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fellowshippers2004-03-01 10:29 pm
enchanteresse.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-03-01 10:29 pm
(no subject)
Title: The curve of his lips
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando
Rating: R
This is a birthday ficlet for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
araliesse. *fond smile*
Orlando, before he grew up and became a big movie star, used to be as eager and friendly as a little puppy. He liked to paw people all over too, but Viggo never minded much. Even if most of the time, when he went to do a ponytail with his hair, there were already Elf fingers tangled in them, even if he couldn't walk in public without being threatened by soppy, wet kisses. Even if Orlando had the tendency to climb in his lap when he had one beer too many and wiggle.
His memories of New Zealand were like the many pictures on the mirror of the old bus he hadn't brought back with him to America, in the end. Fragments, splashes of colours, Hobbit laughter and a wizard booming at them in annoyance, days in the freezing rain that seemed to go straight to the bone, pictures of ghost-like actors after a month in Helms Deep, knowing they still had to go on. Such a madness that had taken over his every thoughts, made him lose himself inside Aragorn so deeply that he had trouble finding his way out in the end. So many late nights working over his script and faxing rambling scribbles about his character motivation over to PJ who was working just as late, his hands turning into callouses and many open cuts.
Sometimes, he woke up gasping from a nightmare at the idea that he had almost refused the offer of being part of the shoot.
But as much as the mind had an infinite ability of dwelling over bad times, it tended to flash over those happy periods, turning them into dreams that he couldn't quite touch anymore.
He had the feeling that in many years, New Zealand would finally come out in his poetry, instead of just being like a ghost that he tried to capture over and over with his camera, to mostly have it evade him.
One day, he'd be able to put the essence of it into a poem. Maybe even talk about brown eyes and the mad energy of a young man who grew up to be a movie star.
**
He knew there were rumours that the whole cast was fucking like mad, just because they tended to be affectionate and cheerfully did it in front of god and everybody else that happened to watch. But really, they were always on top of each other. They shared trailers, had the whole crew around them all the time, gathered around the campfire at night and huddled together for warmth. They were so much in each other's pocket that somebody couldn't sneeze without the whole group knowing about it at once.
So, really, it had never happened.
Only it had. His skin still remembered the feel of Orlando's hands all over his body. He didn't think he could ever write a poem about it, though, not unless he lived to be a hundred years old.
**
Orlando was in the blond mohawk phase that month. He was also taking advantage of their two weeks off to come bug the fuck out of Viggo at his house.
"Viggo, come on, live a little," he was practically whining at him while hunting some food in his fridge. "You don't need to go ride today, tell Aragorn to stuff it. You need to have some fun too."
"I happen to find riding a lot of fun," Viggo told him, firmly taking the cucumber out of Orlando's hands and putting it back in the fridge. "Hands off my vegetables, prissy Elf. Why don't you go annoy the Hobbits?"
"I was missing you," Orlando told him, pouting a little because his toy had been taken away from him.
But he turned warm puppy brown eyes at Viggo and just like that, he was a goner.
"What do you want to do, then?" he asked the younger man, giving in to the inevitable.
Orlando looked him up and down, making Viggo conscious for the first time that he was wearing clothes with holes in them, there were traces of paint on his bare feet, his long hair was going in every direction and the Aragorn's stubbles were turning into a full blown beard. There was the ghost of a smirk on Orlando's face, so he braced himself for insults that he would return in kind. After all, Orlando's shirt alone was fodder for hours of abuse.
But nothing came, only a too skinny body pressing himself against him, long strong arms surrounding him into a hug. There was a bit of messing up on his hair, so Orlando could make sure he didn't look too affectionate, but the feeling behind it was genuine. He took a few steps back before Viggo could return the embrace, fidgeted a bit, then made a show of pulling on an invisible thread on his shirt that was obviously about to morph itself into some kind of monster. It was certainly hungry enough to clean off all the flesh off their bodies then spit out their bones.
He was sure Orlando had really pretty bones too.
The younger man was giving him the patient look that they all ended up giving him in the end, when he took too long messing about with lighting and colours and got lost in his own world.
"We could go surfing," Orlando brightly proposed as soon as he knew Viggo's attention had wandered back to him.
