ext_46005 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
http://users.livejournal.com/_theo/) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fellowshippers2004-02-01 02:06 am
http://users.livejournal.com/_theo/) wrote in fellowshippers2004-02-01 02:06 am
(no subject)
Esperance
Elijah/Orlando (pg)
Disclaimer: The following isn't true.
::
The air is different, cooler than what you originally expected as it prickles your skin as you steady yourself on the black shale rock on the beach side. Nestled behind you, Orlando is covered by a light blanket, little series of holes poking at the nether region and you can see a bare toe. Hands sleepily curl repeatedly around the outer edges, tugging the blanket further along his body, but yet pulling it away and soon you glimpse a tee shirt covered shoulder once removed from the warm shelter. You think about joining him, wrapping cold, ocean kissed arms around his waist to retreat from the cool of the weather, but you hesitate as the sky takes call to distant gulls drifting above the ocean. Your attention is diverted when coughs touch upon your ears and you shift backwards, tucking the blanket over Orlando's foot, covering it fully.
The two weeks of vacation in New Zealand relaxed you, loosening the knots of tension in body that Dominic claimed he could see whenever you're in a five mile radius of him. On the last few days, you suggested a trip to the beach. It did sound well when you were explaining it to Billy, Dominic, and Orlando the night before. One last early morning journey to the ocean, yeah? Just the four of us, doing whatever and enjoying the company. But Billy and Dominic shot it down, saying it was too cool and too fucking early and instead reverted to ideas of Star Wars, chips, pillows and childish jostling and ribbing in darkness to spend their day. Orlando decided to come along with you and yeah, perhaps he too was a bit daft, but it meant something to you.
The orange from the newly raised sun reflects upon everything in its pale glow.
Orlando turns in your direction, elbows shifting into place to hold him upward as eyes first look out into the ocean before curving back toward yours. "Perfect, eh?"
You let a smile touch your lips as fingers smooth against the rock, images keen and fast behind closed eyes as you whisper "yeah."
::
Warmth envelops as you settle in the car and windows pulled up. Orlando's fingers are quick toward the radio, switching on the CD he brought along and played during the trip to the beach and evidently for the ride back to the house. "Something Viggo recommended. Heal the soul, heal the mind sort of thing."
Steering wheel cool under your hand as you glide the vehicle along the road, listening to Orlando's voice as it floats gently. In the peripheral, you watch as he plucks excess fabric off his clothing, hands laying across the dashboard as he scoots further up the seat.
"I'm sorry I can't stay. The producers are constricted with time, you know. If I could, I would – you know that."
"Yeah, I know," you lightly bite the inside of your cheek. "Your birthday present, though, better be a stripper springing out of a cake ready to do lewd acts on me."
"In your masturbating dreams, Wood," he pulls down the window half way.
"What the hell are you doing? It's fucking cold out there."
"And in here's too fucking hot," he lowers the window a few more inches, rising an eyebrow back at you. Yes, still a fucker.
"I was wondering, what's the first thing you thought when you saw me?" Question light over the engine.
"Ah, Mr. Narcissism!" You give a short laugh. "I don't really remember. Perhaps thought of you as a world class git who was too pretty."
Laughter is loud – perhaps too loud, you think. "No. Really. I remember what I thought about you."
"Oh really? Hideous thoughts were they? Saw the weird as fuck eyes and heard the giggle and cowered in horror for weeks on end?"
Quiet really doesn't suit Orlando, you decide as the car stops at a stoplight. You turn slightly, looking at him. Orlando's cheeks sucked inward as he looks back. "You do that quite a lot."
"What?"
"Making fun of yourself."
"I do it to make myself feel comfortable," short shrug of the shoulder as the light changes and you resume driving. "It's all about 'how fucking blue my eyes are' or 'how fucking bug eyed they look.' I'm just kidding anyway."
"You should stop," fingers curl around your wrist, thumb soothing against the sharp jut of bone. "You aren't a bad looking bloke you know."
Loosening one hand away from the wheel, you switch the heat on low. "Are you hitting on me, Bloom?" corners of mouth twitching upward as eyes glance in his direction.
