fellowshippers | FIC: Accidentally. In Love. V/O

I apologise, if I already posted this one here last year or so. This fic was written for the August 2005 Challenge on VOLA_Group and actually is the winner of the challenge *blushes*. Hope you all will enjoy it too. Please leave me a comment, if you liked. Thank you very much.

Title: Accidentally. In Love...

Author: ocko_okate (ocko_okate yahoo.com)

Beta: Piper

Pairing: Viggo/Orlando

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimers: I don´t know Orlando Bloom or Viggo Mortensen and am in no way connected to them. This is purely a work of fiction and written for fun.

Author´s Notes: Uhmmm...*reads the story again, scratches head in wonder* Yes, well, where were we? Right! This is supposed to be a challenge story inspired by the song Beautiful Disaster from Kelly Clarkson. Like really... Just there isn´t one single word from the lyrics. But give it a try, please.

Feedback: Leave me a comment if you liked it, please? Thank you.

***Sometime early in the morning...***

...FIVE...

Sitting on the balcony in his favorite deck chair Viggo enjoys the only part of the day when the whole house is completely quiet. Which truly doesn´t happen very often in this place.

...FOUR...

But the book of poetry he is reading is exceptionally good, the cup of tea at his right hand is freshly made and the palm growing outside the balcony is making him wonderful company.

...THREE...

His bare feet are propped up on a nearby stool, the toes sun themselves in a random strip of sunlight. And there is no porcelain around. Life is good indeed.

...TWO...

Well, porcelain or not, with every next day passing he is more and more glad that he came to spend his vacation here. His reflexes have never been better than now and he even doesn´t have to practice yoga anymore.

...ONE...

The weather is again wonderful today. It´s a pleasant August morning, warm and sunny, already looking like it´s going to be another hot day. An uneventful, quiet and completely ordinary day like all the others before.

...THUD...

Stretching his right arm out of the balcony he doesn´t bother to interrupt his lecture. A flower pot lands in his hand... Again.

This time it´s a quite pretty one, hand-decorated and made of fine china. And there is a lovely red pelargonium planted in it. Probably one of Mrs. Dove´s better ones. She will be glad, he can say that for sure, cause she was already getting a bit edgy in the past days.

He keeps reading, barely putting the pot away on a nearby desk.

It is going to be a completely usual day indeed.

***Later the same day...***

„CRASH“

The sound of glass splittering, loud curses and „OWs“, feet hopping around on the floor somewhere over his head.

Must be the vase which Mrs. Dove placed yesterday so haphazardly on the patio in the first floor. Well, at least now she doesn´t have to worry about dusting it off once in a week.

Hasty footsteps on the staircase and only moments later a second, quieter „BANG“. He can´t place where this one could come from.

And finally - The sound of the main door closing accompanied by a muffled shatter of glass.

Viggo had just finished reading the book and enjoys a quiet moment, a bit lost in his thoughts. Most of them lately seem to involve a pair of permanently confused brown eyes, sinfully bronzed limbs that never seem to be still and one delicious but very abused lower lip. And lots of china of course...

Taking his notebook and pencils, camera hanging around his neck, he decides to take a nice walk along the sea. Knocking at Mrs. Dove´s door in passing, he leaves the rescued flower pot in front of her door.

Making his way out of the house he thoughtfully picks up the remainings of what once probably was some sort of decorative china.

Hmm, he can only guess the previous form.

Last week it was a little dancing ballerina, which he recognized only by a severed leg. Two days ago there was a rather ugly lamp that probably deserved its fate anyway.

And today...Hmm, wait, yes, today it is a porcelain dog, what a cute little canine. And there still is another one sitting on the mantelpiece in the hall. Wonder for how long.

It is one of Mrs. Dove rare flaws of judgement - her undying passion for decorating the house with all sorts of chinaware, from lofty vases to baroque statues. There isn´t one single surface in the whole house which wouldn´t suffer from being occupied by some fanciful trinket mostly accompanied by an embroidered table-cloth.