"Over my very dead body, Elf," Viggo dryly said before offering him a beer as a replacement for the other phallic object.
Their fingers brushed against each other, calloused hands against calloused hands. Viggo pretended not to notice. Orlando, however, had never learned how to do such a thing and made a show of spider walking all over the back of Viggo's hand while smiling brightly at him.
"I'll give you the kiss of life if you drown, clumsy human, I promise."
"You'll never convince me, Orlando, not anymore that you'll agree to come camping with me," Viggo calmly told him, hopping on the countertop and swinging his legs a little.
There was an odd expression on Orlando's face for a moment, who hurriedly took a swallow of his beer, choking a little in the process.
"What?" Viggo pressed him, unconsciously straightening up and taking some of Aragorn's body language.
He slouched down again when he realized what he was doing, intent on actually shaking his character loose for the few weeks off they were going to get. But it was easier said than done.
"I'd drive you mad within five minutes. I talk a lot," Orlando finally told him, playing with the magnets on his fridge, avoiding his gaze. "You need the silence and solitude so you can do your artist thing." He nodded decisively, as if it was the end to the argument.
"I don't want solitude and silence, I do fine with you running in circles around me. Where did you get the idea I didn't want your company?" Viggo pressed him, Aragorn's accent finding his way in his speech again.
Orlando cocked his head at him. For a moment, Viggo fancied that he could see blue eyes, as if Legolas was peering back at him.
"I just think you would get bored if you were alone with me, that is all," he replied with a graceful smile, Legolas's accent creeping back into his too.
They shared a look of common dismay and amusement, then Viggo chuckled.
"They just can't stay away from each other," he said, feeling Aragorn pressing against the back of his mind.
"I swore to follow you until the end of this quest, Aragorn. A prince does no go back on his words," Orlando told him, that damn little knowing smile playing on his lips.
"So you will follow my lead, fair princeling?" Viggo shot back, teasing him.
He had to admit that Orlando was damned good at this. As long as he didn't move, he could sustain the illusion of being an Elf. There was a haughty look in answer.
"You are my king, I shall not leave you until you free Middle Earth from this evil. I'll fight by your side as your brother in arm."
Viggo resisted the urge to start arguing semantics and what Tolkien would have said about those words, amused by the liberties Orlando was taking with the text.
"I have never known an Elf to be so... obedient."
Then he waited for the explosion. There was a little flicker of annoyance that was very unlike an Elf, but not much else. The younger man was really getting good at this game.
"I don't obey, I follow you willingly. Not that I expect a limited mortal to know the difference."
"Very well, then," Viggo said, getting on his feet again, straightening up his whole body.
There was some giddy excitement running under his skin, his voice deepening. He didn't know exactly what he was about to do, but he trusted that feeling to lead him to somewhere good, somewhere worthwhile. Even if it was the insane part of his brain talking right now.
"Get on your knees," he said softly, with his own drawl.
"What? Vig, what the hell?"
"Get on your knees."
He didn't move, didn't raise his voice, only radiated calm certainty. Inside, he was screaming at himself to stop fucking around. He watched as the tip of a pink little tongue wet nervous lips. He didn't quite manage to hide his shock when Orlando slowly sank to his knees in front of him, looking up at him with eyes that weren't sparkling at the joke.
Viggo just watched with some detachment when he reached out for Orlando, dragged his face closer to him, until he could feel him practically breathe against his crotch. Orlando had his head bowed so he couldn't see his expression, could only gasp in shock when nibble little fingers opened up his zipper, drawing him out, nuzzling quickly hardening flesh. Abruptly, he was back in his own brain, back to being Viggo, shocked that he was even contemplating doing this, but fuck. His hands scrambled uselessly over Orlando's head, needing hair to grab at, only encountering smooth skin.
He said fuck like a benediction when full lips surrounded him, swallowed him down, the heat burning him. Dimly, when he shoved himself so hard in Orlando's mouth that he fancied he could hit the back of his throat, it occurred to him that Orlando was far too good at this, far too good to not have done this before.
Another fuck came from his mouth when he came in Orlando, let him suck him so hard that his knees buckled, abruptly back to being a middle aged man with a beauty on his knees in front of him, with no more trace of a ranger who would be king anywhere in him.
