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fellowshippers2002-11-21 11:48 pm
lutinuviel.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2002-11-21 11:48 pm
Ficlet
Title: Margartia (1/1)
Author: Lutinuviel
Rating: R for innuendo, I guess. Maybe more like PG-13?
Pairing: Viggo Mortensen/Orlando Bloom
Summary: What you drink can be VERY important. ::nods emphatically::
Disclaimer: I don't own them or anything that they think. This is fiction, completely.
Feedback: wouldn't it be loverly?
Author Notes: Viggo's perspective. Slight AU..doubt they met this way...and the fic is written in prose poetic form. Started as the drabble "Lime" posted at lotr_hundreds and evolved in to this.
Dedication: To all the lovely writers out there who make this worth reading and writing. Mwah!
Margarita
Artfully disheveled dark brown hair. I want to taste him. So far away. The thumping music and jumble of a thousand conversations lie between us. Need to be closer. He never stops moving, yet he stands still. Lithe fingers toy with a loose thread dangling near his tanned wrist. Hideous shirt, electric pink and lime green stripes? Eccentric. Alluring.
"Excuse me." A quick touch of heat through my sweater, then gone.
"Sorry." Darting eyes, observing everything, drinking it in -- long slow drafts of comprehension.
"Would you care to..."
Chocolate eyes melt into my dark places, filling them with rich warmth. Slow nod. Long fingers - square bitten-down nails dancing upon my skin - up and down my forearm over the little hairs, fluffing them. They stand upright.
A frozen margarita dangles from his other hand, slick and wet. Distractedly, I see it fall: chilled frosted glass splintering under pounding feet and heaving bodies. No delicate tinkling of glass breaking, just rhythmic vibrations from the music. Glitterings of ice and glass intermingle, salt scatters on skin and clothes. Trickles of condensation from the glass drip down his numb fingers. My tongue laps at them - olive skin, sweat and heavy breathing. Slide closer. Expensive cologne hiding musk of spice and sweet and sharp - smells merge - inescapable.
He gasps.
The music pulses. Hips already moving, swinging low and hypnotically, and I follow. Long slow grind. His eyes drift closed. I breathe. His hand on my arm, forgotten, transfers to the empty air and weaves a complicated dance. The other hand still warm and moist against my lips.
Resistance.
Loss.
I shiver.
We reach at the same time. Soft and hard and slick and sliding, our tongues mirror the complications.
He tastes like lime.
I shatter.
Author: Lutinuviel
Rating: R for innuendo, I guess. Maybe more like PG-13?
Pairing: Viggo Mortensen/Orlando Bloom
Summary: What you drink can be VERY important. ::nods emphatically::
Disclaimer: I don't own them or anything that they think. This is fiction, completely.
Feedback: wouldn't it be loverly?
Author Notes: Viggo's perspective. Slight AU..doubt they met this way...and the fic is written in prose poetic form. Started as the drabble "Lime" posted at lotr_hundreds and evolved in to this.
Dedication: To all the lovely writers out there who make this worth reading and writing. Mwah!
Margarita
Artfully disheveled dark brown hair. I want to taste him. So far away. The thumping music and jumble of a thousand conversations lie between us. Need to be closer. He never stops moving, yet he stands still. Lithe fingers toy with a loose thread dangling near his tanned wrist. Hideous shirt, electric pink and lime green stripes? Eccentric. Alluring.
"Excuse me." A quick touch of heat through my sweater, then gone.
"Sorry." Darting eyes, observing everything, drinking it in -- long slow drafts of comprehension.
"Would you care to..."
Chocolate eyes melt into my dark places, filling them with rich warmth. Slow nod. Long fingers - square bitten-down nails dancing upon my skin - up and down my forearm over the little hairs, fluffing them. They stand upright.
A frozen margarita dangles from his other hand, slick and wet. Distractedly, I see it fall: chilled frosted glass splintering under pounding feet and heaving bodies. No delicate tinkling of glass breaking, just rhythmic vibrations from the music. Glitterings of ice and glass intermingle, salt scatters on skin and clothes. Trickles of condensation from the glass drip down his numb fingers. My tongue laps at them - olive skin, sweat and heavy breathing. Slide closer. Expensive cologne hiding musk of spice and sweet and sharp - smells merge - inescapable.
He gasps.
The music pulses. Hips already moving, swinging low and hypnotically, and I follow. Long slow grind. His eyes drift closed. I breathe. His hand on my arm, forgotten, transfers to the empty air and weaves a complicated dance. The other hand still warm and moist against my lips.
Resistance.
Loss.
I shiver.
We reach at the same time. Soft and hard and slick and sliding, our tongues mirror the complications.
He tastes like lime.
I shatter.
Whoa!
Re: Whoa!
Thank you thank you thank you. :) It was tons and tons of work, much more than I expected. But you made my day or week or month or my entire life, actually. :) For that I suppose I owe you a chance to kiss my feet. ;-)
Thank you again!