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admirabile.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fellowshippers2004-01-22 09:50 pm
admirabile.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-01-22 09:50 pm
FIC: Bugger That (1/1, V/O, R)
Title: Bugger That
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
puterpatty
Email: PuterPatty@mn.rr.com
Betas:alliwantisanelfforchristmas; aliaself; Taya, who is going by fromashell these days
Pairing: Viggorli
Rating: R
Warnings: Crack!Fic-ish. Avoid damage to electronic devices by putting down all drinks.
Feedback: Much appreciated, including constructive criticism.
Archive: Pella Mellon, OEAM, CIB list archive. All others, please email first.
Disclaimer: Viggo and Orlando are their own persons and belong only toeach other themselves. I don’t proclaim to know anything about their activities, sexual or otherwise.
Summary: Orlando helps relieve his King of a little...erh....'problem'
Note: The challenge came from al this summer. She promises to write the sequel in response. The stilettos are hers.
Bugger That
“ORLI!”
Viggo’s voice booming throughout the house causes me to literally jump a meter high. My first thought: ‘Oh shit. What have I done now?’ That’s followed immediately by a delicious grin and a second thought: ‘And how, exactly, does Viggo plan on punishing me this time?’
“ORLI! COME HERE, PLEASE!”
Oh. Damn. That wasn’t a shout of anger. Hmph.
Feeling a bit disappointed that a nice spanking isn’t in my immediate future, I head off towards the studio from where Viggo’s voice thundered a second time only moments ago. I decide to take my time in getting there. That was clearly a shout of need. Probably the pervy old man got it in his head to paint something erotic and managed himself a hard-on in the process. It’s happened before. Now he wants me to come in there and help relieve him of it. Well fuck, he certainly took his time getting to me last night. He deserves to be made to wait a few minutes more.
“ORLI! GET THE FUCK IN HERE! I NEED YOU!”
Okay, that was pure desperation, plain and simple. Doesn’t the bloody wanker have a hand of his own? I swear. And what the fuck was he envisioning to get himself worked up so in the first place? It better not have involved me and him and that hook. He’s fucking nutters if he thinks I’m ever doing that again, though I do feel Mr. Winky stir a bit at the vision of Viggo being strapped up there.
Fuck, that’d be hot....
“Orli! Thank God!”
“Hey, Vig. What’s up?” I greet him with a cheeky grin, knowing full well what’s up.
“Shit. Don’t move.”
“Okay....”
Oh Christ, he’s having another fucking artist moment. I tell ya, inspiration strikes that man at the oddest times – sitting in the dentist’s chair, helping Henry with a science project, when he’s taking a delightfully long dump on his throne (trust me, you don’t want to know what that inspired).
Heh. There was one time he started to compose a poem while I was fully sheathed inside him. Do you have any idea how hard it was to resist slamming into him as he tried to scribble lines out in a notebook between thrusts? I insisted we get a tape player and keep it in the bedroom after that so Viggo could simply recite his poetry next time inspiration struck during such...intimate moments. Viggo, however, suggested a video camera instead. I wasn’t one to argue with that logic. I love the way that man’s mind works sometimes.
But there I go, rambling again.
Viggo’s standing there, back pressed against the wall directly opposite the door, wearing only a pair of tattered grey sweatpants. No shirt and no shoes. Guess he’ll be getting no service. His hair’s disheveled (I don’t think he bothered showering this morning), he’s sporting some very manly stubble, and he’s got his paintbrush brandished as if it was Anduril. His gaze is alert and intense and...is that fright? That can’t be right. Frightened of me? His itty-bitty Orlibear? Damn. I didn’t him fuck him that brutally this morning. Besides, he was the one begging for it.
Oh, wait. He’s not looking at me.
Ah well. It was a pleasant thought there for a moment, thinking the mighty King was a mite bit afraid of his prissy elf.
I drag my own gaze down to what it is he staring at so intensely.
“Fuck. That’s huge!” I exclaim, raking my eyes over its length and girth.
“I know,” Viggo gasps out, not even daring to take his eyes off it.
Cautiously, I take two steps closer. It twitches, causing Viggo to take in a sharp breath and tense up a bit more.
“And look at that color, mate,” I tell him, having never seen anything quite like it before.
