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fellowshippers2003-02-25 02:07 am
truntles.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2003-02-25 02:07 am
(no subject)
Title: Lunch
Author: truntelinda (truntelinda@hotmail.com)
Author web page: http://www.livejournal.com/~trunte
Pairing: Viggo Mortensen/Orlando Bloom
Warning: angst
Rating: g
Disclaimers: this is fiction, don´t know them, didn´t happen
Feedback: yes please, be brutal
Summary: Orlando is in love and so is Viggo
Notes: Just a little something I couldn´t help but write tonight. Inspired by Viggo´s poem "Lunch" that can be found - here
Lunch
~*~
"I´m in love!!"
There´s nothing like his face when he´s happy. His eyes. The way they crinkle at the corners and chocolate brown turns into star-grazed night when he smiles so honestly. Looking at the couple that passes us, at the door he just entered from, at the table I sit at, waiting for him to sit as well and tell me he is joking. Hoping with all my heart for the last. Finally looks at me. Our eyes meet and his smile falters when I still haven´t said anything, his gaze returning to brown as he knits his brow in confusion. They express so much, his eyes. He could talk me into jumping off a cliff if he only looked at me while persuading me. If I´ll ever see him cry I am sure I will be traumatized for life.
~*~
"I admire you so much, Vig! You´re, like, my idol! My hero!" Orlando had laughed, like angels singing, when Viggo had shown him his latest painting.
"Why do you say that?" had been the shy reply, holding more hope and evidence of vulnerability than the older man wanted to admit even to himself.
"Well...you...you´re everything I want to be...you´re this amazing person that can do everything..." Orli had tried to explain with a suddenly serious expression, his smile having disappeared when a blush painted his cheeks. "...you´re perfect...you´re perfect, but you have flaws...and that makes you...perfect."
Honest eyes had wandered over tanned, weathered features to finally settle on Viggo´s and those words were the ones Viggo came to cherish most for the rest of his life, not because of which they were, but because of who the came from. The two couldn´t have been more than a foot and a half apart and Viggo had suddenly said what was in his heart for the first time in his life.
"Your eyes have stars in them when you smile...and sometimes when it rains, I think of you."
Which had turned into a poem later.
~*~
"Well, don´t just stand there. Sit down and tell me about her," I say, cringing inwardly at the thought of having to hear about this person that has managed to catch him, to stir his feelings in a way I never could and make his eyes change in that particular way. He smiles again and pulls out a chair to sit across from me. Tells me about her, the way her name rolls off this tongue, how her hair tangles when the wind is reckless. How he feels comfortable with her and doesn´t want to compare this feeling with any other he´s ever had. And I listen, because what else is there to do? I could never find it in me to stop him before he is finished talking, because I want to hear his voice forever. Because I never want to hurt his precious heart.
~*~
Orlando has never had any idea of how much his presence affects Viggo because no one´s ever told him. So you can´t blame him when he kisses Viggo´s cheek in Cannes, or when he presses too close to him for pictures, or when he shows up on Viggo´s doorstep every time he´s in LA. He doesn´t know and he hadn´t known that time he had followed the method actor into the woods of New Zealand. Neither of them had planned to get lost, but when they did, Orli had clutched Vig´s hand in clumsily hidden fear of the dark until they were back in the trailer park again. And Viggo had intentionally taken wrong turns to be able to feel Orli´s pulse beat against his own wrist for just a moment longer.
~*~
His hands are beautiful. When I can´t bear to breathe anymore, I think of his graceful hands that have touched me so many times, but never with the fire I dream of. I´ve even been so bold as to take one of them myself once or twice, usually under the cover of warming them between mine when he´s been cold. And I wish that he was cold now.
~*~
When Viggo was in New Zealand it hadn´t even crossed his mind. The camera went with him everwhere and he had taken so many pictures his trailer was flooded by them. He had his favorites, the ones that hung on his mirror in the make up trailer. Then there were the ones that he kept in old photo paper boxes and not until he came home and back to reality did he realize the system. Every box contained pictures of things that moved him in one way or another, sometimes in ways that he didn´t even understand, but that wasn´t what had him sit down on the couch heavily with realization at the ends of his fingertips.
With every picture that moved him there was one of Orlando´s hands. And looking at them made him calm. They still do. And he still doesn´t know why.
~*~
I must have a hundred pictures of his hands.
He gestures wildly as he goes on about her and I am torn between following his sparkling gaze and his moving hands. I find it so difficult. Then I smile at something he says, bitterly, but he doesn´t know that, and decide that I can´t bear to see his happiness when my heart cries, and settle my eyes on the hands that I love. They are almost still now, touching and ripping the napkin in front of him. He is quiet for a moment and I can only guess what he´s looking at, thinking of. Then he rises and walks around the table to me, his arms wrapping around me from behind and his hands are right there...so close. He whispers `thank you´ and I don´t know why. Don´t take the time to ask him. Don´t take the time to think of it. I can´t think of anything except his hands, because they hurt the least in my thoughts when he vanishes through the door and takes my heart with him.
