Fic: Lonely, Miranda/Orlando, NC-17
Title: Lonely
Pairing: Miranda/Orlando
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine, nor did they do any of these things.
Summary: It was an old question, with an old answer
Feedback: Is yummy
Lonely
Miranda scurried up the moonlit paths between various trailers, their windows dark and occupants silent. The night was unseasonably cold, unreasonably cold, even for New Zealand and with only a light nightshirt to protect her goose bumps prickled up her arms.
She turned past the furthest makeup van, careful to step over the electricity cabling, and headed towards the trailer nestled in the long shadow of the pine trees. She made her way up to it, footsteps quietly crunching gravel. Hesitated and then brought her hand up to the door, wrapped her knuckles softly against the cold tin.
Miranda waited, strained to hear if there was movement from within. Nothing. She hugged her arms to herself and bit her lip; wondered if she should knock again or act like a grown woman and go back to her own bed, lonely or not. She felt like a little girl, hovering beside her parent’s bed after a nightmare, not wanting to wake them up, not wanting to turn and walk back through the dark to her own bed.
“Come on, Miranda,” she chastised herself quietly, “go back to bed.” She turned, faced the open expanse of the world and had almost taken a step when she heard a soft creak in the trailer behind her. Oh thank god, she thought, whirling back around as the lock unlatched and the door opened quietly.
* * *
“And screw men too!” she proclaimed, raising her beer glass high in triumph. Clinked it loudly against Liv’s.
“Hey!” Orlando protested loudly. “That isn’t very fair.”
“Don’t be silly, Orli,” Liv smirked, petted his mohawked head. “You’re safe, you’re just a boy.”
Scowling he brushed her hand away. “I’m an elf,” he muttered petulantly.
Miranda grinned, downed another large swallow of beer. “Don’t worry Orli, you’re not included. We won’t screw you. You have a special mirkwoodian exemption.”
“Mirkwoodian!?” Liv exploded, spilling beer onto the already filthy bar table.
Miranda only grinned more, watched Liv giggle helplessly. Softly placed her hand over Orli’s on the table, gently squeezed it to reassure him of their playful teasing. Wondered over the little frown that she kept catching out of the corner of her eye as the night went on, the checking of a phone that never alerted of any new messages.
* * *
“Mir?” Orlando’s sleep-filled voice asked as he appeared in the doorway, curls disheveled and askew from sleep, eyelids dipped. He was only wearing dark sweats and a long sleeved t-shirt, but at this hour of the night he looked like about the best thing ever to her.
“Yeah, Orli, it’s me. Is it okay?” She asked and was immediately mad at herself for sounding so hesitant, as if asking permission like a child.
Orlando looked down at her, eyes even darker than normal in the night. She thought, couldn’t be sure though it happened only microseconds earlier, that she may have shivered, and moreover, wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or from him.
“Of course it is,” he said and she almost whimpered in relief at the wry smile twitching at his lips, “you know that.” Orlando stepped back into the enveloping darkness of his trailer, opened the door wider to let her in. And she quickly stepped up into the warmth, wrapped immediately in the equally sultry scent of him that permeated the room.
She shut the door behind her and found that she couldn’t see a thing. But she could sense Orlando in front of her, as if a darker patch of black.
Orlando stepped closer and she felt his warm hands firm on her upper arms. “Christ Miranda, you’re freezing!” He yelped softly, tightened his grip as he ran his hands up and down her arms to warm them up.
“Well,” she started, “you know….cold.”
Orlando laughed; she could just see the glint of his teeth and the sound warmed her.
“Bed,” he commanded, as if he were her senior and capable of ordering her wherever, but of course he was capable, and she offered no protest, shuffling sideways till she hit the side of the bed and climbed quickly under the warm covers.
“Ergh,” she muttered incoherently, “thank god.” Pulled the covers up tight around her chin, shuddering as her body adjusted to the sudden temperature change. The bed dipped beside her and Orlando slid in next to her, adjusted the covers over himself and pulled her into him with firm sure movement. Strong arms encapsulated her and she snuggled into him.
“Lonely?” Orlando asked, voice soft and the warmth of his breath stirring her hair. She could almost see the wrinkles creasing his brow. It was an old question, with an old answer.
She nodded. He couldn’t see, but he’d know.
“Me too,” he murmured, rested a cheek against her forehead and tightened his arms around her possessively.
