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fellowshippers2004-03-04 11:09 pm
the-legion2012.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-03-04 11:09 pm
viggorli fic
i spent all fucking evening writing this, and i kinda hate it, but it had to be done, and once done, it had to be published. it's sappy and needy viggorli. let me know how much it sucks. that, in itself, might be its own reward. i decided to go with the more formal headers, disclaimers and such, so i put the whole shebang behind the cut, cause it's kind of long, and it would annoy me if it took half my friends page. (sort of like this rambly intro, heh)
TITLE: Cowards
GENRE: RPS
RATING: R (if that) for language and implied {shudder} homosexual relations
PAIRING: VM/OB, others mentioned but not central to the plot, so fuck'em
WARNING: The author is likely to go postal in 5... 4... 3... 2...
SETTING: It happened only in my warped, warped mind.
SYNOPSIS: have realized I definitely need therapy. badly.
NOTES: F sharp is quite a lovely note, although some days I feel more at
ease with an A flat, or a D natural. Once more this goes out unbetaed and
untested, my humble apologies. Any and all mistakes are undeniably mine.
FEEDBACK: My name is legion2012, and I'm a feedback whore. No,
please. Seriously, dude, no clapping.
Flames will elicit hearty rounds of cackling, possibly over coffee with
friends.
DISCLAIMER: (to the tune of 'I feel pretty')
I own nothing, I have nothing,
and I'm making no money from thiiiiiis!
I am nothing but a randy little slashy freak.
Lalalalalalala, lalala!
I don't know them, never met them,
they're not real and they're probably
straaight!
But I caaan... dream of watching them
having seeeeeex!
*bows*
**********
Cowards
**********
"It's good to see you, Vig," I said, with my most brilliant smile.
Viggo smiled, and his eyes crinkled in that particularly charming way of his. My heart leapt in my chest, like it always does. His smile grew rueful.
"Our Elf-boy is all grown up," Viggo mumbled, and my breath caught at the...something...in his tone.
"Am I?" I said, still smiling, somewhat amused and more than slightly surprised. I could feel my eyes misting over. I knew he wasn't saying that this was it. The last movie. The last set of premieres and junkets. One of the last cast parties. Our careers and their divergent paths. My smile wavered. His faded completely. His eyes were studying me all over, memorizing the changes since he had seen me last.
With my peripheral vision, I saw Sir Ian's expression soften, he shared a quick look with Liv. Dom slipped an arm around Elijah's shoulders. Instinctively, I suppose. Elijah and Billy were both grinning fondly, knowingly. I could have sworn Fran and Philippa sighed in unison. Beanie's gaze wandered thoughtfully, trying not to look uncomfortable, as he usually did. They had all been witness to this dance for as long as they had known us.
Since the first day Viggo joined the cast, the very first time we met, there was an electricity in the air between us. We barely exchanged three words that day, but the connection was instantaneous, and intense. We couldn't not flirt incessantly with each other, teasing with every breath. Everybody in New Zealand, hell, in the Pacific, assumed we were fucking. But we were not. Not even close.
Here's a news-flash: Viggo Mortensen and I are the biggest cowards on the face of the sodding planet. We chalked it up to being real, to being sensible, to being professional. No on-set flings for us. There were the paparazzi to be considered. The age difference. Blah, blah, blah.
Then my career happened, and of course he couldn't possibly jeopardize that for me. I could only grant him the same courtesy. We listened to the voice of reason. Desperately hung on to it, really. Which is why, to this day, there is enough contained sexual tension between us to stop a herd of stampeding Olyphaunts in its tracks. Possibly choke them to death while we're at it.
Sean was all enthusiasm when he grabbed us both and pulled us into the library before we could protest.
"You guys have to see this, I'm telling you. I found the most exciting prints of some of the New Zealand artwork that Viggo was sponsoring last year."
He went on and, as soon as we were in the room, he stopped.
"Oh, crap, I totally left Liv hanging out there. Forgot. I'll be right back, guys."
And so he left. Left us alone. Astin is quicker than anybody gives him credit for. Before we knew what hit us, he managed to legitimately get us away from the crowd and into a private spot that people were unlikely to wander into. Hell, he probably hung a 'do not disturb' sign right outside the door. He quite possibly had it hidden under his jacket the whole time, just on the off chance of his needing it.
Viggo was looking around, half heartedly playing it cool. I stared at him, praying my eyes weren't nearly as hungry as I felt. He finally looked at me and grew very still.
His shoulders drooped almost imperceptibly. I saw him shrink a little.
"All grown up," Viggo half whispered. He drew his lips tightly for a moment. I knew the act as Viggo's equivalent of biting his tongue.
"I'm the same person, Viggo. I haven't changed that much, have I?" I asked, feeling much younger than I was.
Viggo opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. His eyes looked back and forth from mine, as if looking for answers on the wall of books behind me.
"We," he started, then stopped again. "We haven't had a chance to see much of each other lately." His eyes on mine looked only vaguely hurt, or perhaps afraid.
"I really miss our walks, our long talks. New Zealand..." after a deep breath, he went on, "Henry misses you a lot, he said to say hi." I could have sworn his voice almost cracked on the last syllable. There was another brief flash of *something* on his face. I felt a cold panic grip at my insides.
