There are waltzing ferrets at this party. Seriously, there are all these formally dressed men and women, decked out in tuxedos and ballgowns, and there are these ferrets (also decked out in tuxedos and ballgowns) who are gliding across the dance floor. Billy is dancing with a ferret in a tartan dress, and Ian's ferret is wearing a beautiful purple taffeta number. For some reason, Lij is dancing with a baboon instead of a ferret, but I'm not keen on analyzing why.
I'm dancing with Viggo, so all the ferrets can just kiss my arse. Actually, that might be a little too weird for me. We're both wearing tuxedos, and damn does Vig look suave. He knows all the moves, and we're the most graceful couple on the dance floor. Suddenly some preening ferret interrupts us and asks if I would mind his cutting in. I do bloody well mind! Viggo's not into bestiality, thank you very much! But the ferret won't take no for an answer, and sweeps my lover away into the sea of dancing humans and ferrets (and one baboon).
"Orli!" Viggo cries. I snap myself out of my state of shock and set off to rescue my lover from the foul beast. "Orli!" he cries again. "Orli, wake up!"
What? Wake up?
"Orli?" Viggo's voice is gentle and I crack open my eyes. "Damn, you slept a long time," he laughs.
"Vig?" I rub my eyes tiredly. "Why aren't you dancing with the ferret?"
"What?"
"You were dancing with a ferret. He had a tuxedo."
Viggo laughs, those wonderful lines around his eyes crinkling. "I think that was a dream, love. I've never danced with a ferret in my life."
"Yeah, well it was some dream."
"Sounds like it."
I sit up and frown. "Um, why are we still in the car? It only takes twenty minutes to get home from the set. How long have we been driving?"
"Almost two hours."
"What?!"
"Calm down, Orli."
"Wait, but where are we going? Two hours? It's almost midnight," I tell him, looking at my watch.
"We're almost there."
"Almost where?"
"It's a surprise."
"But what is it?"
"It's a surprise," he tells me again, in the same voice he uses with Henry when he's trying to be patient with him.
"Fine," I grumble, fiddling with the radio.
"Don't be petulant, Orlando."
I stick my tongue out at him, which makes him laugh. It always does. "I'm not being petulant, I'm being childish. There's a difference." Viggo nods patronizingly and gets off the highway. "So where *are* we going?" He just laughs again.
A few minutes later, he pulls into a car park in front of this lovely old inn. "Okay, we're here." As if that explains everything. He hops out of the car and I follow, too tired to ask where we are or what we're doing here. "Can you help me with the bags?" Bags? He opens the trunk, and I see one of my suitcases packed full. Now I'm really confused. Instead of asking him again (which would just result in silence or, worse, another enigmatic response), I mutely follow him into the lobby of the cozy inn.
"Welcome to the Shedd Inn, my name is Tracy, how can I help you?" asks a pretty young blonde.
"Hi Tracy, I have a room reserved for the next few nights. The name is Mortensen," Viggo tells her with his most charming smile.
The young woman (Tracy, apparently) looks at a book of reservations before nodding and taking two keys out. "It's the fourth floor. Our version of the penthouse. You've paid in advance, right?"
"Yes."
"Okay, well enjoy your stay. Breakfast starts at seven and goes until ten-thirty. Do you need a wake-up call?"
"No, thank you."
My exhausted body protests every step of the three flights of stairs, but I make it to the fourth floor. Viggo opens the door and I follow him into the room, my eyes widening a bit. It's nothing glamorous or showy, but I wouldn't expect something like that from Viggo; instead it's homey and charming.
"Do you like it?" He startles me by kissing my neck from behind.
"Uh, yeah. But . . . I'm confused." God, could I sound any dumber?
"Why's that?" Another kiss, this time just under my ear.
"We have to be on-set tomorrow, and you told the girl downstairs that we would be here for a few days. I mean, we're due in makeup in just five hours."
"That's what you think." He kisses me again and then moves away, opening the suitcases. "I knew how exhausted you were, so last week I asked Pete if there was any way he could give us some time off. He told me yesterday that he was going to shuffle around the shooting schedule for both of us, so I had time to make some reservations and pack our stuff." He pauses, seeing my stunned look. "I hope you don't mind."
