Cherish

Viggo was startled to see the tall Kiwi at his door. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I came to concede defeat. You won, and I hope the two of you rot in hell. Sorry I can’t be a graceful loser, but it’s kind of beyond me right now. Maybe in ten or twenty years I’ll find it my broken heart to forgive you.”

When the younger dark haired man turned to leave Viggo caught at his arm to halt him, his brows knitted together in a deep scowl. “Where’s David?”

“Low blow, Vig. Even for you,” Karl thickly whispered, torment in his eyes.

“He went looking for you this afternoon.”

“What the bloody hell for? He got what he wanted with you. He said you let him be the male during sex.” Karl snorted. “Quite the departure for you, Vig. You hate playing the bitch.”

“Fuck you,” Viggo turned away, sympathy for the man dwindling. “I was drunk.”

“You held me off when you were drunk,” Karl reminded. “I thought turn about was fair play and our second roll around the bed it would be your ass burning, but you wouldn’t have it. Drink didn’t weaken you then.” Head tilting he peered quizzically at the older man. “So why give David that meaningful pleasure after all this time?”

“David asked me if I loved him, and I said I could say it, but not mean it.” Viggo prepared a canvas, keeping his back to his unwanted guest. “He said you hated him, but I told him if you loved him you’d forgive him. I assume he went straight to your hotel.”

“I checked out,” Karl told him. “I couldn’t stand to be in the same suite as where I laid my heart bare to him.”

“Then I’m sure the set would have told him where to find you,” Viggo shrugged.

A hitch made Karl’s chest ache, and his breath catch. “I finished filming yesterday.” ‘Oh bloody hell!’ he thought, eyes widening with the realization. He didn’t ask to use the phone, but went to it and dialed David’s. There was no answer except for a recorded message from the phone company announcing that the number he dialed is no longer in service.

Viggo blatantly watched as the man paled and hung up. “Any chance he figured you went home?”

Hope flared in Karl’s breast. Going to Viggo he planted a hard grateful kiss on his lips, and then rushed out. Viggo tossed his brush aside. “I’m starting to hate goodbye kisses.” He wondered what Craig or Orlando was up to lately?

Karl went to the new hotel he’d checked into, packed his things, and checked out. The clerk was startled, wondering if the actor had been disappointed with their service, but was told that an emergency called him away. He had a four-hour wait at the airport, and it chafed at him greatly. Unable to sit still he paced, and his mind kept running over all scenarios of success and failure about finding David. It was driving him quite mad. And after a lengthy flight he still had to try find that wonderful and loving redheaded Aussie.


No answer. The lights were all off, and there obviously hadn’t been anyone here in a while. David sat on the stoop, feeling defeated. Could Karl have flown elsewhere to film in another country? Why hadn’t he considered that before rushing home to pack, call movers to pack up everything he owned in his apartment and store it, and cancel his phone service, and other utilities? Why did he behave so bloody impulsive? He wasn’t some lovesick teen being led about by the hormones, for crike sakes!

With a groan of anger he pushed to his feet and picked up his duffel bag. It was ort ort walk to the busy area of the city, and David went into the first hotel he saw and checked in. He was so bloody tired. All he wanted was to fall into bed and sleep for forty-eight hours, shower and eat, and then… ‘Then what?’ he wondered, glancing at the bed in the room. ‘Go where? I paid off the rent due on the lease in the States, and I have nowhere to go now.’

“There’s always back home,” he said aloud. Australia. Maybe he could get some small acting part in an Aussie show, and forget all about Viggo and Karl. “Right, and when I get home the desert will be flooded and no one will ever mention the word ‘barbi’.” With a snort he fell on the bed. “I’m so bloody tired.” A loud and jaw cracking yawn blurred his vision. Funny thing, though, the vision remained blurred, and his cheeks felt damp as sleep overtook him.

He was dreaming. He wasn’t sure where he was at first, only that he was floating on a raft, water everywhere for as far as the eye could see. It seemed forever that he floated, feeling as though he was getting nowhere. “Where the bloody hell am I?”

“Floating on the water.”

The sound of another voice made David twirl on the raft, and his jaw fell open in surprise to see a croc barbecuing on another raft. It stood on its short hind legs, and in one short front leg was a barbecue fork. It was calmly flipping some kind of food, and the smell had David’s stomach growling in hungry protest. “Did-did you just talk?”

The elongated green snout turned towards him, and the toothy opening curled up in a grotesque smile. “Of course I did, David. Did you think it was the food on the grill?”

“Grill? Not a barbi?” he queried, startled once more.

“We don’t say that word here anymore,” the croc told him.

“I’m in bloody Australia,” David sighed. “So, this is the desert, is it?”

“You had to ask? This is your dream, after all.”

“So I’m over Viggo and Karl?”

The croc laughed, its long head thrown back, and those protruding eyes blinking shut. It made David shiver to see it. All lif life he’d been taught how dangerous these animals were. “If you can still say their names then you’re not over them.”

“I’d like to think that someday I can talk about them without it hurting,” the Aussie argued.

“But it still hurts, doesn’t it? I can tell. Your chest,” the croc nodded down to David’s chest.

Glancing down David saw his shirt covered in blood, and he leapt in surprise, ripping it open to examine the wound. He could see his heart, cracked and bleeding. Pain suddenly tore through him. Doubling him over and making him curl into a whimpering ball on the raft. Lifting a pleading hand he tried to call for help, but the raft carrying the grilling croc was now far away.

A raft was nearing, and David held out a hand in a silent plea for aid. His tearing blue eyes kept blinking to clear his vision. Karl was on the raft. “I told you I loved you, and you chose Viggo,” he accused. “I gave you everything you wanted, everything he wasn’t, and you chose him over me.”

“I’m sorry,” the redhead croaked, letting the tears blur his vision. “Forgive me, Karl. I’m so sorry.”

“Spare me, mate. Besides, after you left Viggo he needed some comforting so now we’re together.”

“What?” Wiping at his eyes David saw that a naked Viggo hugged Karl from behind, letting his hands roam freely over the clothed body of the Kiwi. “No, you can’t do this.”

“Why not? Viggo drunk is quite persistent.”

David now noticed the bottle that Viggo tipped to his lips to take a deep pull of some alcoholic beverage. Then both men shared one hell of a steamy kiss, David clearly seeing their tongues meet and play before their lips fused together. One of Viggo’s hands curled down over the bulge in Karl’s pants, squeezing gently and eliciting a delighted moan from the Kiwi. David didn’t want to see this, but he couldn’t turn away, couldn’t avert his gaze.

“If you didn’t need love so damn much this could be you,” Viggo told him before sliding down Karl’s body and opening his mouth to take the swollen length of his cock in his mouth.

David’s eyes flew open, and he lay over the covers of the bed, panting. Rolling onto his back he pressed the heels of his hands hard into his burning eyes, his mouth open slightly so he could draw in deep pulls of air until his heart calmed. “Bloody fucking hell,” he croaked, arms falling to his sides. “I hate dreams.”