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[capt-daisyshine.livejournal.com]

Title: As Simple as That
Author: Captain Daisyshine (haveyouseenbean@yahoo.com)
Pairing: VigOrli
Rating: NC-17
Series: Dunno yet.
Summary: Misunderstanding, sigh. Orli loves Viggo and very much wants to sleep with him, so, unsure of Viggo’s reaction, he instead sleeps with everyone else. Because that makes sense. Can they make things right?
Warnings: Round up the usual suspects: smut, angst, fluff, my pathetic attempts at humor, more smut.
Disclaimer: I disclaim.
Archive: If you want it, come and claim it. Just drop me a line, yeah?
Feedback: makes me do the no-pants dance.
Notes: *Lyrics from “Jack of All Parades” by Elvis Costello. *Unbeta’d; all mistakes are my own. *Jeez, I’d forgotten how rough third-person past-tense is for slash. But my Viggo-voice is as yet untested, and my Orli-voice is too bouncy for this particular fic. Hope it all still works.
Dedication: *matan4il, because she happened to read one of my old stories today and leave me a comment. And also because I miss her and mean to distract her further from her studies. *Razzberry Snugglecakes, as I’ve not had anything to dedicate to her in a long while. *Caitlin: here’s to getting some (non-drunken) ass!



When we first met,
I didn’t know what to do.
My old love lines
Were all worn out on you,
And the world walked round my mouth.
I didn’t mean to say it;
I just blurted it out,
And you pretended not to notice
Or be taken aback,
But I loved you there and then;
It’s as simple as that.
Oh I was everybody’s boy,
But soon that thrill just fades–
To be the love of one true heart
Or the Jack of all parades?

Orlando Bloom was a fucking idiot. Or so he kept telling himself. For one thing, Viggo was nearly twenty years older. For another, the man had been married. He was probably straight, right? So the bedroom-eyed boy from Britain had thrown himself into casual, fun, meaningless sex with fellow members of the cast. First it was Dom. Dom was funny, generous, and fantastic in bed. But then Dom had decided that he wanted something a bit more serious than the fling Orlando was offering and had gone and gotten cosy with Billy. So Orlando had moved on to ’Lijah. Lij had been very enthusiastic at first, but then he had decided that the whole ‘sex-with-men’ thing was just a phase, and he found a nice blond local girl to fool around with. Then came Liv, but she was engaged, and even Orlando, with his oft-MIA conscience, had felt guilty and called it off. A string of short-lived affairs with various and sundry friends had followed, many during the same time frame, but no matter how many people he slept with, none of them was Viggo.

Orlando thought back to his first meeting with the older actor. He’d been utterly overwhelmed. Viggo Mortensen was an incredibly beautiful man, after all, and Orlando hadn’t had any clue of what to say. Every line, every conversation starter, ever bit of trivial information he’d ever known sounded tired and shabby when he thought about using it on Viggo. So he’d politely shaken the large, long-fingered hand and introduced himself, not saying another word.

Several months had gone by since then, but Orlando was hardly any more at ease around the other man. Finding, predictably, that alcohol greatly lowered his inhibitions, the young Brit had purposely invited Viggo along to the bar as many nights as possible. One night, however, an especially inebriated Orli had leaned over and kissed the American full on the mouth and said, “I love you” loudly enough for Viggo’s ears alone, and they both knew he had meant it. Viggo played it off as if he had no idea how true it was, and he laughed and pretended it hadn’t meant anything more than that Orlando was a bit excessively drunk, and soon Orlando learned to treat the incident in the same manner. Lately, though, it wasn’t enough just to be Viggo’s friend, Viggo’s confidante, Viggo’s partner-in-crime. But he kept quiet about his feelings. Orlando Bloom was not about to let himself be that vulnerable to another person.

Why, then, was he going to Viggo’s place for dinner? He could have easily turned down the invitation and given some lame excuse about being overtired, but he didn’t want to turn down the invitation. He liked one-on-one time with Viggo, no matter how much it hurt to know that his affections would never be returned. And so he had put on blue jeans and a burgundy button-down and walked over to Viggo’s. Now, here he was, standing on the front porch, nervous as a cat at the vet’s. He knocked softly on the door.

“Just a minute!” he heard the other man call from within. Then the door opened, and Orlando stepped inside, into Viggo’s warm, friendly embrace. He allowed the American to hold him for longer than usual before drawing away uneasily. He smiled shakily as he was waved further into the house. Upon entering the dining room, Orlando felt his jaw go slightly slack. The lights were dimmed, candles illuminating the table instead. The table itself was covered with a fine red cloth, laden with several exotic-looking dishes, and set for two, wine glasses included. The younger man turned to stare at his host, confusion and warmth warring in his eyes.

“Why?” he asked quietly. Only later would he recall the sadness the question had produced in the older man’s face.

“Just because,” Viggo answered with a shrug, careless manner belying the sharp misery so evident in tightly drawn features and gently sagging shoulders. Then: “Sit, Orli.”

