TITLE: Heart and Shoulder (17/22)
AUTHOR: Elizabeth (sef7881@aol.com)
PAIRING: Viggo Mortensen/Orlando Bloom
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: Home is where the art is (Viggo's POV)
FEEDBACK: To (badly) paraphrase Boromir: "Bring on the feedback!
This writer is thirsty!"
WARNINGS: PWP
DISCLAIMER: If I knew any of these people, I'd be the happiest girl in
the world. But I don't. So that means this is all pure
fiction, and I don't make any claims that these stories are true, nor
do I make any money off of them. This is all just to satisfy my
demented imagination.
ARCHIVE: Help yourself, just let me know where it's going.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Self beta'ed; please forgive any mistakes
DATE WRITTEN: July 18th, 2004
"This is ridiculous," Orli grumbles.
"Just indulge me, alright?"
"You really should be using a blindfold, you know. Make it a
kinky experience."
"One-track mind, Orlando. One-track mind."
"You've never been bothered by it," he remarks.
"That's because it serves my purposes," I laugh.
"Ow! Bloody fucking hell, watch where you're steering me!"
"Sorry."
"Oh yeah, sorry. But that won't make my toes stop hurting.
What was that I walked into, anyway?"
"Uh, the bench in the kitchen."
"Viggo, you've walked me from one end of the house to the other.
What on earth is the point of this?"
"Trust me, love. Now, here are the steps down into the
studio. Be careful." Orli keeps his eyes closed as I guide
him down the two stone steps, and I let out a sigh of relief that he
managed not to fall on his face. "Okay, you can open your eyes."
"Finally," he sighs. I step away so I can capture his reaction to
what he's about to see. When those gorgeous dark eyes come open,
the expression on his face makes me wish I had my camera to capture the
surprise and joy that's shown there. "Is this . . . a
wheel? A pottery wheel?"
"Yes."
"For sculpting?"
"Exactly."
"You bought me a pottery wheel?" he gasps.
"And clay, sculpting tools, paint, and glaze. Oh, and a small
kiln. I, uh, smuggled it into the basement this morning while you
were out. It's next to my darkroom."
"Vig, I can't believe that you did this for me!"
I smile at him. "This studio is supposed to be for both of
us. I know that you've been busy with filming for what seems like
forever, but you have some free time now, and I thought you might want
to get back into sculpting."
"But buying all this stuff? I mean . . ."
"It's worth it," I tell him firmly. "It's something I know that
you enjoy, and maybe it'll help you relax when you get stressed."
"You're so amazing," Orli says. "Have I told you that enough?"
"You definitely make me feel loved," I assure him, welcoming the
embrace that he wraps me in.
"So, can I try out my new toys?" There's a twinkle in his eyes as
he looks at the pottery wheel.
"Go ahead," I laugh. "I want to try and develop some pictures;
I'll be in my darkroom if you need me."
"Perfect." He kisses me and bounds out of my arms so he can
inspect his new sculpting instruments. Smiling at how successful
my gift has turned out to be, I head to the basement for some of my own
artistic exploration.
*****
I think that Orlando will like this photo. Of course, he says
that he loves every single piece of art I create, and those aren't
hollow words. The picture that I've just developed is one that I
feel might actually be worthy of his praise, so I want it to have an
audience with my most enthusiastic fan. He never tires of looking
at my new creations, which is one of the hundreds of reasons why I
adore him.
With the newly-developed photograph in my hand, I trudge up from the
basement darkroom to the brightness of the rest of our house.
There's music playing, very loudly in fact, and it's coming from the
direction of the studio. That's odd. We don't have a stereo
in that room. He must have moved the small CD player that we keep
in the kitchen.
"She would never say where she came from," Orli belts out along with
Mick Jagger as a new song begins. "Yesterday don't matter, 'cause
it's gone." Dear God, he needs to be stopped before he murders
excellent music.
I enter the studio, faced with the sight of Orli facing away from me,
straddling a bench and molding a large hunk of clay as he attempts to
sing 'Ruby Tuesday'. He's shirtless, most likely because it's
ninety degrees today and the room is designed like a greenhouse that
welcomes the heat. This gives me an excellent opportunity to
study the flex of his back muscles as he kneads the clay in front of
him. My mind starts drifting, and I think about the other times
I've seen those muscles in action – during weapons practice in New
Zealand, swimming in our pool, and while making love.
Damn. And I think *he* has one-track mind? Now, as I watch
the movement in that strong, graceful back, I can't stop thinking about
how it arches while he rides my cock, or how it draws taut just before
he comes inside of me. I am such a pervert.
The song draws to a close, and I dart over to turn off the CD player
before Orli gets inspired to wail off-key with the next track.
"Vig!" Orli yelps. "Warn a bloke that you're in the room before
you do that!"
"Did I startle you?" I smirk.
"You scared the fuck out of me!"
I can't help but laugh. "I'm sorry, Love Pig."
"Oh no, don't think that just calling me your Love Pig will make up for
that, Viggo Mortensen," he huffs.
"Well, if you're using my full name, then I must really be in trouble."