Viggo tried to smile, didn't quite make it. He looked like he wanted to jump out the nearest window. I thought I would most definitely have jumped right after him. He started compulsively wiping his hands on the wool of his pant legs and my throat tightened.
"Would you like something to drink, Orlando?" Viggo asked, casually to the untrained ear, looking for an excuse to flee the awkwardness.
I may have whimpered. I can't remember. I flew into his arms in a moment, not bothering to hide how vulnerable our unspoken conversation made me feel. His arms were strong as ever, and not hesitant in the least.
"Are you ok?" Viggo asked in a hushed whisper.
I closed my eyes, nodding against his face, cheek to cheek as we were, forcing my body to lie where my mouth couldn't. My voice would have been a little strangled at the moment.
"Just. I. Don't let go just now," I finally managed. It sounded like a question.
Viggo tightened his hold on me to the point that it almost hurt. I had to grit my teeth so as not to lose control.
"All this time, Viggo," I exhaled softly, sadly. And all that we did not allow ourselves, I did not say. I mentally kicked myself for sounding so weak, but glad I said it. Out of the blue, and it was an ongoing conversation we had most pointedly *not* been having since that night in New Zealand when I slipped on a rock and he caught me breathlessly in his arms and the moon was full and we *almost* kissed.
"It was the right thing to do," he responded hoarsely, trying to convince himself as much as me.
"Was it?" I tried for amusement, but sounded cynical instead.
"Look at how you've taken off," he said, pride and sadness battling in his voice. "It," he paused, "had to be," he responded warily, begging the question.
"Do you really believe that?"
He lowered his face and lost it. It happened slowly. His lips began to quiver, his nose to twitch, his eyes to close, and then he was crying. He looked all of six years old.
"I don't know," he managed to say, as tears rolled down his face.
My hand was trembling when I put in on his face. I could not find the energy to cry. I felt drained, empty. I had not thought it possible that I could love him more. I was wrong. Soon enough, we would run out of excuses for these casual encounters, and we both knew it.
With a shuddering breath, he regained some control. His voice was ragged, a little angry and resigned at the same time.
"But it's done. It's done. We can't go back and change it."
He put his own hand on mine, where it rested on his face, and leaned minutely into them.
My heart shattered like brittle crystal. I wiped a tear from his face with my thumb.
"I will never forgive you if you don't let me kiss you right now." I barely recognized my own, demanding voice.
A little Viggo giggle, only tearful, and my lips were on his, tentative and a little frightened. The taste of Viggo, La Veuve Cliquot, faint aftertaste of tobacco and tears and it was my turn to lose it. His hands were immediately in my hair, warm and steady. He was inhaling me, licking my lips and still crying. Crying, for fuck's sake, and it was too much, and not nearly enough.
He let go of my lips only long enough to whisper my name. 'Orlando.' Then he was all over me again, and I was lost. My arms and mouth full of Viggo and I was praying to all the gods to strike me dead right then and there because this was the moment I wanted to remember as my last moment on Earth and I knew that coming down from it would be the hardest thing I would ever had to do, other than burying loved ones and their memories. I had a second to wonder if to have something knowing it will be taken away is worse than never having it at all.
Another kiss, my lips angry and bruising, his hand wandering possessively over my back, and I knew this would ultimately break me, I knew it was breaking me already. I had another second to realize that, as Sean A. might say, I did not give a flying fuck about that fact.
Don't ask me where the hell thoughts of death and cemeteries came from, but the endless leaps and tangents of my own thought process brought me an image of myself standing over Viggo's grave and I did whimper then, loudly and mournfully. A glimpse of a future with Viggo gone and all that we never had. My kiss became even more desperate, all tongue and teeth and despair.
His hands became fists, pulling at my hair, and he kissed his way past my ear to bury his face in my shoulder, breathing heavily.
"I'm sorry, Orlando. I'm sorry I can't make things be what we want them to be. You. I expect you'll thank me someday," he said. And it seemed to me he rather *hoped* more than expected that from me.
"Fuck you, Viggo. You are an arsehole, you know," I squeezed out between tears, "and I say that with love."
He sobbed, apologizing for ruining my suit, and a small, petty and cruel part of me was glad that he had the decency to feel this guilty about everything that never happened between us, was glad that I hurt him. It was, however, no consolation to the whole of me in the end.
We gradually calmed down. He let me go, walking two steps backwards, holding on to my wrists.
"Orli," he said, and the I love you he couldn't bring himself to say stabbed me in the chest like a cold blade.
*I* won't take those words to my grave.
"I love you," I said, contemptuously. It knocked the breath right out of him.
By the time Viggo regained his bearings I was gone, out of the room. The click of the closing door shook another, broken 'Orli' out of him.
Sir Ian intercepted me close to the exit.
"Leaving so soon?" he asked. There was a note of amusement in his voice, but it wasn't unkind.
"Ian," I made myself look at him. It was obvious I had been crying, but he gave no sign of noticing it.
"So sorry, I have to go now. Sorry."
"Orlando?" he said in a soft, Gandalf-like voice, "Just a moment, please."
I held his gaze expectantly, not daring to say anything else. I needed to get out of there fast.
"If you need anything at all," he said, touching my arm lightly, "and I assure you I mean that in a non-pervy way, *please* don't hesitate to ask."
