HAS9

TITLE: Heart and Shoulder (9/22)
AUTHOR: Elizabeth (sef7881@aol.com)
PAIRING: Viggo Mortensen/Orlando Bloom
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: A meeting in Morocco (Viggo's POV)
FEEDBACK: To paraphrase Aragorn and Eowyn: "What do you fear, my lady?" "No feedback. To stay behind a laptop until use and old age accept no feedback. And all chance of feedback has gone beyond recall and desire."
WARNINGS: Angst, smut, sap, and some bondage
DISCLAIMER: I made it all up in my crazy little head. It's FICTION
ARCHIVE: I'd be honored, just let me know where it's going
AUTHOR'S NOTES: A permanent thank you to my darling Lostiawen (a.k.a. the adverb eliminator) for her support, beta skills, and insanity. The character Gillian Murphy is solely my invention

"Christ, you two are too cute," Ridley says with a shake of his head. "Well, come on then. He's over by the cameras, talking to our DP about who-knows-what."

I dutifully follow behind Ridley, looking around at the gorgeous set that they've put together. If it weren't for the cameras, wires, and donuts at the crafts service table, one would think that they actually were in a medieval setting. A part of me surges at the knowledge that Orli is the one starring in this elaborate production, that this is his big chance to move beyond the pretty pin-up boy status that he hates so much and actually be taken seriously as an actor.

"There's your boy, Viggo." My thoughts are interrupted by Ridley's gruff voice cutting into my consciousness. Looking over where he's pointing, I can't help but smile.

My feet carry my jet-lagged body as quickly as possible over to where Orli is standing idly with his sword. He's no longer chatting with anyone, and is simply examining the craftsmanship of the long metal blade in his hands. There's an ornate costume covering up his muscular frame, while a carefully sculpted beard adorns the face that I think is the handsomest in the world. Quite simply, my Orli looks every inch the medieval hero.

He looks up halfway through my greeting and his eyes get as big as Elijah's. "Vig?!" The sword falls forgotten to the floor with a clang. I'm sure that the prop department will love that.

"Change of plans," I inform him. "When I got there, I found a message for me at the front desk from Ridley with directions for how to get to the set. He thought I should come here and join you for the rest of the day."

"Fuck yeah, you get a hug!" I'm suddenly the very willing victim of a full-on Orli assaut, his head burying in the crook of my neck as his arms wrap tightly around me. "I missed you, I missed you, I missed you," he whispers fiercely, his words meant for nobody's ears save for our own.

He takes a deep breath and pulls back, smoothing down my rumpled shirt. There are a few people around us who are looking in our direction, but they're smiling at our affection. My guess is that anyone who had a real problem with homosexuality probably wouldn't be working on a production that features an openly gay man as its star.

"So, I get to see you in action today," I tell him as we walk over to a ledge where we can sit down. "That's a really nice treat. I've never visited you on any of the sets before . . . well, I came down to Mexico when you were filming 'Troy', but that was more of a covert operation." I almost cringe at the memory of our pre-Outing days, thinking of the lengths I forced myself to go in order to keep our relationship a secret.

"Yeah, that was an emergency visit," Orli recalls, his voice quiet and a bit odd as he gazes at the sword that he picked up off the floor. "You had to rescue me, remember?"

"Nothing." He shakes his head forcefully as if trying to expel what's troubling him from his mind. "I'm fine, really." Looking back at me, he tries to give me one of his patented dazzling Orli smiles, but it falls short.

"Time to see me in action," Orli says, his smile a bit more convincing this time. Picking up his sword, he gives me a quick kiss and goes off to make movie magic.

The hotel suite that the studio has given Orli for the two months that he's in Morocco is quite impressive. It's not ornate per se, but it has lavish touches in unexpected places, such as the silk embroidery and fringe on the blankets, and the gigantic fresh fruit basket that my boyfriend informs me is restocked every afternoon. He tells me with glee in his voice that the shower is big enough for two, and that he bought "some very sexy stuff" while they were filming in Spain. It's nice to know that his one-track mind hasn't changed since leaving L.A.

