The day started out horribly. First of all, working on a beautiful Saturday afternoon isn’t my idea of a good time, especially when you’ve got a strong desire to go surfing. Then, add the fact that Astin keeps fucking up his lines, and Beanie nearly took out a stuntman with his sword, and you get the idea of how miserable I was.
Not to mention that every time I so much as glanced at Viggo, I was suddenly very thankful that my tunic covered the crotch of my leggings. So when Peter gave us an hour for lunch, I wandered back to the trailer in the hopes of relaxing and forgetting all the shit that was on my mind. No sooner had I settled in on the couch than the door opened and Bean entered, followed by Viggo. Shit. Well, it is their trailer, too, I reasoned.
And that’s where I am right now, my eyes closed in the hopes that they’ll leave me alone. Especially Vig. I used to desperately crave time alone with him, but now I’m so afraid that if I do or say anything, I’ll give myself away. I can just hear him now: “Hey Sean, Orli said he was in love with me. He’s a sweet kid; I hope he gets over me soon.” Or something like that.
After a few minutes, I hear the trailer door close, and I smile. Peace. My eyes flutter open, only to see Viggo still lounging on the floor, eating a candy bar. “Hey, elf-boy,” he says with a smile.
“Hey yourself.”
He pulls a sandwich out of a bag and tosses it to me. “Peanut butter and jelly. I got you some yogurt also. You need to eat, you know.”
My heart flutters. He cares. Not in that way, Orli, get a grip. “Thanks,” I manage to say, although my voice sounds disconcertingly soft.
“So what’s the matter?” he asks.
“Pardon?”
“You’ve been very distant all day. Is something bothering you?”
“No, just don’t really feel like spending my Saturday battling a cave troll.”
“Understandable.”
I slide onto the floor, reaching for the paper bag he’s brought. “Did you bring me a drink, too?” I ask, batting my eyelashes in jest.
“Yes, pretty elf. Here’s a ginger ale.”
My eyes light up. He remembered my ginger ale fetish. No wonder I love this man. “You’re the best.” It’s true. Cracking open the can, I slip the straw in and take a long sip, grinning at him. “So how’s your day going?”
“Okay. It’s kind of surreal, sitting in my Aragorn costume and eating a Snickers bar.”
“No shit.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, the wit and wisdom of Orlando Bloom.” His words lose their edge due to the chuckle he lets out at the end.
“Cunt,” I retort, my grin now threatening to split my face open. I finish my sandwich and return to the ginger ale.
“I think Aragorn and Legolas are lovers.”
The ginger ale suddenly goes down the wrong pipe, causing me to cough and sputter in a very un-elflike manner. “What?!” I gasp.
Viggo shrugs. The man is maddeningly nonchalant sometimes. “I think Aragorn and Legolas –”
“No, Vig, I heard you, but why do you think that? And why tell me?” Because now I’m going to have dreams about me and Viggo in fiction as well as in real life.
“Well, I think the fact that they stand close together, that Legolas grabs Aragorn’s shoulder in Moria and catches him at Khazad-Dum is something. And what do you make of Legolas going ape-shit indignant on Boromir when Aragorn gets referred to as a ranger?”
“Okay, you may have a point.”
“I know I’m right about this. Arwen’s just a beard that’s a convenient political alliance. She’s so fucking innocent and naive. Not his type at all.”
“What is Aragorn’s type?”
“Pretty elves. Pretty male elves.”
My pulse racing, I drain the rest of my ginger ale and look at him with a steady gaze. “And what’s your type?”
“Pretty male elves.”
The trailer suddenly seems unbearably hot, and the silence rings louder than any siren ever could. “Pretty male elves?” I repeat, my voice unsteady.
“I’m sorry, Orli . . . shit, I didn’t mean to . . . fuck it.” Viggo sets down his candy bar and gets up to leave. I lean up and grab his wrist.
“Vig.” No response. “Viggo, look at me.” He turns, and I’m shocked to see fear in his eyes. “This isn’t a joke,” I say, only realizing the truth of those words as they come out of my mouth. “You . . . you like me.”
“That’s an understatement.”