Orlando shifts around in the seat, hand losing contact from your wrist as his head comes to a still on the head rest, face tilted toward the window. No answer occurs and you swear a visible smirk is reflected in the window.
::
Orlando's scent is around you. Arms strong around waist, face fixed in the nook of neck and light wetness soaking into your shirt at the shoulder. Quiet murmurs of "Happy Birthday" "I'll call you when the plane lands" and "I'll miss you" are whispered even though your voice cracks on the last as you say it back.
Orlando moves away, enfolding Billy in a hug next and leaving a kiss on his forehead. Dominic gives him GQ magazine with Orlando's face plastered on the cover with 'still an asshole' across the magazine Orlando forehead. Orlando calls him a 'git' before he too was hugged. His flight is called over the speaker and he's in front of you once more, removing something from the front pocket of his carry-on bag. It's folded in brown paper, tape holding it messily together.
He holds it forward and when you take it, he tells you, "I know it isn't your birthday technically until a few days, but 'tis the gift. I know you, Lij - don't open it yet" before letting go, his fingers warmth still imprinted onto where he touched. Before he turns to leave, he replies "see you soon, yeah?" You find yourself smiling back at him as he turns and walks away.
You stay back awhile, watching until the plane that Orlando is on leaves the runway. You think, saying goodbye should get less painful over time. But it doesn't.
::
It takes a few hours for the object to obtain your full attention. Taking it between hands, you figure somewhere inbetween those extra padding of paper, a medium sized box is lined inside.
Dominic called fifteen minutes previous, music loud, him shushing whoever was standing next to him and words slurring into others as he tried to convince you once more to come to the club downtown. Sexy ladies, an early birthday bash, Billy buying drinks for everyone, and did I mention, sexy ladies? You told him you couldn't come - mind thinking of some half-assed excuse. Migraine, you muttered into the phone, hands smoothing paper, shifting it to the other hand. Hanging the phone in place, you lean backward bringing the object closer to your eyes as if willing your sight to seek passage through the brown wrapping.
This was ridiculous. Obsessive almost. Pathetically sitting in your half packed room acting of a child on Christmas eve night anxiously awaiting Santa to bring forth their presents. You should get dressed and meet the rest down at Hellos, drink self to sloppy early birthday drunkenness and wake up the next morning with head throbbing and the probability of walking cleanly to your bathroom less than none. But you don't. Instead you settle yourself down further in bed, lying head upon forearm as eyes lock on it. Eyes blur around edges and you decide that a quick nap wouldn't necessarily hurt.
::
"You awake?" Orlando's soft drawl is the first thing that meets your ears as you answer the phone. Behind the voice, you can hear the soft mechanical hum of engines and it takes you awhile to connect it to the plane.
"Yeah, but barely." Shifting upward on an elbow, you lean forward to switch the lamp on, flinching as dusty yellow light floods across the room and eyes. Unconsciously, your gaze drift toward the package idling on the nightstand. You find your right hand smooth against the paper before hefting it into your grasp once more. "How's the flight so far?"
"Too fucking long, but I can't complain much. This is as comfortable as it gets," he nosily shifts in his seat. "Already sleeping though, you lazy git?" Light sound of his laughter. "Why aren't you out and about and shagging your way to a birthday bliss?"
"Eh, didn't feel to get up to that tonight. Besides, my fucking skills are still king." You're greeted once more with his laughter.
"You wish little man. We both know you've learned your techniques from me." A snicker is heard and you feel yourself snickering along with him.
"So. Didn't open it did you?"
"No, not that anxious, man." On the last word (in which he felt his voice hitch and tilt upward), he dropped the package on the floor watching as it rolled onetwothree times on the carpet before coming to a quiet stop near a rumpled shirt. "Yeah. Didn't."
"Not knowing is getting at you, isn't it?" You can imagine Orlando with the shit eating grin on face knowing for a fact that he's finally got something over you. And he loves every fucking minute of it. Bastard.
"Why should it? I, my annoying as fuck friend, am a master of patience. To tell the truth, I haven't really given it a thought since I came back to the house. Now it's on my mind since you keep talking about it."
