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empy.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fellowshippers2002-07-27 08:07 pm
empy.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2002-07-27 08:07 pm
"Stratagem" (VM/OB)
Title: Stratagem (sequel of sorts to Repose)
Author: Empy archer@friction.net
Pairing: Viggo/Orli
Warnings: none.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimers: This never happened. It is all fiction and lies. (And wishful thinking on my part.)
Feedback: Please. Anything.
Notes: This piece of fluff is for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ladymoonray, who kindly asked for more Viggorli, and for gloriamundi, who is my present Viggorli goddess.
Thanks, as always, todarkie for the beta and the support.
"Guess who?"
Softly accented voice in his ear, slim fingers pressed against his eyes. Viggo relaxed, smiling. So easy to guess, easy even if he hadn't spoken. Scent of smoke, but different from Elijah's; elegant hands but not like Sean's.
"Orlando."
Viggo could almost hear the pout.
"You cheated. You saw me."
Orlando lifted his hands, intending to let go, but Viggo caught him by the wrists.
"I didn't cheat. I know your hands."
A little tug, and Orlando stumbled up against the back of the wicker chair. Viggo slid his fingers down Orlando's narrow wrists, shifting his hold by pressing his thumb against the middle of Orlando's palm. Warm hands, soft still but beginning to turn coarse from all the rein and bow handling.
"I know your hands," he repeated, sliding his thumbs back and forth over Orlando's palms. Letting go of the left hand, he let the tips of his left-hand fingers trail over the back of Orlando's hand. Two cracked knuckles, middle and ring finger. Orlando's free hand fluttered undecidedly somewhere near the side of Viggo's face, then settled on his shoulder.
"There's a pattern of calluses here..." Viggo said, lifting the hand slightly, "across your fingers from the bowstring, and this here, on the side of your index finger. From the index fletch."
"How would you..." Orlando trailed off, sounding confused and very young.
"Because I watch. Observe."
The hand on Viggo's shoulder moved, marginally increasing the hold. The wicker of the chair creaked as Orlando rested against it.
"You look at my hands?"
"Not just your hands."
For a moment, Viggo wondered if he had said too much. He looked up, bending his head back to see Orlando. A wide smile from the younger man, and Orlando walked around to stand in front of Viggo, the movement seeming like something a part of a dance. Viggo's hold on Orlando's wrist never faltered. Orlando kneeled down, a slinked folding move, settling back on his heels to look up at Viggo.
"What else do you look at?"
A million words on his tongue, waiting. He turned Orlando's hand over, drawing a nail along the lines of the palm. Leaning forward, he brushed his lips against the warm skin, exhaling as he did so. In a moment of boldness, he traced his tongue up along the side of Orlando's index finger, finally taking the very tip of the digit into his mouth. Faint taste of smoke, of salt and grit.
A small thud, and as he lifted his gaze, he noted that Orlando had dropped to his knees.
Such a simple gesture to lace his fingers with Orlando's, feeling the pulse like heated flutter.
"What I see?" he murmured, buying time. "So much. What I want to be, what I desire..."
"Desire," Orlando echoed, tilting his head, looking at Viggo from beneath lowered lashes. In the late afternoon light, he looked an absurd mix of mohawked surfer-boy and coquettish teen girl.
Viggo had a quick reply prepared, a flippant dismissal of his near fatal slip of the tongue. The words crumbled to dust as Orlando reached up, hooking an arm around Viggo's neck to pull him close. As Orlando kissed him, clever tongue teasing his lips apart, Viggo felt himself begin to slide. The chair creaked, swaying a little, but ultimately it stayed upright as Viggo slid out of it, landing painfully on his knees in front of Orlando on the sand-spattered porch. A muffled giggle, mouth-to-mouth, and Orlando disengaged his right hand from Viggo's cramped hold.
So sweet to kiss Orlando. Taste of something sugared, over-sweetened herbal tea. Viggo took a hold of Orlando's head, fingers braiding into the feathered hair of the absurd Mohawk. Pressing closer, front-to-front as they both kneeled, he kissed Orlando back with more force than he had intended. Tongue thrusting past slick teeth, running along the ticklish ridge on the roof of the mouth, and Orlando bucked against him, pleased and eager.
He felt like cursing himself for waiting so long, for making up elaborate plans, when the solution was so simple. This wasn't a game of stealth. It was all about courage.