“Will you quit oogling? Fucking get over here and take care of it,” he orders, his patience already spent.
I can’t help but laugh as I approach very slowly and very carefully. “You know, Viggo,” I chide, grinning at him, “you wouldn’t have this problem if you didn’t insist on going barefoot all the time.”
He counters me with a glare that tells me he hardly thinks that’s the case, and I know that’s the truth, even if he won’t ever admit it. “Just do it, Bloom,” the King commands, his raspy voice more fervent now.
Christ. This really is pure torture for him.
I crouch down, trying to decide the best way to rid us of this little problem. I look over it once more, tilting my head to admire its size and beauty again. “You know, it’s kind of cute, Vig,” I say, reaching out as if I’m going to touch it. “It’d be a shame to—“
“Orlando. I mean it.”
Oh shit. He does. If I don’t do this soon, and soon meaning right now, he’s going to fucking kill me. That is, if he doesn’t pass out first.
“Okay, okay,” I placate, rising up and slipping off my shoe. Bugger. This is my favorite pair, the yellow clogs. “Um, Viggo? I’ll be right back. Just keep an eye on it and don’t move.”
“Orlando.”
Christ, his voice is menacing. It’s a wonder that doesn’t take care of the problem itself. If I didn’t find that tone of voice so utterly sexy, I know I’d be quivering my way to a slow death.
“I’m sorry, Viggo, but I’m not going to ruin my favorite pair of shoes. I don’t want to get cream on the sole. You’ll just have to wait.”
“I’ll buy you new ones,” he pleads.
“These are irreplaceable. I’ve told you a million times about how I waded through that pile of shoes in the secondhand store for the longest time, and then how ecstatic I was when I finally found these.”
He growls.
Heh. This is fun.
Viggo doesn't try to stop me though as I turn around to walk out. Then again, he's not really in the position to do so either. I start to make my way out the door of the studio when a glint catches my eye. Peeking out from underneath the couch along the wall is a silver stiletto heel.
Perfect. Grinning viciously, I bend down and fish it out.
"No! Not that!" Viggo cries.
"Oh come on, Vig. It's perfect," I assure him, dragging my finger slowly up the stiletto.
"But...but...." His lower lip is quivering madly. He takes a steadying breath, trying to regain a modicum of himself. "That's mine," he whines.
I turn around and head out, shaking my head and tossing the shoe on the couch. Once I'm in the kitchen, I quickly spot his red trainers from the Italian Vogue shoot just inside the door. One of those will do fine, and he shouldn't have a hissy fit over me using it. At least, I hope not. Having retrieved the deadly weapon of my choice, I return to the studio to come to the aid of my King.
“Honestly, Viggo, I don’t get why you can’t do this yourself. Don’t you encounter worse when you’re out camping?”
“That’s different, Orlando,” he says, his voice still tight.
“How?”
“It just is.”
“Oh.” I crouch down again. “You know, Lij would really love to see this,” I say, grinning up at him. I know I’ve crossed the line. Hell, it’s ten kilometers behind me at this point. But really, this is way too much fun and I’m enjoying myself immensely. I just can’t resist teasing him, especially whenever he’s in this situation. “He loves things like this. Maybe I should call him....”
“Orlando, what part of ‘I mean it’ don’t you get?”
“A picture at least?” I suggest merrily, getting up and grabbing his camera off the table. Viggo releases a sigh of resignation, and I bend over and snap a few pictures from a couple different angles.
I set his camera back down on the table and get ready again. Viggo’s holding his breath; his body is completely tense, like a coiled spring, ready to shoot off in any direction at a moment’s notice.
“Hey there, little guy.”
“It’s not so little,” Viggo says with a scowl.
I ignore him. “Sorry ‘bout this, but it’s the big bad King up there who’s making me do it,” I say, looking up at Viggo to see his reaction. He just rolls his eyes, beyond exasperation at this point and clearly needing me to get this over with as quickly as possible and without any snafus in the process. That’s the last thing he needs.
Okay, I’ve had my fun with him. I really do love the guy and I don’t mean to torture him like this. Well, maybe I do, but I know when to quit.
I raise my hand and take aim. Just do it fast and hard, Bloom.
WHACK!
Shit.
“FUCKING SHIT! DAMNIT, ORLANDO! OhShit! OhCrap!”