He's silent and you think that perhaps you could have made him believe all of the tossed out shit, but his laugh a second later tells you different.
"You fuck. You're probably right about now staring at it and wondering what in hell I could give you," his voice lowers. "It's not the twelve inch black dildo you wanted though. Sorry to disappoint."
"You break my heart, Orlando." You lower yourself down the bed, reaching fingers out until they brush the package, but not quite being able to whisk it into the grasp. "You know I've always wanted that. You slay me."
"Well I promise I'll make it up to you - it'll make a lovely addition to an Easter bonnet. Maybe next time, I'll get you a good lay. Haven't had none of those in quite awhile." Another snicker - this one louder than the other. Not just a bastard, but a fucking bastard at that.
"You're still an annoying fuck, you know that?"
"And you love that about me." He sighs. "You can open it now if you want," slight hesitation. "Wait. Don't. Open it when I hang up. But when you do, don't call back for the night. I want you to really think about it, okay? Do that for me. I guess I'll speak to you later, eh?" And with a click Orlando is gone to the lands of planes and the upcoming England.
::
A pile of white sand and small pieces of black shale rock meet your touch as the package lays open with brown wrapping on the floor. You run your right thumb over the smoothness of the rock while fingers of the left sift through the sand that calls to you almost hypnotically. Imagined sounds of gulls and chilled air meet behind your eyes and touches skin. You can smell the distant ocean breeze and you can see - if you try hard enough - you can see him, wrapped in the warmth of the blankets that weren't that warm after all. You can see him shiver, eyes at half-mast looking back at you - curious and alert.
Your fingers nudge against something underneath the sand and you pull it out. Paper with a photo stapled to it. Half of the photo is draped in mid to dark shadows, sunlight breaking through in certain places. Eyes move to the east taking in the figure with their face slightly turned away from the imposing lens - color filling cheeks, a hand nestled underneath chin propping it upward. Unfelt wind makes strands of hair sitting on top of the head whisk up in a messy spiral. Next to the sitting figure, the sand is lifted into the air by the same wind - all unnoticed by the person. You stare, noticing the angles and shapes of the boys' face and how some of the shadows that line in the west reach toward him. The youngness. The unknown mystery of it all. It's you.
Your eyes drift down to the paper where Orlando's messy scrawl took up half the page.
Shadows and light and your features - I had to take the picture. You're beautiful like that - off in your own world without a notice to anything else. Something about this picture calls out to me. Maybe it's the way you look. Maybe it's because I can't really see your expression clearly. I just favor it over all others.
You remind me of the beach. Smooth, a bit jagged around edges and rough, as the rumbling upset ocean, when you're angry.
Odd present...I know. But it also reminds me of happiness and perhaps for you too. The beach is one place where you're really alive - where worries seem to cease. And being there to watch you means even more. I like to watch you at those times, just to observe.
So, I'm giving you a piece of New Zealand as a gift and to bring home with you (since you never thought of doing it yourself, you daft cow) to remember everything. All your joys, sadness, confusion, accomplishments. Everything.
I'm sorry I couldn't be there on your birthday, Lij. I'm sorry I couldn't be there with you to see you read this (perhaps dissolved in laughter by now). To see you as you read, 'I love you.' Because I do.
Happy birthday, Lij.
-Orli
Your eyes rest on the words of I love you, swirling them in thought, reading and re-reading it over. It wasn't something you felt that you should pay much attention to. Shouldn't let thoughts wander too far along those words. But you do.
::
You don't call him until the next morning, with a mostly sleepless night left behind.
Hand hovers over the phone, but you don't quite pick it up. Something about the note is off kilter, something that's lying unguarded underneath the quiet scrawl. You lay down the picture, this time face side up and pick up the phone. On the first try, you mistakenly dial the wrong number. On the second, you hear threefourfivesix rings and Orlando's voice - airy and free - enters your ear. Picking the picture up you stare at the shadows and the tilted head and remember.
"Love you too, Orli."
Elijah/Orlando (pg)
Disclaimer: The following isn't true.
