TITLE: Pretty Good Year (20/22)
AUTHOR: Elizabeth (sef7881@aol.com)
PAIRING: Viggo Mortensen/Orlando Bloom
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: An early morning shag (Orli's POV)
FEEDBACK: Please! I'm a total whore for it!
WARNINGS: Post-coital rimming
DISCLAIMER: I made this all up in my crazy little head. It's
FICTION
ARCHIVE: I'd be honored, just let me know where it's going
DATE WRITTEN: November 30th, 2003
My grandmum once said that waking up with a smile on your face means
that you'll have a wonderful day. If that's true, then today will
be unbelievably great. I woke up a few moments ago to the lovely
sight of early morning sunlight filtering in through the bedroom window
and casting everything in a soft glow, including my boyfriend -- who, incidentally,
doesn't exactly need any more help from Mother Nature to make him beautiful.
The light has turned Viggo golden. Short golden hair and warm
golden skin, laid out before me all-too-temptingly. He's wearing
boxers that are covered by our blanket, and I wonder if I would wake him
by stripping him completely naked. Probably. Too bad.
I'm torn between being loathe to disturb his peaceful dreams and wanting
to get naked and sweaty with him right now. But being a kind, considerate
boyfriend wins out and I decide to let him sleep for the time being.
Damn, how long is this man going to sleep? It's been twenty minutes
since I woke up and he's still snoozing away! Honestly, I can only
be considerate for so long, especially since every time that he sighs or
rumbles or makes any kind of sexy little noise in his sleep (which is approximately
every thirty seconds) my cock twitches and my balls ache. Screw being
chivalrous; he needs to wake up now.
"Viggo?" I ask gently, shaking his shoulder.
"Mmm?" He frowns and opens his eyes, blinking at the sunlight
before smiling at me. "Hey there."
"Time to wake up."
"Why?"
"Because," I say as if one were explaining this to a chiild, "there's
an elf who needs to get laid and you're just the man for the job."
"Is that so? Well, then I'm very glad you woke me up," he murmurs
without a trace of sarcasm in his voice. "I don't want to leave my
elf all hot and bothered. Those kinds of situations can become dangerous
if not dealt with immediately." He pulls me into an embrace, his
hands sneaking under the back of my tee-shirt to tease the suddenly over-sensitized
skin of my lower back with his short fingernails.
"Mmm, Vig," I purr contentedly, nuzzling his neck and placing kisses
at the pulse point. I smile with satisfaction as that pulse beats
a little faster with each kiss, and continue attacking his delicious skin
with my lips and tongue.
We pull away just long enough for my shirt to be removed before I kiss
him madly, and our tongues do their best impressions of whirling dervishes
as they duel together. Clever fingers slip under the hem of my boxers
but refuse to grasp my cock; I groan with frustration into our kiss as
Viggo dances his fingertips just around the erection that I desperately
want him to touch. In an attempt to raise the stakes I sling one
of my legs over his hips, but he only ends the kiss with a chuckle and
rolls me onto my side.
"You're too impatient, love," he husks while sliding my remaining item
of clothing off my body. "But there's no hurry here. Just relax."
Relax? Yeah right. Like that's possible when Viggo's lips
are dragging sinfully along my shoulder blade and his hand is sneaking
down to cradle my balls. And now his other hand is on my hipbone,
holding me steady while he presses his own growing erection (covered only
by the material of worn, comfy boxers) against my arse.
"How is it that even first thing in the morning you manage to look
like the most beautiful man in the world?" he muses.
"Dunno. Just lucky I guess," I joke.
"I'm the lucky one."
And then there's no more talking because his mouth is otherwise occupied
by kissing my neck, licking and sucking at every inch of skin he encounters
there. He's somehow managed to shed his underwear and throw off the
blanket without my noticing any real interruption of our contact, leaving
us both starkers and exposed to the warm morning light. Lying behind
me in a spoon position, he grinds against my arse and teases every last
whimper out of me while his mouth stays latched to my skin, now having
moved over to graze my earlobe with his teeth.
With deceptive calm, Viggo breaks our position so he can twist his
body and reach the drawer that holds the lubricant. Yes, that will
make this so much better. That will allow for penetration and other
such lovely things. I try to keep the grin off my face but I know
that I fail miserably; at least I'm facing away from Viggo, so he can't
see what a horny little git I look like right now.