“OUCH! VIGGO, YOU CUNT!”
“CRAP! CRAPCRAPCRAP!”
Complete and utter chaos reigns in the studio.
Quick replay.
Just before the blow landed, the bug scurried away. Not towards me. Towards Viggo. Not Good. Viggo’s bare feet did a quick little shuffle before he leapt, using my head under his hand to help vault his body. I went pitching forward, catching myself on my hands and knees.
“Where’d it go? WHERE DID IT GO?”
I pick myself up and start to do a sweeping three-sixty, scouring the room for the little bugger. I have to stop halfway around because I burst out laughing as I discover that Viggo ended up on the couch, standing on the couch – no, make that dancing on the couch – and oh yeah, he’s still presenting his paintbrush, holding it up defiantly, ready for battle. He also somehow managed to grab a paint palette too, and he’s holding that like a shield.
“Do you realize how bloody ridiculous you look?”
“Orlando, please. I’m begging you. Just fucking find the bug and kill the damn thing!”
“Yeah. Sorry, Vig,” I say, trying to contain my laughter but having a hell of a hard time doing so. I resume my search, turning around this way and then that way, combing every centimeter of the room with my eyes, paying special attention to the corners and under the easels and table and chairs scattered throughout. Nothing.
“I think he’s gone for the moment, Vig. It’s probably safe to come down now.”
“She’s not gone. She’s lurking. She’s waiting. Fuck. Did you see the fangs she’s got?”
I roll my eyes and walk over towards a canvas lying on the floor. “Fangs? I didn’t know bugs had fangs, Viggo. Hey, maybe we discovered ourselves a new species! Now we definitely can’t terminate her existence.” I pause to grin delightfully at him. He is so not amused. “Why’d you call him a she?” I wonder out loud as I return to completing my task of search and destroy.
“Does it really matter what she is? Just kill her.”
“Well really, how do you know?” I ask, lifting up a corner of the canvas and peeking underneath. “I mean, obviously you didn’t get close enough to be able to tell she’s got a fann– oh shit.”
WHACK!
Damnit.
WHACKWHACKWHACK!
“Shit.”
“Did you kill it?”
“No!” The little she-bugger is surprisingly fast on her six little legs. In a not-so-wise move fueled completely by frustration, I throw Viggo’s shoe at her.
“FUCK!”
Yeah, really bad move. Who knew she had wings and that those wings could lift that fat body up and off the ground?
Oh, but this is priceless. Damnit. Where’s that video camera when I need it? Viggo’s waving his paintbrush and palette around in futile attempts to protect himself, as she’s launched herself directly at him and is currently buzzing around his head.
I think she likes him.
I get the distinct impression he does not like her.
Okay. Really, enough is enough. Nobody messes with the King except me.
I storm over, picking up Viggo’s shoe along the way, and climb onto the couch as well. I start to flap the shoe back and forth several times in an attempt to strike the bug and stun it, hopefully sending it flying across the room and away from us. From Viggo. I succeed, though not before Viggo inadvertently receives a smack or two during the whole ordeal. Oh well. He deserves it for being such a wuss.
But he’s my wuss, and I love him for it.
The bug does indeed go careening across the room and hits the floor, where it staggers about. I pounce on it and send the little shit off to whatever Bug Hell awaits it with one mighty WHACK!
“Don’t fucking fuck with me or my King,” I say, giving it several more whacks with the shoe to punctuate my threat. I toss the shoe aside. Satisfied and feeling proud, I turn around and see Viggo’s collapsed on the couch in a heap. I rush over to comfort him. “It’s okay, Vig. She’s dead. I made right cert of that.” I stroke my hand through his hair.
“Thanks, Orli,” he breathes, nodding to convince himself. “My warrior elf,” he adds, cupping my cheek in his hand.
“You’re welcome, my liege,” I tell him, smiling sincerely. I lean in and give him a kiss.
Damn, but he’s a wonderful kisser when he’s feeling eternally grateful. Oh God. Oh Yes. Ohhhhhhh Viiiiiiiiigggggoooooo. Oh, that’s fan-ta-stic. I love how you do that with your tongue. Oh...oh…
OH.
That’s brilliant, Bloom!
“Shit. Viggo, don’t move.”