Orli sat, scrupulously obedient if rather tense.

Dinner passed quickly, the initial awkwardness of the two friends giving way to companionable discussion. Before either realised it, nearly two hours had gone by. Glimpsing his watch, Orlando panicked.

“Shit, I had better get going,” he said, a hint of apology in his voice. He rose from the table, picked up his plate, and was about to carry it into the kitchen when Viggo gently laid a hand on his arm.

“Wait–” (voice filled with timidity and tears) “stay, Orlando. Please.” The American looked at his guest with longing and sadness in his eyes. “Don’t go.” The older man raised a hand to the other’s cheek and stroked it lightly with the backs of his fingers. The Brit looked as if he might cry at any moment.

“Why do you want me to stay?” he asked in a breathless whisper, leaning into the tender touch of his friend’s hand and setting his plate down on the table.

Viggo bent his head forward. “Because,” he murmured against the warmth of the younger man’s neck, “I’m sick of watching you throw yourself at everything that moves.” He dropped his voice to a low growl. “I want you for mine.” Orlando shivered and, trembling, wrapped his arms around the other man.

“Why didn’t you say anything? All this time, and I was only trying to forget that I loved you,” Orlando sighed.

“Oh God, I’ve been so stupid,” Viggo said, raising his head to look into Orlando’s eyes as he spoke. “I was so scared... I thought that if I didn’t let myself get involved with you, neither of us would get hurt.” He laughed then, if bitterly and ironically. “I fucked that one up, huh?”

The younger man made a strangled sort of noise halfway between a sob and a barking laugh. “You’re not the only one who fucked things up. Instead of trying to talk to you, I just let myself be everybody’s boy and slept with all of my friends. It’s a quick-fading thrill, and there’s nothing like playing the trollop to leave you feeling cheap and degraded.” He laughed, but it was a harsh, grating sound, and his voice was heavy with tears. The two men looked at one another, not speaking, for several moments. Then, an almost imperceptible shift of Orli’s hips and Viggo moaned, low and throaty, and crushed their lips together, one hand on Orlando’s shoulder and the other twining into the hair at the top of his head.

When they drew apart for air, the Brit whimpered and pushed his lower body forward. “Viggo,” he breathed, “I need–” But here he was cut off by the other man’s lips, which caught his in a bruising, passionate kiss. Orlando allowed himself to be kissed thoroughly, allowed Viggo’s tongue to slip into his mouth and fully explore it, allowed himself to be held and cherished and fawned over, allowed the tears that had welled up in his eyes to fall like so many drops of rain. Thus far, he had been merely submitting to the older man’s wordless requests, but now he began to truly return the kiss and with such fervour that Viggo groaned his approval.

“Bed?” Orli whispered. The American did not answer, merely led the younger man back toward the bedroom, kissing some exposed part of him at every opportunity. Then they were standing beside the bed, and Viggo pressed his lips to the patch of skin left naked by the unbuttoned collar of Orlando’s shirt. Orli moaned as he felt his cock harden in anticipation, and he lost no time in divesting Viggo of his shirt. He felt hands fumbling at his waist, struggling to undo his belt buckle, and he gave Viggo a hand, shoving his trousers down his long tanned thighs and stepping out of his socks and shoes, so that he was wearing nothing but a pair of satiny, cherry-red briefs.

When he looked up again, Viggo was standing before him, naked and very blatantly aroused. Orli stood slowly, drinking in the painfully sexy sight that met his eyes. He quirked an eyebrow at Viggo’s impressive size. Viggo saw the look and merely shrugged self-effacingly. Orlando felt one corner of his mouth being tugged up into a grin. Viggo took a step forward, leaned in, kissed the edge of the smirk on the Brit’s face. Orli’s breath caught in his throat when he felt the pressure at groin level. Jesus. Now it was Viggo’s turn to grin.

Orli took a step back, feeling very much like a recent electroshock therapy patient. Something– or no, everything– about the American sent a thrill up his spine.

The older man leered slightly. “On the bed, face down,” he said, and Orli complied, gripping the bedposts in both hands. He felt Viggo lower himself over him, felt Viggo’s dick poking him in the thigh, felt Viggo’s lips sucking softly on his right shoulder, felt Viggo’s fingers sliding under the elastic of his briefs.

“Unnnh,” he moaned into the pillow. Viggo moved up his body somewhat and purred into his ear.

“God, Orli, I’ve been wanting to get my hands on this sweet little ass for months. And now I’m going to fuck you into the mattress, fuck you until you start screaming your own name.”

“That a threat or a promise?” Orlando managed to choke out, rather distracted by the positively sinful images his brain was conjuring. Viggo only chuckled enigmatically and bent low to mouth Orli’s balls through the cloth of his underwear. He allowed saliva to pool in his mouth, kissing the Brit open-mouthed between his legs, and Orlando writhed and whimpered. Then Viggo drew the fabric aside and licked a slow trail down the crack of the younger man’s ass.