"I think I'll pick that option." I slip off my shoes and stretch out on the obscenely large bed that the hotel has provided for Orli. Apparently, they think that whoever is in this suite must hold orgies on a routine basis. But right now, sex isn't what I have in mind. I'd rather find out why my love was upset today. "Come here, Orlando," I urge, holding out my hand to him.

"The good stuff can wait a few minutes," I tell him as he flops down next to me with an insouciant grin on his face. "Don't worry, my beloved nymphomaniac – you'll get the good stuff. I just wanted to relax first."

Orli pretends to deliberate for a moment before acquiescing. "Okay, relaxation it is. So, what's on the agenda?" He lies back against the pillows, looking exhausted all of a sudden.

"Although I suppose it's appropriate," he says, not really to anyone in particular. "Gay is a synonym for happy; you can't be queer and miserable, now can you?"

"What are you talking about?" By now, I'm completely lost and a bit nervous. When Orli's voice takes on a bitter tinge, as it's doing now, it's a very bad sign.

"Nothing. It's nothing, okay? Just leave it alone. I'm in a shitty mood. You picked a bad time to visit me; I should have told you to stay at home."

"Well, it's too late for that," I remind him. "So since I'm here, you might as well stop playing the martyr and let somebody who cares for you more than humanly possible try to help. Do you think you could do that?"

To my great relief, Orli laughs a little at that remark. Looking up at me with a vulnerability I haven't seen in a long time, he reaches for my hand while his mind searches for the right words. I wait patiently, not wanting to rush him into saying something he'll regret.

"Baby, why would you torture yourself like that?" I brush back his curls with my fingers, trying anything I can to soothe him. "You know that stuff doesn't mean anything."

"Because these people are idiots," I say simply. "Look, it could be a lot worse. There are tabloid stories like me and you, and there are tabloid stories like Michael Jackson or Monica Lewinsky. So just be glad that they're not delving into our sex life."

"Kind of bad news like you forgot to pick up your dry cleaning, or incredibly, horribly bad news like the tabloids are about to start reporting our most intimate moments?" I ask with a growing sense of dread.

"Listen, let me explain. I had this girlfriend back when I was finishing up Guildhall; it was right before I came to New Zealand. Her name was Gillian Murphy, and she was a bit of a tramp. Not that I can take the moral high ground on stuff like that, since I wasn't much better at the time." His cheeks flush with embarrassment. I know that he isn't proud of some of his youthful indiscretions, although they don't bother me much. It's all a part of growing up,

"We were together right up until I left for New Zealand. We tried to make it work over the phone while I was there, and she even visited me a few times. Remember how I told you when we first met that I had just broken up with my girlfriend? Well, that was Gillian."

"She figured she could make a couple of pounds by selling the details of our 'affair' to a junk newspaper. My publicist called me about it yesterday. Everyone will know about it next week, including my mum. Won't that be grand? My mum reading this shite. For fuck's sake, Henry will hear about it!"

"Not *too* bad. Everything she says is true; thank God for that, at least. She says that we had sex on our first date, that I always used condoms . . . that kind of stuff." Poor Orli is bright red at this point. "Oh, and that I was, uh, talented between the sheets."

"Yeah, but I don't need the whole world to know that! Fuck, I can't believe this! My ex-girlfriend from five years ago is selling her story to the gossip rags? How did my life turn into this circus?"

"But she also says that I never showed any kind of interest in men. That I was, in her words, 'all about the girls.' Do you know what that makes the whole story look like? That right after she and I broke up, I became vulnerable and coincidentally met this gay man who swooped in and took advantage of me."

I know he's right, but his words still make me cringe. "Look, I know that there will be people who don't understand our relationship, and people who don't like it. I've come to terms with that fact. As for your ex-girlfriend, what she's doing is tasteless to say the least. But there's nothing we can do about it. If some people are going to see what we have as a lecherous older gay man who took advantage of a confused but essentially straight younger man, that's the way it's going to be."

"Of course I'm not! But what can I seriously do about it? We don't exactly have a videotaped history of our relationship that we could use to disprove these idiotic notions."

"I'm here, baby," I whisper. I bend down and touch my lips to his, feeling him immediately open to me and slide his tongue along my own. His arms are wrapping around me tightly, drawing me into a cocoon of Orli warmth and I return the embrace in the hope of giving him some of the comfort which he's seeking tonight.

Our kiss soon turns torrid, the result of both tonight's emotions and the separation we've had to endure from each other. I groan and rock against him when he nips at my lip, then gasp upon finding that he's already hard. Looks like I have some catching up to do; sometimes there's no competing with a horny Orlando.

"Looks like somebody's eager," I chuckle, undoing his fly before pushing his pants and boxers down to his knees. He simply whimpers in response as I take his erection in my hand. "What do you want tonight?"

Pleased with his answer, I quickly pull his pants off all the way and start eagerly worshiping his cock with my mouth. It's amazing how much I missed this. My tongue glides over the head of his hard cock, teasing beads of precome out of the slit and coaxing moans from his mouth. I love hearing those sounds from him, knowing that I'm able to bring him pleasure after all this time and yet not have it become routine.

"More . . . please?" His voice sounds needy to the point of despair. Not wanting him to suffer the pains of delayed gratification, I take his erection into my mouth and suck hard, knowing that drawing this out won't make it better for either of us. Orli wants relief, and I want to give it to him; it's as simple as that.

I relax and take all of his thick length into my throat, not hesitating as he bucks and mewls under my ministrations. On the nightstand, I can see a small tube of lubricant lying by itself. Orli must have used it to slick up his fingers before fucking himself with them while we've been apart. Naughty boy. Well, it's my turn to have the fun now.

Somehow, I manage to keep his dripping erection in my mouth while I lurch forward to grab the lube. He's too deep in his haze of pleasure (a good sign in my mind) to notice what I'm doing until one of my now-slick fingers enters him. Oh yes, he's definitely been keeping himself open for me, at least judging by how easily I'm able to breach him. There's a sharp gasp above me as he realizes what I'm doing, and I quickly slip in another finger before he can even ask for it.

This whole time, my mouth doesn't leave his cock, continuing to lavish the thick vein on the underside with my tongue just like I know he loves. His pulse stutters through his cock and against my throat as he gets closer and closer to orgasm, and I just suck him harder in response. My fingers flex and curl inside of his body, searching for that magic spot which makes him scream. And then, of course, he screams. Right on cue. His back arches, his thighs tense, and his climax hits.

He spills into my mouth and I swallow all of the thick, unnameable taste that is Orlando. When he's finished, I clean him thoroughly and place a kiss to his belly, making him giggle. My tongue seeks out his tattoo, as my own flames of desire have yet to be quenched, and I lick delicately along the pattern of the smooth, inked skin.

"Sexy stuff. Very sexy stuff." Orli's pouting now, apparently annoyed that I didn't remember this from when he told me earlier tonight. Damn. There's only one way to make it up to him.

He pushes me off of him and grabs a paper bag that's lying next to the bed in the middle of the room's general clutter. "You'll love it," he brags. "I just know that you will."

Before I can ask what 'it' is, Orli pulls a pair of faux-fur lined handcuffs from the bag with a grin and a flourish. "Wow," I stammer, unable to think of anything else to say.

"You like?" Not waiting for my response, he launches himself at me and plants a searing kiss on my mouth. His hips straddle mine and he grinds against my erection, forcing me to groan pitifully into the kiss. This is when I realize that he's putting the handcuffs on me and attaching them to the bed. "I hope you don't mind," he breathes as he breaks our kiss. "It's just that I saw them in this shop and had an instant fantasy. You wouldn't deny me that, now would you?"

