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fellowshippers2006-04-01 01:15 pm
enchanteresse.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2006-04-01 01:15 pm
Flowering Words
Title: Flowering Words
Pairing: Viggo/Bean/Orlando, lotrips
Rating: PG
Note: Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
yueni for being my long suffering beta.
The fan sliced tirelessly through the humid air, even though it wasn't doing any good. Sean had turned up the air conditioning as far as it would go, the minute they stumbled through the door with the gritty sand of their long road trip still in their eyes. He swore that the trickle of air was actually a bit colder. Viggo thought he was imagining things.
Viggo didn't mind the heat; it reminded him of his childhood.
Long road trips, on the other hand, didn't fit in with his childhood memories. They had come later, when he was trying his hands at all kind of odd jobs, including acting. There was something deep and meaningful about the long winding roads and his choice of companions, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
Orlando twitched under him, then settled down again, a sleepy mumble that was almost a protest tumbling from his lips. Viggo remembered how he used to look, years ago, with sharp muscles and even sharper bones poking through his skin, how he had always wanted to show everyone the livid scar at the base of his back when he was drunk. It was during Rings of course, one of the most challenging time in their life.
Nostalgia had turned it into the most wonderful time of their life.
Right now, of course, all traces of the boy were gone from Orlando, only leaving the man behind, this startlingly beautiful man, with his muscled back and his long curly hair, riotous curls that Viggo could never have imagined back then.
Orlando made a beautiful painting. There was sweat beading up on his golden skin, smearing the letters a little. Viggo stuck out his tongue as he kept writing with the sharpie, random words slowly covering Orlando's back, turning him into a canvas.
"Viggo, fuck," Orlando mumbled, craning his neck as far as possible to see his own back.
Sean was lying on the other side, Orlando the island separating the two of them, watching Viggo at work with an interested expression. His eyes were still liquid green, something that Viggo always associated with sex and it made him ache a little, all over again, even though they were all sated.
Peace, he wrote, then doodled the symbol, right at the vulnerable hollow of Orlando's spine. Solamente, he wrote near Orlando's hip. This time, the younger man twitched all over, as if the sharpie had just found a ticklish spot.
"Oh god, that just feels weird," Orlando said, settling down again.
Viggo knew that without the heat and the way the sheets were sticking to Orlando's naked body, the younger man wouldn't lie still for it. He was almost tempted to write a poem, but he knew himself too well: it wouldn't come out right the first time, or the twentieth time and he couldn't spend hours making corrections and striking out words.
Sean leaned closer lazily, contemplated the few Spanish words that were being born on Orlando's skin, words that were destined to die later on when Orlando finally moved from his cocoon of sheets and sweat and semen to have a shower. The words would slide down his skin to trickle into the drain, mixing with the water, maybe running deep into the ground to get lost into the parched desert.
"Write something dirty," Sean said, the corner of his eyes crinkling up, like they always did when he was happy.
"I'm writing something dirty," Viggo said, busy writing the word love in several languages, French, Spanish, Danish, everything but English, all chasing each other across Orlando's back.
"It's like little ants running all over my back," Orlando mumbled, burying his face into the mattress.
"Hush now," Sean said, carefully smoothing his hand over the one hip that was still free of writing.
Viggo loved this moment, loved the way Sean's eyes were running along with the words, the way his fingers were tracing a little sketch on Orlando's skin, obviously begging to be let in on the fun. Viggo managed to make another sharpie appear from nowhere, like he sometimes made condoms appear in the most unlikely places: the cuntebago, the back of PJ's car, anonymous hotel rooms in the middle of Las Vegas. Sean laughed.
"You crazy fucker," he said with all the affection of the world.
Viggo didn't dare think of it as love.
Orlando turned his head to look at Sean, as if he was on the verge of protesting this time, but Sean was already doodling something on his hip, something that looked like a flower. Orlando slowly relaxed back into the bed, as if he didn't really have the heart to start bitching and moaning.
"Oh god," Orlando quietly said, shivering all over.
The pens were now randomly adding words and pictures on his back, Sean and Viggo trading ideas back and forth, Viggo doing a picture, Sean daring to write down a word, even though he always claimed he didn't understand poetry, only drawing. Viggo always knew that Sean understood poetry just fine, since the first day they met.
They leaned closer to each other, like bridges over the island that was Orlando and the younger man was moaning as if they were coaxing an orgasm out of his skin.
"Oh god, keep doing that," Orlando said, his voice breaking, toes curling into the faded bedspread.
Viggo drew a little heart on Orlando's shoulder blade. Sean leaned closer to write down their initials, his and Viggo's initials, then pierced them with Cupid's arrow.
Sean looked up from his work, grinning. He abruptly reached over Orlando, grabbing Viggo by the back of his neck to reel him in. He kissed him hungrily, tongue plundering , drawing a gasp from Viggo's chest.
Viggo was dimly aware that Orlando had twisted around to watch them as they kept kissing over him, smearing their words on the white sheets.