Mind? Is he kidding? "You did all this just 'cause I'm a bit worn out?" I feel disgustingly warm and fuzzy inside.
"You're more than a bit worn out," he tells me as he shucks his jeans. "You've been sleeping in the trailer, in the car when I drive, every chance you get. I worry, you know. And it doesn't hurt either of us to get away from the three-ring circus once in a while."
"But still, this is just . . . I mean, you're too good to me, Vig."
He chuckles as I begin to take off my sweater and pants.
"I'm not too good to you, Orlando. Everything I give to you I get
back tenfold." Bestowing an all-too-brief kiss on my lips, he goes
into the bathroom to brush his teeth.
"So how much time off did PJ give us?"
"We don't have to be back until Saturday afternoon. It's Tuesday night . . . well, technically it's Wednesday morning now, so that's three days and three nights. And there's a beach near here. I know it's still the beginning of spring here, but it'll be nice to just go for a walk on the sand."
I nod, still a bit stunned he's put all of this together for me. No, not me, I realize. For us. Jesus fucking Christ, I've turned into one of *those* people, the kind whose insides turn to mush at everything their partner does. Well, at least Vig's actions warrant that response. I manage to brush my teeth before literally collapsing onto the bed. It's true, I am bloody exhausted. Why does Legolas have so much running to do?
"Sleep," he says, his tired voice affecting me as both a caress and a sleeping pill.
"Love," I murmur. I don't have the energy to follow that word with 'you' before I drift off to sleep. But I'm sure Viggo knows what I'm trying to say.
*****
A flood of sunlight is what wakes me the next morning, streaming through the windows. New Zealand in early October is lovely; spring is just beginning to come alive at that time, and I hear birds chirping outside. Viggo is still sleeping next to me, so I gently extricate myself from under the covers and tiptoe to the window. The view is wonderful, overlooking the beach as the sun comes up.
Going into the bathroom, I see a long, deep tub that I was too knackered to take note of last night. Ooh, I can only imagine what fun we'll have in there. Yes, that's Orlando Bloom for you thirty seconds after getting up, I'm already planning sexcapades. But then again, the fact that my boyfriend's dead sexy might account for some of that. When I come out of the bedroom, I blink at the sight laid out before me. Viggo, beautiful, shirtless Viggo, his face smushed against a pillow with his hair feathering over his cheek.
Sitting down cross-legged on the mattress, I gaze over his half-naked form, the broad curve of his back just too damned enticing. I trail a finger down the length of his spine, relishing the little incoherent mumble he gives in response. Once the weather gets warmer, he'll be sleeping naked, which is something delightfully decadent that I love about him. Unfortunately, it's still a bit chilly for that, and pulling off his boxers would wake him, and I have better ideas about how to do that.
Dropping kisses all over his back, I drag my teeth gently up his neck, and push back his hair so I can nip his earlobe. Yup, that gets a response. "Orli?" His voice is huskiest when he's sleepy or aroused, but when he's sleepy *and* aroused . . . well, it should be classified as a lethal weapon. Warning: may bring grown men to their knees.
"Who else?" I ask, blowing a puff of breath into his ear. He sighs and reaches a hand up blindly, managing to latch on to my neck and hold me in place until he turns over to face me.
"Did you sleep well?"
"Wonderfully."
A slow smile crosses his face, and he pulls me down for a proper kiss that reflects the spirit of this getaway lazy, unhurried, and full of promises. "It's been a while," he murmurs as the kiss ends. His hand moves to cradle a cheek, his thumb brushing over my kiss-swollen bottom lip.
"Two bloody weeks." We've never gone that long without sex, except for that vacation time when he went to L.A. and I went to England.
"Mmm. Well, let's do something about that." Another kiss, tongues swirling and breathing patterns overlapping. I manage to lay down next to him so we can get comfy, as I have no immediate plans other than kissing. Before Vig, I never got so much pleasure out of just kissing; it was always an appetizer that I often skipped on the way to the main course. But now, sometimes all I want is just a long kissing session that won't even lead to sex.