She had always thought of Orli as a young, slight person; very slender, very boyish in a strangely manly way. A kid, though he wasn’t much younger. Yet whenever she was here, in his bed with him wrapped around her, he always seemed so much larger. Stronger and lithe, that much warmer than her, that much taller than her. So much more real and protective. Safe.
She pressed a leg in between his, and he entwined them like always. She smiled into his throat. “Thank you, Orli.”
“You’re welcome,” he answered, slowly running his hand up and down her back. His hand felt as if it spanned the width of her, wide and warm. The cotton of her nightshirt bunched and smoothed with the action. “Of course,” he continued in gentle mock-seriousness, “it’s a pretty big burden, you know. Putting up with a scantily-clad gorgeous woman invading my trailer in the dead of night; insisting on pressing herself up to me in bed.”
She snorted, “I really don’t know how you survive.”
“Takes a lot of willpower.”
“Is that what it is?” she grinned.
* * *
She came across him the next day, sitting in stoic Legolas posture in a director’s chair offset. But the look on his face had nothing to do with Elvish emotions. It was human, and uncomfortably familiar.
“You okay?” she asked softly, settling into the chair next to him.
He tried a weak smile, gave up half way in. “Better days.”
“I know that feeling,” she replied, gazed across at the helm and back to him.
Orli looked up and seemed to evaluate the truth in her eyes. He nodded, white Legolas hair swaying gently.
“Wanna go get drunk later?” she asked.
A small smile, real. “Sure.”
* * *
“It is,” Orlando insisted, “Willpower and youthful tenacity.”
“Youthful tenacity?”
“Well I am a very tenacious youth.”
“I’ll give you that one,” she grinned, nuzzled in behind his jaw, felt the curls wisp and tickle at her face.
“It’s not bad, this being lonely.” His arms pulled her closer and she felt her breasts flatten further into his ribs.
“It does have its advantages,” Miranda agreed. She could feel one of them against her stomach.
Orlando’s hand kept up the rhythmic caress, up and down, nape to waist, slipped just a little bit lower. In fact, it had some very positive advantages she thought. She leant in and placed her lips against the soft skin behind his ear. She couldn’t see it, but she knew it was tanned, a shade of brown that reminded her of islands and beaches, naked bodies on white sand.
She always felt, that with Orlando, and only with him, she could feel the second that comfort turned to lust. An almost imperceptible hitch in his breathing, or perhaps a soft tightening of her abdomen. They always seemed to reach some point where the comfort quota was fulfilled and suddenly spilled over, quite naturally, into sex.
Like right….now, she felt it as Orlando maneuvered her onto her back, settling her back into the pillows. Gentle, but rough all the same, hands grasping at the hem of her shirt, pushing the cotton up over her thighs, her pale stomach, her breasts; her arms raising and him pulling it over her head. Material thrown away, his t-shirt along with it. The pause as he touched the red blonde hair spilling over his pillow.
“Miranda,” he whispered into the dark.
* * *
There was insistent knocking at her door and when she gave into the relentless noise and opened it she found a slightly fuzzy Orlando looking up at her.
“It’s just,” he started and she could hear the alcohol, “Why exactly does it have to hurt for so long?”
Miranda stretched out a hand; pulled him inside. Wondered if she should offer him tea. Or more alcohol.
“You know?” He repeated, and she nodded. She did know.
“I just want…,” he paused, eyes clearing a little as he leant himself against the door. “I just want to punish her…them,” he added, including Miranda in the plot for revenge. “I want to punish them by not hurting anymore. I want to feel. Punish them by not being lonely. You know?”
She stayed silent. She wasn’t meant to answer. Orlando blinked, eyes wide and black as if he’d been in the dark too long, overly dilated pupils. He took a small step forward. “I want you,” he proclaimed, almost as if discovering the thought as it tumbled out of his mouth.
He stepped forward before she could even process the words herself, and suddenly she found his mouth hot and needy and wrapped up in hers.
* * *
It was still dark, but Miranda wasn’t cold anymore. Not with Orlando wrapped around her, sliding over her; licking, biting and sucking her skin as if on a mission to warm her entire body inch by inch. If that was the plan it was certainly working.
Her eyes had adjusted just enough to the moonlight filtering in the window to see a soft fuzzy version of Orlando. Glittering eyes as he smoothed himself back up her body to eye level, and gleaming teeth as he grinned down at her, hands to either side of her head, arms propping him up.
“That willpower we were talking about?” he murmured, closing in so that the end of the sentence was whispered against her cheek, reverberated through her eyelashes.