::
The air is different, cooler than what you originally expected as it prickles your skin as you steady yourself on the black shale rock on the beach side. Nestled behind you, Orlando is covered by a light blanket, little series of holes poking at the nether region and you can see a bare toe. Hands sleepily curl repeatedly around the outer edges, tugging the blanket further along his body, but yet pulling it away and soon you glimpse a tee shirt covered shoulder once removed from the warm shelter. You think about joining him, wrapping cold, ocean kissed arms around his waist to retreat from the cool of the weather, but you hesitate as the sky takes call to distant gulls drifting above the ocean. Your attention is diverted when coughs touch upon your ears and you shift backwards, tucking the blanket over Orlando's foot, covering it fully.
The two weeks of vacation in New Zealand relaxed you, loosening the knots of tension in body that Dominic claimed he could see whenever you're in a five mile radius of him. On the last few days, you suggested a trip to the beach. It did sound well when you were explaining it to Billy, Dominic, and Orlando the night before. One last early morning journey to the ocean, yeah? Just the four of us, doing whatever and enjoying the company. But Billy and Dominic shot it down, saying it was too cool and too fucking early and instead reverted to ideas of Star Wars, chips, pillows and childish jostling and ribbing in darkness to spend their day. Orlando decided to come along with you and yeah, perhaps he too was a bit daft, but it meant something to you.
The orange from the newly raised sun reflects upon everything in its pale glow.
Orlando turns in your direction, elbows shifting into place to hold him upward as eyes first look out into the ocean before curving back toward yours. "Perfect, eh?"
You let a smile touch your lips as fingers smooth against the rock, images keen and fast behind closed eyes as you whisper "yeah."
::
Warmth envelops as you settle in the car and windows pulled up. Orlando's fingers are quick toward the radio, switching on the CD he brought along and played during the trip to the beach and evidently for the ride back to the house. "Something Viggo recommended. Heal the soul, heal the mind sort of thing."
Steering wheel cool under your hand as you glide the vehicle along the road, listening to Orlando's voice as it floats gently. In the peripheral, you watch as he plucks excess fabric off his clothing, hands laying across the dashboard as he scoots further up the seat.
"I'm sorry I can't stay. The producers are constricted with time, you know. If I could, I would – you know that."
"Yeah, I know," you lightly bite the inside of your cheek. "Your birthday present, though, better be a stripper springing out of a cake ready to do lewd acts on me."
"In your masturbating dreams, Wood," he pulls down the window half way.
"What the hell are you doing? It's fucking cold out there."
"And in here's too fucking hot," he lowers the window a few more inches, rising an eyebrow back at you. Yes, still a fucker.
"I was wondering, what's the first thing you thought when you saw me?" Question light over the engine.
"Ah, Mr. Narcissism!" You give a short laugh. "I don't really remember. Perhaps thought of you as a world class git who was too pretty."
Laughter is loud – perhaps too loud, you think. "No. Really. I remember what I thought about you."
"Oh really? Hideous thoughts were they? Saw the weird as fuck eyes and heard the giggle and cowered in horror for weeks on end?"
Quiet really doesn't suit Orlando, you decide as the car stops at a stoplight. You turn slightly, looking at him. Orlando's cheeks sucked inward as he looks back. "You do that quite a lot."
"What?"
"Making fun of yourself."
"I do it to make myself feel comfortable," short shrug of the shoulder as the light changes and you resume driving. "It's all about 'how fucking blue my eyes are' or 'how fucking bug eyed they look.' I'm just kidding anyway."
"You should stop," fingers curl around your wrist, thumb soothing against the sharp jut of bone. "You aren't a bad looking bloke you know."
Loosening one hand away from the wheel, you switch the heat on low. "Are you hitting on me, Bloom?" corners of mouth twitching upward as eyes glance in his direction.
Orlando shifts around in the seat, hand losing contact from your wrist as his head comes to a still on the head rest, face tilted toward the window. No answer occurs and you swear a visible smirk is reflected in the window.
