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fellowshippers2003-11-29 08:51 pm
ladydarkrose.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2003-11-29 08:51 pm
Fic: Idril - VM/OB - PG
Title: Idril
Author:
DarkRose
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando
Rating: PG (some mild erotic overtones, language)
Archive: Sure, if you want to. Just let me know first, and where it's going.
Disclaimer: Since the title substance doesn't exist, I'm gonna say none of this really happened....
Feedback: Please!
AN: A bit of flashfic written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
silverthoughts following this rant in her journal. It's complete nonsense, really, just written to amuse a friend. My first non-hobbit-centric fic, unbeta'd.
Viggo re-arranged the sheet for the two-hundred-and-sixteenth time, letting it drape ever-so-slightly over Orlando's thigh, just shielding the younger man's sex, creating a delicious play of light and shadow that would look absolutely stunning in black and white.
"You know, I always forget how damned exacting you can be you get in full-on artist mode," Orlando whinged. "I thought we were gonna do this quick and then get off to the gallery. In case you forgot, you've got a show opening in a few hours...."
A lop-sided smirk tugged at the corner of Viggo's mouth as he crossed the room and opened a black rectangular case that Orlando assumed held some bit of photographic equipment. God knows, Viggo can't go anywhere without his full compliment of studio gear, lest he be caught unawares when the Muse takes him, as it had done an hour ago.
"You cannot rush perfection, Orlando. Patience."
He drew out a small brushed silver jar and a slender paint brush, crossing the room once more to where Orlando lay on the bed.
"What's that?" Orlando questioned, eyeing the small cylander warily. "You're gonna paint me up, when we're gonna have to rush outta here to make the opening! Oh, that's bloody brilliant, Viggs!"
Hushing him in a low murmur, Viggo removed the lid of the jar. "Hush now, it's not paint, it's Idril."
Snorting at that, Orlando watched the brush bristles dip into the jar. "Oh, well that makes it much better. What, for the love of fuck, is Idril?"
Chuckling under his breath, Viggo withdrew the brush from the jar, a stream of thick liquid dripping back down with a soft trickle. "It's... hard to explain. It's invisible to the naked eye, but when captured on black and white film, leaves a glimmering silver sheen."
With that, he proceeded to trail the brush along Orlando's warm, naked skin, the substance cold, making him shiver with an almost erotic pleasure. Dipping into the jar again, the brush swirled and curved over him, tracing what Orlando thought surely must be some sort of tribal design, perhaps Maori, and he couldn't stop his tongue from playing over his lips as he simply let himself feel each and every stroke.
**************
It was nearly a month later when Orlando actually thought of that day in Wellington, just prior to the world premiere, and wondered what had come of the pictures Viggo had shot. And, as if his thoughts had been somehow read, there was a sharp rap at the door of his apartment. Answering it, Orlando was greeted by a courier, offering a flat manilla envelope and asking him to sign for the delivery. Pushing the door closed with his foot, and noting the return address was Viggo's, he eagerly loosened the flap of the envelope and extracted the contents - a lone photograph of him, sprawled on the bed in Viggo's hotel room, draped in a pure white sheet. And the Idril, which had been so skillfully painted over his body took not the form of some Maori design, as he had suspected, but rather words, in Viggo's scrawling hand.... Poncy Elf... Sexy Pirate... Brat Princeling....
Author:
DarkRosePairing: Viggo/Orlando
Rating: PG (some mild erotic overtones, language)
Archive: Sure, if you want to. Just let me know first, and where it's going.
Disclaimer: Since the title substance doesn't exist, I'm gonna say none of this really happened....
Feedback: Please!
AN: A bit of flashfic written for
silverthoughts following this rant in her journal. It's complete nonsense, really, just written to amuse a friend. My first non-hobbit-centric fic, unbeta'd.Viggo re-arranged the sheet for the two-hundred-and-sixteenth time, letting it drape ever-so-slightly over Orlando's thigh, just shielding the younger man's sex, creating a delicious play of light and shadow that would look absolutely stunning in black and white.
"You know, I always forget how damned exacting you can be you get in full-on artist mode," Orlando whinged. "I thought we were gonna do this quick and then get off to the gallery. In case you forgot, you've got a show opening in a few hours...."
A lop-sided smirk tugged at the corner of Viggo's mouth as he crossed the room and opened a black rectangular case that Orlando assumed held some bit of photographic equipment. God knows, Viggo can't go anywhere without his full compliment of studio gear, lest he be caught unawares when the Muse takes him, as it had done an hour ago.
"You cannot rush perfection, Orlando. Patience."
He drew out a small brushed silver jar and a slender paint brush, crossing the room once more to where Orlando lay on the bed.
"What's that?" Orlando questioned, eyeing the small cylander warily. "You're gonna paint me up, when we're gonna have to rush outta here to make the opening! Oh, that's bloody brilliant, Viggs!"
Hushing him in a low murmur, Viggo removed the lid of the jar. "Hush now, it's not paint, it's Idril."
Snorting at that, Orlando watched the brush bristles dip into the jar. "Oh, well that makes it much better. What, for the love of fuck, is Idril?"
Chuckling under his breath, Viggo withdrew the brush from the jar, a stream of thick liquid dripping back down with a soft trickle. "It's... hard to explain. It's invisible to the naked eye, but when captured on black and white film, leaves a glimmering silver sheen."
With that, he proceeded to trail the brush along Orlando's warm, naked skin, the substance cold, making him shiver with an almost erotic pleasure. Dipping into the jar again, the brush swirled and curved over him, tracing what Orlando thought surely must be some sort of tribal design, perhaps Maori, and he couldn't stop his tongue from playing over his lips as he simply let himself feel each and every stroke.
**************
It was nearly a month later when Orlando actually thought of that day in Wellington, just prior to the world premiere, and wondered what had come of the pictures Viggo had shot. And, as if his thoughts had been somehow read, there was a sharp rap at the door of his apartment. Answering it, Orlando was greeted by a courier, offering a flat manilla envelope and asking him to sign for the delivery. Pushing the door closed with his foot, and noting the return address was Viggo's, he eagerly loosened the flap of the envelope and extracted the contents - a lone photograph of him, sprawled on the bed in Viggo's hotel room, draped in a pure white sheet. And the Idril, which had been so skillfully painted over his body took not the form of some Maori design, as he had suspected, but rather words, in Viggo's scrawling hand.... Poncy Elf... Sexy Pirate... Brat Princeling....
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The end was great. I agree with her (above), it's not what I expected, but great all the same. Perhaps even moreso because of it.
Disclaimer: Since the title substance doesn't exist, I'm gonna say none of this really happened....
I realize that isn't part of the story, has nothing to do with anything really....but it made me laugh a lot :D
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