This morning however, we both know that there will be sex. It's been too long, and we have all the time in the world for the first time in weeks. No interruptions, no obligations, no filming, no bullshit. Just us, kissing. And doing other things, apparently, as his hands slip under my shirt and roam over my back, gently stroking the scar and pulling me closer. I break away just long enough to crawl back under the cocooning warmth of the blankets, and then Viggo's kissing me again, still lazy and unhurried. Despite the two week sexual drought, we're in no hurry; it's almost as if we need to reacquaint ourselves in bed, and I'm just fine with that concept.
God-knows-how-long later, hands are stripping off what few clothes we're wearing, and his mouth is making a path down my body, kissing every inch of skin. A swipe of tongue across the back of my knee makes me laugh, a gentle bite on my shoulder makes me gasp, a lick on my inner thigh makes me moan for more.
"What do you want?" he asks as he nudges my legs apart further.
"Anything. Don't care."
Viggo laughs. "Well, that gives me quite a menu to choose from."
"Just do something."
"Hold still," he instructs before going to his suitcase. "Would've been a disaster if I forgot to bring this," he says, holding up the small tube.
"I would have fucking killed you," I manage to laugh.
The feeling of the too-cold lubricant being spread onto my erection makes me jump. His hands firmly gripping mine, Viggo slowly lowers himself down until he's impaled himself on my cock. All the nerve endings in my body are screaming from the sensation of being inside of his body again. At the beginning of our relationship, he was always the one who penetrated me, then after a few months, that began to change, and now I'm just as likely to be inside of him as the other way around. I like that. It could be a symbol of the trust and equality in our relationship, or I could just be overanalyzing.
Viggo begins to move on me, slowly moving up and down while his hand leaves mine to idly stroke his own hardness. It's a beautiful sight, really. Head tilted back in silent pleasure, mouth slightly open, leg muscles flexing as he moves, and eyes fluttering open and closed.
"Orli." My name comes out like a hissed benediction, his hand speeding up the movement on his erection as he says it. His eyes flicker open and he stops stroking himself, leaning down to kiss me, his mouth slow and heavy, his hot breath mingling with mine. This is the most leisurely paced lovemaking I've ever experienced, and it's wonderful. Sex doesn't have to be hard and fast for it to be intense; sometimes sexual intensity is simply desperation in a clever disguise.
Instead of racing towards climax, we drift towards it, our pace still languid as the kiss continues. My hand fumbles a bit before it wraps around his cock, my thumb moving in slow circles around the head. He gives a little whimper and rocks on me a little more, my hips thrusting up a little in response. "Love you," I mumble against his lips.
"Love you," he echoes, his muscles contracting as he comes. Rather than screaming from his release, he lets out a sigh. It isn't long before I experience my own orgasm, my groan of pleasure muffled by another kiss.
I sigh my contentedness as he moves off of me, lying down next to me and closing his eyes in satisfaction. "I missed that," I murmur.
"Yeah." He smiles and kisses me. "What do you want to do for the rest of the day?"
"Nothing. Let's just stay here all day."
*****
That's exactly what we do, laying around for all of Wednesday.
Viggo lets me catch up on some more sleep during the afternoon, and I wake
to the sight of him writing in his journal. Everything moves in slow
motion that day, and it's such a comfort to just be with him and not have
to worry about anything else.
Thursday is when we finally leave the inn to do some exploring. There's a small town with some nice little stores, and we decide to do some shopping. Viggo's birthday is coming up, and I'm trying to decide what to get for him. The gift he gave me for my birthday was so incredible, and finding something that will similarly express what I feel for him is very difficult. I realize, however, that I won't find whatever I'm looking for in a store.
Instead, I get myself a shirt one that Viggo actually likes and buy a nice bracelet that I'll send home to my mum, just because. Viggo gets a postcard to send to one of his friends, and some sweets for Henry. Satisfied with our purchases, we go to a small restaurant and spend dinner talking about our friends. Elijah has been dating Anne, the pretty brunette we met at the club a few months ago, and he's happy; Bean is getting his life back in order after the finalization of his divorce.
"So," I say casually as I poke at the remains of my pecan pie, "did you see that tub we have?"
Yeah, that gets his attention. "Um, yeah. Are you done with dessert? I can get the check."