"Yeah, thanks a lot, Ian," it took all my will to keep from breaking down right then. "Cheers."
"On you go," Sir Ian said, guiding me to the door himself. He turned me around one last time, his own body shielding me from the crowd behind him. "Don't try to bottle it all up, lad. You count a few good listeners among your friends. Now go," he said with a wink, "don't go making a spectacle of yourself."
I smiled at that, despite myself. The old man nodded, satisfied.
I squeezed his bicep without a word and all but ran down the stairs. I looked at the front lawn, at my car, at the little road, and the whole picture swam a little around the edges. I decided to wander back into the garden, knowing I should not drive like this. I *really* didn't need the drama.
While walking aimlessly, I found a tacky, rather baroque ironwork bench that was painted silver, like some obscene filigreed monstrosity hiding behind some shrubby hedges I did not know the name of. I collapsed onto it with a sigh.
********************************
Back inside the house, PJ took the initiative and opened the library door, knocking gently before looking in.
"There's nobody here but us old books," Viggo said in a worn voice.
"Everyone alright in here?" Peter asked, in his Hobbit like fashion.
Viggo was sitting at the desk, his face in his right hand, covering his eyes. He was idly rubbing the wood of the desktop with the fingertips of his left hand. He did not raise his head.
"I'm fine," he responded. His voice was steady, neutral but careful.
"Viggo," Peter said, his tone serious now.
The American looked up at him, eyes still red and a bit swollen.
"Go after him. Just," he paused, gesturing with one hand, "go."
Viggo's expression did not change. His voice was soft.
"I can't."
Peter's eyes glistened. He was not happy about it.
"Aw, fuck, Viggo. Don't make me sic Fran on you. Go get that boy. He's miserable, you know. He has been for some time."
"And you think I'm happy?" Viggo asked, his tone tightening a little.
"My point exactly. Goddammit. Don't you get it? It's not about you. Well, not *just* about you. He doesn't want to be spared or saved, man, just to be loved. And who the fuck am I? See what you make me do? Talk about feelings. You ought to be ashamed of yourself."
Peter stopped and took a deep breath.
"I'm sorry, and I know it's not my place. Do tell me to fuck off if you wish but, for such a brilliant man, you can be exceptionally stupid sometimes. I just thought you should know that," PJ finished, blushing a bit.
"Yeah, well, thanks a lot, buddy," Viggo said brokenly.
Peter deflated.
"He was crying, you know. He doesn't think anybody saw, but," he let it hang, then added, "The boy should not be driving in that state, is all."
Viggo was on his feet in a second. All color left his face.
'I'm such a manipulative bastard,' PJ thought to himself, then shrugged his shoulders internally. 'Eh. I'm a director, it's what I do. I wish I'd done this years ago, actually.'
"Ohgod."
"He went outside, around the back. I think he knows he needs to calm down before taking to the road. He shouldn't drive at all, I don't think. Not like that."
'Evil. I'm evil. I'm-'
Viggo looked around desperately, unsure of what to do.
"You know, Vig, if you let him go like this-" Peter pointedly didn't finish the thought, but rephrased it. "If you let him go this time, it may be too late to make things right between you later. Just thought you should know that."
Viggo winced and shut his eyes, as if in pain.
'Bingo,' PJ thought, 'I rule.'
"That's what Henry said."
He looked Peter in the eye,
"It sucks when your child is both smarter and wiser than you are. It's just not right."
Peter nodded, but said nothing, giving the actor no further reason to stick around. Without another word, Viggo went out to search for Orlando. Nobody tried to stop him as he made a beeline for the front door.
A quick scan of the front lawn reassured him that Orlando's rental was still parked under the poplars close to the road that led to the exit. He breathed once, partially relieved, and proceeded to stalk around the premises, looking for the man with the long, soft, brown curls and soulful eyes.
The sting of pain on his neck from the tension in his shoulders ceased to seize up when he spotted the lithe, elegant figure sprawled on a particularly ugly garden bench.
His pace eased down to Aragorn's practiced trademark long strides as he approached the sulky lad.
********************************
I saw Viggo long before he saw me. Parts of me were feeling warm and fuzzy because he came after me, after all. Other parts wondered if it was wishful thinking for this same thing that which made me linger in the garden, which made me angry at myself. Yet other parts of me were still well and truly pissed at the man. It is safe to say that these latter parts were in control of my higher brain functions at the moment.
I sighed moodily and braced myself for whatever was coming. I refused to look at Viggo even when he stood in front and a little to the left of me, not quite blocking my view of the nearby pond.
"Orlando."
No answer.
"Elf-boy," he said. I could tell he regretted it even before it left his lips.
It earned him a murderous glare.
"I'd like to be alone." Ouch. That came out way more bitter than I intended.
"Orli? Would you...could we...please come with me?"
I stopped my hand as it rose to compulsively smooth my hair and settled it on my face instead, covering my mouth.
He offered his hand, and my eyes were moist all over again. I cursed myself internally and dropped my hand to my lap. I looked at it, then at his face.
"Don't take this the wrong way but, go away."
It would have been grand if it hadn't sounded just this side of pathetic.
"Orli, please. I'm sorry about what I said."
"You should be."
Shite. Did I say that out loud? He's cringed. Yep, I did.