~*~ end ~*~
Author: truntelinda (truntelinda@hotmail.com)
Author web page: http://www.livejournal.com/~trunte
Pairing: Viggo Mortensen/Orlando Bloom
Warning: angst
Rating: g
Disclaimers: this is fiction, don´t know them, didn´t happen
Feedback: yes please, be brutal
Summary: Orlando is in love and so is Viggo
Notes: Just a little something I couldn´t help but write tonight. Inspired by Viggo´s poem "Lunch" that can be found - here
Lunch
~*~
"I´m in love!!"
There´s nothing like his face when he´s happy. His eyes. The way they crinkle at the corners and chocolate brown turns into star-grazed night when he smiles so honestly. Looking at the couple that passes us, at the door he just entered from, at the table I sit at, waiting for him to sit as well and tell me he is joking. Hoping with all my heart for the last. Finally looks at me. Our eyes meet and his smile falters when I still haven´t said anything, his gaze returning to brown as he knits his brow in confusion. They express so much, his eyes. He could talk me into jumping off a cliff if he only looked at me while persuading me. If I´ll ever see him cry I am sure I will be traumatized for life.
~*~
"I admire you so much, Vig! You´re, like, my idol! My hero!" Orlando had laughed, like angels singing, when Viggo had shown him his latest painting.
"Why do you say that?" had been the shy reply, holding more hope and evidence of vulnerability than the older man wanted to admit even to himself.
"Well...you...you´re everything I want to be...you´re this amazing person that can do everything..." Orli had tried to explain with a suddenly serious expression, his smile having disappeared when a blush painted his cheeks. "...you´re perfect...you´re perfect, but you have flaws...and that makes you...perfect."
Honest eyes had wandered over tanned, weathered features to finally settle on Viggo´s and those words were the ones Viggo came to cherish most for the rest of his life, not because of which they were, but because of who the came from. The two couldn´t have been more than a foot and a half apart and Viggo had suddenly said what was in his heart for the first time in his life.
"Your eyes have stars in them when you smile...and sometimes when it rains, I think of you."
Which had turned into a poem later.
~*~
"Well, don´t just stand there. Sit down and tell me about her," I say, cringing inwardly at the thought of having to hear about this person that has managed to catch him, to stir his feelings in a way I never could and make his eyes change in that particular way. He smiles again and pulls out a chair to sit across from me. Tells me about her, the way her name rolls off this tongue, how her hair tangles when the wind is reckless. How he feels comfortable with her and doesn´t want to compare this feeling with any other he´s ever had. And I listen, because what else is there to do? I could never find it in me to stop him before he is finished talking, because I want to hear his voice forever. Because I never want to hurt his precious heart.
~*~
Orlando has never had any idea of how much his presence affects Viggo because no one´s ever told him. So you can´t blame him when he kisses Viggo´s cheek in Cannes, or when he presses too close to him for pictures, or when he shows up on Viggo´s doorstep every time he´s in LA. He doesn´t know and he hadn´t known that time he had followed the method actor into the woods of New Zealand. Neither of them had planned to get lost, but when they did, Orli had clutched Vig´s hand in clumsily hidden fear of the dark until they were back in the trailer park again. And Viggo had intentionally taken wrong turns to be able to feel Orli´s pulse beat against his own wrist for just a moment longer.
~*~
His hands are beautiful. When I can´t bear to breathe anymore, I think of his graceful hands that have touched me so many times, but never with the fire I dream of. I´ve even been so bold as to take one of them myself once or twice, usually under the cover of warming them between mine when he´s been cold. And I wish that he was cold now.
~*~
When Viggo was in New Zealand it hadn´t even crossed his mind. The camera went with him everwhere and he had taken so many pictures his trailer was flooded by them. He had his favorites, the ones that hung on his mirror in the make up trailer. Then there were the ones that he kept in old photo paper boxes and not until he came home and back to reality did he realize the system. Every box contained pictures of things that moved him in one way or another, sometimes in ways that he didn´t even understand, but that wasn´t what had him sit down on the couch heavily with realization at the ends of his fingertips.
With every picture that moved him there was one of Orlando´s hands. And looking at them made him calm. They still do. And he still doesn´t know why.
~*~
I must have a hundred pictures of his hands.
He gestures wildly as he goes on about her and I am torn between following his sparkling gaze and his moving hands. I find it so difficult. Then I smile at something he says, bitterly, but he doesn´t know that, and decide that I can´t bear to see his happiness when my heart cries, and settle my eyes on the hands that I love. They are almost still now, touching and ripping the napkin in front of him. He is quiet for a moment and I can only guess what he´s looking at, thinking of. Then he rises and walks around the table to me, his arms wrapping around me from behind and his hands are right there...so close. He whispers `thank you´ and I don´t know why. Don´t take the time to ask him. Don´t take the time to think of it. I can´t think of anything except his hands, because they hurt the least in my thoughts when he vanishes through the door and takes my heart with him.
~*~ end ~*~
no subject
Desperately wanting to write something deep and meaningful in response, but words aren't coming. I think Orlando took my heart with him as well. *nods*
Thanks for the link to Lunch. I'd not read it before. And yeah, slashiness at it's best.
no subject
*steals your heart from Orlando and gives it back*
There. ;)
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Thank you!!
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Absolutely, heart-wrenchingly beautiful.
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Thank you thank you thank you!!
*bounces more*
Wow.
Re: Wow.