Legolas was still in the smug curve of Orlando's smile, though.
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando
Rating: R
This is a birthday ficlet for
araliesse. *fond smile*Orlando, before he grew up and became a big movie star, used to be as eager and friendly as a little puppy. He liked to paw people all over too, but Viggo never minded much. Even if most of the time, when he went to do a ponytail with his hair, there were already Elf fingers tangled in them, even if he couldn't walk in public without being threatened by soppy, wet kisses. Even if Orlando had the tendency to climb in his lap when he had one beer too many and wiggle.
His memories of New Zealand were like the many pictures on the mirror of the old bus he hadn't brought back with him to America, in the end. Fragments, splashes of colours, Hobbit laughter and a wizard booming at them in annoyance, days in the freezing rain that seemed to go straight to the bone, pictures of ghost-like actors after a month in Helms Deep, knowing they still had to go on. Such a madness that had taken over his every thoughts, made him lose himself inside Aragorn so deeply that he had trouble finding his way out in the end. So many late nights working over his script and faxing rambling scribbles about his character motivation over to PJ who was working just as late, his hands turning into callouses and many open cuts.
Sometimes, he woke up gasping from a nightmare at the idea that he had almost refused the offer of being part of the shoot.
But as much as the mind had an infinite ability of dwelling over bad times, it tended to flash over those happy periods, turning them into dreams that he couldn't quite touch anymore.
He had the feeling that in many years, New Zealand would finally come out in his poetry, instead of just being like a ghost that he tried to capture over and over with his camera, to mostly have it evade him.
One day, he'd be able to put the essence of it into a poem. Maybe even talk about brown eyes and the mad energy of a young man who grew up to be a movie star.
**
He knew there were rumours that the whole cast was fucking like mad, just because they tended to be affectionate and cheerfully did it in front of god and everybody else that happened to watch. But really, they were always on top of each other. They shared trailers, had the whole crew around them all the time, gathered around the campfire at night and huddled together for warmth. They were so much in each other's pocket that somebody couldn't sneeze without the whole group knowing about it at once.
So, really, it had never happened.
Only it had. His skin still remembered the feel of Orlando's hands all over his body. He didn't think he could ever write a poem about it, though, not unless he lived to be a hundred years old.
**
Orlando was in the blond mohawk phase that month. He was also taking advantage of their two weeks off to come bug the fuck out of Viggo at his house.
"Viggo, come on, live a little," he was practically whining at him while hunting some food in his fridge. "You don't need to go ride today, tell Aragorn to stuff it. You need to have some fun too."
"I happen to find riding a lot of fun," Viggo told him, firmly taking the cucumber out of Orlando's hands and putting it back in the fridge. "Hands off my vegetables, prissy Elf. Why don't you go annoy the Hobbits?"
"I was missing you," Orlando told him, pouting a little because his toy had been taken away from him.
But he turned warm puppy brown eyes at Viggo and just like that, he was a goner.
"What do you want to do, then?" he asked the younger man, giving in to the inevitable.
Orlando looked him up and down, making Viggo conscious for the first time that he was wearing clothes with holes in them, there were traces of paint on his bare feet, his long hair was going in every direction and the Aragorn's stubbles were turning into a full blown beard. There was the ghost of a smirk on Orlando's face, so he braced himself for insults that he would return in kind. After all, Orlando's shirt alone was fodder for hours of abuse.
But nothing came, only a too skinny body pressing himself against him, long strong arms surrounding him into a hug. There was a bit of messing up on his hair, so Orlando could make sure he didn't look too affectionate, but the feeling behind it was genuine. He took a few steps back before Viggo could return the embrace, fidgeted a bit, then made a show of pulling on an invisible thread on his shirt that was obviously about to morph itself into some kind of monster. It was certainly hungry enough to clean off all the flesh off their bodies then spit out their bones.
He was sure Orlando had really pretty bones too.
The younger man was giving him the patient look that they all ended up giving him in the end, when he took too long messing about with lighting and colours and got lost in his own world.
"We could go surfing," Orlando brightly proposed as soon as he knew Viggo's attention had wandered back to him.
"Over my very dead body, Elf," Viggo dryly said before offering him a beer as a replacement for the other phallic object.