Pairing: Viggo/Bean/Orlando, lotrips
Rating: PG
Note: Thanks to
yueni for being my long suffering beta.The fan sliced tirelessly through the humid air, even though it wasn't doing any good. Sean had turned up the air conditioning as far as it would go, the minute they stumbled through the door with the gritty sand of their long road trip still in their eyes. He swore that the trickle of air was actually a bit colder. Viggo thought he was imagining things.
Viggo didn't mind the heat; it reminded him of his childhood.
Long road trips, on the other hand, didn't fit in with his childhood memories. They had come later, when he was trying his hands at all kind of odd jobs, including acting. There was something deep and meaningful about the long winding roads and his choice of companions, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
Orlando twitched under him, then settled down again, a sleepy mumble that was almost a protest tumbling from his lips. Viggo remembered how he used to look, years ago, with sharp muscles and even sharper bones poking through his skin, how he had always wanted to show everyone the livid scar at the base of his back when he was drunk. It was during Rings of course, one of the most challenging time in their life.
Nostalgia had turned it into the most wonderful time of their life.
Right now, of course, all traces of the boy were gone from Orlando, only leaving the man behind, this startlingly beautiful man, with his muscled back and his long curly hair, riotous curls that Viggo could never have imagined back then.
Orlando made a beautiful painting. There was sweat beading up on his golden skin, smearing the letters a little. Viggo stuck out his tongue as he kept writing with the sharpie, random words slowly covering Orlando's back, turning him into a canvas.
"Viggo, fuck," Orlando mumbled, craning his neck as far as possible to see his own back.
Sean was lying on the other side, Orlando the island separating the two of them, watching Viggo at work with an interested expression. His eyes were still liquid green, something that Viggo always associated with sex and it made him ache a little, all over again, even though they were all sated.
Peace, he wrote, then doodled the symbol, right at the vulnerable hollow of Orlando's spine. Solamente, he wrote near Orlando's hip. This time, the younger man twitched all over, as if the sharpie had just found a ticklish spot.
"Oh god, that just feels weird," Orlando said, settling down again.
Viggo knew that without the heat and the way the sheets were sticking to Orlando's naked body, the younger man wouldn't lie still for it. He was almost tempted to write a poem, but he knew himself too well: it wouldn't come out right the first time, or the twentieth time and he couldn't spend hours making corrections and striking out words.
Sean leaned closer lazily, contemplated the few Spanish words that were being born on Orlando's skin, words that were destined to die later on when Orlando finally moved from his cocoon of sheets and sweat and semen to have a shower. The words would slide down his skin to trickle into the drain, mixing with the water, maybe running deep into the ground to get lost into the parched desert.
"Write something dirty," Sean said, the corner of his eyes crinkling up, like they always did when he was happy.
"I'm writing something dirty," Viggo said, busy writing the word love in several languages, French, Spanish, Danish, everything but English, all chasing each other across Orlando's back.
"It's like little ants running all over my back," Orlando mumbled, burying his face into the mattress.
"Hush now," Sean said, carefully smoothing his hand over the one hip that was still free of writing.
Viggo loved this moment, loved the way Sean's eyes were running along with the words, the way his fingers were tracing a little sketch on Orlando's skin, obviously begging to be let in on the fun. Viggo managed to make another sharpie appear from nowhere, like he sometimes made condoms appear in the most unlikely places: the cuntebago, the back of PJ's car, anonymous hotel rooms in the middle of Las Vegas. Sean laughed.
"You crazy fucker," he said with all the affection of the world.
Viggo didn't dare think of it as love.
Orlando turned his head to look at Sean, as if he was on the verge of protesting this time, but Sean was already doodling something on his hip, something that looked like a flower. Orlando slowly relaxed back into the bed, as if he didn't really have the heart to start bitching and moaning.
"Oh god," Orlando quietly said, shivering all over.
The pens were now randomly adding words and pictures on his back, Sean and Viggo trading ideas back and forth, Viggo doing a picture, Sean daring to write down a word, even though he always claimed he didn't understand poetry, only drawing. Viggo always knew that Sean understood poetry just fine, since the first day they met.
They leaned closer to each other, like bridges over the island that was Orlando and the younger man was moaning as if they were coaxing an orgasm out of his skin.
"Oh god, keep doing that," Orlando said, his voice breaking, toes curling into the faded bedspread.
Viggo drew a little heart on Orlando's shoulder blade. Sean leaned closer to write down their initials, his and Viggo's initials, then pierced them with Cupid's arrow.
Sean looked up from his work, grinning. He abruptly reached over Orlando, grabbing Viggo by the back of his neck to reel him in. He kissed him hungrily, tongue plundering , drawing a gasp from Viggo's chest.
Viggo was dimly aware that Orlando had twisted around to watch them as they kept kissing over him, smearing their words on the white sheets.
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That's just lovely
♥
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Wonderful.
And sexy as hell. ;D
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*contented sigh*