scar. The tender strokes made him lean into the touch.
“I’m lucky I didn’t loose you. Everything’s gonna be alright. We’re gonna be okay,” Johnny murmured and scooped Orli in his arms. The familiar heartbeat and smell of cigars surrounded him. Orli turned around and pressed his mouth to Johnny’s neck Yeah, the taste of salt and the smell of French fries that stubbornly stuck on his brother’s skin, even if he always scrubbed himself hard after work. Still there was a freshness left that reminded him of rainy days in the woods by the river and of the time when he was in the 5th grade and Johnny had taught him to kiss, so he could impress a girl in his class. To tell the truth, Orli hadn’t kissed many girls since, only Vanessa, Johnny’s old girlfriend when he was fifteen. It was kiss of peaches and strawberries. Surely, Orli had often kissed his cousin Vinnie and he tasted like cherry pie, but without lip balm. “What would Viggo taste like?” was the last thing in his mind before he fell asleep.
*************************************
“What would it be like to kiss Viggo?” Orli thought when Viggo denounced Alyson and Alexis husband and wife and the couple kissed. Orli’s throat felt already sore after singing As a deer panting for the water, Glory, glory, hallelujah and I am the God that healeth thee, every gospel hymn he’d ever sung. The Old Man Landau, who had moved from Tulsa, sang Are you worsed by the blood of the Lamb with a croaking voice that made Orli wince and his daughter Juliet scared Orli by appearing out of blue behind him, waving her arms frantically and speaking in tongues. But, evidently, Viggo’s mouth was dry too, he coughed and went straight to the buffet table and poured himself a glassful of homemade rye after the ceremony. Orli tagged along him like a lapdog, because, in truth, he was quite intimidated by the guests, especially by Hannigan’s redneck cousins and a group of girls of his age that giggled and peered at him in a way that could only mean an attempted gangbang against him later. The preacher had already helped himself to half a bottle in the car on their way to the farmhouse. Orli had heard that Viggo’s wife had died and he wondered if that made Viggo drink more than usual after a wedding. However, Orli wasn’t allowed to drink anything but soda until they headed back, because the bride’s mother kept watching the underage guests like a hawk. Very annoyed, he had smoked a joint as a rebellious gesture instead.
“Thank you, Lord. We’re going home,” Viggo sighed, as he speeded the 1966 Chevelle station wagon to the main road. Orli drank a long gulp from the bottle Viggo had generously offered to him. The burning in Orli’s stomach added nicely to the fuzzy feeling in his head. Earlier, there had also been pleasant warmth and throbbing in his crotch when Viggo had swung an arm around him and pulled Orli against his hip for a photograph. “May they live happily ever after!” Viggo snorted and lit a cigarette. “You’ve been to a wedding before?”
“No, sir. I haven’t.” The brown paper bag around the bottle got crumpled up under Orli’s fingers.
“Pray you never will, at least to your own. You sang well though.”
“Thank you, sir.” Orli glanced at Viggo. Was it a really good idea to sit in a car going 60 miles per hour with a drunken driver, who was notorious for his brawls? He took another sip of the whiskey.
“Come on. You can ask me something if you want. I promise I won’t bite –if you don’t want me to.” A wolfish grin spread over Viggo’s face, but he burst out to laugh at Orli’s puzzled expression.
“I…I…”
“Don’t worry, kid. You’re safe with me.” Viggo held out his hand on Orli’s thigh and squeezed lightly. Strong, long fingers, no bitten nails nor rings. “Give me some of that, would ya?”
Orli handed the bottle and, finally, some words come out of his mouth.
“That whiskey’s fucking amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever drunk anything as good.”
“It’s scotch, nothing homemade. I thought a hard day’s work deserved an appropriate payment.” Viggo gave the bottle back. It was noticeably lighter.
“The fence will be ready for the 4th of July.”
“Good, very good. Maybe we should have a party. You like the fireworks?” Viggo smiled, putting out the stub. Was this the same man everybody saw nightmares of?
“Yeah, I do. Vin…” Orli shut his mouth because he doubted Viggo would be interested in his cousin’s childlike wonder every time he saw the colour explosions.
“I used to like them too –before I went to war,” Viggo said, flatly. They sat quiet for a while. Everything Orli could have said would have sounded out of place. But the silence wasn’t uncomfortable and they kept passing the bottle until Viggo pulled the car to an empty gas station.
The grass behind the station building reached Orli in the chest and the shrilling of cicadas almost hurt his ears. He leaned on the wooden wall and took a long drag from the joint he had rolled in the restroom. Maybe he should have sought cover from the ardent afternoon sun. The weather would have been suffocating, if there hadn’t been a slight breeze that sent puffs of dust in the air. Viggo appeared behind the corner. He had taken his shirt off, a thin layer of sweat glistened on his bare skin.
“Bud, the mechanic here, said my transmission is leaking oil. He wants to fix it right away. You mind if we wait?”
A spider web, an eagle, a cross, the moon right above his hipbone. Orli took a few steps closer as he tried to count Viggo’s tattoos. He felt meek and mellow, but underneath the complete relaxation there was a vague flickering sensation. Happiness? There was a cleft on Viggo’s chin, the size of Orli’s index finger. He had obviously shaved before the ceremony, but hints of stubble were already visible. Viggo sniffed the air. A wide grin immerged in his face and lit the eyes that hadn’t seized their hold on Orli for the whole time. Orli took one more drag and, without warning, he exhaled into Viggo’s mouth, snaking his hands around Viggo’s waist and sneaking them under the waistband of black trousers. He was about to retreat, but strong fingers were already digging onto his neck and his hip, drawing him closer to a sturdy body. Hard lips and arousing heat, a skilful tongue entwining his. His knees buckled, but he grasped Viggo’s shoulder blades. When Viggo finally released him he rested his forehead against Orli’s. Their noses were touching and their breaths mingled, homemade bourbon and pot.