"You are. And don't think that you can . . ." He frowns
suddenly as he sees the photo in my hand. "What's that?"
"A picture. I came in here to show it to you."
"Let me see it." Without waiting for me to hand it over, Orli
snatches it away with a cheeky grin.
"Brat," I chuckle.
He ignores my taunt, focusing instead on the photo. "This is
amazing! I love the way the shadows fall and the sunlight makes
everything glow."
"Thanks, love. I was hoping you'd like it," I admit.
"I *love* it," he assures me, emphasizing his words by bestowing a firm
kiss on my cheek. "When did you take this?"
"The morning after you returned from Morocco. You were exhausted
from jet-lag and slept past noon. I went into our room to check
on you, and after I laughed at the fact that you were still asleep, I
was struck by how your feet were like an island as they peeked out from
under the white blanket. So I grabbed my camera and took a
picture of your feet."
"My feet," he echoes with a chuckle. "I think that's the only
part of my body that you hadn't photographed yet. Perhaps it was
just a matter of time."
"You do have very sexy feet," I point out.
"I've never really paid much attention to my feet."
"I pay attention to every inch of you. Every millimeter." I
skim my hand down his naked back in a silent gesture of my
adoration. "I love to touch you all over."
Orli shivers. "Then do it," he challenges, a husk creeping into
his voice.
Again, my fingers caress the soft skin of his back. His muscles
twitch ever-so-slightly, and my earlier fantasies come flooding
back. "I, uh, watched you sculpt before," I confess. "When
I came in, you looked so beautiful that I couldn't help myself."
"You watched me? Didn't know you were the voyeuristic type, old
man."
"Getting cheeky again, are we?"
"I'm always cheeky," he laughs. That laugh turns into a gasp when
I dip my fingers beneath the waistband of his faded gray
sweatpants. I'm not at all shocked to find an absence of
underwear.
"Well, I have ways of making you behave."
"Really?" He squirms deliciously under my exploration, letting
out what sounds like a squeak when I slip a finger between two firm
cheeks.
"Fucking you hard always seems to work," I murmur as I slide the
sweatpants down his muscular legs. I pull him back against me,
hoping that he can feel how much I need him; the very loud gasp that
echoes in the quiet room lets me know that he's aware of my intense
desire. He tilts his head back and flicks his tongue out to grace
the shell of my ear.
"There's no lube in here, you know," he reminds me. "I think I
should go get some."
As reluctant as I am to lose my contact with him, I know that he's
right. I can't very well screw him into the ground without our
sacred little tube. Orli pulls off his pants and bounds naked
from the studio on a quest for lube, leaving me alone to strip as I
wait for him. Once all my clothes are in a haphazard pile near my
canvases, I sink down on the couch in the corner and wait for his
return.
"Found it!" Orlando crows upon his reentrance. "You know, we
really should keep this stuff in every room of the house."
"We've discussed that before," I say. "If you really want to try
it, then you can be the one to explain to everyone why we have lube in
the pantry."
"Cheeky git." He shakes his head and starts slicking up his
fingers.
"What are you doing?"
"Isn't it obvious?" he laughs, sauntering over to the couch.
"But I thought that I was going to–"
"Look, I can't resist the sight of that arse of yours," Orli
explains. "You understand, right?"
"Yeah." That's all I can manage to say as my entire body starts
to thrum with the anticipation of his touch.
"Good, because I want to have some fun with you," he purrs. He's
now on the couch, pushing my legs open and nudging two fingers against
my entrance. I let out a moan with the smooth glide of his
fingers into me, reaching down to clutch at the cushions for some sort
of grounding.
"I like this kind of fun," I gasp, arching my hips to give him better
access to my body.
He chuckles. "I thought you would."
Then his questing fingers brush against my prostate, and all dialogue
ceases. We've reached the point where words are unnecessary, at
least this time. Right now, we're both creatures of raw need; for
better or worse, there's no poetic romance attached to what we're
doing. This is pure lust, nothing more. It doesn't matter
which one of us is doing the fucking, as long as we both find our
release at the end.
There's a look of intense concentration on Orli's face as he watches my
face. It's almost as if he's trying to measure how prepared I am
simply by what emotions I'm displaying. After I release a
particularly loud cry, he seems to decide that I'm ready for more than
just his fingers, and pulls away from me so he can lube up his erection.
I prop myself up on my elbows and watch with unabashed hunger, letting
my legs splay open a bit wider in invitation. I just love to be
fucked by him – the initial penetration, the pounding rhythm, the
accompanying kisses, and the blinding climax. Not to mention the
post-coital cuddling, having his sated body wrapped around mine while
we exchange declarations of love that will never get old. With
all that to look forward to, it's no wonder that we have sex all the
time.
Orli's strong hands pull my hips closer to him, and he positions
himself at my entrance. "Ready?" he asks in a soft voice.
"Definitely."
We both gasp at the push of his cock into my body. It's sheer
bliss, just like always. I immediately reach around to grab his
ass so I can try to draw him further into me. But he resists,
gliding into me at his own leisurely pace. When he's all the way
in, he leans his head down for a deep kiss, which is nothing short of
making love to my mouth.