Christ, I’m really going to pay for this, but I can’t help myself. And who knows? Maybe I’ll get that spanking after all.
-end-
Author:
puterpattyEmail: PuterPatty@mn.rr.com
Betas:
alliwantisanelfforchristmas; aliaself; Taya, who is going by fromashell these daysPairing: Viggorli
Rating: R
Warnings: Crack!Fic-ish. Avoid damage to electronic devices by putting down all drinks.
Feedback: Much appreciated, including constructive criticism.
Archive: Pella Mellon, OEAM, CIB list archive. All others, please email first.
Disclaimer: Viggo and Orlando are their own persons and belong only to
Summary: Orlando helps relieve his King of a little...erh....'problem'
Note: The challenge came from al this summer. She promises to write the sequel in response. The stilettos are hers.
“ORLI!”
Viggo’s voice booming throughout the house causes me to literally jump a meter high. My first thought: ‘Oh shit. What have I done now?’ That’s followed immediately by a delicious grin and a second thought: ‘And how, exactly, does Viggo plan on punishing me this time?’
“ORLI! COME HERE, PLEASE!”
Oh. Damn. That wasn’t a shout of anger. Hmph.
Feeling a bit disappointed that a nice spanking isn’t in my immediate future, I head off towards the studio from where Viggo’s voice thundered a second time only moments ago. I decide to take my time in getting there. That was clearly a shout of need. Probably the pervy old man got it in his head to paint something erotic and managed himself a hard-on in the process. It’s happened before. Now he wants me to come in there and help relieve him of it. Well fuck, he certainly took his time getting to me last night. He deserves to be made to wait a few minutes more.
“ORLI! GET THE FUCK IN HERE! I NEED YOU!”
Okay, that was pure desperation, plain and simple. Doesn’t the bloody wanker have a hand of his own? I swear. And what the fuck was he envisioning to get himself worked up so in the first place? It better not have involved me and him and that hook. He’s fucking nutters if he thinks I’m ever doing that again, though I do feel Mr. Winky stir a bit at the vision of Viggo being strapped up there.
Fuck, that’d be hot....
“Orli! Thank God!”
“Hey, Vig. What’s up?” I greet him with a cheeky grin, knowing full well what’s up.
“Shit. Don’t move.”
“Okay....”
Oh Christ, he’s having another fucking artist moment. I tell ya, inspiration strikes that man at the oddest times – sitting in the dentist’s chair, helping Henry with a science project, when he’s taking a delightfully long dump on his throne (trust me, you don’t want to know what that inspired).
Heh. There was one time he started to compose a poem while I was fully sheathed inside him. Do you have any idea how hard it was to resist slamming into him as he tried to scribble lines out in a notebook between thrusts? I insisted we get a tape player and keep it in the bedroom after that so Viggo could simply recite his poetry next time inspiration struck during such...intimate moments. Viggo, however, suggested a video camera instead. I wasn’t one to argue with that logic. I love the way that man’s mind works sometimes.
But there I go, rambling again.
Viggo’s standing there, back pressed against the wall directly opposite the door, wearing only a pair of tattered grey sweatpants. No shirt and no shoes. Guess he’ll be getting no service. His hair’s disheveled (I don’t think he bothered showering this morning), he’s sporting some very manly stubble, and he’s got his paintbrush brandished as if it was Anduril. His gaze is alert and intense and...is that fright? That can’t be right. Frightened of me? His itty-bitty Orlibear? Damn. I didn’t him fuck him that brutally this morning. Besides, he was the one begging for it.
Oh, wait. He’s not looking at me.
Ah well. It was a pleasant thought there for a moment, thinking the mighty King was a mite bit afraid of his prissy elf.
I drag my own gaze down to what it is he staring at so intensely.
“Fuck. That’s huge!” I exclaim, raking my eyes over its length and girth.
“I know,” Viggo gasps out, not even daring to take his eyes off it.
Cautiously, I take two steps closer. It twitches, causing Viggo to take in a sharp breath and tense up a bit more.
“And look at that color, mate,” I tell him, having never seen anything quite like it before.
“Will you quit oogling? Fucking get over here and take care of it,” he orders, his patience already spent.
