TITLE: Pretty Good Year (2/22)
AUTHOR: Elizabeth (sef7881@aol.com)
PAIRING: Viggo Mortensen/Orlando Bloom
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: A lazy afternoon at home (Viggo's POV)
FEEDBACK: It's the sauce on my steak, it's the cheese in my cake
WARNINGS: None
DISCLAIMER: This story is solely a product of my twisted imagination
ARCHIVE: Help yourself, just drop me a line so I can brag to my friends
AUTHOR'S NOTES: The descriptions of Maude in this story are very strongly
based on my beloved dog Maggie. This chapter is dedicated to Liz,
the sweetest girl and the worst patient ever -- I know your ankle will
get better soon
DATE WRITTEN: August 24th, 2003
"You really should join me in here, Vig," Orli calls from the pool. "It's terrific!"
"No thanks," I laugh, continuing to read 'The New Yorker'.
He shrugs. "Fine. Your loss."
I look up with a smile as he starts swimming another graceful backstroke lap. The magazine falls forgotten to the side of the chaise lounge while I watch him circle the pool with effortless movements. Yes, I'm blatantly checking out my boyfriend -- and there's absolutely nothing wrong with that.
After several more minutes of giving himself a workout, Orli decides to call it quits and makes his way over to the edge of the pool, hoisting himself out of the water. "Can you toss me the towel?" he asks, shaking out his curls in a very Maude-like fashion.
"Come over here; I'm not going to throw it."
Orli sighs exaggeratedly despite the wide grin on his face. "You're so demanding, Viggo. Everything always has to be on *your* terms."
"I know, I'm a terrible boyfriend," I chuckle as he takes the towel from my hand and dries himself off. "Come on, I'll make you some fresh lemonade."
His eyes light up. "Oh, you're the best!"
I laugh as he plants a big kiss on my cheek. "You deserve it, Orli."
It's blessedly cool inside the house in contrast to the unseasonably warm early February day, and the only sound in the kitchen is the low hum of the refrigerator. I grab the necessary ingredients, and soon we're both sitting at the kitchen table with two glasses of freshly squeezed lemonade. Orli is still sitting in his ridiculously loud Hawaiian-print bathing suit with the towel draped around his body, little droplets of water clinging to his hair and tanned skin. He looks absolutely beautiful as usual.
"I love lazy afternoons like this," he sighs.
"Yeah. And it's nice when it's just the two of us," I add. "As much as I love Henry, I'm not exactly complaining that he wanted to spend the weekend at his friend's house in Apple Valley."
"Hey, it's not just the two of us -- Maude is here," Orli reminds me with a touch of indignance in his voice.
"Oh, of course. It's nice when it's just the two of us and Maude," I amend, looking over at the white furry ball that's lying motionless at my boyfriend's feet.
He smiles and drains the rest of his lemonade, then reaches down to scratch his 'girl' behind her ears. She stretches out on the floor in a shameless play for more affection, which is a move that she must have gotten from Orli. "You love it here, don't you, sweetheart?" he coos. "You love your new daddy."
"I'm her new daddy?" I ask.
"Hell yes! We're in this together! Besides, you're the one who fed her and took care of her while I was off swashbuckling my way through a pirate movie," he points out.
"Yeah, and you didn't quite warn me about her propensity to steal every crumb of food that she could get her grubby little paws on."
"How many times can I apologize for the theft of dinner the other night?"
"It took me forever to marinade that steak, Orli," I say, fully aware that I'm bordering on whining. "And then she just came along and swiped it."
"She's a dog as well as a devious little bint; if she sees food, she automatically takes it. Besides, I ended up making it up to you by offering you some much tastier meat," he teases, sliding over to sit on my lap with an unabashed leer.
I laugh loudly, wrapping my arms around him and ignoring the wetness of his bathing suit and towel that's seeping through to my clothes. "It was *very* tasty meat," I say in a low voice.
"Yes, choice British sausage," he teases.
"Okay, that's just not right!" I exclaim as I start cracking up.
Orli also laughs as he stands up. "I'm going to put my towel in the dryer."