Viggo spoke, miserably,
"I...shit, I'm an asshole, I'm the lowest of the low, I know. I," he stopped and swallowed, hard.
"I lied, Orlando."
That startled a confused answer out of me.
"Wha...Viggo? What?"
His eyes, the tightening of his jaw, spoke volumes.
Viggo's mind raced. I lied. I don't believe it. I don't even think it was the best thing to do anymore, if I ever did. I regret not kissing you that night five years ago every day of my life. We can't go back. Fuck me, we can't! But we can try and change it. Now. From this moment on. I don't wanna lose you forever. Don't leave.
"Help me, Orlando," was what Viggo did say. "Please?"
I took control of my voice, and was pleased that it did not shake.
"I can't. That is. I can't talk right now, Viggo."
He took a tentative step forward, arm still extended. His hand shook ever so slightly.
"I don't wanna talk," Viggo said tiredly.
After much hesitation, I haltingly took his hand. He pulled me to my feet.
We faced each other like that, slightly paranoid. Our practiced eyes instinctively scanned the distance for the glint of camera lenses, or the telltale blinks of red vidcam lights. We caught each other doing it, and I let out a tiny, hysterical chuckle.
Another Viggo giggle, through his nose, at the same time I said,
"Oh, fuck it," he paused. Then with a smirk, "Bugger it all for a lark."
Viggo laughed out loud at the obscure reference. He pulled me to his chest and we embraced tenderly, gingerly running our hands over each other's back and shoulders as if expecting to shred them over broken glass even as we smiled.
The kiss wasn't comforting as much as necessary, and it did feel as if it made our lips bleed. It reminded me to breathe, made me shudder and melt into Viggo's arms. He was content to let me lean on him this time.
We let go of each other's mouth, feelings too ragged to register arousal, foreheads touching, eyes tightly shut and mouths slack. We felt strangely relieved, as if a major disaster had just been averted. Maybe it had. A momentary panic assaulted me.
"You're not going to back out on me, are you?"
Viggo grunted before he spoke,
"You have my permission to kick the shit out of me if I even try," he said.
I grabbed him more tightly.
"I might just have to do that, you know. If you try," I said tightly.
"I know. Orli?"
I made a little questioning sound in my throat.
"Can you forgive me?"
"Can you make me?"
His eyes swore fervently that he'd try. We stood there, simply holding each other for a while.
********************************
"Well," Ian said, a hand furtively drying his face, "I believe our work here is done. Drinks, anyone?"
A chorus of soft, breathy 'yeahs' from three red faced Hobbits as Karl happened out upon the crowded balcony.
"What's going on her-" he didn't quite finish. He followed the other's teary eyes and saw, half hidden by a tall hedge, the pair in each other's arms.
"Oh," he said, softly muttering to himself, "Well, about damn time."
Fran sniffled and leaned her head on Billy's shoulder. Billy smiled kindly and put his arm around her. He finished wiping his reddened eyes and offered Fran his handkerchief. She took it as they walked together back into the house proper.
"Oh, my God," Liv whispered, her face wet with tears. Ian raised an eyebrow at her and she giggled, then shrugged her shoulders.
"It's better than any fucking movie I've seen," she said sweetly, then disappeared inside to wash her face and try to salvage her makeup.
Dom grabbed Elijah by his jacket and pulled him inside and behind the curtains, away from the possibility of prying paparazzo cameras, and into a long kiss. Green eyes looked into blue, red on milky white around the irises of both.
"I love you, doodle."
"Do you regret...any of it?"
"And be like them? No way. No matter the crap the press or our agents give us, no one can take *this* away from us. Think of what they must be feeling, all that wasted time..." Dom's voice caught in his throat.
Elijah gave him a bruising hug, whispering, "I love you too, Sblomie."
Ian pursed his lips in a smile, missing nothing. Karl had a loopy, fond smirk on his face, still fascinated with the scene below.
"So, I guess it's just the two of us, then," Ian said, full of mischief.
Karl looked at him, still smiling, and noticed the balcony had been mostly cleared. Finally catching the meaning of Sir Ian's words, he raised his eyebrow at the old man and retorted,
"Don't you be getting any ideas, Wizard, your arts are no match for the likes of me."
"Certainly," Ian said without missing a beat, "a young, luscious thing as yourself would fancy, shall we say, *fresher* fare."
"More *female* fare, to be exact," Karl responded jauntily, "You'd certainly be handsome enough otherwise."
"Oh, you are much too kind. And a beautiful liar, I might add. Are you, perchance, an actor? I assure you I wasn't a bad looking chap in my younger days, and I do have *some* remaining wiles at my disposal but, alas, the flesh is...how do you say? Old," he finished with a Cheshire grin.
Karl laughed and blushed. He offered Sir Ian his arm, who took it mirthfully with mock dainty hands.
"You're incorrigible, old man," the younger one said, "don't ever change."
"Why, thank you, lad," Ian said, as he squeezed one of Karl's cheeks gently. It startled another blush from the young man.
As they crossed the threshold into the house, ignoring the heavily petting Hobbits behind the curtain, Ian spoke up again.
"Of course, if you're ever inclined to help an old man to his knees, perhaps I could *show* you a thing or two about the wonders of experience." Ian resisted valiantly the impulse to wag his eyebrows.