The sounds of the tube being opened and the gel being poured onto fingers
and a hard cock equal nirvana to me (did you really expect more from a
lust-crazed guy?), and a delicious shiver runs through my body. Again,
no words are exchanged as Viggo falls back into our previous position,
this time sliding one of his legs between mine to give him greater access
to my arsehole. Lube-slicked fingers and cock push against my arse,
making me wriggle a bit with impatience.
"Stop doing that," he chuckles, his hot breath tickling the nape of
my neck. "I need you to hold relatively still for this part."
"Oh, hush up." But of course, I do as he asks.
I inhale sharply as two thick fingers slide into me, eased by copious
amounts of lube. A low rumble of satisfaction escapes from Viggo's
throat as he pumps the digits in and out of me, fucking and stretching
me with them. His free hand comes to rest on my chest, just over
my heartbeat, keeping me steady while he opens me up. And it's a
bloody good thing that he's keeping me steady, because with the amount
of attention that his fingers are giving my prostate, I'd be rocketing
off the mattress if it weren't for the reassuringly firm press of his hand
holding me in place.
A third finger works its way into me, and I push my hips back in an
effort to sent the message to Viggo that I'm ready for what's next.
The slick press of his swollen shaft against my overheated flesh is enough
to make me mewl and twist on his fingers. "Please," I croak.
"Please what?" The question should be maddeningly frustrating,
but his voice plays to my hormones and his breath feels sweet on my skin.
Plus, it gives me an opportunity to say a lovely sentence.
"Please make love to me, Viggo."
"Whatever you want, love."
My body feels disconcertingly empty when his fingers leave me, but
the loss is only for a few seconds. Soon enough, I'm burned to my
core by the sensation of Viggo's thick cock pushing into me with one long
glide and filling me completely. I want to moan, gasp, laugh, scream
-- make *any* noise that I can -- but my vocal cords seem to be on strike
at the moment. Rendered silent and still, I simply lie there with
my mouth open and eyes closed as we revel for a moment in the togetherness
we've created.
"You feel beautiful," he gasps. I shiver at the declaration,
further tremors running through me as his tongue flicks against my earlobe.
"Viggo . . ." His name is barely a whisper on my breath.
I tilt my head back and seek out his luscious mouth, then kiss him slowly;
one of my hands reaches up to cradle his head while the other clutches
at the sheets.
It's inevitable that I whine with disappointment when Viggo breaks
our kiss, but he simply chuckles and applies a reassuring nuzzle to my
neck. "Patience, Orli." Oh, and now he's thrusting. Isn't
he such a brilliant man? Brilliant, beautiful, and all mine.
His thrusts are long and slow, just as lazy as the rest of this morning
has been. And yet there's still an intensity behind them, the same
undefinable, uncontainable desire that always permeates our lovemaking.
I can sense the desire in the way Viggo gasps my name, in the way that
his tongue slides over my shoulder blade, and in the way that his skin
is faintly slicked with sweat. I'm perfectly content with the unhurried
pace, moaning in sheer pleasure every time he delivers another thrust.
As far as I'm concerned, this is the ideal early morning shag.
And then it gets even better. Viggo nudges my legs open a little
wider so that he can shift the angle of his thrusts, and suddenly he's
sending his cock over my prostate with smooth glides. My breath catches
in my throat for a moment before I let out a cry of sexual gratitude.
Yes, this is even better than ideal.
As if that weren't enough, Viggo's hand is now on my chest again, seeking
out the spots that deserve attention. Tweaking my nipples is one
surefire way to make me moan, as is lightly skimming fingernails down my
ribcage (it sounds ticklish, but it drives me wild), and so on; of course,
he knows these methods by heart and decides to use them all. When
he reaches down to take hold of my erection, I gasp and twist in my pinioned
position.
"I want you to come," he purrs, pumping my cock with the same languorous
rhythm he's using in my arse.
"Already?" I ask, my eyes widening with surprise. I can tell
by the way that Viggo's moving inside of me that he's nowhere near his
own climax, so why would he want me to come so soon?
"Trust me." Well, if he insists . . . .
His hand moves artfully on my erection while he continues to thrust
in such a perfect way that my prostate gets a workout. I was already
on edge from having his fingers inside of me earlier, and his actions now
only make my senses even more heightened until my entire body feels suffused
with pleasure. And the more that his fingers do their wicked dance
on my cock, the sooner I'll simply let go of myself. Each sweet thrust
is driving me closer and closer, and he keeps urging me to come.