"Do me a favor?"
"Yeah?"
"Change out of your bathing suit while you're at it. The print is making me go blind."
"You're such a tosser," he shoots back, sticking his tongue out before walking out of the kitchen and down the hall.
I look down at Maude with a frown. "Do you think I'm a tosser?" She gives me a look full of canine confusion. "You have no clue what I'm talking about. But you're cute, so I'll pet your head now." I run my hand over her white curly head, earning me a furiously wagging tail and a few enthusiastic yips. "I guess you don't think I'm a tosser after all."
"Viggo?" Orli's voice carries from the opposite end of the house. "Do you know where my lucky blue jeans are?"
"Your daddy," I whisper to Maude, "is hopeless." With a sigh, I stand up and walk to the bedroom, where I'm greeted with the tantalizing sight of Orli standing in the middle of the room, hands on his hips with a look of confused frustration on his beautiful face and nothing but loose black boxers that hang low on his slender hips. "Having problems, love?"
"I can't find my bloody jeans! Do you have any clue where they could be?" Orli has these beloved pair of blue jeans that he truly believes are lucky; he got them when he was eighteen and they're one of his most treasured possessions. Unfortunately, since they've been worn so many times, there are holes in some very interesting places and the jeans are no longer fit to be worn anywhere other than the house.
"They're in the bottom drawer of our dresser," I say, going to retrieve the jeans and reassure my boyfriend. "They're safe and sound."
"Oh, thank God," he breathes. "I was really scared there for a moment."
"Were you planning on wearing them right now?"
"I was thinking about it," Orli says with a coy smile. "Why, do you have something else in mind?"
"As a matter of fact, yes." With two quick strides, I walk over to him, dropping the lucky blue jeans along the way. "You gave yourself quite a workout in the pool today. I think that you deserve something for your diligence."
"Is that so? And what would that be?" His voice is huskier suddenly, making my cock stir.
"I believe that a massage is in order."
Orli grins widely, then takes off his boxers and dives face down onto the bed. "Go to work on me, Vig. Put those magic hands to good use."
I laugh as I drag out our 'fun box' from under the bed. "What kind of massage oil do you want? We have plain, vanilla-scented, and passion fruit-scented."
"Definitely passion fruit-scented; I want the most passionate and most fruity massage possible," he tells me, looking over his shoulder to give me a wink.
"Somehow, I doubt that will be a problem," I snort, selecting the passion fruit oil that Orli bought while in the Caribbean, then tossing it onto the bed. My own clothes are then quickly disposed of (really, what need do I have for them?), and I join my boyfriend on the mattress, straddling the backs of his legs. Pouring some of the oil onto my hands, I rub my palms together before leaning forward to press my hands into his lower back.
Orli moans as I begin to slowly massage his back with circular movements that apply just enough pressure to release whatever tension might be there but not enough to cause new discomfort. I genly work my way up his spine until I reach his neck, then move out to his shoulder blades, increasing the pressure because I know that he tends to get more knots in his muscles in that area. Predictably, he's knotted up right around his shoulders, and I work hard to relax the muscles.
"Feels really good," he sighs softly as my thumbs make small, tight circles on his shoulders. I smile and dip my head to kiss his neck, smelling the passion fruit oil that's on his skin. He shivers and burrows into the pillow, making me smile as he starts to truly react to my touches; the way that he's beginning to shift around on the mattress is enough for me to know that he's now sporting an erection.
I slide off of his body, ignoring his small whine. "Turn over, love," I chuckle. "You'll be more comfortable that way." He does what I ask, and he looks ridiculously alluring -- his curls are mussed and still damp, his skin is tan, his cheeks are flushed, and there's a sly smile on his face. And yes, he is indeed completely hard, his cock pressed firmly against his stomach and leaking precome. Damn, and now *I'm* completely hard as I look at him like this (although I doubt that anyone would blame me).
"You're staring," he admonishes with a grin.
"I can't help it," I admit as I go back to the massage, pouring more oil onto my hands and beginning to rub his chest, making sure to get all of the ticklish spots that make him jump and giggle.