They kept walking arm in arm, to the sound of Karl's full throated, musical laughter.
********************************THE END
please be a dear and let me know of any mistakes so i can edit them. thanks a lot.
cheers,
legion
TITLE: Cowards
GENRE: RPS
RATING: R (if that) for language and implied {shudder} homosexual relations
PAIRING: VM/OB, others mentioned but not central to the plot, so fuck'em
WARNING: The author is likely to go postal in 5... 4... 3... 2...
SETTING: It happened only in my warped, warped mind.
SYNOPSIS: have realized I definitely need therapy. badly.
NOTES: F sharp is quite a lovely note, although some days I feel more at
ease with an A flat, or a D natural. Once more this goes out unbetaed and
untested, my humble apologies. Any and all mistakes are undeniably mine.
FEEDBACK: My name is legion2012, and I'm a feedback whore. No,
please. Seriously, dude, no clapping.
Flames will elicit hearty rounds of cackling, possibly over coffee with
friends.
DISCLAIMER: (to the tune of 'I feel pretty')
I own nothing, I have nothing,
and I'm making no money from thiiiiiis!
I am nothing but a randy little slashy freak.
Lalalalalalala, lalala!
I don't know them, never met them,
they're not real and they're probably
straaight!
But I caaan... dream of watching them
having seeeeeex!
*bows*
**********
Cowards
**********
"It's good to see you, Vig," I said, with my most brilliant smile.
Viggo smiled, and his eyes crinkled in that particularly charming way of his. My heart leapt in my chest, like it always does. His smile grew rueful.
"Our Elf-boy is all grown up," Viggo mumbled, and my breath caught at the...something...in his tone.
"Am I?" I said, still smiling, somewhat amused and more than slightly surprised. I could feel my eyes misting over. I knew he wasn't saying that this was it. The last movie. The last set of premieres and junkets. One of the last cast parties. Our careers and their divergent paths. My smile wavered. His faded completely. His eyes were studying me all over, memorizing the changes since he had seen me last.
With my peripheral vision, I saw Sir Ian's expression soften, he shared a quick look with Liv. Dom slipped an arm around Elijah's shoulders. Instinctively, I suppose. Elijah and Billy were both grinning fondly, knowingly. I could have sworn Fran and Philippa sighed in unison. Beanie's gaze wandered thoughtfully, trying not to look uncomfortable, as he usually did. They had all been witness to this dance for as long as they had known us.
Since the first day Viggo joined the cast, the very first time we met, there was an electricity in the air between us. We barely exchanged three words that day, but the connection was instantaneous, and intense. We couldn't not flirt incessantly with each other, teasing with every breath. Everybody in New Zealand, hell, in the Pacific, assumed we were fucking. But we were not. Not even close.
Here's a news-flash: Viggo Mortensen and I are the biggest cowards on the face of the sodding planet. We chalked it up to being real, to being sensible, to being professional. No on-set flings for us. There were the paparazzi to be considered. The age difference. Blah, blah, blah.
Then my career happened, and of course he couldn't possibly jeopardize that for me. I could only grant him the same courtesy. We listened to the voice of reason. Desperately hung on to it, really. Which is why, to this day, there is enough contained sexual tension between us to stop a herd of stampeding Olyphaunts in its tracks. Possibly choke them to death while we're at it.
Sean was all enthusiasm when he grabbed us both and pulled us into the library before we could protest.
"You guys have to see this, I'm telling you. I found the most exciting prints of some of the New Zealand artwork that Viggo was sponsoring last year."
He went on and, as soon as we were in the room, he stopped.
"Oh, crap, I totally left Liv hanging out there. Forgot. I'll be right back, guys."
And so he left. Left us alone. Astin is quicker than anybody gives him credit for. Before we knew what hit us, he managed to legitimately get us away from the crowd and into a private spot that people were unlikely to wander into. Hell, he probably hung a 'do not disturb' sign right outside the door. He quite possibly had it hidden under his jacket the whole time, just on the off chance of his needing it.
Viggo was looking around, half heartedly playing it cool. I stared at him, praying my eyes weren't nearly as hungry as I felt. He finally looked at me and grew very still.
His shoulders drooped almost imperceptibly. I saw him shrink a little.
"All grown up," Viggo half whispered. He drew his lips tightly for a moment. I knew the act as Viggo's equivalent of biting his tongue.
"I'm the same person, Viggo. I haven't changed that much, have I?" I asked, feeling much younger than I was.
Viggo opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. His eyes looked back and forth from mine, as if looking for answers on the wall of books behind me.
"We," he started, then stopped again. "We haven't had a chance to see much of each other lately." His eyes on mine looked only vaguely hurt, or perhaps afraid.
"I really miss our walks, our long talks. New Zealand..." after a deep breath, he went on, "Henry misses you a lot, he said to say hi." I could have sworn his voice almost cracked on the last syllable. There was another brief flash of *something* on his face. I felt a cold panic grip at my insides.
Viggo tried to smile, didn't quite make it. He looked like he wanted to jump out the nearest window. I thought I would most definitely have jumped right after him. He started compulsively wiping his hands on the wool of his pant legs and my throat tightened.
