Poetic Justice

It was a dream, he knew it, but he encouraged it to continue. In the dream he didn’t know who he found more alluring, she with all her soft curves and heated depths, or him with his chiseled angles and strong length. But they both bent over him, and each began at a foot and used their wonderful mouths to blaze a trail up his legs. The man moved a little quicker, and just when the anticipation of his damp lips touching his now throbbing cock was torturing him his dream was interrupted.

The shrill ringing of the phone made Viggo Mortensen grunt in frustration, roll over on the queen-sized bed, and grab the receiver. “Yeah.” His soft voice was low and sleep thickened.

“Mr. Viggo Mortensen?”

Blinking to shake off the effects of sleep Viggo stifled a yawn. “Yeah, that’s me. Who’s this?” ‘What fucking time was it anyway?’ He turned the digital alarm clock and the red glaring numbers read 3:17 am. ‘Just fucking great’, he thought. ‘This had better be good.’

“I’m Detective Walker from NYPD…”

Startled Viggo sat up, reaching over to flick on the small boudoir lamp on the bedside table. ‘What the hell was this all about?’ he wondered, running a hand over his face and up to his short golden-brown hair.

“We were given your number by Orlando Bloom…”

“Orli!” Viggo shook his head. Was he still asleep or hearing things?

“Mr. Bloom has been taken to…”

An icy dread unfurled inside Viggo’s belly, and spread outward to chill every limb as the detective continued to talk. Orli had been admitted by ambulance, and he was in bad shape. Already he was struggling to draw up denims while keeping the phone to his ear. Holding the receiver in the cradle of his shoulder and with his head tilted he used both hands to do up his denims and shove his wallet and keys in the pockets.

“I’ll be right there,” he said without hesitation, and after a few seconds hung up. Quickly he drew on a tee shirt and shoved his feet into canvas shoes. Without looking back he left his loft, and drove to the hospital.

There were still a few streets busy with traffic, but the majority of them at this time of night were vacant. During the drive Viggo kept hearing the detective’s words echoing in his head. He’d known Orli was in town. He’d gotten the mge oge on his machine asking if he was free tomorrow for lunch. What the fuck had happened? The detective hadn’t been clear, said it would be better if they spoke in person.

Ignoring the startled recognition in some faces Viggo rushed through the hospital until he found a few men in uniform talking with a man in a trench coat. Nearing he glanced at the window to the room, but found the blinds were shut. “Detective Walker? I’m Viggo Mortensen.”

Walker held out a hand, and as they shook he motioned to a quiet area a few steps away. “I’m glad you could come out, Mr. Mortensen.”

Waving that away impatiently Viggo nodded. “Yeah. What the hell happened? How hurt is Orli?”

“It’s not good,” the man waved to hard molded plastic seats, but nodded when the other shook his head. “Mr. Bloom was found in an alley badly beaten and raped.”

Okay, now he needed a seat, and Viggo fell into one. Orli? Raped and beaten?

The detective sat. “He’s lost a lot of blood, and he’s got a concussion. Whoever attacked him didn’t steal anything, and Mr. Bloom was able to dial 911 on his cell. He didn’t say much, but the operator was able to hear his whispers for help.”

‘Oh, Jesus fucking Christ,’ Viggo blanched. “Can I see him?”

“They had to sedate him,” the detective said. “He wouldn’t let the doctors touch him.”

“Can you blame him?” Viggo snorted. He paused, and cleared his thro“Umm“Umm, how bad… Was it a guy?”

Walker inhaled deeply. “Semen samples were taken from his body, and there is evidence of anal penetration. We found something else, a bruise here,” he touched his own temple. “It’s from the muzzle of a gun.”

Viggo digested that, and his face tightened. “I want to see him.”

After a second the detective nodded, sighing. They went to the door, and the older detective paused a second. “You’d better prepare yourself, it’s not pretty.”

The door was opened, and Viggo froze with a choked cry on his lips. A spasm clutched at his chest, and he couldn’t breathe for a moment. All curled into a tight fetal ball was Orli, looking fragile and so goddamn young. His unruly dark curls framed a face that was swollen and purple-black and had bandages covering many areas. The eyes Viggo remembered as being bright and deep brown, full of hope and a touch of innocence, were now swollen nearly shut and splotched in yellow and red and a sick brown. Near that face were scraped fists as though still trying to protect himself from his attacker. Marks also marred the bared areas of the arms.

Turning away suddenly Viggo took a few deep breaths, nausea welling up. With force of will he pushed it away, and made himself go in and sit in the hard chair by the bed. Before he could stop himself he reached out a gentle hand and tenderly pushed a stray dark curl from Orli’s forehead, and tears finally slipped free when the younger man cringed and whimpered in his sleep.

“It’s Viggo, Orli,” he leaned closer to softly say, not wanting to speak loudly and frighten the young man. “It’s Viggo, and I’m here. I won’t leave you, I promise.”

The sleeping form of Orli visibly relaxed, the spasm of fear that had tightened the young face easing. Orli continued to sleep, the medication he’d been given helping his battered body to find healing in the rest. Wiping at his wet cheeks Viggo turned his head slightly, not enough to look right at the detective he knew was still there, but enough to let the older man know whom he was speaking to next. “Did you catch the bastard?”

“Not yet. Mr. Bloom wasn’t exactly in a frame of mind to give us a description. I’ll be sending over a composite artist tomorrow. I want this bastard caught, Mr. Mortensen.”

Viggo nodded, a now silent rage heating his cold body. He heard the older man leave. The only sound now were the barely audible little whimpers that still trembled off of Orli’s split and swollen lips, and each one sent another icy-hot shard of deadly intent into Viggo. When the sonovabitch was found he better hope Viggo never got near him, or he’d wish he’d never been born.

“No one will ever hurt you again,” he swore to Orli. “I promise you that no one will ever hurt you again.” How could anyone want to do this to the young man? Viggo remembered the handsome young face, the dedication to his character of Legolas, the laughter and joie-de-vivre in those dark eyes, and the touchy-feely way Orli had been with them, which had told everyone how he valued them. “He’ll pay, Orli. I swear to you that that monster will pay, and pay dearly.”