TITLE: Heart and Shoulder (12/22)
AUTHOR: Elizabeth (sef7881@aol.com)
PAIRING: Viggo Mortensen/Orlando Bloom
RATING: R
SUMMARY: The Trojan force (Viggo's POV)
FEEDBACK: To paraphrase Boromir: "It is strange that we should suffer
so much fear and doubt if we don't receive feedback." In other
words, yes please!
WARNINGS: Sexual acts in a moving vehicle. Always wear your
seatbelts in real life!
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
AUTHOR'S NOTES: My computer was attacked by a Trojan Horse! And
Sean Bean wasn't inside of this one! *pouts* Anyway, that's the reason
why this chapter has been so delayed. As always, a permanent
thank you to my darling Lostiawen for her support, insanity, and beta
skills
DATE WRITTEN: May 23rd, 2004
"Ta-da!"
I look up from my task of feeding the pets, and my jaw literally
drops. Leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen, oozing sex
out of every pore, is my drop-dead gorgeous boyfriend. Tonight is
the Troy premiere, and I now have no clue how I'm supposed to attend
the big event without molesting Orlando.
"Is that . . . red silk?" I ask. My voice is unaccountably hoarse
all of a sudden.
"Yup! Do you like it?" The
elf-boy-turned-pirate-turned-Trojan-prince strikes a pose, letting the
silk shirt cling to every contour of his perfect physique.
"I, uh, yeah. Wow." That was intelligent. I hope
Orlando doesn't love me for my mind, because I think my brain just
imploded. "Really, it looks great!"
"Not too over-the-top?"
"No, it's perfect," I say hastily. "You look incredible;
actually, you look beyond incredible."
Orli grins and walks closer to me. "I'm glad you like it. I
wanted to wear something sexy tonight."
"Any particular reason?" I finish giving Pokey and Maude their
dinner, then give my lover another appraising look.
"Because I know that it drives you mad when I wear something like this
and we're in a public place where you can't ravish me."
"You're evil," I grumble.
"I've never denied that," he chirps. "Oh, and the pants are
silk. So is the jacket." He does a full turn, showing off
the black material that perfectly complements the red shirt. Damn
him. "You look bloody handsome yourself, Vig."
"Thanks, love." It's nice to know that he approves of my indigo
suit, which I purchased just for this occasion. After all, we
don't really have a social calendar packed with red carpet events, so I
might as well splurge on some new duds when something like this comes
along – especially if it makes Orli happy.
"The color is magnificent; it makes your eyes look magical."
"Really? Magical?" I tease in a husky voice.
"Stop with the bedroom voice, old man. We have a premiere to get
to."
As if on cue, the sound of a car pulling into a driveway draws my
attention away from our conversation. A quick glance out the
window reveals that our limousine is here (the studio is actually
providing a stretch limo for us, plus it gave Orli a nice allowance to
buy his suit for the premiere), so I take my love's hand and give him a
smile. "Shall we go, then?"
"Definitely." He turns his head to look at our pets, who have now
finished their meal. "Bye Maude, bye Pokey. Don't wait up
for us."
"You're crazy," I inform him.
"And yet you're still with me after four years," he points out as he
drags me from the house. "Doesn't that mean that you're just as
crazy as I am?"
"No, it just means that I'm crazy *for* you."
"Same difference," Orli laughs.
*****
"ORLI!"
"OHMIGOD! ORLANDO!"
"SIGN THIS PLEASE! I LOVE YOU, ORLI!"
"I WANT TO HAVE TEN OF YOUR BABIES!"
That's pretty much all I can hear right now, and it's all at a
deafening pitch. There are squeals raining down on us that could
shatter glass or, at least, cripple lesser men. But Orli is
accustomed to the crush of screaming fans that accompanies any premiere
worth its salt, and is walking the red carpet with a smile and wave for
the hysterical throngs. When we emerged from the limo a few
minutes ago, I felt like I was walking next to Elvis, or even all four
of the Beatles back in 1964; women and girls were shrieking and
thrusting papers under my boyfriend's nose, begging him to grace them
with a precious autograph.
It doesn't seem to matter to them that he's walking hand-in-hand with a
man, and they didn't even flinch when he gave me a quick kiss at one
point. After all, Orlando is a fantasy to these women; even if
he's gay, they can still dream all they want about him falling in love
with them. For better or for worse, his (and my) status as a sex
symbol has been undamaged by our sexuality.