"Would you like something to drink, Orlando?" Viggo asked, casually to the untrained ear, looking for an excuse to flee the awkwardness.
I may have whimpered. I can't remember. I flew into his arms in a moment, not bothering to hide how vulnerable our unspoken conversation made me feel. His arms were strong as ever, and not hesitant in the least.
"Are you ok?" Viggo asked in a hushed whisper.
I closed my eyes, nodding against his face, cheek to cheek as we were, forcing my body to lie where my mouth couldn't. My voice would have been a little strangled at the moment.
"Just. I. Don't let go just now," I finally managed. It sounded like a question.
Viggo tightened his hold on me to the point that it almost hurt. I had to grit my teeth so as not to lose control.
"All this time, Viggo," I exhaled softly, sadly. And all that we did not allow ourselves, I did not say. I mentally kicked myself for sounding so weak, but glad I said it. Out of the blue, and it was an ongoing conversation we had most pointedly *not* been having since that night in New Zealand when I slipped on a rock and he caught me breathlessly in his arms and the moon was full and we *almost* kissed.
"It was the right thing to do," he responded hoarsely, trying to convince himself as much as me.
"Was it?" I tried for amusement, but sounded cynical instead.
"Look at how you've taken off," he said, pride and sadness battling in his voice. "It," he paused, "had to be," he responded warily, begging the question.
"Do you really believe that?"
He lowered his face and lost it. It happened slowly. His lips began to quiver, his nose to twitch, his eyes to close, and then he was crying. He looked all of six years old.
"I don't know," he managed to say, as tears rolled down his face.
My hand was trembling when I put in on his face. I could not find the energy to cry. I felt drained, empty. I had not thought it possible that I could love him more. I was wrong. Soon enough, we would run out of excuses for these casual encounters, and we both knew it.
With a shuddering breath, he regained some control. His voice was ragged, a little angry and resigned at the same time.
"But it's done. It's done. We can't go back and change it."
He put his own hand on mine, where it rested on his face, and leaned minutely into them.
My heart shattered like brittle crystal. I wiped a tear from his face with my thumb.
"I will never forgive you if you don't let me kiss you right now." I barely recognized my own, demanding voice.
A little Viggo giggle, only tearful, and my lips were on his, tentative and a little frightened. The taste of Viggo, La Veuve Cliquot, faint aftertaste of tobacco and tears and it was my turn to lose it. His hands were immediately in my hair, warm and steady. He was inhaling me, licking my lips and still crying. Crying, for fuck's sake, and it was too much, and not nearly enough.
He let go of my lips only long enough to whisper my name. 'Orlando.' Then he was all over me again, and I was lost. My arms and mouth full of Viggo and I was praying to all the gods to strike me dead right then and there because this was the moment I wanted to remember as my last moment on Earth and I knew that coming down from it would be the hardest thing I would ever had to do, other than burying loved ones and their memories. I had a second to wonder if to have something knowing it will be taken away is worse than never having it at all.
Another kiss, my lips angry and bruising, his hand wandering possessively over my back, and I knew this would ultimately break me, I knew it was breaking me already. I had another second to realize that, as Sean A. might say, I did not give a flying fuck about that fact.
Don't ask me where the hell thoughts of death and cemeteries came from, but the endless leaps and tangents of my own thought process brought me an image of myself standing over Viggo's grave and I did whimper then, loudly and mournfully. A glimpse of a future with Viggo gone and all that we never had. My kiss became even more desperate, all tongue and teeth and despair.
His hands became fists, pulling at my hair, and he kissed his way past my ear to bury his face in my shoulder, breathing heavily.
"I'm sorry, Orlando. I'm sorry I can't make things be what we want them to be. You. I expect you'll thank me someday," he said. And it seemed to me he rather *hoped* more than expected that from me.
"Fuck you, Viggo. You are an arsehole, you know," I squeezed out between tears, "and I say that with love."
He sobbed, apologizing for ruining my suit, and a small, petty and cruel part of me was glad that he had the decency to feel this guilty about everything that never happened between us, was glad that I hurt him. It was, however, no consolation to the whole of me in the end.
We gradually calmed down. He let me go, walking two steps backwards, holding on to my wrists.
"Orli," he said, and the I love you he couldn't bring himself to say stabbed me in the chest like a cold blade.
*I* won't take those words to my grave.
"I love you," I said, contemptuously. It knocked the breath right out of him.
By the time Viggo regained his bearings I was gone, out of the room. The click of the closing door shook another, broken 'Orli' out of him.
Sir Ian intercepted me close to the exit.
"Leaving so soon?" he asked. There was a note of amusement in his voice, but it wasn't unkind.
"Ian," I made myself look at him. It was obvious I had been crying, but he gave no sign of noticing it.
"So sorry, I have to go now. Sorry."
"Orlando?" he said in a soft, Gandalf-like voice, "Just a moment, please."
I held his gaze expectantly, not daring to say anything else. I needed to get out of there fast.
"If you need anything at all," he said, touching my arm lightly, "and I assure you I mean that in a non-pervy way, *please* don't hesitate to ask."
"Yeah, thanks a lot, Ian," it took all my will to keep from breaking down right then. "Cheers."