“Yes?” she whispered back, playing along.
He dipped his head to her other cheek, and she felt the warmth of him radiating into her skin. “Well, I think it’s running out,” he finished, placed a soft kiss on the cheek. Soft kiss on her swollen lips.
“That’s not very youthful then,” she teased, running the souls of her feet along his bare calves, her inner thighs pressing against sharp hips.
“Hey!” he protested, but she could see the gleam of teeth again.
“Well,” she goaded, added a squeeze of her thighs for emphasis, “What are you? A man or a boy?”
“Neither,” Orlando pressed closer, levered himself down onto his elbows, his ribs to hers. “I’m an elf.”
The retort formed in her mouth, she could practically taste it, but it was cut short at the teasing push, the light thrust of his hips, and it became a soft moan instead. Her legs wrapped themselves around him, not of her own accord she could swear. Followed by an accompanying sharp intake of breath as her eyelids slid shut; darkness to more darkness. She forgot her retorts, forgot the use of words, quiet frankly. Sex with Orlando had this unnerving ability of making her forget pretty much everything. Not that she was complaining, mind you.
Instead, the present became an unbearable mix of sensation and noise. Slip-sliding, writhing and arching; shallow breathing and slick skin. Groaning, tightening, pushing, clenching.
Whispered names and hands grabbing at hips, fingers sliding, pulling in hair; tensing in contrary release.
“I’m not sure elves would actually do some of those things,” she commented oh-so-casually as he fell to her side, arm spread over the slight rise of her stomach. Soft feel of his limp wrist over her side.
“Legolas would.”
She laughed, “Yeah, maybe.”
“He would. Doesn’t like to be alone.”
She pondered that a second, eyes starting to grow heavy with sleep. “Well, but, he has Gimli.”
Orlando made an indignant sound, paused just a moment too long. “I can’t even think of a response to that.”
She grinned up at the roof of his trailer, hooked the discarded bed covers with her foot and managed to flip them up just enough to grab and pull close. She snuggled underneath them. Felt the elf/boy/man next to her press close.
“Well you can think about it and get back to me next time we’re lonely then, k?” she said, eyes closing and sleep invading.
“Deal,” she heard him say sleepily in return.
It was good to not be alone.
Pairing: Miranda/Orlando
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine, nor did they do any of these things.
Summary: It was an old question, with an old answer
Feedback: Is yummy
Lonely
Miranda scurried up the moonlit paths between various trailers, their windows dark and occupants silent. The night was unseasonably cold, unreasonably cold, even for New Zealand and with only a light nightshirt to protect her goose bumps prickled up her arms.
She turned past the furthest makeup van, careful to step over the electricity cabling, and headed towards the trailer nestled in the long shadow of the pine trees. She made her way up to it, footsteps quietly crunching gravel. Hesitated and then brought her hand up to the door, wrapped her knuckles softly against the cold tin.
Miranda waited, strained to hear if there was movement from within. Nothing. She hugged her arms to herself and bit her lip; wondered if she should knock again or act like a grown woman and go back to her own bed, lonely or not. She felt like a little girl, hovering beside her parent’s bed after a nightmare, not wanting to wake them up, not wanting to turn and walk back through the dark to her own bed.
“Come on, Miranda,” she chastised herself quietly, “go back to bed.” She turned, faced the open expanse of the world and had almost taken a step when she heard a soft creak in the trailer behind her. Oh thank god, she thought, whirling back around as the lock unlatched and the door opened quietly.
* * *
“And screw men too!” she proclaimed, raising her beer glass high in triumph. Clinked it loudly against Liv’s.
“Hey!” Orlando protested loudly. “That isn’t very fair.”
“Don’t be silly, Orli,” Liv smirked, petted his mohawked head. “You’re safe, you’re just a boy.”
Scowling he brushed her hand away. “I’m an elf,” he muttered petulantly.
Miranda grinned, downed another large swallow of beer. “Don’t worry Orli, you’re not included. We won’t screw you. You have a special mirkwoodian exemption.”
“Mirkwoodian!?” Liv exploded, spilling beer onto the already filthy bar table.
Miranda only grinned more, watched Liv giggle helplessly. Softly placed her hand over Orli’s on the table, gently squeezed it to reassure him of their playful teasing. Wondered over the little frown that she kept catching out of the corner of her eye as the night went on, the checking of a phone that never alerted of any new messages.