"Of course not," I gasp as he reaches for the lube and slicks it over my erection. It's always nice to know that my lover can surprise me with his sense of adventure.

"Ready?" Orli asks. I give him a frantic nod, then watch transfixed as he lowers himself onto my cock. His head tilts back as he lets out a low croon of ecstacy, and I find myself unable to do anything more than lie there and curl my toes at the mind-bending sensation of being inside of his body once more. Once he's fully impaled, he takes a second to catch his breath before starting to rise and fall on my cock at his own pace, one that's neither fast nor slow but somewhere blissfully in between.

Since I can't do much because of the handcuffs – not that I'm complaining – I content myself with thrusting up into his hot and tight body. Orli cries out when I do that and looks at me with pure lust in his eyes. He begins to quicken his pace, wordlessly challenging me to thrust again, to make him scream. I slam my hips up, getting what I want in the form of a loud shriek that makes my boyfriend sound like a porn star.

The fact that I'm restrained isn't keeping me from giving him what he needs, as I keep mindlessly driving my cock up into him. It's unbelievable how good this all feels, every inch of my cock sliding along his velvety walls. My eyes are riveted to the sight of him bobbing up and down on me, his own erection flush against his stomach and twitching with need.

I feel the need to touch this raw beauty, but I'm restrained by the handcuffs. Growling in frustration, I yank against my bonds and draw a strangled chuckle from my otherwise occupied lover. I'm glad *he's* amused by this; I feel like I'm going to die if I can't put my hands on that smooth chest or those silky curls. Thrusting hard the intent to wipe that smirk off his face, I'm rewarded with a loud wail that makes my blood burn.

One of his hands starts stroking himself furiously as he rides me, managing somehow to keep his balance in all of this. I guess that elven training had some real life benefits, after all. He seems to be the only man in the world who could ever screw himself without any mercy on my cock while he relentlessly pumps his own erection, all the while maintaining some semblance of grace.

After a while, there's only so much of this pleasure that we can endure. Orli's head tilts back as his cock surges inside of his fist, and his eyelids lower to half-mast. All it takes from me is one more sharp upward jab of my hips to make him cry out with delightful overkill, spilling his seed over his hand and chest. He writhes on my cock while I keep thrusting into him, pushing towards my own completion deep within his body.

That completion comes quickly, aided by a few illegally seductive hip rotations that my spent and skillful lover decides to grace me with. I'm so desperate to have him feel my hunger for him that I can't quite form his name as I let out my orgasmic cry; it just comes out as an incoherent moan. Oh, well. I'll have to shout his name next time.

A very sated and sticky Orli removes the handcuffs before he drops on top of me with a happy sigh, his warm breath fanning over my neck as his limbs tangle with mine. I should worry about things such as wet-naps and pulling the covers over us, but that can wait for a few minutes. Right now, togetherness is what really matters.

"Yeah, I do." The smile on his face makes my heart soar. "Does this mean you're feeling better? You only call me a daft sod if you're in a good mood."

"They won't all disappear immediately," Orli tells me with a sad smile. "Not even great sex will cure *everything*. But the fact that you're here, helping me through all of this, helps a lot. I know that this isn't the end of the world, but it's hard to keep things in perspective sometimes, you know?"

"Definitely. Just tell me next time when you're this stressed. I don't like the thought that you're really upset about something and not telling me, especially when you're halfway around the world."

I smile at him. "That's sweet, Orli, but I get much more worried when I know you're upset and I don't know the reason or what I can do about it. Remember, you can tell me anything."

"There's no apology necessary. Just put all of this out of your mind for now," I murmur, stroking his curls. "You've had a long day, and a fairly tiring evening."

"Whatever you want." I realize that the task of getting clean will have to wait until tomorrow morning's shower. That's okay, because there aren't many things that are better than cuddling with a sleepy, contented, and gorgeous boyfriend.