“Holy hell!” Orli cried, his hips jerking suddenly and reflexively upward. “Jesus, Vig, fuck me already! I want you to ram your huge cock up my ass until I can taste your cum in my throat.” He heard the sharp gasp from Viggo and continued. “God, I bet you know how to do it right. I bet you could fuck me into next Friday if you wanted. I bet–” Orli felt the hand clamp over his mouth and smirked into it.

A few moments later, something slick probed his entrance, and Viggo’s finger slid smoothly inside him, curled teasingly. Another finger joined it, and stretched him ever so slightly. The hand was still pressed heavily over his mouth, leaving him mute. He felt the American’s fingers leave his body, and he felt briefly bereft.

Soon enough, however, the emptiness was filled by Viggo’s hard, thick cock, and Orli felt himself inhaling desperately through his nose, seemingly unable to fill his lungs with air. Viggo stayed still inside him momentarily and leaned down to growl inches from his ear, “I’m going to take my hand off your mouth now, and I want you to scream for me. I want you to say your own name, and mine, and any other name that comes to mind, but mostly I just want to hear how good this feels.” Orlando nodded fervently and felt his mouth uncovered. He dragged the air into his lungs, but Viggo chose that moment to draw back and slam into him, and he still could not catch his breath. He groaned loudly.

“Jesus– fuck– ohhh!”

“You feel good, Orli, so tight and hot.” The Brit moaned and cried out as Viggo struck his prostate repeatedly with his thrusts. “Good boy. Now I want to hear your name in that filthy accent of yours.”

Orlando panted raggedly and gave a little moan of distress as Viggo slowed his pace, determined to drag it out or him. Damn, Vig was thorough. “Orr–” he tried, interrupting himself with a gasp. “Orrrrlanddo,” he ground out, and Viggo rewarded him with an open-mouthed kiss to his jawline and increased the pace of his thrusts, thrilling to the brush of satin up and down his cock as he pushed in and out past Orli’s so-soft briefs.

“So nice,” he said, with a little hitch in his voice as Orlando’s internal muscles gave his cock a squeeze. “Now, I’m gonna really fuck you hard, and I don’t want you to hold anything back.” Orli whimpered his assent.

Viggo rammed into him hard.

“GodfuckinghellChristJesusshitViggo!” Orlando screamed. “You’re so fucking big!”

Viggo growled deep in his chest and pushed up on his elbows, using the additional leverage to speed his thrusts.

“I can’t– hold out, Vig.”

“Then. Don’t. Try.” Each word punctuated by a toe-curling thrust into Orli’s tight little ass.

“Ohhhhh. Hurry, Vig!” Orli pushed himself up onto his knees slightly, face still pressed into the pillow and hands gripping the bedposts, and Viggo reached around and slid a hand under the edge of his briefs and grabbed his throbbing cock with a slippery hand. “That– feels... unhhh... so good,” he panted as the hand slid up and down his aching length.

Viggo moaned softly. “Come with me, Orli, baby. Please.” The last a hoarse whisper as Viggo slammed into his lover’s body over and over.

“Viggo!” Orli screamed as he came, body clamping down on Viggo’s cock, and Viggo, too, wailed his release.

They collapsed, sweaty and noodle-limbed, onto the bed. Both were silent for a few minutes. Then Viggo rolled off of Orlando onto the tangled, damp sheets. Orli rolled onto his back.

“Jesus, Vig, I think I just shot my brains out through my dick,” Orli whined. “And my underwear is ruined.”

Viggo smirked wickedly at him, one eyebrow quirked.

“Oh, sod off, you bastard.”

Viggo beamed.

“All right, if I admit that was the best I’ve ever had, will you stop looking at me like you’re going to eat me for dessert?”

“I thought that was the plan?” Viggo queried innocently.

“Guhhh,” Orlando groaned. “I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to get it up again.” Viggo cocked his head to one side. “Okay,” Orli conceded, “but not for another few hours.” Viggo rose to his knees and straddled his lover’s waist, pulling off the soiled garment with practised ease. Then he leaned forward to kiss the Brit. He licked at the seam of Orlando’s lips until they parted for him. He allowed his tongue to explore the younger man’s mouth, lapping at the inside of his cheek. After a prolonged makeout session, they drew apart.

“Mmmm. You taste good,” Viggo said, licking his lips slowly.

Orlando shot him a surfeited, lazily suggestive grin. Viggo began to move lower down Orlando’s body, watching his eyes all the while. As Viggo pressed a kiss to the head of his lover’s soft cock, Orlando had to look away. He felt his blood stirring again.

“Viggo?” Viggo raised his head from the task at hand. “There’s something I forgot to tell you.”

Viggo slides up next to his beautiful young lover. “Oh yeah?”

Orlando bestows upon him the most chaste of kisses. “Yeah.” Another kiss, this one dirty and desperate. “I love you.”

They smile like idiots at one another. “I love you, too, Orli.”

“Good.” A needy push of groin to groin. “Now, where were we?”