::
Orlando's scent is around you. Arms strong around waist, face fixed in the nook of neck and light wetness soaking into your shirt at the shoulder. Quiet murmurs of "Happy Birthday" "I'll call you when the plane lands" and "I'll miss you" are whispered even though your voice cracks on the last as you say it back.
Orlando moves away, enfolding Billy in a hug next and leaving a kiss on his forehead. Dominic gives him GQ magazine with Orlando's face plastered on the cover with 'still an asshole' across the magazine Orlando forehead. Orlando calls him a 'git' before he too was hugged. His flight is called over the speaker and he's in front of you once more, removing something from the front pocket of his carry-on bag. It's folded in brown paper, tape holding it messily together.
He holds it forward and when you take it, he tells you, "I know it isn't your birthday technically until a few days, but 'tis the gift. I know you, Lij - don't open it yet" before letting go, his fingers warmth still imprinted onto where he touched. Before he turns to leave, he replies "see you soon, yeah?" You find yourself smiling back at him as he turns and walks away.
You stay back awhile, watching until the plane that Orlando is on leaves the runway. You think, saying goodbye should get less painful over time. But it doesn't.
::
It takes a few hours for the object to obtain your full attention. Taking it between hands, you figure somewhere inbetween those extra padding of paper, a medium sized box is lined inside.
Dominic called fifteen minutes previous, music loud, him shushing whoever was standing next to him and words slurring into others as he tried to convince you once more to come to the club downtown. Sexy ladies, an early birthday bash, Billy buying drinks for everyone, and did I mention, sexy ladies? You told him you couldn't come - mind thinking of some half-assed excuse. Migraine, you muttered into the phone, hands smoothing paper, shifting it to the other hand. Hanging the phone in place, you lean backward bringing the object closer to your eyes as if willing your sight to seek passage through the brown wrapping.
This was ridiculous. Obsessive almost. Pathetically sitting in your half packed room acting of a child on Christmas eve night anxiously awaiting Santa to bring forth their presents. You should get dressed and meet the rest down at Hellos, drink self to sloppy early birthday drunkenness and wake up the next morning with head throbbing and the probability of walking cleanly to your bathroom less than none. But you don't. Instead you settle yourself down further in bed, lying head upon forearm as eyes lock on it. Eyes blur around edges and you decide that a quick nap wouldn't necessarily hurt.
::
"You awake?" Orlando's soft drawl is the first thing that meets your ears as you answer the phone. Behind the voice, you can hear the soft mechanical hum of engines and it takes you awhile to connect it to the plane.
"Yeah, but barely." Shifting upward on an elbow, you lean forward to switch the lamp on, flinching as dusty yellow light floods across the room and eyes. Unconsciously, your gaze drift toward the package idling on the nightstand. You find your right hand smooth against the paper before hefting it into your grasp once more. "How's the flight so far?"
"Too fucking long, but I can't complain much. This is as comfortable as it gets," he nosily shifts in his seat. "Already sleeping though, you lazy git?" Light sound of his laughter. "Why aren't you out and about and shagging your way to a birthday bliss?"
"Eh, didn't feel to get up to that tonight. Besides, my fucking skills are still king." You're greeted once more with his laughter.
"You wish little man. We both know you've learned your techniques from me." A snicker is heard and you feel yourself snickering along with him.
"So. Didn't open it did you?"
"No, not that anxious, man." On the last word (in which he felt his voice hitch and tilt upward), he dropped the package on the floor watching as it rolled onetwothree times on the carpet before coming to a quiet stop near a rumpled shirt. "Yeah. Didn't."
"Not knowing is getting at you, isn't it?" You can imagine Orlando with the shit eating grin on face knowing for a fact that he's finally got something over you. And he loves every fucking minute of it. Bastard.
"Why should it? I, my annoying as fuck friend, am a master of patience. To tell the truth, I haven't really given it a thought since I came back to the house. Now it's on my mind since you keep talking about it."
He's silent and you think that perhaps you could have made him believe all of the tossed out shit, but his laugh a second later tells you different.
"You fuck. You're probably right about now staring at it and wondering what in hell I could give you," his voice lowers. "It's not the twelve inch black dildo you wanted though. Sorry to disappoint."