I smirk. "Patience, patience. You still have half of your tart to finish."
"I'll get it wrapped up." I jump as his foot grazes my thigh under the table. "Ready to go?"
It's my turn to be a bit flustered. "Yeah. Get the check."
Ten minutes later, we shut the door behind us in the room, locking it before hands are pulling at clothes, leaving them in a trail leading to the bathroom. Viggo starts the water running as I impatiently pull off his boxers, leaving him completely naked. I drop to my knees, silently cursing at the hard floor, but I feel Viggo putting a hand on my forehead, pushing me back.
"Vig, don't you "
He silences me with a slow kiss, his chuckles sending vibrations through my mouth. "Let's just get in the tub." I do the full bottom-lip pout, which always gets the same reaction more laughter, more kisses. "Tub," he says again.
The water's almost up to the top, and it's blissfully warm. I lean back against Viggo's chest, realizing that while nothing is better than sex, this *is* pretty nice. Actually, more than pretty nice, and I start to realize why Viggo was willing to give up one of my incredibly fantastic blow jobs for this. I kick my feet in the water, producing a nice current that ripples through the tub.
"Stop."
I kick harder, splashing my hands as well. "Is there a problem?"
Instead of answering, he dunks me underwater. I come up spluttering and annoyed. "There's no problem," he laughs.
"Fucking hell, Vig!" I splash water at him, and soon two grown men are engaged in an all-out water fight. It ends with me grabbing Viggo and kissing him soundly; it's his own damned fault, looking so cute with his hair all wet and plastered to his cheeks. He welcomes the kiss, wrapping his arms around my waist. I sigh happily and nuzzle his neck, as the water calms down, sluicing over our bodies. It's a bit lukewarm now, but it doesn't matter.
"Relaxed?" he asks, his voice flowing over me.
"Mmm."
He laughs. "I guess that's a 'yes'."
"I'm a puddle."
Viggo takes one of the complimentary soaps and rubs it over his hands, then running sudsy palms over my chest. "Well, if we're in the bath, we might as well get clean."
"Mmm, just use your hands instead of a sponge, and I'll have no objection."
His laughter vibrates through his chest and I lean back, contented. I crane my neck around so I can kiss him as he brings the bar of soap over my body, finally letting it go and putting wet hands on my cheeks to deepen the kiss. Feeling a bit awkward in this position, I turn over so I'm practically lying on top of him. All thoughts of soap and getting clean are banished, as we lie there for a while, just kissing.
Finally, we separate and I thread my fingers through his. "Bed?" The water has lost almost all of its heat, and is starting to get uncomfortable. The idea of nice, warm blankets is extremely appealing right now.
Viggo nods, and we dry ourselves off, kissing all the way to bed. "I'm tired," he says, almost apologetically.
"Well, baths can do that." I kiss him, running my thumb over his
cheek. "We still have all day tomorrow."
"I know." He smiles as he settles in for sleep. "Tomorrow."
"Go to sleep," I laugh. "I'm exhausted, too."
We kiss once more, then fall into slumber within the warmth of each other's arms.
*****
Okay, if it seems like walking on a beach at night is some sappy, cliched attempt at romance, you've never walked on a beach at night in New Zealand with Viggo Mortensen. It's just warm enough that we're comfortable wearing only sweaters and jeans, and the sun set about an hour ago. We set out in the late afternoon, armed only with sandwiches and a camera, and watched the sun set, and then went wading in the water before it got really cold.
"Don't wanna go back tomorrow," I pout.
"Yeah, me neither," Viggo admits, his arm around his waist and his hand possessively gripping my hip. "This has been wonderful."
"Yeah." I smile at him, and he stops walking. "Viggo?"
"We only have two more months in New Zealand," he says sadly.
"Two and a half more," I tell him.
"Still . . . I love it here. I love the little world of Middle Earth, and the distance from all the bullshit of 'normal life'."
"But still, you'll go back to L.A. and be with Henry." And not with me, I think sadly.
Viggo smiles. "It just feels like everything has changed. Who I am has changed. It won't be like just stepping back into my old house like nothing ever happened."
"Of course it won't be like that. Of course you've changed. I've changed, too."