"God," Orlando whispered as he broke away to breathe, "if I'd only known..."
"Doesn't matter now," Viggo said, brushing his thumb over Orlando's lower lip, then leaned in, following his finger with his mouth, savouring the sugar-smoke taste of Orlando.
This wasn't enough. Not by a long shot.
His hands slid down Orlando's back, finally grasping the hem of the t-shirt Orlando wore. Fingers tucked into the loose waistband of Orlando's jeans, he traced around to the front, fingertips mapping warm, sand-worn skin, the arches of hipbone and finally warm belly.
Quiver of lean muscle under his fingertips, something undecided between ticklish giggling and shivering. Orlando still had one arm hooked around Viggo's neck, the hand gripping Viggo's neck in an oddly proprietary hold.
A tug, then, Orlando pulling Viggo's head back, breaking the kiss to lick a slow path down Viggo's neck, ending with an open-mouthed kiss to the hollow of his throat.
It was too hasty, Viggo decided, and bent his head down, ignoring the tug at his hair, and cupped Orlando's sharp-jawed face in his hands. He deliberately kept the kiss slow, taking time to sample every shift in texture.
The last time he had stolen the very air from Orlando's lungs, Orlando had been asleep, drowned in dreams. Now he was awake, and quite possibly the sweetest thing ever to come Viggo's way. Where Legolas was cold, Orlando was warm, and the further the kiss went on, the more marked the difference became.
So difficult to break the kiss, to allow the salt-sated air to fill his lungs and cool his bruised lips.
The warmth of the setting sun was teasing up a blush on Orlando's face, and Viggo leaned in again, thinking that the sunlight was the same colour he saw when he closed his eyes, the same shade as the blood now rushing in his ears.
"Why did you come here?" he asked, dipping his head to the crook of Orlando's neck to inhale the scent of skin-warmed aftershave.
"I don't know," Orlando shrugged, the reply soft and uncertain.
"I think you do," Viggo pressed, turning Orlando's head so he could look into the dark eyes. "Tell me."
A look of trepidation flickered over Orlando's face.
"I wanted to see you," Orlando began, then gave up the pretence of innocence, "I wanted to see if you were going to go through with your little plan."
The game was over. There were no winners, Viggo realized, because he had lost at the very onset. And Orlando hadn't played to win. He had played for the sake of the game.
[END]
Author: Empy archer@friction.net
Pairing: Viggo/Orli
Warnings: none.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimers: This never happened. It is all fiction and lies. (And wishful thinking on my part.)
Feedback: Please. Anything.
Notes: This piece of fluff is for
ladymoonray, who kindly asked for more Viggorli, and for gloriamundi, who is my present Viggorli goddess.Thanks, as always, to
darkie for the beta and the support."Guess who?"
Softly accented voice in his ear, slim fingers pressed against his eyes. Viggo relaxed, smiling. So easy to guess, easy even if he hadn't spoken. Scent of smoke, but different from Elijah's; elegant hands but not like Sean's.
"Orlando."
Viggo could almost hear the pout.
"You cheated. You saw me."
Orlando lifted his hands, intending to let go, but Viggo caught him by the wrists.
"I didn't cheat. I know your hands."
A little tug, and Orlando stumbled up against the back of the wicker chair. Viggo slid his fingers down Orlando's narrow wrists, shifting his hold by pressing his thumb against the middle of Orlando's palm. Warm hands, soft still but beginning to turn coarse from all the rein and bow handling.
"I know your hands," he repeated, sliding his thumbs back and forth over Orlando's palms. Letting go of the left hand, he let the tips of his left-hand fingers trail over the back of Orlando's hand. Two cracked knuckles, middle and ring finger. Orlando's free hand fluttered undecidedly somewhere near the side of Viggo's face, then settled on his shoulder.
"There's a pattern of calluses here..." Viggo said, lifting the hand slightly, "across your fingers from the bowstring, and this here, on the side of your index finger. From the index fletch."
"How would you..." Orlando trailed off, sounding confused and very young.
"Because I watch. Observe."
The hand on Viggo's shoulder moved, marginally increasing the hold. The wicker of the chair creaked as Orlando rested against it.
"You look at my hands?"
"Not just your hands."
For a moment, Viggo wondered if he had said too much. He looked up, bending his head back to see Orlando. A wide smile from the younger man, and Orlando walked around to stand in front of Viggo, the movement seeming like something a part of a dance. Viggo's hold on Orlando's wrist never faltered. Orlando kneeled down, a slinked folding move, settling back on his heels to look up at Viggo.