Even as he starts thrusting, he refuses to break the kiss. His
thrusts are slow at first, but they soon become more passionate.
Each long, deep drive of his cock into me tears a cry from my throat
that's swallowed by the kiss, until finally I have to pull my mouth
from his so I can get some air. Undeterred, Orli attaches his
lips to my neck and swirls his tongue the over sensitive skin there.
"Always so tight," he pants, his breath stuttering with each new push
of his hips. "Tight and hot," he amends. I perform an
interesting hip rotation to see how he reacts. A soft keening
noise drifts from his mouth, and he pounds into me harder. "Smart
bastard!"
"I can't . . . just . . . lie here," I rationalize.
"Why not? Let me fuck you into the mattress," he offers.
I groan with a particularly hard thrust, then find my voice to reply,
"We're not on a mattress."
Orli somehow has the presence of mind to roll his eyes as he keeps up
his punishing rhythm. The room is hot, and the only sounds are
our combined moans and harsh gasps until we hear the phone ring.
Neither of us considers answering it. Nothing seems to matter
outside of what's going on between the two of us on this couch, as skin
touches skin and desire is slaked.
There's a fierce blaze running through my bloodstream now, burning
hotter with every sharp jab of Orli's cock inside of me. I pull
his head down for a new kiss, fucking his mouth with my tongue the way
*he's* fucking me. He shudders and nips my bottom lip, which, in
turn, makes me growl. As the kiss gets more torrid, I can tell
that he's hovering near his climax. All I need to do is find a
way to make him go over the edge.
It's an understatement to say that it's difficult to think at this
point. Still, I manage to cut through the lusty fog that's
settled over my brain so that I can try and remember which of my
lover's sensitive body parts have *not* been stimulated so far.
And then the answer hits me; it's really so obvious.
I use one hand to tangle in his curls as we continue our marathon kiss,
and at the same time I sneak my free hand up his muscled chest until I
settle on one of those dusky nipples that are so responsive to my
touch. Breaking the kiss so I can watch his reaction, I give the
furled flesh a gentle tweak and clench my muscles around him.
Orli groans and jerks his hips forward, his body starting to shake as
he becomes overwhelmed. I grin at the realization that my
reasoning worked, and begin to repeat the process until he unravels.
"That's it," I croon. Wrapping my legs around his waist, I force
his strokes to become more shallow. "Come on, let go, baby."
I'm completely ignoring my own needs, but I don't care. What
matters at this moment is that he comes inside of me. Seeing that
he needs just a little bit more encouragement, I flick my finger over
his nipple once more. My other hand slides down to his ass and
delves between the cheeks, playing at his entrance.
"Shit, Vig!" Orli cries. His whole body tenses under my assault,
and after one more thrust, he lets out a ragged groan as I feel him
fill me with his seed. I shudder at the sensation of the familiar
warmth pouring into me, clutching him even tighter and pressing kisses
to his neck.
After an extended moment of heaven, he slides out of me without paying
mind to my whine of discontent. That discontent vanishes when he
slides to his knees on the stone floor in front of the couch,
positioning me so that my erection is in front of his face. What
a smart man he is. I give him a pillow from the couch, and he
flashes me a grateful smile as he props it under his knees before
wordlessly swallowing my cock.
Sweet mother of mercy. I had almost forgotten how needy I was
during all of that hard-fast-sweaty-desperate fucking, but I'm quickly
reminded of my acute desire now that Orli's sucking me with a diligence
that he usually reserves for special occasions. My eyes were
tightly closed until lewd slurping sounds poke into my consciousness,
and I peek down to see my mischievous boyfriend gazing up and flashing
me a wink. He never breaks eye contact as he slides his tongue
all around my cock, then gives another wink as he begins to hum.
That's it; I'm done for. With a half-yelp, half-growl (I'm not
sure how else to describe it), I claw at the couch and release myself
into Orli's waiting mouth. His hands stroke my thighs after he
draws back, giving me time to come back down to earth.
"Do you realize what we've done?" he asks with a grin.
"Uh, no."
"We've now had sex in every room of the house."
"You've been keeping track?" I laugh in disbelief.
"Hey, why not? It's a big house, and I knew that with our sex
drives, we'd get around to it sooner or later. The only rooms we
skipped are Henry's bedroom, and the room we're setting aside for the
baby."
"For obvious reasons," I point out.
"Well, yeah. Oh, and the darkroom. I don't really fancy the
idea of making love when *neither* of us can see anything."
"Wait, when did we have sex in the family room?" I ask as he helps me
to my feet and tosses me my clothes.
"You sucked me off in there," he reminds me. "Oral sex counts as
sex."
"Hmm, maybe we should go all the way just to make it official."
"'Go all the way'? What are you, fifteen years old?" Orli teases.
"Oh, be quiet," I grouse. "I'm offering to fuck you with no
strings attached."
"Maybe tomorrow," he says with a wink. He saunters back over to
the clay and starts to mold it again. "I already have my artistic
inspiration for the day."
Heart
and Shoulder Part 18
More
Viggorli
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