"Well, we've changed each other. And I know that what we have has made me a better person."
I squeeze his hand and smile. "You didn't need a lot of improvement, you know."
Viggo chuckles and squeezes my hand in return. "I don't think you needed any." He kisses me, drawing me close and then playfully nuzzling my nose. "I love you, Orlando."
"I love you more."
"Not possible."
"Is to."
"Is not." He's laughing at this point, and I'm close to doing the same.
"We're twisted fuckers, Vig."
"Meant with the utmost love and affection, I'm sure."
"Naturally."
We start walking back towards the inn, his arm still around my waist. "I know we haven't made any plans," he says softly. "Not for what happens after New Zealand. I know we're not coming out yet, but that time will come."
I keep silent, not wanting to ruin this. I realize I'm going to have to tell him soon that I think we should just come out now, consequences be damned, but now isn't the time for that. "What kind of plans are you talking about?"
He shrugs. "I don't know. Five years from now, ten years from now. The rest of our lives."
"The rest of our lives?" I stop in my tracks and look at him.
Viggo looks away, almost as if he's embarrassed. "Well, yeah. I mean . . . it's just . . . shit, I don't know what I'm trying to say."
"Tell me," I say softly, stepping closer to him. We're outside the inn now, and there's no one who can hear what we're saying. "What are you trying to say, Vig?"
"I love you, Orli. And I can't imagine there ever being a time when I won't love you. When I won't want you right beside me. I guess what I'm saying is that, yeah, I can definitely see spending the rest of my life with you."
My mind is reeling. "Let's go to the room, okay?"
He looks at me, slightly confused, but follows me. Once inside, he looks at me with a combination of curiosity and nervousness. "Orli?"
"I didn't think it would be good if I jumped you in the parking lot," I say with a grin.
"No," he says, laughing. "So . . . ?"
"If you can deal with me for the rest of your life, I'd be fucking honored."
*He* jumps *me*, pushing me against the door and kissing me ferociously.
"You couldn't have told me that outside and jumped me a minute later?
I thought you were going to break up with me or something!"
I laugh, but quickly am shut up by another kiss. Break up with Viggo? Yeah, right. Especially not when his fingers are doing that wonderful thing on my denim-covered erection. That movement really should be illegal. My pants are unzipped without a second thought, and Viggo drops to his knees, pushing down my jeans and boxers so he can take me into his mouth.
Oh fuck. My hand strays to his head, threading my fingers through the soft strands of hair as he sucks me hard and fast, all pleasantries replaced by raw need. Fine with me. "Jesus fucking hell." Okay, that didn't make sense, but who gives a fuck? When I have Viggo giving me a great blowjob right after telling me that he could spend the rest of his fucking *life* with me, coherency isn't exactly my top priority.
His hands on my hips prevent me from thrusting, and I whine piteously. He chuckles around my cock, which sends some wonderfully weird vibrations through my entire body. I seriously doubt that I'm this good, but then again he has an extra two decades of practice. We should all be so talented. My climax hits me sooner than I'd like, but he doesn't seem to mind. He stands and walks towards the bed, undressing along the way and leaving me with my pants around my ankles, still standing against the door in a post-orgasmic fog.
"You joining me?" he asks with a smirk. Damnit, *I'm* the smirking one!
I can't exactly think straight (okay, bad choice of words), so I just nod idiotically and start walking over. Unfortunately, I forget to take my pants off, and fall flat on my face. Okay, I officially have a new most embarrassing moment of all time. That thing with Atti and the pumpkin is nothing. "Help," I plead.
Viggo's cracking up, and sure enough, there's a camera click. "Sorry, love."
"You fucker!"
"Don't worry, this is just for my private collection."
"Are you helping me or not?" I fume.
He picks me up, still laughing maniacally, and carries me over to the bed. "You're really something, you know that?"
"Is that good or bad?"
"Good." He laughs again as I try to pull my jeans off unsuccessfully.
"Try taking off your shoes first," he suggests.
"I'm pathetic," I moan.
"You're adorable." He kisses my nose, and I make a face at him. Wanker. Stupid perfect wanker. Once all my clothes have been removed, preventing further injury to my body and ego, he kisses me thoroughly. "Very adorable."