There are a few Lord of the Rings fans here who have shown up to
support Orlando, which means that I get some autograph requests as
well. I politely decline, saying that this is Orli's night and
I'm just here to support him. The last thing I want is to start
overshadowing my boyfriend in any way at his own events.
I get very alarmed when the fans let out a simultaneous, piercing
shriek, but then realize why they did when I turn my head to see Brad
Pitt and Jennifer Aniston standing right next to us. "Orli!
Viggo!" Brad shouts, trying to make himself heard over the
commotion. "How are you guys?"
"Great!" Orli is literally bouncing as he hugs Brad. "How's
my mortal enemy doing tonight?"
"I'm doing well. Seduce any Spartan wives lately?" Brad jokes.
"Not that I can recall. I think my boyfriend might kill me if I
did." We've now moved beyond the squealing masses of fans, and
are on our way to the next stop on the premiere trail: entertainment
reporters. Oh, joy! At least Joan Rivers isn't here tonight.
"Look, honey!" Jennifer exclaims, pointing to the reporters.
"Media whores!" I can't help but laugh at her dead-on assessment
of the hordes we're about to face.
Orli clasps my hand tightly in his. "Let's get it over with," he
declares.
I really, really hate this part; it's the reason why I generally avoid
premieres. And this is one of the only events that Orli and I
have attended together since coming out, so I must admit that I'm a bit
wary of the questions that we could face. But there's no turning
back now. As long as they don't ask me how I'm going to ravish my
boyfriend later tonight, I should be okay.
"Orlando, wonderful to see you!" booms a reporter for some television
show that I've never watched. I'm fairly certain that Orli has
never met this man before, but he behaves like the gentleman that he is
and feigns familiarity. "How are you tonight?"
"I'm doing great, man!" Orli exclaims, his enthusiasm shining
through. "This is amazing," he says, gesturing around to the
adoring fans and A-list stars.
"It certainly is. Are you looking forward to seeing the movie
tonight? Are you nervous at all?"
"Oh, I'm always nervous before I see one of my performances; no
exceptions. This film has such incredible talent in it – people
like Peter O'Toole, Eric Bana, Brad Pitt, and Sean Bean. It'll be
quite daunting to see myself on the same screen with them." I
know he's not saying that with false modesty, and I give his hand a
squeeze.
"I wouldn't worry too much about it," the reporter says. "Now, of
course, you brought a date."
"Yes." Orli's eyes light up. "My boyfriend, Viggo."
"And Viggo, are you looking forward to seeing Orlando's performance?"
the halfwit reporter asks.
I manage a smile for the cameras. "Definitely. He's such a
passionate actor; it's mesmerizing to watch him."
"Speaking of passionate, is it going to be strange for you to watch his
love scenes with a woman?" Please don't tell me we're going down
this road.
"Of course not. I've had love scenes in the past, and you're
aware that it's all staged. And gender has nothing to do with it;
no matter who you're filming with, it's still acting." I manage
to get through my response without grimacing, and a quick glance over
at Orli reveals that his genuine smile has turned stiff.
"Good point. Well, you two enjoy the movie!" Thank God
these interviews are brief. We both offer our best showbiz smiles
and move on to the next stop on the trail of reporters. Let's
just hope that there are no more stupid questions.
*****
Thankfully, the rest of the interviews are tame. Having survived
the red carpet crush, we make our way into the overly air-conditioned
theater and search for our seats. It's a teeming mass of rich and
beautiful people (and their handlers) in here, and Orli weaves through
the crowd, pulling me along at a breakneck pace.
I yelp with alarm when I'm grabbed from behind and wrenched away from
my Trojan prince. Before I can even comprehend what's happening,
I'm pushed against a wall by someone who's laughing like mad . . . with
a Sheffield accent. "I've been looking for you two all night!"
Sean exclaims. Orli is already back by my side, rolling his eyes
and grinning.
"Did you have to maul me to say hello?" I tease.
"Consider it payback for all the rugbytackling."
"Beanie, you may be just as insane as Viggo," Orli sighs.
"I consider that a compliment," Sean says with a wicked grin.
"Fuck, I've missed you two!"
Orli laughs and hugs him tightly. "Same here! It's been way
too long. We need to have a Fellowship reunion."
"Definitely."
"What's this, little brother?" an Aussie voice asks from behind
Orli. "Slumming with the Greeks?"