And while it might have been fashionable or even practical in the past, Viggo is sure that the events of the late slowly started to change her opinion. For his part, he has never seen so much broken porcelain before as he saw these days.

And the milk bottle didn´t make it either today. Must be one of the bouncier days....

***In the afternoon...***

„SWOOSH“

He turns with an ease gained through endless practice. Right in time to catch a rather full tea pot swishing in his direction after being swept off from another table. Well, at least it´s my favorite sort, Viggo thinks happily while balancing it and promptly pours himself a cup.

There is a crash to hear and then a tray loaded with various kinds of vegetarian food lands in front of him barely missing his cup of tea. Now, the salad could be to his liking but tofu definitely doesn´t belong to his favorites.

He thoughtfully watches as a couple of tables away a tall lanky body disentangles from various dangerous pieces of furniture which can be found only in a restaurant. Such as chairs. Bewildering, isn´t it?

A shadow literally bounces upon him in some perky lively manner. A display of jiggling curls, bird-like poise and long confused limbs shifts in the field of his vision looking far more tasty than any food and Viggo decides on what he would like for dinner.

„There is my dinner in front of you.“ An enchantingly clueless voice informs him while taking the tray away, big brown eyes gazing at Viggo like trying to figure out the mystery of moving chairs.

„No“, Viggo groans silently as he watches the oblivious beauty retreating away from him. „There is MY dinner in front of me.“

***Sometime in between...***

„You´re a strange man.“ White teeth nibble on a musli bar as a pair of wide chocolate eyes regards him thoughtfully.

Lovely feet stuck in flimsy sandals cutely tripple down the stairs. The delicious lithe body is encased only in a pair of bright swim trunks and a white top. The preoccupied hands holding a large towel and a musli bar at one time try to regain balance as one bouncy foot shifts away from a loose sandal.

„Yes, I know.“ Viggo agrees, balancing an armful of gardines and one dangerously shifting vase in his hands. He warily eyes the potted plant right behind the lively bag of puppies, now bending down at the end of the stairs, silently hoping for a miracle. Which never happens.

„SWOOSH“

The potted plant silently changes its place of existence, luckily landing in one piece.

„Why is there suddenly a ficus in your hands?“ The sandal is back again, toes still wiggling a bit around as the bouncy deliciousness makes its way to the door, confusedly leaving for the beach.

„Just because.“ Viggo hastily deposits the contents of his arms on a nearby couch, watching from the window as the big towel flies through the air landing on one very startled citizen.

„Just because.“

Because Viggo Mortensen is a patient man.

As the days of his vacation go on, he quietly watches an array of various things fall, crush, fly through the air, getting sat on, destroyed, misplaced and being stumbled upon.

He patiently listens to Mrs. Dove´s hushed complaints during every tea time and after two weeks gone, he still catches forlorn flower pots as easily as on day one.

***But sometimes...***

„Oh, for god´s sake, please do something, Mr. Mortensen!“ Coming to stand beside him, Mrs. Dove whispers in distress. She clasps her hands hopelessly, exactly like the heroines in oldtime dramas do. And well, right now she is looking very much like one too.

In situations like this one she usually resigns herself to simple hysteria. But now she is looking at the man at her side hopefully like the freezing masses must´ve looked at Prometheus when bringing fire.

Only Viggo doesn´t have a burning torch in his hand. Sort of. Well, as long as the fine porcelain vase doesn´t count for one. Or the lamp with the Japanese designs on the shade. Or the random assortment of little crystal pieces. Or the bird cage. No, the bird cage definitely does not count.

But he does have something better. An idea. For he is quite familiar with this catastrophical scenario. And he knows that there isn´t the need to actually do something, because things already happen the way they should. They do. Really.

It is only a question of time now. And of resources. Would be quite embarrasing if Mrs. Dove´s household would run out of chinaware and fragile decorations soon. That would be her undoing for sure. And the end of his vacation.