“What would the correct statement be?” I ask, my heart in my throat. This can’t be real. This can’t be real. This can’t be real.
“I love you.” The words are so quiet, but I know I haven’t imagined them. His eyes drift to the floor, and I’m stunned that Viggo, cool, confident Viggo, is scared. I’m even more stunned at what he’s just said. He loves me. I feel calm and dizzy at the same time, and my heart is about ready to burst. Viggo loves me. And he’s still looking at me, unsure of what my reaction is going to be.
Surprising both of us, I jerk his wrist down, pulling him to the floor. Before I can give it another thought, I lean in and kiss his neck. His skin is warm and soft, the hairs from the Aragorn wig brushing against my forehead. My lips linger there only a second, but I can hear his breath becoming ragged. When I pull back, the fear in his eyes has been replaced with shock.
“Orli?” he asks.
“Wanna know my type, Vig?” He nods. “Rangers. Mere rangers.”
He laughs, and the sound goes straight to my groin. Jesus. “I’m no mere ranger.” His hand slides up and caresses my cheek.
“No,” I whisper. “Actually, you’re a poet with a scar above his lip who speaks Danish. And I love you.”
Something flashes in those steel blue eyes, and his lips are suddenly upon mine, soft but insistent, the stubble pleasantly scratching against my skin. I moan and open my mouth, letting his tongue slip past my teeth. The kiss is everything I thought it would be. Fierce and gentle all at the same time, as if our very existence depended on being joined at the lips.
After a few long moments, we pull back, and I’m not sure if the lightheadedness is from euphoria or a lack of oxygen. “That was nice,” I say.
“Nice?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
I smirk. “I’ve had better.”
“Fucker,” he growls before diving in again. This time, I fall on my back and pull him up over me. I’m not sure exactly what I want or need, but luckily Viggo seems to be receiving signals from my brain, because he pulls my tunic over my head, careful not to displace my wig. While this forces us to break the kiss, it’s made up for a moment later when he leans down and runs his tongue over a nipple. I groan, sliding a hand down to tangle in his wig.
“Viggo.” My voice sounds foreign to me, possessing a huskiness I didn’t know existed. He briefly moves over to lick my other nipple, before sliding down further, kissing down my stomach. I know where he’s headed, but I don’t want that yet. “Stop,” I croak.
He looks up, the fear returned to his eyes. I smile and pull him back up so our faces are nearly touching. “I want to see you,” I whisper.
Viggo just nods, standing up to take off his heavy, somewhat complicated costume. “Lucky elves,” he mutters. “Just leggings and a tunic.” I can’t help but grin, although I gasp a bit as he slides off his shirt and pants.
“You’re beautiful,” I say softly, unable to help myself as I look at him clad only in distorted boxers.
“Me?” he whispers. “Orlando, you are the most beautiful man on this earth. You’re more like a Greek god than a modern mortal.”
I stand up and press myself against him, kissing him again. The soft hairs on his chest feel wonderful against my smooth torso, and I gasp as he kisses my neck. “Don’t leave . . . a mark,” I plead. “Makeup will kill me – ah!” I stop talking as he reaches down and grips me through my leggings.
The rest of my costume is stripped off, and I pull off his remaining clothes as well, my eyes widening at the sight of his erection. Sure I’ve seen guys naked before, but with Viggo . . . it’s different. It’s sexy as hell.
“Orlando,” he says. I love it when he says my full name. It sounds decadent somehow. “What do you want?” He takes me into his arms, a hand snaking down to grasp my achingly hard cock.
“You. I want you.”
“You have me,” he whispers, his tongue doing wicked things to my earlobe.
“No. You inside of me.”
He pulls back. “Have you ever done that before?”
“No,” I admit.
“We can’t do that now.”
“Why not?” My voice has apparently decided to go up two octaves. “Don’t you want to?”
“Orli,” he says softly, his hand still playing with my weeping erection. “First of all, I don’t keep lube in the trailer.” Good point. “And second of all, there’ll be some pain, and I don’t want you to be battling an imaginary cave troll right after that.” Even better point. He kisses me gently. “I want to. But not now.”
“But you want to?” I ask again.