"You break my heart, Orlando." You lower yourself down the bed, reaching fingers out until they brush the package, but not quite being able to whisk it into the grasp. "You know I've always wanted that. You slay me."
"Well I promise I'll make it up to you - it'll make a lovely addition to an Easter bonnet. Maybe next time, I'll get you a good lay. Haven't had none of those in quite awhile." Another snicker - this one louder than the other. Not just a bastard, but a fucking bastard at that.
"You're still an annoying fuck, you know that?"
"And you love that about me." He sighs. "You can open it now if you want," slight hesitation. "Wait. Don't. Open it when I hang up. But when you do, don't call back for the night. I want you to really think about it, okay? Do that for me. I guess I'll speak to you later, eh?" And with a click Orlando is gone to the lands of planes and the upcoming England.
::
A pile of white sand and small pieces of black shale rock meet your touch as the package lays open with brown wrapping on the floor. You run your right thumb over the smoothness of the rock while fingers of the left sift through the sand that calls to you almost hypnotically. Imagined sounds of gulls and chilled air meet behind your eyes and touches skin. You can smell the distant ocean breeze and you can see - if you try hard enough - you can see him, wrapped in the warmth of the blankets that weren't that warm after all. You can see him shiver, eyes at half-mast looking back at you - curious and alert.
Your fingers nudge against something underneath the sand and you pull it out. Paper with a photo stapled to it. Half of the photo is draped in mid to dark shadows, sunlight breaking through in certain places. Eyes move to the east taking in the figure with their face slightly turned away from the imposing lens - color filling cheeks, a hand nestled underneath chin propping it upward. Unfelt wind makes strands of hair sitting on top of the head whisk up in a messy spiral. Next to the sitting figure, the sand is lifted into the air by the same wind - all unnoticed by the person. You stare, noticing the angles and shapes of the boys' face and how some of the shadows that line in the west reach toward him. The youngness. The unknown mystery of it all. It's you.
Your eyes drift down to the paper where Orlando's messy scrawl took up half the page.
Shadows and light and your features - I had to take the picture. You're beautiful like that - off in your own world without a notice to anything else. Something about this picture calls out to me. Maybe it's the way you look. Maybe it's because I can't really see your expression clearly. I just favor it over all others.
You remind me of the beach. Smooth, a bit jagged around edges and rough, as the rumbling upset ocean, when you're angry.
Odd present...I know. But it also reminds me of happiness and perhaps for you too. The beach is one place where you're really alive - where worries seem to cease. And being there to watch you means even more. I like to watch you at those times, just to observe.
So, I'm giving you a piece of New Zealand as a gift and to bring home with you (since you never thought of doing it yourself, you daft cow) to remember everything. All your joys, sadness, confusion, accomplishments. Everything.
I'm sorry I couldn't be there on your birthday, Lij. I'm sorry I couldn't be there with you to see you read this (perhaps dissolved in laughter by now). To see you as you read, 'I love you.' Because I do.
Happy birthday, Lij.
-Orli
Your eyes rest on the words of I love you, swirling them in thought, reading and re-reading it over. It wasn't something you felt that you should pay much attention to. Shouldn't let thoughts wander too far along those words. But you do.
::
You don't call him until the next morning, with a mostly sleepless night left behind.
Hand hovers over the phone, but you don't quite pick it up. Something about the note is off kilter, something that's lying unguarded underneath the quiet scrawl. You lay down the picture, this time face side up and pick up the phone. On the first try, you mistakenly dial the wrong number. On the second, you hear threefourfivesix rings and Orlando's voice - airy and free - enters your ear. Picking the picture up you stare at the shadows and the tilted head and remember.
"Love you too, Orli."
no subject
<3,
Red
Re:
no subject
Re:
no subject
Re:
And the lyrics on your icon are now stuck in my head *g*
no subject
I'm on a bit of an Orlijah bent at the mo, and this so hit my spot.
*loves*
Re:
I'm also on an Orlando/Elijah mix - those two just seem to work well with each other. They're just so pretty. And twice the pretty when together.
no subject
Re: