Truth in non-fiction...

[deleerium.livejournal.com]

Inspired by a random news-quote about Orlando.


Title: Girlfriend
Status: Complete
Posted: www.deleerium.com
Type: LOTR RPS
Author: Ladybug a.k.a. deleerium
Pairing: Orlando/Elijah
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Orlando’s not gay. He has a girlfriend. Right.
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: None of the events portrayed in this work of fiction actually took place. None of the people in this work of fiction actually said or did any of these things. Any images posted on or near this work of fiction are for inspirational purposes only. I do not own any of the characters mentioned in this work of fiction. This is for entertainment, people! None of it is true. (dammit…)
Notes: Thanks to summerfly, the world’s best beta!



“I’m not gay. I have a girlfriend.”

Elijah’s head whipped around at the sound of Orlando’s voice going sharp and edgy. The ‘you asshole’ was unspoken, but implied in the tone. He watched passively as Orlando nodded and answered the reporter’s next questions with two brief negatives, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his slacks, eyes unfocused on a wall just behind the reporter’s head. With the second question answered, Orlando not-so-politely excused himself.

Cobalt eyes caught the sharp, nearly violent tug of long fingers on the bottom of the dark jacket and the jerky, negative shake of the black curls at nothing and no one as Orlando strode across the room towards the doors.

Very slowly, one of Elijah’s pencil thin brows crept up the smooth expanse of his forehead. A curious crease appeared in the space between his eyes.

Not. Gay.

Elijah’s brow slowly lowered. Thoughtful, he lifted a crystal tumbler of scotch to his lips. He sipped, swallowed, and licked a corner of his mouth. He slid a hand into the pocket of his slacks and considered the now empty doorway.

He trailed one finger absentmindedly over the soft stubble lining his jaw, the other four cupping the sharp edges of cut glass.

Yes, Orlando was as beautiful as he’d been in New Zealand. More so. Less long limbs and awkwardness, more confidence and strength.

And Sean Bean, with his new wife, was history. And that was important.

Sean’s new wife was important because four years ago, Elijah had seen Orlando moving quietly out of Sean’s trailer in the small hours of the morning. There had been a loose and indefinably grow-up-sexy saunter in Orlando’s stride as he’d paused, half way down the steps, bent his head against the cold and lit a cigarette. There had been something alluringly mysterious, almost secret in the slow push of smoke from between his lips.

Orlando had smoothed one hand flat and slow over the uneven brush of his Mohawk, then he’d bounded down the last three stairs and set off at a silent lope towards his own trailer, awkward and punkish again.

There had been the pale pink mark of teeth the next morning. Makeup had griped to Orlando about having to cover it.

Dom and Billy had slapped Orlando on the back, blaming the mark on the young brunette bird from the pub. Orlando had grinned and laughed with them. But he hadn’t answered. Not directly.

Elijah thought maybe the exit from Sean’s trailer, the slowly sucked cigarette and the bite were related. Maybe.

More than maybe.

He’d watched Orlando after that. Seen other pseudo-hidden mysteries in his disappearances, speculating about where he’d run off to. With who. To do what.

Once, he’d actually seen ‘it’.

Sean, caught unaware as he walked on set for night shots with Viggo. Orlando, already out of costume, hurrying around a corner, laughing at someone on his cell phone. He’d paused mid laugh, dark eyes sweeping up and down Sean’s costume-clad form. Sean’s eyes had gone hot, one gloved hand reached out to snag Orlando’s forearm, yanking him close. For a half a heartbeat, the slender jeans and t-shirt had folded smoothly into the taller, harder man, limbs aligning with an unseemly grace.

Elijah felt the sharp sour tang of embarrassment behind his teeth, as if he’d been caught watching something painfully intimate.

Then Orlando had twisted, wrenched smoothly yet violently away with an almost snicker, dancing lightly out of reach, still talking on his phone. In that moment, he’d turned and seen Elijah, standing just behind the trailer.

And he’d winked. Then looked the other way, eyes skipping over Elijah with none of the interest Elijah found he’d begun to crave.

Elijah had been just eighteen. Awkwardly cocky. Playfully loud. Great when Orlando had wanted a ski partner, or someone to bitch about work schedules and stay up all night drinking and playing five-way tournaments of 007 or Mario Kart. They’d been co-workers, then drinking buddies, and eventually friends.

Good friends.

Once, towards the end, Elijah had looked up from the bar, twenty by then. Orlando had paused, halfway across the room. His brown eyes blinked, head tilted, eyes skittering over Elijah’s face and body, almost…confused. Then he’d shaken his head, a loose negative indefinably grown-up-sexy swing of his neck, and grinned.

The moment was gone.

Elijah decided to wait. And practice.

On Dom.

Dom had been happy to oblige. Still was, on occasion. Especially when Billy was out of town.

But now…

Now, Elijah was twenty three.

And he’d learned a lot.