"Adorable? I'm sexy!"
"That, too," he agrees. "Gorgeous, handsome, lovely, pretty, cute, pulchritudinous "
"Pulchra-what?"
"Pulchritudinous. It means 'good-looking' from the Latin"
"Okay, Vig, stop talking. Now."
He shrugs and kisses me again. His hands trail down my body, tracing a line down the center of my chest until he reaches my cock and starts playing with it again. Predictably, he's already hard (who said that aging saps stamina?) and I moan into his mouth as I feel his erection brush up against my leg. I spread my legs, hoping he'll get the message.
Thankfully, my lover happens to be a smart man, and instantly gets the message. Even though I know he's coming back, I still whine in protest when he pulls away to get the lube. Turning onto my stomach, I thrust my arse in the air and wiggle it suggestively. "Like what you see?" I ask, looking over my shoulder at him.
"Hmm." He climbs back onto the bed with a frown. "Not really."
"Excuse me? I'll have you know that this arse could produce a queue of begging men from here to London."
"Is that so? Well, I guess I have to stake my claim."
"Is that some kind of weird metaphor?"
"Orlando?"
"Yeah?"
"Shut up."
"Oh. Okay."
"And wiggle for me again."
I laugh and wiggle my arse once more. Laughter turns to gasping as two slick fingers slide around my entrance and then press in. Slowly, *too* slowly the fingers inch deeper, until he's brushing against my prostate, and I yelp. "Okay. Ready," I pant.
The fingers leave me, and I moan at the feeling of his cock taking their place, pushing into me slowly. He's teasing me, the fucker (again, bad choice of words), and I push my arse back at him, forcing him to go deeper. Finally his entire cock is buried inside of me, and he stays still for a long moment, until we both need more. With deliberate, measured strokes, he begins to make love to me. Yes, make love. An overused phrase that's entirely appropriate right now.
Viggo kisses my back, his tongue delicately tracing my scar. He's always concerned about my back, always making sure Pete doesn't work me any harder than he has to, and always ready with the backrubs. He kisses up to my shoulder, and I turn my head slightly to meet him in a kiss. "Harder?" he asks.
"Please." I push back against him again, giving him permission. The pace changes immediately, morphing from slow and careful to fast and impassioned. "Fuck," I hiss as he hits my prostate on a particularly hard thrust.
I can hear him chuckle, and he reaches a hand around to my own erection. "How is it that you're still so fucking tight?" he marvels.
"Unghh," I moan in response. It's really all I can say. I'm thrusting into his fist and then pushing back against his cock with each movement, and it's fucking incredible. I can tell Viggo's close to his own release, his breathing more erratic with each stroke. "Please," I gasp, regaining some coherency. "Love you."
He comes with a loud cry, shouting my name along with various colorful phrases. His hand still works me, even as he slumps down on my body. It doesn't take much for me to go over the edge for the second time, coming all over his hand. We collapse in a sated and slightly sticky heap.
"Mmm," Viggo murmurs against my neck. "Love you, too."
*****
"So did you have a nice stay?" asks Tracy, the blonde receptionist.
"It was perfect," I tell her with a grin. "Everything was wonderful."
"I'm glad. I hope you come here again sometime," she says with a smile. She's flirting with me, and I stifle a laugh.
"Well, it's a wonderful place. Have a great weekend," I say as I turn and walk out of the lobby.
Viggo's waiting outside with the car, "Took you long enough."
"The girl was flirting with me," I laugh.
"Don't blame her," he says with a wink.
"I'm amazed she didn't figure it out about us," I remark.
"Denial is a very useful tool sometimes."
"Weren't you nervous . . . you know about being seen together here? Getting a room and all?"
"Ian recommended this place for its discretion," he chuckles. "I knew I could trust him."
"Thank God for Sir Ian."
"Indeed."
We pull out onto the road, and I start fiddling with the radio. "Back to work," I say, but I'm not complaining. Besides the fact that I *love* my job, I feel completely refreshed. "This really was exactly what I needed," I tell him. "Thank you so much."
He just flashes me a devastating grin. "To the first of many vacations together."
"To the first of many." I echo with a smile.
