Fic: Thoughts, Viggo/Orli, PG-13
TTT inspired me into a fic, yay!
This is a Viggo/Orli, probably a PG-13 I should think, eludes to more though. Might continue this one if people like it.
Thoughts
Orlando huddled down in his chair, watching the scene being acted out before him in the night. John and Viggo repeated their lines - again, again, with new lighting, with less lighting, again, more rain. It had been 45 minutes and they still hadn’t gotten what should have been a simple shot. He was tired and he was cold and the light drizzle was gradually turning his Legolas clothes into a clammy cocoon from which he couldn’t yet escape.
Helms Deep.
Idly he picked at a loose green thread that was freeing itself from his tunic. You’d think elves could make more durable clothing. Looking up he caught Viggo turn in his direction and flash an impetuous grin, before turning back to whatever Peter was changing this time around. He liked the corresponding warmth spreading in his abdomen, decided not to analyze it too closely.
Nor did he want to think too closely about the images of Viggo he could see on the monitors close by. Even with this reluctance, the thoughts that slipped in were still vivid.
He watched the two actors run through their lines again, found himself staring at the tanned color of Viggo’s face on the screen... the sheen of sweat and rain dampening his skin. He let an image of slowly licking the moisture off a cheek drift through his mind unedited. Wondering what Viggo’s skin would taste like. Sweet? Earthy?
Shifting in his seat, for comfort he told himself, Orlando allowed his eyes to close and relished the surprising feel of satisfaction it brought. So tired...so sore.
He wasn’t normally so pessimistic, well scratch that, he wasn’t normally so negative with company around. But intense highs, intense energy output, be it as Legolas or as cast playmate, resulted in corresponding intense lows. But he kept those hidden, let the others see only the mirth that defined him. Tonight though, he was too tired.
What he really wanted was to be dry and warm in his own bed. Slipped naked between his dark inviting sheets.
Alone?
He didn’t know, wasn’t sure what he was feeling. Somewhere though he knew the idea of being with a certain person between those sheets wasn’t worrying him as much as it might have when he was just a few years younger.
Strong arms wrapped around him, firm chest pressed tightly against his back. The bed warm in the way a bed only can be with two people in it, the perfect temperature. A nose nuzzling at the back of his neck. Low whispers floating their way past his ears, raising tiny hairs and making him shiver. A corresponding low chuckle and arms tightening around him.
He thinks that the normal lows wouldn’t be quite so lonely with someone else to share them with. Would be comforting even, time to be quiet, introspective. Time to be just himself, and just with someone else.
"Orlando?" came the quiet voice, testing his alertness gently.
"Mmph,"he responded elegantly, pried his eyelids open to be greeted with the dark vision of Viggo in front of him.
"Asleep?"
He nodded, too tired to think, and not trusting himself not to confuse his thoughts with his vocal chords.
"C’mon," Viggo smiled, hand out, sculpted and beckoning.
Orlando took his friend’s hand, allowed himself to be pulled out of his chair, "Thanks," he muttered, his voice rough with fatigue. Stooped to pick up his bow and bundle of arrows, a dropped script.
When he straightened he was suddenly very close to the wet skin of his previous thoughts. He studied as long as he dared, swallowed and raised his eyes up with more effort than he thought warranted.
The smile hadn’t left Viggo’s mouth, soft and sweet and so strangely comforting.
Viggo threaded an arm across Orlando’s shoulders, guided him in the direction of home, taking care of his younger companion. Orlando let his still blonde head rest against the damp black of Viggo’s shoulder, not sure if that was okay, relieved when nothing changed. If anything, the arm around him tightening almost imperceptibly. He wasn’t sure.
He just wanted to be warm right now.
Everything else could come later, whatever that ‘everything’ might be.
End.
This is a Viggo/Orli, probably a PG-13 I should think, eludes to more though. Might continue this one if people like it.
Thoughts
Orlando huddled down in his chair, watching the scene being acted out before him in the night. John and Viggo repeated their lines - again, again, with new lighting, with less lighting, again, more rain. It had been 45 minutes and they still hadn’t gotten what should have been a simple shot. He was tired and he was cold and the light drizzle was gradually turning his Legolas clothes into a clammy cocoon from which he couldn’t yet escape.
Helms Deep.
Idly he picked at a loose green thread that was freeing itself from his tunic. You’d think elves could make more durable clothing. Looking up he caught Viggo turn in his direction and flash an impetuous grin, before turning back to whatever Peter was changing this time around. He liked the corresponding warmth spreading in his abdomen, decided not to analyze it too closely.
Nor did he want to think too closely about the images of Viggo he could see on the monitors close by. Even with this reluctance, the thoughts that slipped in were still vivid.
He watched the two actors run through their lines again, found himself staring at the tanned color of Viggo’s face on the screen... the sheen of sweat and rain dampening his skin. He let an image of slowly licking the moisture off a cheek drift through his mind unedited. Wondering what Viggo’s skin would taste like. Sweet? Earthy?
Shifting in his seat, for comfort he told himself, Orlando allowed his eyes to close and relished the surprising feel of satisfaction it brought. So tired...so sore.
He wasn’t normally so pessimistic, well scratch that, he wasn’t normally so negative with company around. But intense highs, intense energy output, be it as Legolas or as cast playmate, resulted in corresponding intense lows. But he kept those hidden, let the others see only the mirth that defined him. Tonight though, he was too tired.
What he really wanted was to be dry and warm in his own bed. Slipped naked between his dark inviting sheets.
Alone?
He didn’t know, wasn’t sure what he was feeling. Somewhere though he knew the idea of being with a certain person between those sheets wasn’t worrying him as much as it might have when he was just a few years younger.
Strong arms wrapped around him, firm chest pressed tightly against his back. The bed warm in the way a bed only can be with two people in it, the perfect temperature. A nose nuzzling at the back of his neck. Low whispers floating their way past his ears, raising tiny hairs and making him shiver. A corresponding low chuckle and arms tightening around him.
He thinks that the normal lows wouldn’t be quite so lonely with someone else to share them with. Would be comforting even, time to be quiet, introspective. Time to be just himself, and just with someone else.
"Orlando?" came the quiet voice, testing his alertness gently.
"Mmph,"he responded elegantly, pried his eyelids open to be greeted with the dark vision of Viggo in front of him.
"Asleep?"
He nodded, too tired to think, and not trusting himself not to confuse his thoughts with his vocal chords.
"C’mon," Viggo smiled, hand out, sculpted and beckoning.
Orlando took his friend’s hand, allowed himself to be pulled out of his chair, "Thanks," he muttered, his voice rough with fatigue. Stooped to pick up his bow and bundle of arrows, a dropped script.
When he straightened he was suddenly very close to the wet skin of his previous thoughts. He studied as long as he dared, swallowed and raised his eyes up with more effort than he thought warranted.
The smile hadn’t left Viggo’s mouth, soft and sweet and so strangely comforting.
Viggo threaded an arm across Orlando’s shoulders, guided him in the direction of home, taking care of his younger companion. Orlando let his still blonde head rest against the damp black of Viggo’s shoulder, not sure if that was okay, relieved when nothing changed. If anything, the arm around him tightening almost imperceptibly. He wasn’t sure.
He just wanted to be warm right now.
Everything else could come later, whatever that ‘everything’ might be.
End.