"Eric!" An Orli-hug is bestowed upon the man who I recognize as
Eric Bana. I've never met him before, but have watched the Troy
trailer multiple times on the Internet. Hey, it's footage of my
boyfriend muscled up and in a skirt – who could resist?
"Didn't you notice that Sean is our enemy?" Eric asks, slinging an
affectionate arm around his onscreen brother.
"Only in the film," Orli reminds him. "Besides, he was on my side
in Lord of the Rings, so the two cancel each other out."
"Ah, good point." Eric fixes his gleaming white smile on
me. "And where are your manners, Orli? I want an
introduction to the boyfriend whom I heard so much about every single
day while we were filming."
Orlando rolls his eyes. "I wasn't *that* bad."
"Yes, you were. Now introduce me."
"Fine. Eric, this is Viggo; Viggo, meet Eric."
"It's a pleasure, Viggo," Eric tells me. "I commend you for
having the courage to put up with this madman."
"He's worth the trouble," I say with a wide smile.
"Hey!" Orli exclaims indignantly. "I'm not insane!"
We all just laugh.
*****
My brain is officially on vacation. It might not return until
July. Right now, my body is being commanded by my libido.
It's not like this is a particularly unusual occurrence, especially
when I'm in close proximity with Orli, but it's not often that a
*movie* is what prompts my brain to stop functioning. That being
said, most movies are not Troy.
I have half a mind to drag my lover off to the nearest secluded corner
and have my way with him right there, but a modicum of reason and
restraint wins out. Still, the experience of watching my
boyfriend buffed, bronzed, and almost buck naked was one that made me
feel more than a little aroused. A flash of his thigh here, some
tempting chest shots there; it all added up to intense sexual
frustration by the time the credits were rolling.
It didn't help at all that every time the movie had a dead sexy shot of
Paris, Orli would look over at me and find a little way to touch
me. There were squeezes of my thighs, a caress of my arm, a kiss
on my neck, and so on. The devious little minx must have known
that it was driving me insane, but that was surely why it was so fun
for him. Little does he know that I'm already plotting my revenge.
As we make our way out of the theater lobby, I can't help but look down
at Orli's firm ass every so often, encased perfectly in that silk suit
he's wearing. Jesus Christ, I hope I'm not being obvious.
Fuck it. I'm sure nobody would blame me after seeing the
movie. Hell, between showcasing Orli's gorgeous body, all of
those nearly-nude Brad Pitt shots, and the shirtless Eric Bana scenes,
the film is two steps away from being a Chippendale porn film.
For all that talk about the woman who launched a thousand ships, they
sure focused the cameras a lot more on the good-looking men.
Muggy spring air surrounds us when we walk out the back door, finding
ourselves facing an army of limos. I'm so glad that Orli doesn't
want to stick around for cocktails, because I need to get him home and
in bed *now*. This is a sexual emergency. I shudder to
think what could happen if I'm forced to wait a long time to slake my
lust.
We quickly find our limo and climb in. I let out a slight sigh of
relief as the engine starts up and we pull out onto the busy
streets. "Reggie, we'd like to get home as fast as humanly
possible," I explain to our driver. He's a very nice man, the
same driver who took us to the Oscars.
"Rough night?" he asks sympathetically.
"Actually, it was a very nice night. We'd just like to make it
nicer."
"Oh, I understand," he laughs. "No problem. I'll get you
home before you know it."
"Thanks." I put the partition up and relax against the seat,
pulling Orli against me. "You're entirely too tempting for your
own good."
"You always seem to cope just fine, old man," he laughs, tilting his
face up to gaze at me.
"Well, I think I now have a perpetual erection from seeing you all
golden and glistening as a Prince of Troy," I inform him.
"Yes, I saw you shifting in your seat quite a bit. You seemed
rather frustrated."
"How perceptive of you."
Orli smirks. "Consider it payback for all of your much more
explicit nude scenes."
"Oh, so that's why you did the movie? To torture me?" I
pull him flush against me, sliding my hands down to his ass and
squeezing the muscular flesh that I had ogled just moments earlier.
"Uh . . . maybe?" His brow crinkles and he chews his lip, clearly
trying to maintain his train of thought.
"That's not very nice of you," I purr, shifting our positions so that
he's now straddling my lap. "I suppose now I'll have to torture
you in return." My cock is indeed hard, and Orli lets out a soft
mewl as I grind it against him.
"Vig . . . here?"