* * *
“Mir?” Orlando’s sleep-filled voice asked as he appeared in the doorway, curls disheveled and askew from sleep, eyelids dipped. He was only wearing dark sweats and a long sleeved t-shirt, but at this hour of the night he looked like about the best thing ever to her.
“Yeah, Orli, it’s me. Is it okay?” She asked and was immediately mad at herself for sounding so hesitant, as if asking permission like a child.
Orlando looked down at her, eyes even darker than normal in the night. She thought, couldn’t be sure though it happened only microseconds earlier, that she may have shivered, and moreover, wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or from him.
“Of course it is,” he said and she almost whimpered in relief at the wry smile twitching at his lips, “you know that.” Orlando stepped back into the enveloping darkness of his trailer, opened the door wider to let her in. And she quickly stepped up into the warmth, wrapped immediately in the equally sultry scent of him that permeated the room.
She shut the door behind her and found that she couldn’t see a thing. But she could sense Orlando in front of her, as if a darker patch of black.
Orlando stepped closer and she felt his warm hands firm on her upper arms. “Christ Miranda, you’re freezing!” He yelped softly, tightened his grip as he ran his hands up and down her arms to warm them up.
“Well,” she started, “you know….cold.”
Orlando laughed; she could just see the glint of his teeth and the sound warmed her.
“Bed,” he commanded, as if he were her senior and capable of ordering her wherever, but of course he was capable, and she offered no protest, shuffling sideways till she hit the side of the bed and climbed quickly under the warm covers.
“Ergh,” she muttered incoherently, “thank god.” Pulled the covers up tight around her chin, shuddering as her body adjusted to the sudden temperature change. The bed dipped beside her and Orlando slid in next to her, adjusted the covers over himself and pulled her into him with firm sure movement. Strong arms encapsulated her and she snuggled into him.
“Lonely?” Orlando asked, voice soft and the warmth of his breath stirring her hair. She could almost see the wrinkles creasing his brow. It was an old question, with an old answer.
She nodded. He couldn’t see, but he’d know.
“Me too,” he murmured, rested a cheek against her forehead and tightened his arms around her possessively.
She had always thought of Orli as a young, slight person; very slender, very boyish in a strangely manly way. A kid, though he wasn’t much younger. Yet whenever she was here, in his bed with him wrapped around her, he always seemed so much larger. Stronger and lithe, that much warmer than her, that much taller than her. So much more real and protective. Safe.
She pressed a leg in between his, and he entwined them like always. She smiled into his throat. “Thank you, Orli.”
“You’re welcome,” he answered, slowly running his hand up and down her back. His hand felt as if it spanned the width of her, wide and warm. The cotton of her nightshirt bunched and smoothed with the action. “Of course,” he continued in gentle mock-seriousness, “it’s a pretty big burden, you know. Putting up with a scantily-clad gorgeous woman invading my trailer in the dead of night; insisting on pressing herself up to me in bed.”
She snorted, “I really don’t know how you survive.”
“Takes a lot of willpower.”
“Is that what it is?” she grinned.
* * *
She came across him the next day, sitting in stoic Legolas posture in a director’s chair offset. But the look on his face had nothing to do with Elvish emotions. It was human, and uncomfortably familiar.
“You okay?” she asked softly, settling into the chair next to him.
He tried a weak smile, gave up half way in. “Better days.”
“I know that feeling,” she replied, gazed across at the helm and back to him.
Orli looked up and seemed to evaluate the truth in her eyes. He nodded, white Legolas hair swaying gently.
“Wanna go get drunk later?” she asked.
A small smile, real. “Sure.”
* * *
“It is,” Orlando insisted, “Willpower and youthful tenacity.”
“Youthful tenacity?”
“Well I am a very tenacious youth.”
“I’ll give you that one,” she grinned, nuzzled in behind his jaw, felt the curls wisp and tickle at her face.
“It’s not bad, this being lonely.” His arms pulled her closer and she felt her breasts flatten further into his ribs.
“It does have its advantages,” Miranda agreed. She could feel one of them against her stomach.
Orlando’s hand kept up the rhythmic caress, up and down, nape to waist, slipped just a little bit lower. In fact, it had some very positive advantages she thought. She leant in and placed her lips against the soft skin behind his ear. She couldn’t see it, but she knew it was tanned, a shade of brown that reminded her of islands and beaches, naked bodies on white sand.
