Fic: Silly (1/1)
Title: Silly
Author: laeglass
Pairing: Viggorli (duh)
Rating: PG-13, maybe?
Disclaimer: It’s just a dream and a lie.
A/N: An unbetaed quickie, written in twenty or so minutes. *g*
Silly
Brown eyes, smooth skin. A nose, once broken, and a mouth.
What was so special about his face, Orlando wondered. To him it wasn’t the face of a superstar, a wet dream or a poster boy; to him it was just his face. He bit his lip thoughtfully (the one that had been called totally kissable by some gushing reporter) as he thought about the article Dom had called him about, teasing and laughing as was his way.
Orlando hadn’t ever thought that he’d stay teenage girls’ number one fantasy forever, and truth to be told, that had never been his goal. Sure, it was flattering in a way to have hundreds of girls screaming at his premieres, and he honestly appreciated his fans, but it was something he thought he could do very well without. What he wanted was to be acknowledged for his work, his performances and his movies; but so far he’d been adored because of his looks only. And now even that was being taken away from him.
Some up-and-coming soap opera boy actor had been dubbed ‘the next Orlando Bloom’ by some teen magazine, Dom had told him, snickering. The next Orlando Bloom? Orlando had wanted to ask. What did they mean, the next Orlando Bloom? What was he then, yesterday’s news? It was true that he wasn’t on his teens anymore, and his twenty-ninth birthday was only two months away, but that couldn’t mean that they had to have a new Orlando Bloom. Could it?
Orlando leaned forward and eyed his reflection critically. What was so special about him anyway? Was there anything in him that was purely his, something that couldn’t be found in some fresh young thing? Would anyone really miss him if he just disappeared from the spotlights and became a nobody? Would anyone even notice if he was gone?
And god, was that a new wrinkle? Orlando’s brow furrowed as he looked at his miserable face in the mirror. Surely he wasn’t supposed to have wrinkles at the age of twenty-eight? God, that sealed it. He was fated to give way to some equally pretty but younger guy, and in a year’s time the name Orlando Bloom wouldn’t mean anything to anyone. Suddenly a strong pair of arms wrapped around him from behind, interrupting his line of thought, and a face appeared on the mirror beside his.
“Why is my baby boy looking so sad?” Viggo murmured, rubbing his stubble covered cheek gently against Orlando’s soft one. “What’s wrong, baby?”
Orlando’s eyes rested on his lover’s familiar face. Viggo was nearing fifty, and he had never been in demand like he, Orlando, was; but Orlando knew, as did everyone who knew Viggo well, that he didn’t care about things like fame and screaming fangirls. He never had. What he cared about was his family, his friends and his art, and everything else came after that. Viggo’s face showed the signs of a life well lived; it showed that he loved to smile, often and with boyish enthusiasm; that he used to frown when he was thinking about something serious, and that at one point in his life he had been a bit careless, of which the small scar on his upper lip was an everlasting mark.
It was a beloved face to Orlando, and also the handsomest face he knew of. And then he realised how utterly insignificant his new wrinkle was, or the fact that some poor sod was being fitted for his mantle. He raised his eyes to meet Viggo’s and smiled, leaning his cheek against the older man’s.
”Nothing, love”, Orlando then said and turned around in his lover’s arms, raising his face to be kissed. “I’m just being silly.”
THE END
Author: laeglass
Pairing: Viggorli (duh)
Rating: PG-13, maybe?
Disclaimer: It’s just a dream and a lie.
A/N: An unbetaed quickie, written in twenty or so minutes. *g*
Silly
Brown eyes, smooth skin. A nose, once broken, and a mouth.
What was so special about his face, Orlando wondered. To him it wasn’t the face of a superstar, a wet dream or a poster boy; to him it was just his face. He bit his lip thoughtfully (the one that had been called totally kissable by some gushing reporter) as he thought about the article Dom had called him about, teasing and laughing as was his way.
Orlando hadn’t ever thought that he’d stay teenage girls’ number one fantasy forever, and truth to be told, that had never been his goal. Sure, it was flattering in a way to have hundreds of girls screaming at his premieres, and he honestly appreciated his fans, but it was something he thought he could do very well without. What he wanted was to be acknowledged for his work, his performances and his movies; but so far he’d been adored because of his looks only. And now even that was being taken away from him.
Some up-and-coming soap opera boy actor had been dubbed ‘the next Orlando Bloom’ by some teen magazine, Dom had told him, snickering. The next Orlando Bloom? Orlando had wanted to ask. What did they mean, the next Orlando Bloom? What was he then, yesterday’s news? It was true that he wasn’t on his teens anymore, and his twenty-ninth birthday was only two months away, but that couldn’t mean that they had to have a new Orlando Bloom. Could it?
Orlando leaned forward and eyed his reflection critically. What was so special about him anyway? Was there anything in him that was purely his, something that couldn’t be found in some fresh young thing? Would anyone really miss him if he just disappeared from the spotlights and became a nobody? Would anyone even notice if he was gone?
And god, was that a new wrinkle? Orlando’s brow furrowed as he looked at his miserable face in the mirror. Surely he wasn’t supposed to have wrinkles at the age of twenty-eight? God, that sealed it. He was fated to give way to some equally pretty but younger guy, and in a year’s time the name Orlando Bloom wouldn’t mean anything to anyone. Suddenly a strong pair of arms wrapped around him from behind, interrupting his line of thought, and a face appeared on the mirror beside his.
“Why is my baby boy looking so sad?” Viggo murmured, rubbing his stubble covered cheek gently against Orlando’s soft one. “What’s wrong, baby?”
Orlando’s eyes rested on his lover’s familiar face. Viggo was nearing fifty, and he had never been in demand like he, Orlando, was; but Orlando knew, as did everyone who knew Viggo well, that he didn’t care about things like fame and screaming fangirls. He never had. What he cared about was his family, his friends and his art, and everything else came after that. Viggo’s face showed the signs of a life well lived; it showed that he loved to smile, often and with boyish enthusiasm; that he used to frown when he was thinking about something serious, and that at one point in his life he had been a bit careless, of which the small scar on his upper lip was an everlasting mark.
It was a beloved face to Orlando, and also the handsomest face he knew of. And then he realised how utterly insignificant his new wrinkle was, or the fact that some poor sod was being fitted for his mantle. He raised his eyes to meet Viggo’s and smiled, leaning his cheek against the older man’s.
”Nothing, love”, Orlando then said and turned around in his lover’s arms, raising his face to be kissed. “I’m just being silly.”
THE END