I can’t help but laugh as I approach very slowly and very carefully. “You know, Viggo,” I chide, grinning at him, “you wouldn’t have this problem if you didn’t insist on going barefoot all the time.”
He counters me with a glare that tells me he hardly thinks that’s the case, and I know that’s the truth, even if he won’t ever admit it. “Just do it, Bloom,” the King commands, his raspy voice more fervent now.
Christ. This really is pure torture for him.
I crouch down, trying to decide the best way to rid us of this little problem. I look over it once more, tilting my head to admire its size and beauty again. “You know, it’s kind of cute, Vig,” I say, reaching out as if I’m going to touch it. “It’d be a shame to—“
“Orlando. I mean it.”
Oh shit. He does. If I don’t do this soon, and soon meaning right now, he’s going to fucking kill me. That is, if he doesn’t pass out first.
“Okay, okay,” I placate, rising up and slipping off my shoe. Bugger. This is my favorite pair, the yellow clogs. “Um, Viggo? I’ll be right back. Just keep an eye on it and don’t move.”
“Orlando.”
Christ, his voice is menacing. It’s a wonder that doesn’t take care of the problem itself. If I didn’t find that tone of voice so utterly sexy, I know I’d be quivering my way to a slow death.
“I’m sorry, Viggo, but I’m not going to ruin my favorite pair of shoes. I don’t want to get cream on the sole. You’ll just have to wait.”
“I’ll buy you new ones,” he pleads.
“These are irreplaceable. I’ve told you a million times about how I waded through that pile of shoes in the secondhand store for the longest time, and then how ecstatic I was when I finally found these.”
He growls.
Heh. This is fun.
Viggo doesn't try to stop me though as I turn around to walk out. Then again, he's not really in the position to do so either. I start to make my way out the door of the studio when a glint catches my eye. Peeking out from underneath the couch along the wall is a silver stiletto heel.
Perfect. Grinning viciously, I bend down and fish it out.
"No! Not that!" Viggo cries.
"Oh come on, Vig. It's perfect," I assure him, dragging my finger slowly up the stiletto.
"But...but...." His lower lip is quivering madly. He takes a steadying breath, trying to regain a modicum of himself. "That's mine," he whines.
I turn around and head out, shaking my head and tossing the shoe on the couch. Once I'm in the kitchen, I quickly spot his red trainers from the Italian Vogue shoot just inside the door. One of those will do fine, and he shouldn't have a hissy fit over me using it. At least, I hope not. Having retrieved the deadly weapon of my choice, I return to the studio to come to the aid of my King.
“Honestly, Viggo, I don’t get why you can’t do this yourself. Don’t you encounter worse when you’re out camping?”
“That’s different, Orlando,” he says, his voice still tight.
“How?”
“It just is.”
“Oh.” I crouch down again. “You know, Lij would really love to see this,” I say, grinning up at him. I know I’ve crossed the line. Hell, it’s ten kilometers behind me at this point. But really, this is way too much fun and I’m enjoying myself immensely. I just can’t resist teasing him, especially whenever he’s in this situation. “He loves things like this. Maybe I should call him....”
“Orlando, what part of ‘I mean it’ don’t you get?”
“A picture at least?” I suggest merrily, getting up and grabbing his camera off the table. Viggo releases a sigh of resignation, and I bend over and snap a few pictures from a couple different angles.
I set his camera back down on the table and get ready again. Viggo’s holding his breath; his body is completely tense, like a coiled spring, ready to shoot off in any direction at a moment’s notice.
“Hey there, little guy.”
“It’s not so little,” Viggo says with a scowl.
I ignore him. “Sorry ‘bout this, but it’s the big bad King up there who’s making me do it,” I say, looking up at Viggo to see his reaction. He just rolls his eyes, beyond exasperation at this point and clearly needing me to get this over with as quickly as possible and without any snafus in the process. That’s the last thing he needs.
Okay, I’ve had my fun with him. I really do love the guy and I don’t mean to torture him like this. Well, maybe I do, but I know when to quit.
I raise my hand and take aim. Just do it fast and hard, Bloom.
WHACK!
Shit.
“FUCKING SHIT! DAMNIT, ORLANDO! OhShit! OhCrap!”
“OUCH! VIGGO, YOU CUNT!”
“CRAP! CRAPCRAPCRAP!”