"On you go," Sir Ian said, guiding me to the door himself. He turned me around one last time, his own body shielding me from the crowd behind him. "Don't try to bottle it all up, lad. You count a few good listeners among your friends. Now go," he said with a wink, "don't go making a spectacle of yourself."
I smiled at that, despite myself. The old man nodded, satisfied.
I squeezed his bicep without a word and all but ran down the stairs. I looked at the front lawn, at my car, at the little road, and the whole picture swam a little around the edges. I decided to wander back into the garden, knowing I should not drive like this. I *really* didn't need the drama.
While walking aimlessly, I found a tacky, rather baroque ironwork bench that was painted silver, like some obscene filigreed monstrosity hiding behind some shrubby hedges I did not know the name of. I collapsed onto it with a sigh.
********************************
Back inside the house, PJ took the initiative and opened the library door, knocking gently before looking in.
"There's nobody here but us old books," Viggo said in a worn voice.
"Everyone alright in here?" Peter asked, in his Hobbit like fashion.
Viggo was sitting at the desk, his face in his right hand, covering his eyes. He was idly rubbing the wood of the desktop with the fingertips of his left hand. He did not raise his head.
"I'm fine," he responded. His voice was steady, neutral but careful.
"Viggo," Peter said, his tone serious now.
The American looked up at him, eyes still red and a bit swollen.
"Go after him. Just," he paused, gesturing with one hand, "go."
Viggo's expression did not change. His voice was soft.
"I can't."
Peter's eyes glistened. He was not happy about it.
"Aw, fuck, Viggo. Don't make me sic Fran on you. Go get that boy. He's miserable, you know. He has been for some time."
"And you think I'm happy?" Viggo asked, his tone tightening a little.
"My point exactly. Goddammit. Don't you get it? It's not about you. Well, not *just* about you. He doesn't want to be spared or saved, man, just to be loved. And who the fuck am I? See what you make me do? Talk about feelings. You ought to be ashamed of yourself."
Peter stopped and took a deep breath.
"I'm sorry, and I know it's not my place. Do tell me to fuck off if you wish but, for such a brilliant man, you can be exceptionally stupid sometimes. I just thought you should know that," PJ finished, blushing a bit.
"Yeah, well, thanks a lot, buddy," Viggo said brokenly.
Peter deflated.
"He was crying, you know. He doesn't think anybody saw, but," he let it hang, then added, "The boy should not be driving in that state, is all."
Viggo was on his feet in a second. All color left his face.
'I'm such a manipulative bastard,' PJ thought to himself, then shrugged his shoulders internally. 'Eh. I'm a director, it's what I do. I wish I'd done this years ago, actually.'
"Ohgod."
"He went outside, around the back. I think he knows he needs to calm down before taking to the road. He shouldn't drive at all, I don't think. Not like that."
'Evil. I'm evil. I'm-'
Viggo looked around desperately, unsure of what to do.
"You know, Vig, if you let him go like this-" Peter pointedly didn't finish the thought, but rephrased it. "If you let him go this time, it may be too late to make things right between you later. Just thought you should know that."
Viggo winced and shut his eyes, as if in pain.
'Bingo,' PJ thought, 'I rule.'
"That's what Henry said."
He looked Peter in the eye,
"It sucks when your child is both smarter and wiser than you are. It's just not right."
Peter nodded, but said nothing, giving the actor no further reason to stick around. Without another word, Viggo went out to search for Orlando. Nobody tried to stop him as he made a beeline for the front door.
A quick scan of the front lawn reassured him that Orlando's rental was still parked under the poplars close to the road that led to the exit. He breathed once, partially relieved, and proceeded to stalk around the premises, looking for the man with the long, soft, brown curls and soulful eyes.
The sting of pain on his neck from the tension in his shoulders ceased to seize up when he spotted the lithe, elegant figure sprawled on a particularly ugly garden bench.
His pace eased down to Aragorn's practiced trademark long strides as he approached the sulky lad.
********************************
I saw Viggo long before he saw me. Parts of me were feeling warm and fuzzy because he came after me, after all. Other parts wondered if it was wishful thinking for this same thing that which made me linger in the garden, which made me angry at myself. Yet other parts of me were still well and truly pissed at the man. It is safe to say that these latter parts were in control of my higher brain functions at the moment.
I sighed moodily and braced myself for whatever was coming. I refused to look at Viggo even when he stood in front and a little to the left of me, not quite blocking my view of the nearby pond.
"Orlando."
No answer.
"Elf-boy," he said. I could tell he regretted it even before it left his lips.
It earned him a murderous glare.
"I'd like to be alone." Ouch. That came out way more bitter than I intended.
"Orli? Would you...could we...please come with me?"
I stopped my hand as it rose to compulsively smooth my hair and settled it on my face instead, covering my mouth.
He offered his hand, and my eyes were moist all over again. I cursed myself internally and dropped my hand to my lap. I looked at it, then at his face.
"Don't take this the wrong way but, go away."
It would have been grand if it hadn't sounded just this side of pathetic.
"Orli, please. I'm sorry about what I said."
"You should be."
Shite. Did I say that out loud? He's cringed. Yep, I did.
Viggo spoke, miserably,
"I...shit, I'm an asshole, I'm the lowest of the low, I know. I," he stopped and swallowed, hard.
"I lied, Orlando."
That startled a confused answer out of me.