“I’m going to get a coke,” Orli flipped in his most indifferent and carefree tone, too hot and flushed to stand so close to Viggo any longer. Viggo stepped aside, but when Orli turned to leave, Viggo grabbed his shoulders and shoved him against the wall, his leg pushed between Orli’s thighs pinning him in place. Lips almost touched Orli’s ear when he spoke slowly, stressing every vowel, his voice coarse and dark.
“One thing you should know, kid. Nobody –I say– nobody fucks with me.”
A hand on his jaw, turning him to face Viggo’s steely eyes. A short pause allowed him to ponder all the possible implications of the word fuck, before Viggo’s mouth was weighing heavily on his again, commanding Orli to part his lips and to yield; a kiss of possession, control and sweet punishment. Teeth crushed against his teeth, biting his lips; firm thumbs caressed his cheeks and a thigh ground his crotch. Orli heard himself whimper, his hands explored surprisingly soft skin and well toned muscles. His body took a mind of its own, pressing needily against the other one in a fervent search for friction. Viggo responded by slamming on him faster and faster. The relentless rocking of his hips matched the fierce thrusts of his tongue in Orli’s mouth, and Viggo’s hands under his tee teased his nipples until Orli burst out in a panting heap of wet slickness and golden sparks.
“Now you can get your soda,” Viggo said, blankly. When his hands released him, Orli collapsed to the ground. Happy to have the wall behind him, he gazed up at Viggo.
“What about you?” Orli was still panting.
“Don’t worry. I’ll take what’s mine later.” Viggo’s both frightening and spellbinding trademark grin, the adjusting of trousers, and Orli was left alone to recover.
Orli inserted a coin in the vending machine, and when he popped up the lid, it finally hit him what he had just done. The realization made him giddy. How the fuck had he dared? He had practically jumped on the preacher. Some bastards had probably gotten their kneecaps broken for even dreaming about it. But when he went back to the car and sat down beside Viggo, he knew he desperately wanted a second round.
“Do you have a curfew?” Viggo asked. Orli felt a soft stroke on his cheek, which made him look at Viggo in bewilderment. Viggo’s mouth was a straight line, but in his eyes there was something warm alit. He still held the back of his hand on Orli’s face.
“No, I don’t. My Momma’s working tonight.”
****************************************
It was way past the midnight when Viggo dropped him at the trailer park. The chair in their front yard was empty, and the lights were out. Johnny had either gone out or to bed. Orli was glad no one would see him limping his way up the couple of steps to their door in the dark. His lips were swollen, small pebbles had scratched his knees and palms, and there would be visible bruises on his hip and thighs the next day.
When he pulled off his tee Viggo’s overwhelming scent filled his nostrils. He wondered if the musk would fill the pores of his skin, marking him so permanently that all the others would smell it on him too, and they would know to whom Orli belonged. He felt sweaty and sticky, yet reluctant to shower off what had happened only half an hour earlier. The mattress squeaked slightly, as he flung down beside his brother and wrapped his arm around him, but the body he embraced was too lithe and the ribs too prominent.
“Vinnie! What the…?” Orli was about to bounce up, but Johnny’s arm descended on his over Vinnie’s body. Orli sighed and pressed his chin to Vinnie’s neck instead. Anyway, he was way too spent and well fucked to create a sissy scene in the middle of the night, only because Vinnie happened to like sleeping sandwiched between his cousins. They all snuggled against each other to a better position, as Johnny pulled Orli closer. The bed squeaked louder now. Orli chuckled by himself at the thought of the creaking springs in Viggo’s bedroom, where they had finally landed after two other sessions on the kitchen floor.
“I’m so screwed,” he thought, smiling in his sleep.
****************************************
He had cut down his drinking to only four bottles a week, which hadn’t happened since his wife’s death. Every Sunday after the sermon he saw the young man standing at the doorway in the back of the church hall, and Viggo wanted nothing but to end the final song as fast as possible. Every day at noon, his angel appeared at the fence, even after it had been finished, and when fall came, he arrived when the school bus brought the kids home in the afternoon.
Dark brown curls framed the blissful face and smiling eyes. The slim body leaned on the fence, one feet bent and arms swung over. His angel looked at the sky, as it was fit, and Viggo looked at him, until his heart stung so bad he had to throw the young man on the floor, on the couch, on the table, just to feel heaven again. Sometimes, he ran away for days to drink and brawl. The devil in him would not accept its defeat easily, but Viggo always came back to the fence.
No matter how hard Viggo drove down on the young man, his body seemed to take it all. His angel tensed and quivered, until he had sucked every demon out of Viggo and shot them so far they never found their way back to his life. Afterwards, Viggo passed hours worshipping his sun, the crook of the neck, the small of the back, the dark skin that tasted better than bourbon. All he wanted was to spend the eternity ravishing and adoring his angel. Pain and loss were the lot in life for those who had fallen from grace, and Viggo had received more than a taste of the bitter fruits of the fall, but at last, he had found his salvation.