"The partition is up," I remind him. "Besides, it's practically a
Hollywood rite of passage to have sex in a limo." Okay, I could
be making that part up. But Orli doesn't seem to care, especially
not when I shift my hips a bit and thrust my erection against his own
rapidly hardening shaft. My hand slips around to grasp his cock,
the silk of his pants sliding over the heated flesh and driving him mad.
"You're killing me," he gasps. "Please, more?"
I nod and fumble with his zipper before managing to shove his trousers
down. For some reason, I'm not surprised to find him going
commando; it's almost a tradition for him to forego underwear.
His hands try to reach for my own pants, but I gently stop him.
"Not yet," I tell him. "I want to make you come."
Orli groans low in his throat, the sound making me even needier.
My hand glides up and down on his cock, cherishing the contact that
I've been craving since I first saw him show off that sexy
outfit. The pulse and heat of his erection moves me to stroke him
with a real rhythm; like I said before, I want to make him come.
I want to see that glorious face become enthralled with pleasure,
because I know that it'll be just as unbelievable as it was the first
time I witnessed it.
The sound of his harsh breathing sounds loud in the limo, and when he
moans as I flick my thumb over his newly dripping cockhead, it seems to
be a deafening racket. Deciding that silencing him is a good
excuse to steal some kisses, I press my mouth firmly to his and slip my
tongue along the friendly border of his lips. He opens for me,
thrusting into my fist at the same time. Whatever reservations he
might have had about getting it on in a limo seem to have vanished, and
he's now just as eager as I am.
While I'm busy kissing him into oblivion and stroking him as best I
can, my free hand slips from his neck down to his chest, tracing
fingertips over the soft silk of his shirt. I manage to flick
open his two top buttons so I can begin exploring the deliciously firm
skin hidden underneath. Orli's arms, which are clasped around my
neck, hold me in place as I massage his chest and make my way over to a
nipple that's already peaked with arousal.
A breathy whimper escapes his lips, serving to stoke the fire of my
need even further. My mouth breaks away from his, enabling me to
swirl my tongue along the baby-soft skin of his neck. His head
tilts back as those lust-filled chocolate eyes flutter closed; I try
not to stare at him as I continue to worship his body.
He's stunning right now: olive skin flushed with arousal, carefully
groomed curls that have gone askew, and full lips swollen even further
from my relentless kisses. When I suck on a particularly
vulnerable spot on his neck, I watch fixated as his kittenish pink
tongue flickers out to lick his lips. How much more tempting can
he get? It's as if he exists for the sole purpose of driving me
insane with lust.
Finally, I realize that I can't take this any more than he can.
Stroking harder and faster, my fingers play all of their tricks on his
cock in a concerted effort to drive him to the edge of climaxing.
At the same time, I'm still rolling a furled nipple between two other
fingers, enjoying every groan of pleasure I'm able to evoke from him
with that. His body begins to shake against my own, small tremors
accompanying his now-constant gasps and pleas for more.
A throaty cry echoes through the backseat as he comes, hot liquid
coating the hand that's on his cock. His fingers dig into my
shoulders, trying to keep himself anchored while a visible wave of
pleasure rolls through him. I place a kiss to the salty skin of
his brow in an effort to calm him down, although I'm also savoring
every moment of watching him in such a state of rapture.
"Fucking Christ," he whispers, his breathing still shaky. "You're
shameless. A hand job in a limo?"
"Hey, you once gave me a blow job in a public restroom," I remind him.
"Yeah, and you wanked me off in a crowded theater. I think that
one takes the cake."
"I couldn't help that one. You know what those elf leggings do to
me."
Orli snorts and giggles. "I think it's safe to say that you like
my Trojan apparel almost as much."
"Yeah, I think that's a reasonable assumption. What tipped you
off?"
"The fact that your cock has been hard since I first showed up
onscreen," he teases. "And I promise to take care of all of your
naughty bits the moment we get home."
"Home? Orli, I need relief *now*!" I whine, not caring how
childish I sound.
"But Vig, I can't get on all fours for you here," he purrs. "And
wouldn't you like to have your way with me in our big bed, where you
can tie me up if I get too cheeky?" With that, Orli reaches for
my hand and starts licking off the streaks of his come.
I swallow hard. Twice. "Yeah, that sounds good."
"Excellent. Because I think I'm going to be very cheeky tonight."
Heart
and Shoulder Part 13
More
Viggorli
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