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TITLE: Polygonal
AUTHOR: Maidenvixen
ORIGINAL STORY: Geometry by Novanumbernine
PAIRING: Orlando/Dominic
DISCLAIMER: This story is not true, and never was. It is a manipulated version of another authors work.




He stared into the mirror.
He saw what others saw.
He saw himself.

They'd said Greek, maybe Italian?
She'd said over-baked boy from the rainy side of town.
He said thank you, I'm my mothers' boy.

The mirror didn't say anything.
It just stood, aligned perfectly to the man knelt in front of it.
Not lying.



He supposed that's what he was doing - getting the truth, but the harder he looked the less he saw of himself and a nameless man was eyeing him back. He wasn't vain, no no, not I, just curious. Reflective surfaces played games with him, chased him: he just wanted to know what everyone else saw. He just saw He. He knew they thought him vain (he has reason to be), maybe I am, he pondered tilting his head you go left, I go right. But if I am, so's He.

He liked the man in the mirror. He'd stared so long that his name had disappeared and someone nice was passively staring at him. He drifted his eyes over the reflection. Pretty curls, dark deep eyes, his lips look warm.

I want to touch him.

The sheer honesty of his thought should have shocked him, maybe made Orlando feel weird but a hand, his hand drifted lazily under his tee and he drifted a finger-light touch over awaiting skin.


He knew the door was slightly ajar. He knew it was further than slightly now. At the point where his hands became alive and wanting, undoing his belt, teasing at the denim over his crouch, Orlando became aware. He, however, didn't hear the deepening breath in the background, no - He heard the re-runs of Seinfield, the fridges low hum and the air-con. But Orlando was used to filtering that out. And Orlando wanted to hear this. He let the hands continue to free his body. Focus lost on the voyeur, he strokes him(self?) lightly before removing the offending tee. Who. He leans forward, to rid of the t-shirt and the man is unmasked. Should he be told? Orlando eyes flicker from the watcher to his reflection. Orlando again. He's gone. In small movements he adjusts the mirror and a flash catches the man and momentarily he's blinded, knowing nothing but the solid truth that Orlando makes sure is clear: "Dominic."


Dominic's caught.

Doesn't care.

Seeing stars.

True beauty.

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