And to be honest he can´t let that happen, he admitts to himself watching the clueless object of Mrs. Dove´s worries making its way through the room and happily bouncing off to the beach. The door closing after him catches some of the leafs from the rather pompous plant adorning the entrance. As they softly sail to the ground, the woman clasps a hand over her mouth in resigned grief and makes a strange sobbing sound.

„It´s only two more weeks.“ Viggo tries to console her, uncomfortably rearranging the various things in his arms. His hands started to feel numb a while ago and besides he´s pretty sure that the canary is up to something. Something rather nasty.

She stares at him like not believing what he just said and then suddenly turns and heads to her room. „I need a drink.“ It´s all what she says.

Feeling a pile of bird shit landing on the sleeve of his shirt Viggo starts to get a bit worried. Mrs. Dove really shouldn´t be drinking at her age.

***And so, just in the right moment...***

„KNOCK“

The door to the upstairs appartment opens and one half-clothed and slightly distressed beauty looks up at him, head tilted to one side like a curious bird.

Viggo watches the drops of water leaving the completely soaked curls and follows their way lower...To a delicious body wrapped only in a big fluffy towel. Which is bright pink, of course.

„Yes?“ The beauty asks shifting from one foot to other, making soft waves in the ankle-deep water pouring silently from his flat.

Viggo leans against the doorframe and says in a perfectly reasonable and maybe just a bit conspiratory tone:

„You know, I have a perfectly dry and comfortable bed down in my flat.“

The chocolate orbs grow wide in surprise and delight and the water around the slim ankles suddenly sloshes happily.

***And then...***

Like a cute needy feline, wantom and urgent the delicious body arches and purrs in Viggo´s hands like there can´t be enough of his touches. Viggo´s mouth, tongue, palms and fingers doing wonderful things to this squirming and tempting creature under him.

Those lush, carved lips form a perfect „O“ and he shakes like a leaf under Viggo´s touches, coming and coming and coming.

Part of the restless bouncy energy leaves the ever so lively limbs with the first orgasm. But there is still so much left...

It takes a lot of lovemaking to lessen the pent up tension in this marvelous lithe body, all silken bronzed skin and lithe quivering muscles. But Viggo isn´t one to mind. Besides they´ve got the whole rest of his vacation...

***Morning again...***

„CRASH“

„OUCH!“

Viggo awakes only slowly to the quite familiar sounds of something falling to the floor. But this time, the sound isn´t coming from upstairs...

„Viggo?“

There is a small tentative voice to be heard from the door. And when he finally opens his eyes...

The gorgeous messed up beauty, still looking thoroughly ravished from previous

night and clothed only in one of his oversized t-shirts stands in the doorway...

Splashed with various kinds of paint. His paint, which should be safe resting at the easel by the kitchen window. The easel...

„Uhm.. I,... I just wanted to make us some coffee.“ The small voice offers somehow helplessly.

There is a big splotch of yellow high on his left thigh where the tanned skin is particularly soft and sensitive. A spot of magenta on one of the cute bare feet, the toes ticklish and squirmy. And a slowly drying patch of orange on the cute nose tip and in his messy locks.

As he sees the deliciously full lower lip being gnawed by those pearly whites again, Viggo groans in defeat and opens his arms.

„Come back to bed, baby. I think we still have some pretty long hours before us.“

He even manages to catch the still warm body safely as one of those sinful long legs stumbles upon the bed corner.

Then a half naked body lands ungracefully on top of Viggo, squashing the air out of his lungs, one sharp knee digging painfully into his side...

Oh, hell, yes, the boy indeed is a disaster.

But it´s now Viggo´s personal, sexy and truly insatiable little disaster...

The End.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"...Viggo´s personal, sexy and truly insatiable little disaster..."

Oh you have no idea how accurately you described clumsiness and the knock-on effects (no pun intended) here! I speak from personal experience!!!!!

I laughed and cried all the way through it!

Absolutely brilliant!

Wow, thank you very much for the kind words. I´m glad you find it accurate, because I had a hard time finding the right words. :)

FIC: Accidentally. In Love. V/O

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