"Wha...Viggo? What?"
His eyes, the tightening of his jaw, spoke volumes.
Viggo's mind raced. I lied. I don't believe it. I don't even think it was the best thing to do anymore, if I ever did. I regret not kissing you that night five years ago every day of my life. We can't go back. Fuck me, we can't! But we can try and change it. Now. From this moment on. I don't wanna lose you forever. Don't leave.
"Help me, Orlando," was what Viggo did say. "Please?"
I took control of my voice, and was pleased that it did not shake.
"I can't. That is. I can't talk right now, Viggo."
He took a tentative step forward, arm still extended. His hand shook ever so slightly.
"I don't wanna talk," Viggo said tiredly.
After much hesitation, I haltingly took his hand. He pulled me to my feet.
We faced each other like that, slightly paranoid. Our practiced eyes instinctively scanned the distance for the glint of camera lenses, or the telltale blinks of red vidcam lights. We caught each other doing it, and I let out a tiny, hysterical chuckle.
Another Viggo giggle, through his nose, at the same time I said,
"Oh, fuck it," he paused. Then with a smirk, "Bugger it all for a lark."
Viggo laughed out loud at the obscure reference. He pulled me to his chest and we embraced tenderly, gingerly running our hands over each other's back and shoulders as if expecting to shred them over broken glass even as we smiled.
The kiss wasn't comforting as much as necessary, and it did feel as if it made our lips bleed. It reminded me to breathe, made me shudder and melt into Viggo's arms. He was content to let me lean on him this time.
We let go of each other's mouth, feelings too ragged to register arousal, foreheads touching, eyes tightly shut and mouths slack. We felt strangely relieved, as if a major disaster had just been averted. Maybe it had. A momentary panic assaulted me.
"You're not going to back out on me, are you?"
Viggo grunted before he spoke,
"You have my permission to kick the shit out of me if I even try," he said.
I grabbed him more tightly.
"I might just have to do that, you know. If you try," I said tightly.
"I know. Orli?"
I made a little questioning sound in my throat.
"Can you forgive me?"
"Can you make me?"
His eyes swore fervently that he'd try. We stood there, simply holding each other for a while.
********************************
"Well," Ian said, a hand furtively drying his face, "I believe our work here is done. Drinks, anyone?"
A chorus of soft, breathy 'yeahs' from three red faced Hobbits as Karl happened out upon the crowded balcony.
"What's going on her-" he didn't quite finish. He followed the other's teary eyes and saw, half hidden by a tall hedge, the pair in each other's arms.
"Oh," he said, softly muttering to himself, "Well, about damn time."
Fran sniffled and leaned her head on Billy's shoulder. Billy smiled kindly and put his arm around her. He finished wiping his reddened eyes and offered Fran his handkerchief. She took it as they walked together back into the house proper.
"Oh, my God," Liv whispered, her face wet with tears. Ian raised an eyebrow at her and she giggled, then shrugged her shoulders.
"It's better than any fucking movie I've seen," she said sweetly, then disappeared inside to wash her face and try to salvage her makeup.
Dom grabbed Elijah by his jacket and pulled him inside and behind the curtains, away from the possibility of prying paparazzo cameras, and into a long kiss. Green eyes looked into blue, red on milky white around the irises of both.
"I love you, doodle."
"Do you regret...any of it?"
"And be like them? No way. No matter the crap the press or our agents give us, no one can take *this* away from us. Think of what they must be feeling, all that wasted time..." Dom's voice caught in his throat.
Elijah gave him a bruising hug, whispering, "I love you too, Sblomie."
Ian pursed his lips in a smile, missing nothing. Karl had a loopy, fond smirk on his face, still fascinated with the scene below.
"So, I guess it's just the two of us, then," Ian said, full of mischief.
Karl looked at him, still smiling, and noticed the balcony had been mostly cleared. Finally catching the meaning of Sir Ian's words, he raised his eyebrow at the old man and retorted,
"Don't you be getting any ideas, Wizard, your arts are no match for the likes of me."
"Certainly," Ian said without missing a beat, "a young, luscious thing as yourself would fancy, shall we say, *fresher* fare."
"More *female* fare, to be exact," Karl responded jauntily, "You'd certainly be handsome enough otherwise."
"Oh, you are much too kind. And a beautiful liar, I might add. Are you, perchance, an actor? I assure you I wasn't a bad looking chap in my younger days, and I do have *some* remaining wiles at my disposal but, alas, the flesh is...how do you say? Old," he finished with a Cheshire grin.
Karl laughed and blushed. He offered Sir Ian his arm, who took it mirthfully with mock dainty hands.
"You're incorrigible, old man," the younger one said, "don't ever change."
"Why, thank you, lad," Ian said, as he squeezed one of Karl's cheeks gently. It startled another blush from the young man.
As they crossed the threshold into the house, ignoring the heavily petting Hobbits behind the curtain, Ian spoke up again.
"Of course, if you're ever inclined to help an old man to his knees, perhaps I could *show* you a thing or two about the wonders of experience." Ian resisted valiantly the impulse to wag his eyebrows.
They kept walking arm in arm, to the sound of Karl's full throated, musical laughter.
********************************THE END
please be a dear and let me know of any mistakes so i can edit them. thanks a lot.
cheers,
legion