"Let yourself go," he whispers. "Come for me, baby."
How can I resist that plea? Especially when his cock and hand
are conspiring to do everything in their power to drive me over the edge.
Our pace hasn't sped up at all, but I don't always need hard and fast to
achieve climax -- all I usually need is togetherness, desire, and the stimulation
of certain body parts. All three of those elements are here, not
to mention the little butterfly kisses that Viggo is now pressing along
the length of my neck. It's impossible for me to hold back any longer
in the presence of such wonderful tenderness and pleasure.
With the next skillful twist of his hand on the head of my cock, I
find myself breathlessly whimpering his name as I spill my release over
his fingers. My head falls back on his shoulder and my eyes open
and close rapidly; tremors run through my body, every nerve ending seeming
to be over-sensitized. The fog of orgasm lingers over me for a while,
making everything just a bit more lovely than usual.
Viggo continues thrusting into me, only speeding up his pace now that
I've achieved orgasm. He brings his fingers, coated with my seed,
to his mouth and licks at them; unable to resist myself, I tilt my head
just a bit and join him so that we're both lapping up my come from his
hand. What a pair we must make.
When his hand is suitably cleaned, we meet over his middle finger for
a long, hot kiss -- like some kind of a pervy version of that scene in
'Lady and the Tramp' where the dogs smooch in the middle of a strand of
spaghetti. Great, now I've totally corrupted a kiddie film with our
sex life! Honestly, what's wrong with me? Is nothing sacred?
As he's sucking on my tongue and sliding back and forth in my arse,
my cock forgets that it just had playtime and starts getting restless again.
In almost no time at all I have a brand-new erection, courtesy of Viggo's
movements inside of me with his own cock. His hand, still slick from
where we were licking it, starts wanking me again; I've never come twice
during one shag, but there's a first for everything.
"I'm close, Orli," he tells me, his voice heavy in my ear. Indeed,
his smooth strokes have become a bit more uneven and his breath has taken
on that familiar pattern it gets when he's nearing climax.
"Then come for *me*," I say, echoing his earlier plea. "Make
me feel it, Viggo."
I feel his tongue drag along the side of my neck, then a split second
later a moan sounds against my skin. With one final thrust, he buries
himself inside the haven of my body before coming deep within me.
We both tilt our heads at the same time so we can meet in a loving kiss,
lips and tongues seeking each other out for comfort and reassurance.
Even after he pulls his softening cock out of my body, his arms stay wrapped
around me and our mouths are firmly pressed together.
We've been in that spoon position for so long that it feels foreign
when he disentangles himself from me. But I know better than to protest,
and simply allow him to roll me onto my stomach. "Get on your knees,
love," he urges me before pressing a soft kiss to the bottom of my spine.
I do as he asks, trusting that whatever he has in mind will be fun and
help me achieve that bonus orgasm.
His hands separate the cheeks of my arse and the slickness of his tongue
unceremoniously dives into me, trying to lap up the come that he just left
there. I wail into my pillow and frantically start wanking myself,
pushing my hips back so that his tongue can spear me even deeper.
He's fondling my balls with one of his hands now, trying in earnest to
make me come; that combined with my own hand beating myself off is starting
to drive me over the edge. My body shakes and shivers, and finally
I open my mouth for a silent scream as I come all over my hand while his
tongue continues to work my hole mercilessly.
When my trembling and gasping has finally subsided, I collapse blissfully
onto the mattress and revel in the bonelessness that a good shag always
provides. Viggo nudges me onto my back and wordlessly fetches the
wet-naps so he can tidy up my little (okay, maybe not-so-little) mess.
After all is said and done, we fall back into spooning and he buries his
head in the crook of my neck, kissing my skin.
"Well, is the elf satisfied?" he asks me in a lazy drawl.
"More than satisfied. I'm quite possibly liquified."
Viggo laughs. "Then I suppose that I've fulfilled my duties for
the day."
"Hey, that's not the way it works," I inform him tartly.
"Are you saying that you might want to have some more fun in bed before
the day is over?" He sounds hopeful as he pulls me closer.
"Perhaps," I tease. "But for now . . . how about just snuggling?"
"You're so affectionate after sex. I love it."
"I'm always affectionate," I snort.
"That's true."
"Can we stop talking and cuddle?"
"Of course."
Pretty
Good Year Part 21
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