Elijah rocked away from the wall he’d been leaning on and set the crystal tumbler on a table. He pasted a cool, friendly smile on his face, pleasant but not inviting as he made his way across the room and through the doors. Only one party-goer was blind to the ‘don’t talk to me’ expression.

Elijah excused himself to the men’s room.

He washed his hands, carefully drying them on a cotton towel. He stared at his reflection in the mirror. He slowly turned his face first one way, then the other, eyes locked on eyes. He reached up and tugged off his tie with one hand, lifting the other and winding in into a loose fold and pushing it into a pocket. After another pause, he undid the top two buttons of his shirt and walked out of the room.

His eyes traced veins in the marble paneling of the elevator while it swooshed to a high floor.

He knocked quietly, without hesitation.

“Oi, ‘Lij.” Orlando stood framed in the open door, one arm bracing it open, the other flexed, pushing against the doorjamb.

Elijah stared at him.

Orlando snorted and pushed the door open with an impatient shove, turning around and walking back into the room. Elijah followed him inside and waited until the door clicked shut behind him.

“Not really in the best mood for company, mate.” Orlando leaned against the far wall of the room, next to the sliding glass balcony doors. His arms were crossed tightly across his chest. He’d discarded the black jacket. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone.

Elijah crossed the room, sliding his own jacket off and laying it across the back of a chair.

Orlando’s eyes narrowed. His arms tightened against his chest and one foot lifted off the ground, braced against the wall at his back. “What?”

Elijah didn’t stop until he was standing directly in front of Orlando. Less than a foot separated their bodies.

Orlando tried to lean back further but only his head had room. It hit the wall with a muffled thump.

Elijah took another step forward and reached for Orlando, palming the sides of his face.

Orlando’s nostrils flared, his eyes snapping down at Elijah, a frown creasing the space between his brows. “You gone mad since I seen you last, Wood? That it?”

Elijah curled up a corner of his mouth. Then let it drop. He slid a hand behind Orlando’s neck, tunneling through the long hair, and pulled Orlando’s lips to his.

Orlando jerked against the wall, both hands coming up to snap around Elijah’s wrists with a violent curl.

Elijah paused, letting his breath waft across the tight narrowed line of Orlando’s lips. He felt every tendon in Orlando’s neck, taut and poised for flight, the vice of those long fingers bruising the insides of both wrists, the slender body radiating tension. Elijah could feel his own heart thudding against his ribs, the rational part of his brain acknowledging a minute uncertainty.

Elijah breathed.

And waited.

Then it happened.

Orlando’s thumbs loosened, a nearly imperceptible permission.

Elijah closed the gap between their breaths, rocking lips against lips across the narrow space. He ignored the tension, the taught stance, the continued grip around his wrists. He molded the curve of his lower lip around the narrow press of Orlando’s, then licked, the tip of his tongue tracing the same curl.

The tight moue of narrow lips parted.

Elijah tasted the damp heat between the soft lips and tilted his head to slide deeper into the warm slick-liquor velvet of Orlando’s mouth.

Elijah was acutely aware of Orlando’s hands, first loosening their grip, then sliding. Up Elijah’s forearms, under his elbows, curling along the sides of his biceps, sliding over the hard triangular curve of a shoulder blade, pulling him closer.

Orlando was kissing him back.

Elijah wanted to shout with relief. He fisted dark curls in both hands and folded his body into the slender one against the wall, pressing hard into the long muscles and bones.

Fingers digging in hair, clutched along the backs of necks, heads dip-sliding rhythmically against one another, mouths open and locked tongues swirling fire between two bodies until Orlando jerked his head back, thud against the wall again, panting breath between his teeth. Elijah watched him for nothing close to a second before leaning forward and learning the taste of his throat, opened mouthed with tongue and teeth.

Orlando’s eyes dropped shut.

Softly, gently, with barely a vibration in his throat, he moaned.

Elijah froze. Then lifted his head.

Orlando’s eyes were wide. He watched a narrow brow slowly crawl up the smooth skin of Elijah’s forehead. He swallowed, eyes flickering across Elijah’s face.

“Not gay, huh?” Elijah’s voice was husky. It’s growl matched the heat between Orlando’s legs, hard and pressing against a muscular thigh.

Orlando blinked. He twined his arms around Elijah’s shoulders, dropping his head, open mouthed into Elijah’s kiss again. He pushed away from the wall, into Elijah, found enough room to turn them both and fell back onto the bed. A backwards crawl and Elijah slithered up the last few inches of Orlando’s body, this time his hands curled around the slender bones of Orlando’s wrists. Slow drag and they were pinned loosely above Orlando’s head. Elijah rocked against Orlando’s hips. Orlando moaned softly again, legs falling apart on the down comforter, one foot curling around Elijah’s calf, pressing him closer. “Not gay. I have a girlfriend, you know.”

Elijah snorted and pressed Orlando down into the mattress, lips, hips and tongue.

Orlando’s chuckle was lost, sliding into another moan.

END