Complete and utter chaos reigns in the studio.
Quick replay.
Just before the blow landed, the bug scurried away. Not towards me. Towards Viggo. Not Good. Viggo’s bare feet did a quick little shuffle before he leapt, using my head under his hand to help vault his body. I went pitching forward, catching myself on my hands and knees.
“Where’d it go? WHERE DID IT GO?”
I pick myself up and start to do a sweeping three-sixty, scouring the room for the little bugger. I have to stop halfway around because I burst out laughing as I discover that Viggo ended up on the couch, standing on the couch – no, make that dancing on the couch – and oh yeah, he’s still presenting his paintbrush, holding it up defiantly, ready for battle. He also somehow managed to grab a paint palette too, and he’s holding that like a shield.
“Do you realize how bloody ridiculous you look?”
“Orlando, please. I’m begging you. Just fucking find the bug and kill the damn thing!”
“Yeah. Sorry, Vig,” I say, trying to contain my laughter but having a hell of a hard time doing so. I resume my search, turning around this way and then that way, combing every centimeter of the room with my eyes, paying special attention to the corners and under the easels and table and chairs scattered throughout. Nothing.
“I think he’s gone for the moment, Vig. It’s probably safe to come down now.”
“She’s not gone. She’s lurking. She’s waiting. Fuck. Did you see the fangs she’s got?”
I roll my eyes and walk over towards a canvas lying on the floor. “Fangs? I didn’t know bugs had fangs, Viggo. Hey, maybe we discovered ourselves a new species! Now we definitely can’t terminate her existence.” I pause to grin delightfully at him. He is so not amused. “Why’d you call him a she?” I wonder out loud as I return to completing my task of search and destroy.
“Does it really matter what she is? Just kill her.”
“Well really, how do you know?” I ask, lifting up a corner of the canvas and peeking underneath. “I mean, obviously you didn’t get close enough to be able to tell she’s got a fann– oh shit.”
WHACK!
Damnit.
WHACKWHACKWHACK!
“Shit.”
“Did you kill it?”
“No!” The little she-bugger is surprisingly fast on her six little legs. In a not-so-wise move fueled completely by frustration, I throw Viggo’s shoe at her.
“FUCK!”
Yeah, really bad move. Who knew she had wings and that those wings could lift that fat body up and off the ground?
Oh, but this is priceless. Damnit. Where’s that video camera when I need it? Viggo’s waving his paintbrush and palette around in futile attempts to protect himself, as she’s launched herself directly at him and is currently buzzing around his head.
I think she likes him.
I get the distinct impression he does not like her.
Okay. Really, enough is enough. Nobody messes with the King except me.
I storm over, picking up Viggo’s shoe along the way, and climb onto the couch as well. I start to flap the shoe back and forth several times in an attempt to strike the bug and stun it, hopefully sending it flying across the room and away from us. From Viggo. I succeed, though not before Viggo inadvertently receives a smack or two during the whole ordeal. Oh well. He deserves it for being such a wuss.
But he’s my wuss, and I love him for it.
The bug does indeed go careening across the room and hits the floor, where it staggers about. I pounce on it and send the little shit off to whatever Bug Hell awaits it with one mighty WHACK!
“Don’t fucking fuck with me or my King,” I say, giving it several more whacks with the shoe to punctuate my threat. I toss the shoe aside. Satisfied and feeling proud, I turn around and see Viggo’s collapsed on the couch in a heap. I rush over to comfort him. “It’s okay, Vig. She’s dead. I made right cert of that.” I stroke my hand through his hair.
“Thanks, Orli,” he breathes, nodding to convince himself. “My warrior elf,” he adds, cupping my cheek in his hand.
“You’re welcome, my liege,” I tell him, smiling sincerely. I lean in and give him a kiss.
Damn, but he’s a wonderful kisser when he’s feeling eternally grateful. Oh God. Oh Yes. Ohhhhhhh Viiiiiiiiigggggoooooo. Oh, that’s fan-ta-stic. I love how you do that with your tongue. Oh...oh…
OH.
That’s brilliant, Bloom!
“Shit. Viggo, don’t move.”
Christ, I’m really going to pay for this, but I can’t help myself. And who knows? Maybe I’ll get that spanking after all.
-end-
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