"Viggo, you loon, this is supposed to be a massage, not a tickle attack!" he shrieks.
I laugh and lean down, latching my mouth onto a nipple and sucking at it. That gets the desired reaction, as Orli moans and clutches at my head. "Does that make up for it?" I ask when I pull my head away.
"Y-yes," he stammers. He pulls me up for a searing kiss. "Please, Viggo, Please, please, *please* fuck me."
My eyebrows raise at his forwardness, but I don't exactly complain. "Turn over again," I instruct.
Orli gives me another kiss before getting on his hands and knees while I lean over him to rummage around for the lube. "Hurry, hurry, hurry," he chants.
"You're way too impatient," I grumble as I spread lube on my fingers.
"It's not my fault," he tells me. "You're way too good with those massages -- ah!" He cries out and pushes his hips back when I easily slide two fingers into his body. "God, Viggo!"
"Like that?" I ask, leaning over him to drag my tongue along his ear.
"I need more," he whimpers.
"I know, love." I give him a kiss on the neck, then pull away for just long enough to spread the lube over my aching erection. "I know that you need more, I know that you need this."
Orli whimpers again as I press my cock up against his entrance. "Please, don't tease me, Vig." And really, I can't tease him; I need this just as badly as he does. I start to push myself slowly into him with as much control as I can muster, but he slams his body backwards impaling himself on me and crying out my name. "Yes!" he screams, sounding like something out of a porn flick. I'd laugh if it weren't so goddamned sexy.
Digging my fingers into his hips, I set a ruthless pace that he seems happy with, each thrust seeming more intense than the last. We're both making a lot of noise, from my low moans to his ecstatic cries. Remnants of massage oil makes Orli's skin glisten, and the scent of passion fruit hangs around the bed. It's frenzied post-massage lovemaking at its best.
"You're so gorgeous," I murmur as I angle my hips to strike his prostate, coaxing the perfect moan out of him. "You have no idea how beautiful you are, love."
"Viggo . . ." My name is no more that a whisper from his mouth as he arches his back downwards and presses back against my body in supplication.
"You're always so greedy," I tease, even as I quicken my pace further.
"Can't . . . help it," Orli gasps. His fingers twist in the sheets while his head lolls back against his shoulder.
"Neither can I." I lower my mouth to his for a kiss and mimic the thrusting of my cock with the thrusting of my tongue. There's a muffled sound of content from the back of his throat, and he nearly rockets out from under me when I manage to reach over to grasp the heavy weight of his cock and begin stroking it. Precome is dribbling steadily from the head, and I know that he's not going to hold on much longer.
Sure enough, it only takes a few more thrusts and nifty hand moves for him to come, breaking the kiss and screaming my name. The sensation of his muscles clamping down on me drives me over the edge, and it's only a few more moments before I experience my own orgasm. I bury my head in the crook of his neck to muffle my moans as I spill into him, sucking gently at his warm skin.
"Yeah, wow," he mumbles into the pillow about two minutes later,
I laugh and pull out of him, rolling onto my back. "That good, huh?"
He turns over to give me a brilliant grin. "Un-fucking-believable."
"I'm flattered."
"Well, you should be. You are, after all, a Sex God. I'm your Love Pig, and you're my Sex God." Orli sits up, stretching his limbs and yawning; then he falls sideways on top of me, pressing a kiss to my neck. "Love you."
"Love you, too." I run my fingers through his tangled curls, damp from the pool and the exertions of our lovemaking. "So what do you want to do for the rest of the afternoon?"
"Mmm, I don't know?" Another kiss is placed on my neck, then one lands on my chin. "What time is it?"
I glance over at the clock on the nightstand. "Almost four."
"We could just lie here and do nothing for a while," he suggests.
"We're sweaty, you're chlorinated, and the whole room smells like passion fruit," I remind him.
"Do you really care?" he snorts.
"Not really," I admit. "So we're doing absolutely nothing for the rest of the day?"
"Exactly." He grins and kisses me on the tip of the nose, reaching over to grab the requisite wet-naps. "How does that sound to you?"
I return his smile. "That sounds great."