Their fingers brushed against each other, calloused hands against calloused hands. Viggo pretended not to notice. Orlando, however, had never learned how to do such a thing and made a show of spider walking all over the back of Viggo's hand while smiling brightly at him.
"I'll give you the kiss of life if you drown, clumsy human, I promise."
"You'll never convince me, Orlando, not anymore that you'll agree to come camping with me," Viggo calmly told him, hopping on the countertop and swinging his legs a little.
There was an odd expression on Orlando's face for a moment, who hurriedly took a swallow of his beer, choking a little in the process.
"What?" Viggo pressed him, unconsciously straightening up and taking some of Aragorn's body language.
He slouched down again when he realized what he was doing, intent on actually shaking his character loose for the few weeks off they were going to get. But it was easier said than done.
"I'd drive you mad within five minutes. I talk a lot," Orlando finally told him, playing with the magnets on his fridge, avoiding his gaze. "You need the silence and solitude so you can do your artist thing." He nodded decisively, as if it was the end to the argument.
"I don't want solitude and silence, I do fine with you running in circles around me. Where did you get the idea I didn't want your company?" Viggo pressed him, Aragorn's accent finding his way in his speech again.
Orlando cocked his head at him. For a moment, Viggo fancied that he could see blue eyes, as if Legolas was peering back at him.
"I just think you would get bored if you were alone with me, that is all," he replied with a graceful smile, Legolas's accent creeping back into his too.
They shared a look of common dismay and amusement, then Viggo chuckled.
"They just can't stay away from each other," he said, feeling Aragorn pressing against the back of his mind.
"I swore to follow you until the end of this quest, Aragorn. A prince does no go back on his words," Orlando told him, that damn little knowing smile playing on his lips.
"So you will follow my lead, fair princeling?" Viggo shot back, teasing him.
He had to admit that Orlando was damned good at this. As long as he didn't move, he could sustain the illusion of being an Elf. There was a haughty look in answer.
"You are my king, I shall not leave you until you free Middle Earth from this evil. I'll fight by your side as your brother in arm."
Viggo resisted the urge to start arguing semantics and what Tolkien would have said about those words, amused by the liberties Orlando was taking with the text.
"I have never known an Elf to be so... obedient."
Then he waited for the explosion. There was a little flicker of annoyance that was very unlike an Elf, but not much else. The younger man was really getting good at this game.
"I don't obey, I follow you willingly. Not that I expect a limited mortal to know the difference."
"Very well, then," Viggo said, getting on his feet again, straightening up his whole body.
There was some giddy excitement running under his skin, his voice deepening. He didn't know exactly what he was about to do, but he trusted that feeling to lead him to somewhere good, somewhere worthwhile. Even if it was the insane part of his brain talking right now.
"Get on your knees," he said softly, with his own drawl.
"What? Vig, what the hell?"
"Get on your knees."
He didn't move, didn't raise his voice, only radiated calm certainty. Inside, he was screaming at himself to stop fucking around. He watched as the tip of a pink little tongue wet nervous lips. He didn't quite manage to hide his shock when Orlando slowly sank to his knees in front of him, looking up at him with eyes that weren't sparkling at the joke.
Viggo just watched with some detachment when he reached out for Orlando, dragged his face closer to him, until he could feel him practically breathe against his crotch. Orlando had his head bowed so he couldn't see his expression, could only gasp in shock when nibble little fingers opened up his zipper, drawing him out, nuzzling quickly hardening flesh. Abruptly, he was back in his own brain, back to being Viggo, shocked that he was even contemplating doing this, but fuck. His hands scrambled uselessly over Orlando's head, needing hair to grab at, only encountering smooth skin.
He said fuck like a benediction when full lips surrounded him, swallowed him down, the heat burning him. Dimly, when he shoved himself so hard in Orlando's mouth that he fancied he could hit the back of his throat, it occurred to him that Orlando was far too good at this, far too good to not have done this before.
Another fuck came from his mouth when he came in Orlando, let him suck him so hard that his knees buckled, abruptly back to being a middle aged man with a beauty on his knees in front of him, with no more trace of a ranger who would be king anywhere in him.
Legolas was still in the smug curve of Orlando's smile, though.
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Fantastic fic.
Lyds.
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