"What else do you look at?"
A million words on his tongue, waiting. He turned Orlando's hand over, drawing a nail along the lines of the palm. Leaning forward, he brushed his lips against the warm skin, exhaling as he did so. In a moment of boldness, he traced his tongue up along the side of Orlando's index finger, finally taking the very tip of the digit into his mouth. Faint taste of smoke, of salt and grit.
A small thud, and as he lifted his gaze, he noted that Orlando had dropped to his knees.
Such a simple gesture to lace his fingers with Orlando's, feeling the pulse like heated flutter.
"What I see?" he murmured, buying time. "So much. What I want to be, what I desire..."
"Desire," Orlando echoed, tilting his head, looking at Viggo from beneath lowered lashes. In the late afternoon light, he looked an absurd mix of mohawked surfer-boy and coquettish teen girl.
Viggo had a quick reply prepared, a flippant dismissal of his near fatal slip of the tongue. The words crumbled to dust as Orlando reached up, hooking an arm around Viggo's neck to pull him close. As Orlando kissed him, clever tongue teasing his lips apart, Viggo felt himself begin to slide. The chair creaked, swaying a little, but ultimately it stayed upright as Viggo slid out of it, landing painfully on his knees in front of Orlando on the sand-spattered porch. A muffled giggle, mouth-to-mouth, and Orlando disengaged his right hand from Viggo's cramped hold.
So sweet to kiss Orlando. Taste of something sugared, over-sweetened herbal tea. Viggo took a hold of Orlando's head, fingers braiding into the feathered hair of the absurd Mohawk. Pressing closer, front-to-front as they both kneeled, he kissed Orlando back with more force than he had intended. Tongue thrusting past slick teeth, running along the ticklish ridge on the roof of the mouth, and Orlando bucked against him, pleased and eager.
He felt like cursing himself for waiting so long, for making up elaborate plans, when the solution was so simple. This wasn't a game of stealth. It was all about courage.
"God," Orlando whispered as he broke away to breathe, "if I'd only known..."
"Doesn't matter now," Viggo said, brushing his thumb over Orlando's lower lip, then leaned in, following his finger with his mouth, savouring the sugar-smoke taste of Orlando.
This wasn't enough. Not by a long shot.
His hands slid down Orlando's back, finally grasping the hem of the t-shirt Orlando wore. Fingers tucked into the loose waistband of Orlando's jeans, he traced around to the front, fingertips mapping warm, sand-worn skin, the arches of hipbone and finally warm belly.
Quiver of lean muscle under his fingertips, something undecided between ticklish giggling and shivering. Orlando still had one arm hooked around Viggo's neck, the hand gripping Viggo's neck in an oddly proprietary hold.
A tug, then, Orlando pulling Viggo's head back, breaking the kiss to lick a slow path down Viggo's neck, ending with an open-mouthed kiss to the hollow of his throat.
It was too hasty, Viggo decided, and bent his head down, ignoring the tug at his hair, and cupped Orlando's sharp-jawed face in his hands. He deliberately kept the kiss slow, taking time to sample every shift in texture.
The last time he had stolen the very air from Orlando's lungs, Orlando had been asleep, drowned in dreams. Now he was awake, and quite possibly the sweetest thing ever to come Viggo's way. Where Legolas was cold, Orlando was warm, and the further the kiss went on, the more marked the difference became.
So difficult to break the kiss, to allow the salt-sated air to fill his lungs and cool his bruised lips.
The warmth of the setting sun was teasing up a blush on Orlando's face, and Viggo leaned in again, thinking that the sunlight was the same colour he saw when he closed his eyes, the same shade as the blood now rushing in his ears.
"Why did you come here?" he asked, dipping his head to the crook of Orlando's neck to inhale the scent of skin-warmed aftershave.
"I don't know," Orlando shrugged, the reply soft and uncertain.
"I think you do," Viggo pressed, turning Orlando's head so he could look into the dark eyes. "Tell me."
A look of trepidation flickered over Orlando's face.
"I wanted to see you," Orlando began, then gave up the pretence of innocence, "I wanted to see if you were going to go through with your little plan."
The game was over. There were no winners, Viggo realized, because he had lost at the very onset. And Orlando hadn't played to win. He had played for the sake of the game.
[END]