“More than anything.” His tongue plays against my lips and I open
them to him, groaning as our cocks rub against one another. “But
we still need some relief,” he gasps.
Suddenly, he’s on his knees in front of me, swirling his tongue
around the head of my cock. Fuck. My head falls back, and I
groan loudly. “Vig . . .” My voice dies in my throat as I’m
enveloped in warm, wet heat. I look down to see Viggo swallowing
my cock almost to the root.
“Shit,” I gasp, wanting to buck my hips, but his hands are too quick, steadying my body so I’ll be still. I whimper pitifully as he pulls off of me to lick at my thighs, deliberately teasing me. “Viggo,” I whine.
“Orli,” he says, matching my tone. His mouth descends upon me again, this time letting my hips move. His eyes meet mine, and I’m mesmerized by the hollowing of his cheeks, making those cheekbones stand out even more prominently. I thrust into his mouth, and he doesn’t miss a beat. In fact, he gently rolls my balls in his hand, inducing more thrusting. Soon, I’m practically fucking his throat, and he’s stroking himself in time with my thrusts.
It’s too much, and I come with an earth-shattering orgasm. It sounds like a cliche, but I’m pretty sure that some seismic event happened right then. He waits until I’m done, swallowing all of my come, and then cleans me with his tongue as I slide bonelessly onto the trailer floor. I look at him, his cheeks still flushed from need, and I smile, reaching my hand out to grasp his erection.
It jumps under my touch, and I pull Viggo down to the floor next to me and kiss him. I stroke his cock, almost reverently, before beginning to wank him properly, trying to recall all the tricks I’ve learned from pleasuring myself. Whatever I’m doing works, because he comes with a muffled cry, his head buried in my shoulder. I grab the napkins from my lunch and clean up the mess.
Trembling a bit, he kisses my neck and I can feel tears on his face. “Vig?” I ask, concerned.
“Sorry,” he says, his voice hoarse. “It’s just that I never thought you’d feel this way. I knew from the moment I met you that you were special.” He looks at me with such openness in his gaze and I lose myself all over again. “I didn’t think you’d ever want someone like me.”
“Someone like you? What’s that mean?” I ask, threading my fingers through his.
“Orli, I’m twenty years older than you. I have a son. I just thought you’d want someone more your age.”
“I love you, not your age, and I would feel this way whether you had
a kid or not. I mean, I thought you just saw me as a kid for God’s
sake.”
“Never.” He sighs and closes his eyes. “You know
this isn’t going to be easy. There’s a lot of people who won’t understand.
And I don’t know what Peter and Fran will say. But I think we should
be honest.”
I nod my agreement. “Sneaking around never helps anything. So . . . are you my boyfriend now?”
Viggo chuckles and opens his eyes. After another kiss, he grins and says, “for as long as you can stand me, pretty elf.”
“Filthy human.”
We start laughing, all the tension and emotion draining out of our sated bodies. He punches my shoulder, and I give him a deep kiss. All of a sudden, the door swings open.
“Guys, Pete needs us back . . . Christ!” Bean’s eyes are wider than I thought humanly possible. Viggo mercifully grabs the blanket off the couch and throws it over us. “Um . . .”
“Give us five minutes,” Vig says, seemingly unembarrassed by the situation.
“Right. I’ll tell him you’re coming.”
“Tell him we already did,” Viggo laughs. Beanie just nods and steps out of the trailer. “Well, I think we broke Sean.”
I start cracking up, unable to help myself. “Poor Beanie.”
“He’ll get over it.” Viggo stands up and helps me to my feet. We get dressed again, and I’m fairly proud that our costumes and wigs are no worse for the wear. When we’re fully clothed, he kisses me chastely on the lips, and somehow that seems just as intimate as the other touches. Maybe it’s a reminder that this isn’t just about sex.
“Back to battling the cave troll.”
“Yeah. So, Orli?”
“Hmm?”
“Wanna do something tomorrow? I mean, it is our day off.”
“Of course.” As we walk out of the trailer nonchalantly, nobody but ourselves and Sean knowing what happened, I have to grin. “Vig?” I say in a low voice.
“Yeah?”
“I think you’re right.”
“What do you mean?”
“Strider is definitely shagging the elf.”