She always felt, that with Orlando, and only with him, she could feel the second that comfort turned to lust. An almost imperceptible hitch in his breathing, or perhaps a soft tightening of her abdomen. They always seemed to reach some point where the comfort quota was fulfilled and suddenly spilled over, quite naturally, into sex.
Like right….now, she felt it as Orlando maneuvered her onto her back, settling her back into the pillows. Gentle, but rough all the same, hands grasping at the hem of her shirt, pushing the cotton up over her thighs, her pale stomach, her breasts; her arms raising and him pulling it over her head. Material thrown away, his t-shirt along with it. The pause as he touched the red blonde hair spilling over his pillow.
“Miranda,” he whispered into the dark.
* * *
There was insistent knocking at her door and when she gave into the relentless noise and opened it she found a slightly fuzzy Orlando looking up at her.
“It’s just,” he started and she could hear the alcohol, “Why exactly does it have to hurt for so long?”
Miranda stretched out a hand; pulled him inside. Wondered if she should offer him tea. Or more alcohol.
“You know?” He repeated, and she nodded. She did know.
“I just want…,” he paused, eyes clearing a little as he leant himself against the door. “I just want to punish her…them,” he added, including Miranda in the plot for revenge. “I want to punish them by not hurting anymore. I want to feel. Punish them by not being lonely. You know?”
She stayed silent. She wasn’t meant to answer. Orlando blinked, eyes wide and black as if he’d been in the dark too long, overly dilated pupils. He took a small step forward. “I want you,” he proclaimed, almost as if discovering the thought as it tumbled out of his mouth.
He stepped forward before she could even process the words herself, and suddenly she found his mouth hot and needy and wrapped up in hers.
* * *
It was still dark, but Miranda wasn’t cold anymore. Not with Orlando wrapped around her, sliding over her; licking, biting and sucking her skin as if on a mission to warm her entire body inch by inch. If that was the plan it was certainly working.
Her eyes had adjusted just enough to the moonlight filtering in the window to see a soft fuzzy version of Orlando. Glittering eyes as he smoothed himself back up her body to eye level, and gleaming teeth as he grinned down at her, hands to either side of her head, arms propping him up.
“That willpower we were talking about?” he murmured, closing in so that the end of the sentence was whispered against her cheek, reverberated through her eyelashes.
“Yes?” she whispered back, playing along.
He dipped his head to her other cheek, and she felt the warmth of him radiating into her skin. “Well, I think it’s running out,” he finished, placed a soft kiss on the cheek. Soft kiss on her swollen lips.
“That’s not very youthful then,” she teased, running the souls of her feet along his bare calves, her inner thighs pressing against sharp hips.
“Hey!” he protested, but she could see the gleam of teeth again.
“Well,” she goaded, added a squeeze of her thighs for emphasis, “What are you? A man or a boy?”
“Neither,” Orlando pressed closer, levered himself down onto his elbows, his ribs to hers. “I’m an elf.”
The retort formed in her mouth, she could practically taste it, but it was cut short at the teasing push, the light thrust of his hips, and it became a soft moan instead. Her legs wrapped themselves around him, not of her own accord she could swear. Followed by an accompanying sharp intake of breath as her eyelids slid shut; darkness to more darkness. She forgot her retorts, forgot the use of words, quiet frankly. Sex with Orlando had this unnerving ability of making her forget pretty much everything. Not that she was complaining, mind you.
Instead, the present became an unbearable mix of sensation and noise. Slip-sliding, writhing and arching; shallow breathing and slick skin. Groaning, tightening, pushing, clenching.
Whispered names and hands grabbing at hips, fingers sliding, pulling in hair; tensing in contrary release.
“I’m not sure elves would actually do some of those things,” she commented oh-so-casually as he fell to her side, arm spread over the slight rise of her stomach. Soft feel of his limp wrist over her side.
“Legolas would.”
She laughed, “Yeah, maybe.”
“He would. Doesn’t like to be alone.”
She pondered that a second, eyes starting to grow heavy with sleep. “Well, but, he has Gimli.”
Orlando made an indignant sound, paused just a moment too long. “I can’t even think of a response to that.”
She grinned up at the roof of his trailer, hooked the discarded bed covers with her foot and managed to flip them up just enough to grab and pull close. She snuggled underneath them. Felt the elf/boy/man next to her press close.
“Well you can think about it and get back to me next time we’re lonely then, k?” she said, eyes closing and sleep invading.
“Deal,” she heard him say sleepily in return.
It was good to not be alone.